#officially in the denial rage of grief

[batsvnte]

𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 • 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞

Pairing(s): Blade

Sypnosis: The experiences that the two of you went through never slips his mind. Not during months of hiding away after the day of your death

Warning(s): mentions of scars/blood/death, slight yandere Blade, angst (?), ooc maybe, not proofread

Song used: Paris, Texas by Lana Del Rey feat. SYML

Word Count: 1.8K

Notes: black fem!reader (she/her pronouns) with probably the most ooc Blade ever- this is more of a Drabble that i put together because my minds been everywhere. Idk much about him except with some key factors about his personality so this is gonna be messy hHhH-

When everyone’s stars bright

They say there are five stages a grief.

Nobody knew it was gonna happen. It took them by surprise. One of the sides had low thoughts about the event that took place, figuring that it was one less hunter to deal with, but held some sympathy to the ones that knew her. Another side grieving silently among themselves. Knowing that it was gonna happen one of the days of being afflicted with them. Someone who was a less known but considered an wanted criminal with nothing else to show of themselves. The one side though was in a mixture of emotions. All of them were foreign to him.

Blade didn’t know what to do. The events repeating in his head over and over again in his hand like a never ending cycle. It didn’t take him long to realize what has happened to you. He figured it out to quickly. Frozen in his spot as the news of your death finally became official. Staring with his cold eyes at nothing in particular. The hunters he was close to could tell what he was feeling at that moment. Despite his emotionless nature he strangely couldn’t control what his mind was taking him through.

Brighter than you are

Denial.

The missions were progressively getting quicker. He would’ve set a record for the hunters for how fast he would complete the mission. No words being said, only Kafka’s voice being heard through the ear piece he wore. Every now and then Silver Wolf would say a remark, but neither heard any snarky remark come from Blade. Only a hum of agreement or disagreement. Or nothing at all. They would be use to the silence he gave before but now he won’t utter a single word to them.

No matter Kafka’s words about you, he can’t bring himself to leave sleek black helmet that you left behind. Finding it on the ground in the midst of the chaos was the only thing left of you that he can keep ahold of. Blade carried it back to the hideout as if it was the last thing he could ever hold onto. Aware that at some day it could be stolen away from him for whatever reason there may be. Might that day ever come to, Blade would track down the person who had stolen it. If he were to find a single scratch on it he would make sure the person would be dealt with thoroughly.

It’s gotten to where it was locked away into his room. Leaving it on a place where he can have a full view of the helmet. He could never bring himself to rid of it. He could never bring himself to let anyone else in your room that was quickly abandoned. Any new recruit would be met with the sharp end of his sword threatening to slice through their neck. Being given no explanation as to why they can’t enter the room.

They either walk away unscathed with no answers, or find themselves bleeding on the floor drawing their last breaths.

It’s time to go

Anger.

It was confusing to tell who it was directed to. On occasions during the mission he would relentlessly fight the ones who stand in his way. Leaving nothing but the dark crimson of their blood to be left of them. Taking his rage out on the world around him for taking away the one person, who dare say this, stole his heart. He might even snap at his own teammates for bringing your name out of their mouths.

What reason do they have to be speaking about you. Don’t they know that he’s grieving too?

But he was also angry at himself. Angry that he couldn’t have the time to get to know you better. Angry that he didn’t hold onto you to get you back. Why else would he be destroying the empty room in a fit of rage once he’s reminded of what happened that day. Blade couldn’t forgive himself for letting you slip away from his grasp. Your warmth he so desperately held onto to escaping his hands.

No matter how many people have fallen to his sword he could never satisfy the rage that clawed at his mind ruthlessly.

And you’re the only one left

Bargaining.

Moments when he’s alone Blade would be in your room. Viewing the items in your room that he never got to ask questions about. The tech that you kept hidden from everyone else that at first made them suspicious, but have grown fond of the type of ideas you have to improve their weapons.

Blade wouldn’t be so accepting finding that his sword is enough but lingers to hear what you have to say for Kafka’s guns. Making sure that they weren’t jammed for the mission and fixing them up if she ever got into a mishap.

He wouldn’t deny it to himself that he hopes that you miraculously come back to the hideout. Walking around with the light steps you take that you instinctively gotten use to having in order to surprise him once he turns the corner. Though you earned no reaction to what your scheme was directed to him, there would be a conversation following up to it. Blade is always reminded of the things he has said to you. The things he wished he had asked sooner.

What makes you so confident to go on this mission with me?

Why are you so fond of me?

Why did I have to let go of you?

Why couldn’t I save you sooner.

Dancing while they’re on the floor

Depression.

Blade hides his face from the world during the midst of the nights. Running to different planets and using disguises to go about his day never ceases to slow him down. It never felt the same ever since that day. The hopes that somehow you survived. Lingering around for the chance to run back to the hideout and return back into his arms is what he longs for. Blade’s aware that it wouldn’t happen.

He can’t look back on the memories he has with you. The black helmet that sits in his room is a reminder about one thing about you. He’s never gotten a single glimpse of your face. None of the hunters have except Elio. Another part of why they were suspicious of you from the beginning. One might think it would add onto the fact that you didn’t want to be recognized out in public and chased on the spot. Blade took the chance to ask this one question about you though.

“Why do you wear a mask everywhere you go?”

There was a short pause on the conversation at hand. Blade’s eyes were locked onto you regardless, waiting for an answer to his question.

“..I have a scar going across the right side of my face,” you blurted out suddenly. “I just found it better to just have a mask on. Besides, I don’t want to be hunted down the moment I walk out of a store.”’

‘I dont see the point of that when you’re hiding a face that’s beautiful’

How he wished he would say that to you. Finding it impossible to view every moment he had with you with no clear vision of your face. A blank canvas that he wished to have engraved in his mind to see your smile. The moment he learned about the scar on your face, he wondered how you got the scar.

Who was stupid enough to hurt you and forced yourself to hide your face from the world?

How could they bare enough courage to hurt someone like you?

Though wasn’t fully sure if the scar you mentioned came from an accident that was caused, or by someone with the intent of hurting you. He couldn’t tell. Blade never saw what you looked like, not even on that day that you died.

Time to go

Acceptance.

Was this something he could live with? Every day is an never ending cycle for him. He is always reminded of what happened, which ends with him holding the helmet in his hands or being in your room in the middle of the night staring at all the items that filled the room. He could tell right away that the others have moved on. Was he the only one still holding onto what remains of you. Being the fact that he always found some sort of way to remember you.

Blade knew he needed to move on. Accept that you were gone and that you may never return. But something kept holding him back.

Maybe it was the lingering stares he would get once he’s out in public in his disguise. Figuring that it might be a guard from the planet he is hiding out in for a mission that might have suspicion of him. He could never find the eyes that looked at his direction. Blade often find himself taking quick glances towards a particular individual who’s back was always turned. Head casted downwards as she held something in her hands. His mind going concluding that she might’ve recognized who he was or had an feeling about his identity. He could only sneer lowly at those thoughts as he turns away from her, walking the opposite way to avoid any other direct confrontation.

Or maybe it was the little words spoken to him in the forms of apologies. Accidentally bumping into the same person not even an few hours later in the midst of a busy crowd. He swore he could barely hear what she had to say but pieced together what came out of her mouth.

“Sorry.”

It was just a small apology. That was all that it was. Why couldn’t Blade help but stare at her as she disappears from his sight and into the crowd. Why couldn’t he move from his spot to get to where he needs to be. Why did he want to go after that person who ran into him. All of these questions filled his mind to the very brim. He couldn’t explain why he has the urge to go find whoever it was that bumped into him. Blade’s mind was occupied with the thoughts of the one who he subtly met.

He was gonna make sure that whoever it was, he wasn’t going to let them go.

Never have I ever written an entire thing like this and finished it in one day dayum—

Wanted to contribute the to HSR content so I got some Blade going through the four five stages a grief so I hoped you enjoyed reading this

#ghouul #ghouul writings #blade hsr x reader #blade x you #honkai star rail #hsr blade #blade x reader #blade hsr #hsr x reader #hsr drabbles #hsr oneshot

[dhr-ao3]

Always an Angel

Always an Angel https://ift.tt/prg5ldM by beckariel02 Voldemort is dead, and the war is over, but not for Hermione Granger. Harry died during the final battle, and the ministry seems to be doing nothing to hunt down the remaining Death Eaters. Fueled by grief and rage, Hermione decides to take matters into her own hands by going rogue and hunting them down herself. However, in the eyes of the ministry and the remaining Order, Hermione is out of control. In a final attempt to curb Hermione's wrath, the ministry gives her two choices: be arrested and tried as a criminal for torturing and murdering Death Eaters, or go to Hogwarts to finish her schooling. After arriving at Hogwarts, it turns out that ministry officials aren't the only ones trying to keep an eye on Hermione. Words: 7036, Chapters: 2/25, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Minerva McGonagall Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Harry Potter Dies, Ron Weasley Bashing, Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Magic, Pining Draco Malfoy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Protective Draco Malfoy, Substance Abuse, Broken Hermione Granger, Eventual Smut, Trauma, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Murder, Post-War, The Ministry of Magic is Terrible (Harry Potter), Slow Burn, Denial of Feelings, Hermione Granger is Bad at Feelings, Anger Management, Grief/Mourning via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/ji7xrV1 January 15, 2024 at 02:17AM

#IFTTT #Dramione #Draco x Hermione

[shadesofgrady]

Pessimism wins out

I declared myself cancer-free in June of 2022, and that was affirmed a few times by different doctors in August and September of 2022.

Fast forward to December when my routine check results in my doctor saying “I have really bad news...”.  Every word she said after that one may well have been uttered by Charlie Brown’s fucking teacher.

Stage 4.  Liver.  At least 10 lesions.  Hoping it will be operable in a few months.  More chemo - likely for the rest of your life.  Port back in asap.  Gut punch. Face punch. Dick punch.  Tears.

Welcome to the lowest point in my life.

Taking a quick glance at Elisabeth Kugler-Ross’s grief model, I’m not certain where I stand a month after getting this life altering news.  Let me assure you that I spent maybe 3 seconds in shock and denial.  Been there, done that with a stage 3 diagnosis in 2021.  Anger.  Oh god, the anger.  Let’s call it rage.

What the fuck?  I get through 50 goddamn years with not much more than a hangnail, and now the first couple of years of this life-decade are being spent doing barely more than fighting cancer.  Every life-plan I’ve made is officially on hold.  We’re months (months!) away from having an empty nest.  Fuck you acceptance.  If I ever get above that line on the graph, it will be a fucking miracle.

And please do not tell me to find god.  I will add your throat to my collection.  And to just refine the unwanted input section - please keep your opinions on how I can probably cure this thing with not-so-veiled suggestions on what might’ve, could’ve, should’ve caused my cancer in the first place.

okay - rant completed.  I’ll post more when I’m in the mood.

[thisiswhymp3]

SUPER weird how this season was only 18 episodes long, but at least cas got to say i love you :)

#officially in the denial rage of grief #spn 15x20 #spn spoilers #spn #destiel #charlotte speaks #supernatural #supernatural 15x20

[endeaavorr]

I always thought enji would try to not show any violent tendency in front of y/n (not sure how that would work since they all live in the same household, but let’s just say he manages), thus leading to her not believing her siblings when they tell her her daddy is not as good as she thinks he is. Either way, when she finally sees that what they said is right, she kind of goes into denial, but finally accepts that’s just who her daddy is and sees that he’s actually trying to change and make things better.

Not sure how she would handle the whole touya thing tho.

hello nonnie o(≧▽≦)o thank you for sending in ~

it’s interesting. in my papa!enji au though she was treated the same like touya and shoto bcs hey todorokis are expected to be heroes. in this au y/n inherited enji’s flame based quirk which later on developed into black flame. after touya’s physical condition discourse she was trained with shoto, both of them got yelled at but shoto’s got it worse since his obviously younger and thus his ability is not as good as hers yet at the time, but ofc enji and his legendary he’s already five. she’d shield him from whenever enji’s angry (that’s why her siblings are so attached to her).

as life progresses and shit happens along the original official plot of bnha, touya was still ‘dead’, natsu and shoto still ended up resenting enji, she’s the one who’s still there. in this papa!enji au she stays with enji because she knows what genuinely happened, how enji just wanted to protect touya (in a way), her mother’s incompetence, things her siblings never saw since they were too small. she’s the one who saw how touya’s inccident hurt him, she’s the one who saw how enji trashed the training room out of grief and frustration and not rage. she’s the one who first found shoto when her mother threw boiling water at him, her still small steps running to the house phone to call her papa, she’s the one who despite the dirty looks from her brother knows too well how he got her mother the best treatment money could provide and still brings her favorite flower everytime (a habit she silently hates).

that’s why it hurts her too when people badmouth him, enji’s good at doing hero work, he genuinely protects people, occasionally even risking his life while at it. she hates it so much because no one sees what she sees, everyone only knows the gruff number one hero endeavor who’s gaze never falter, no one knows about the agonizing hours she’d spend waiting at the hospital being scared shitless and flinching everytime she sees residents and nurses walking back and forth. sure he had his share of faults, but having his sons despise him was a fair punishment. he’s trying his best to do what he can so his family can be happy, even without him in the picture.

when enji built a new house for her mother and his children, y/n was the last person he talked to about it. the house was built quickly and soon it’ll be ready to welcome her mother’s discharge and maybe to be a home for her brothers. i actually wrote a drabble about what happened when he proposed the idea, and so their relationship starts from that night.

about the touya arc though, i don’t read the manga so i can’t yet create a proper scenario for this but i read a page or two on pinterest and boy did it break my heart sigh. on a director’s commentary, i feel so bad since on the other hand i can’t see any alternate scenario,, even so i do know y/n will do anything in her power to support enji. her only nii-san touya died the moment he decided murder was an acceptable coping mechanism.

i hope this makes sense im sorry >_<

#papa!enji

[axwalker]

Tears in Heaven 10: Endings

Synopsis: Alexis O’Brien is about to get married but memories of her old life are coming back to haunt her.

Pairings:  Drake x MC (TRR)

Warnings:  NO ONE UNDER 18 should read this story. This is an 18+ blog.

Mention of child death, mention of depression, grieving

N*FW content!

A/N:  There will be a small epilogue next week, but this is the official ENDING.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Thank you so much to all the people that read it, shared it and commented it. Every single like, reblog or comment gave me life! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

@mskaneko​ Thank you for all your amazing insights when you read and your incredibly inspiring edits and mood boards. You’re one of a kind!

@pedudley​ Thank you for pre-reading every chapter and being such a great, supportive friend. Your feedback meant a lot/

@burnsoslow​ The MVP of this whole thing!!  I was so stuck before your brilliant book idea!! Thank you for that and for the hours and hours (and hours) of editing!! Without you I would’ve never been able to write this fic. You’re an amazing friend and human being. THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR HELP.

I LOVE ALL OF YOU SO MUCH ❤️

To catch up: Masterlist

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Pixelberry. The edit at the end of this fic belongs to the talented @mskaneko​

Word count: 7 697 (!!!)

Songs inspiration: Tears in heaven by Eric Clapton

Tagging: @ao719​  @yukinagato2012​ @texaskitten30​ @kingliam2019​ @cordonia-gothqueen​ @bebepac​ @nomadics-stuff​ @cordonianroyalty​ @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @bascmve01​ @gibbles82​ @mom2000aggie​ @gardeningourmet​

Perma: @burnsoslow​ @mskaneko​ @mskaneko​ @pedudley​ @pug-bitch​ @ac27dj​ @twinkle-320​ @kimmiedoo5​  @marshmallowsandfire​  @loveellamae​ @debramcg1106​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​  @ravenpuff02​ @princessleac1​ @ritachacha​ @drake-colt-lover-99​

Liam woke up feeling restless. He rolled over in bed, trying to get a few minutes of sleep, but guessed it would be useless. Before taking a long hot shower, Liam called the kitchens so they’d bring him a large jug of strong coffee with his breakfast - he would need it to get through the day. Thirty minutes later, he was sitting on the balcony of his room at Valtoria, sipping his second cup of coffee of the morning and thinking about his fiancée. More than the conversation he had had with Alexis two days prior, it was the one he and his brother had shared the previous afternoon that he was obsessing over.

Since he had met her, he had been head over heels for Alexis. However, even if his love for her was undeniable, the real question was if they were right for each other. Reluctantly, Liam had to admit that he barely recognized himself in the jealous, controlling, manipulative man he had become. And as tempted as he was to blame Drake and his return for the demise of their relationship, deep down, he knew something else was profoundly wrong with them.

Leo was right: He didn’t trust Alexis. Liam wanted to, desperately, but he just couldn’t. The memory of the day he had found her almost dead on her bed still haunted him. Liam had never really gotten over it.

Alexis entered their room and saw Liam sitting with his paper and sipping coffee, lost in his thoughts. Earlier that morning, when she had left Drake’s cabin, she had done so convinced that the only right decision was to marry Liam. However, standing there and watching him, her own words resonated in her head. Liam deserved better. And he did; he deserved better than a life with a woman that would never be able to fully love him. Neither of them would ever be happy if they went ahead with their wedding.

Alexis was scared -- terrified -- of loving Drake again, of facing her grief, but hiding behind Liam couldn’t wouldn’t, be the solution anymore.

“Hi, Li,” she said, sitting on the chair next to him.

“Love.” Liam saw her sad expression and instinctively knew what she was about to tell him.

Alexis hugged herself and took a sharp breath, trying to gather some courage. Her eyes watered as she tried to get the words out. “I’m sorry, Liam.”

Liam’s hand gripped his cup of coffee. “You’re calling off the engagement.”

“I … I wasn’t planning to do it,” she sobbed. “But the more I think about it, the more I realize I’m not good for you, Liam.”

Despite his best efforts, a cold rage overpowered him. “Do not pretend that this has nothing to do with Drake, Alexis.”

“I’m not going to lie. Drake showing up again accelerated things. But our problems have nothing to do with him. Our marriage wouldn’t have lasted. We were asking too much from each other. I would never be happy being a duchess, and I know how badly you want to be a father, Liam. It was selfish of me to ask such a huge sacrifice of you.”

“I don’t care, Alexis. I would do anything for you,” Liam implored. “I know we have problems, but I’m sure that if we work together, we would be able to find a solution.”

She shook her head. “Are you happy with me, Li?”

He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “I love you very deeply, Alexis.”

“That’s not what I asked. You’re constantly worried about me. You don’t trust me. And we never share our problems because we don’t want to burden each other. We never talk about Tom.” She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.

Liam’s eyes widened. “Did you just say his name?”

She nodded.

“One day with him, and you’re already saying Tom’s name again.” His glossy eyes looked at her. “It’s always been him,” he muttered. “All this time, you didn’t stop loving Drake, did you?” he asked her.

“Liam … please don’t go there,” she begged, more tears running down her face.

“Did you ever even love me?” His voice betrayed the cool façade he was trying to maintain. Incapable of staying put, he stood up in front of the balcony’s railing.

Alexis cut the distance between them and hugged him as tightly as she could. After a moment, she took his head between her hands. “I love you, Liam. And not only because you saved my life, but because you’re an amazing, loving, generous man; because of all the moments we shared together. You gave me a reason to wake up in the mornings. Thanks to you, I was able to smile, to live again. I’ll never forget that.”

“Right ... you’ve always loved me, but you never fell in love with me,” Liam replied bitterly.

At that moment, watching Liam breaking in front of her, Alexis hated herself. “I tried Li. And it has nothing to do with you; I just never really got over … everything.”

Liam wiped a tear from her face. Too heartbroken to talk, he simply took her in his arms and kissed her head.

Alexis took off the engagement ring and placed it in his palm. “I never deserved this. And maybe you don’t believe me right now, but I know you’ll meet someone who will.”

Every word she pronounced felt like he was being stabbed. Liam turned his gaze towards the gardens. “Please leave, Alexis. There is no point in prolonging this anymore.”

Alexis squeezed his hand and left him there. As she walked away, a strong feeling of contrition flitted through her body in response to the tightness in her chest. However, despite her guilt over hurting a good man, Alexis knew she had made the right decision.

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Drake put his syringe and gloves in his bag, patted Thunder on his rump, and left the horse’s stall, rubbing his neck tiredly. After a long day doing the weekly check-ups on the horses of one of his biggest clients, he was shattered. However, working to exhaustion hadn’t worked as well as he had hoped; Alexis and her goddamn stubbornness hadn’t left his mind for a second.

When he finally got home, his heart skipped a beat when he saw Alexis sitting on the steps of his porch, waiting for him.

“Hi, Drake.”

His heart raced as it did every time he saw her. “Hi, Lexie.”

“Can we talk?” she asked, and he detected a slight edge in her voice.

“Of course, Lexie. Let’s go inside.”

Alexis shook her head no. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d preferred if we take a walk.”

“Why?” Drake questioned, puzzled.

Because if I enter the house, I won’t be able to leave it again.  “It’s better,” she stated simply.

“Okay.” Drake shoved his hands in his pockets. If she didn’t want to come into the house, that meant she was divorcing him and choosing Liam. He felt the pain of losing her all over again threaten his heart.

Drake and Alexis walked a while next to each other without a word. Inadvertently, they took the path to the lake where they used to fish and have picnics with Tom. Drake glanced over her; the look in her eyes was not sad as he had expected but determined. She was wearing the fierce expression that meant she had made a decision.

They sat in the old wooden pier next to each other. “What do you want to talk about, Lexie?”

Alexis bit her bottom lip. “I broke up with Liam.”

His eyes immediately darted to her left hand. Relieved to see that the ring was gone, Drake exhaled a lightened breath. “Lexie.” He was impatient to kiss her, to feel her again, but something about her demeanor stopped him. An awful thought snaked into his mind. “Do you want to sign the divorce papers anyway?”

Alexis placed her small hands on his large ones. “No. It’s the last thing I want.” She smiled at him.

Drake cupped her face, allowing his thumb to draw soft circles around her lips. “I don’t get it. Why are you so sad?”

“I need to ask you for something.” Drake nodded, still tenderly rubbing her face. “I’m sure that I don’t want a divorce. But I’m not ready to move back here yet.” She took a sharp breath. “I never really grieved Tom, you know? I mean, I did all the four first stages. I was furious at first and then hurt and broken at that clinic. But after my depression, I regressed. I realize now that I’ve been in denial for the past three years.”

Drake wiped her tears again and pulled her close to him.

“My therapist didn’t want me to leave the clinic. She said I wasn’t ready, but I wasn’t a danger to myself anymore, so she didn’t have any other choice but to sign my release. I need to do that now. Finish my therapy, be alone, and I’m sure you’re going to roll your eyes at this,” she joked, “but I need time to find myself. I don’t know who I am anymore, Drake. I don’t do any of the things I used to enjoy. And I feel this guilt that I can’t seem to shake. I feel guilty for the pain that I just caused Liam, but I especially feel guilty about us. About all the things I told you that day.”

“Lexie, please. You have to let that go. You weren’t yourself back then -- neither of us was,” Drake said tenderly.

“I still need to forgive myself.” She squeezed his hands. “Please don’t give up on me, Drake. I just need some time. A few months, maybe,” she pleaded with tears in her eyes.  

It hurt like hell, but he understood. Drake took her face between his hands. “Listen to me, baby, because this is very important. I love you. No matter what. No matter what I’ve done or you’ve done. No matter what will happen. I will always love you.” He interrupted himself to give her a soft kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “If I have to wait for you for the rest of my life, I will. I lost you once, but I swear I will never lose you again. Never.” She smiled through her tears. “This is what I wanted. That you chose whatever was best for you. And I think this is it. I’ll be here at the end, loving you. Okay?”

“Thank you, Drake.” She leaned in to kiss him, and he crashed his mouth with hers in a searing, hungry kiss. After a breathless moment, he forced himself to stop. It was clear that Alexis wasn’t ready for anything else. They shared a few more moments together, then Drake walked her back to her car.

She opened the door but stood next to it, torn between her longing to stay and her need to leave.

“I know you need to go through this alone, but promise me that if it’s too much, you’ll call me, Lexie. Day or night.” Drake said as he gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I promise.” Alexis kissed him again, trying to memorize how much she enjoyed his lips on hers, the way he had to kiss her with all his body. Drake held her as close as he could; if he had his way, he would never let her go.

But Alexis was too confused, too rattled by everything that had happened. She needed to claim her independence and regain control of her life before coming back to him. Watching her leave broke his heart, but he knew that she was worth the waiting.

With tears in her eyes, she got in her car and drove away, hoping that she wasn’t making a huge mistake.

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The first month was arduous. Coming back to therapy and having to deal with Tom’s death proved to be as challenging as Alexis had thought, but she persisted, determined to get better. She and Drake respected their arrangement and didn’t see each other, but whenever a session became too strenuous, or she was at risk of getting depressed, she called him, and they talked for hours over the phone. Drake told her about his experiences in prison and his life in Spain, and she finally spoke about the long months she had been committed to the clinic and her suicide attempt. Each phone call left them hopeful and terribly nostalgic, but Drake never pressured her.

After two months of intense therapy, Dr. Salas, her psychologist, encouraged her to do something for herself. Alexis immediately knew what she needed. For the next four months, she rented a cottage in Portavira and moved next to the beach. It was a small cottage, but it had a porch where she could sit, watch the ocean, and write every day. During that time, Alexis cried a lot, but she also began to take long walks along the beach, hike and swim in the ocean; the calm of the secluded beach and the soothing sound of the waves had a curative power on her. Alexis missed Drake desperately, more and more with every passing day, but she knew that she needed to finish what she had started before coming back to him.

The first days in Portavira, Alexis only managed to write a few lines, but soon an idea began to form in her mind. At first, she refused it; nothing would be more painful than writing that, but Dr. Salas had suggested that it could be cathartic to explore her grief through her words. One afternoon where Alexis was feeling unusually relaxed, she sat in front of her computer with a cold glass of Chardonnay and started typing. She cried her eyes out with every word, but in the end, she felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest. For the first time since her little boy had died, Alexis accepted that while the pain in her chest would never really disappear, she might be able to be happy again.  

The next morning, she called Charlie, her old boss, and sent her the manuscript.

Drake was quickly regaining his excellent reputation among the owners of Cordonian stables and racetracks. Thoughts about Lexie consumed him day and night, so he spent those six months working like crazy. In his spare time, he read, fished, or rode his horse, but he felt restless all the time. One night after talking to her, an idea crept into his mind. He already knew the perfect place, so he made an offer, and when he got it, he devoted all his free time to making it perfect.

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Liam rubbed his eyes tiredly; he had been up working for almost 20 hours straight, trying to figure out a way to bring new investors to Valtoria. He, Hana, and his team had developed a health plan that aimed to offer affordable healthcare to all the duchy’s citizens, but he needed private investors and the help of the Crown to be able to fund it.

At almost 10:00 p.m., Liam leaned against his chair. Hana dropped her pen on the desk and raked her hair with her hands. They both yawned at the same time, which made them chuckle.

“We’re too tired, Hana,” Liam said as he stood up to get a drink from the cart in his office. “Something to drink?”

“Gin, please,” Hana answered, grinning.

Liam couldn’t help but admire how pretty his assistant was. Hana was a special woman; she was smart and kind, and she cared about Valtoria almost as much as he did. He always had fun in her company.

Alexis had left him six months ago. The first two months had been hell; after being in love with her for so long, Liam had had trouble adjusting to the idea that she would never be with him. However, after some time, he realized that Alexis had made the right decision. They weren’t happy together; she had never stopped loving Drake, and he was in love with a woman who no longer existed. Besides, Liam had to admit that he felt lighter and freer without the burden of his constant concern for her. His love for Alexis wasn’t healthy or romantic; it was toxic and harmful for both of them.

Liam handed Hana her gin, smiling at her. “What would you think if I called that place where we had dinner with the French ambassador the other night? We can ask for a couple of Black Truffle Croque Monsieur and some eclairs au chocolat?” he asked playfully, his stomach groaning at the thought.

Hana’s face lit up. “That would be perfect, Liam.”

“You call the restaurant, Hana. I will go look for a bottle of Beaujolais from the cellar.” Liam left his office, grinning. He didn’t know why, but the prospect of spending an intimate moment with Hana made him happier than he had been in a long time.

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Alexis swam for almost an hour. The cold, tranquil ocean was the only place where she could calm her nerves that morning. After four months on the beach, she was going back to Cordonia that same afternoon, hopefully to stay. Charlie had arranged a public reading in a small bookstore in Cordonia to launch her book, and Alexis had invited Drake - the real reason behind her nervousness that morning. A smile formed on her lips from just the thought of him. When she had called him to invite him to the reading, she hadn’t dared to tell him that she was ready, that she couldn’t wait another minute to be with him. Mostly because she didn’t want to do it over the phone.

But also because a part of her was still scared. There was no doubt in her heart; she loved Drake more than anything. But what if they were able to be happy again and another tragedy struck them? If she had to go through the pain of losing him again, Alexis knew without the shadow of a doubt that she wouldn’t be able to recover.

In addition to all of that, there was something she needed to tell him, and Alexis wasn’t sure how Drake was going to react. She stepped out of the ocean and dried herself. When she got to the house, Alexis went to her closet, thinking about what she was going to wear. Butterflies flapped in her stomach, knowing that she was dressing for him, that if everything went well, she would be in his arms that same night — the feeling of being 19 years old all over again washed over her. After a short shower, she applied light makeup and blow-dried her hair. Before leaving the house, she looked at herself in the mirror. It didn’t matter how scared she was; fear had dominated her life for almost five years. It wouldn’t control another minute of it.

Drake turned on the engine of his jeep, his heart racing thinking about her. He had no idea what her book was about, but Alexis had talked about it with that cute voice she had when she was really thrilled about something. Drake could almost see her face if he closed her eyes: her wide, gorgeous smile and a pink blush covering her cheeks with excitement. During their conversation, she hadn’t said anything about their marriage, but Drake knew she wouldn’t have invited him if she wasn’t ready to be with him again. At least he really hoped so. Before going to the library, he made a quick stop. His project was on the right track. He prepared the last surprise for her and then left for the reading.  

The children’s bookstore that Charlie had picked was perfect. Small and cozy, it had a lounge with two large sofas and colorful cushions. Posters of Tom Sawyer’s books and figurines of the Harry Potter and Narnia universes decorated the walls. The owner had moved an antique armchair to the middle of the room, so the kids and their parents would be surrounding Alexis in a half-circle as she told her story. She was greeting the families that her agent had invited when she heard a familiar voice calling her.

“Blossom!” Maxwell ran to hug her. “I missed you so much; I have a million things to tell you!”

She hugged her best friend back. “Hi, Max! I missed you too. How’s the married life?”

“Perfection. Rashad is the best husband in the world. A total control freak, but I knew that already.”

Alexis laughed. “Anyone seems like a control freak compared to you.”

“I guess that’s true.” Max beamed, looking at her. She was wearing a beige mid-length dress with an oversized camel blazer and nude high heels. “You’re gorgeous, by the way.” Her friend gave her a knowing smile. “Drake is going to drop dead when he sees you.”

She gave her friend an anxious smile. “He isn’t here yet.”

“He’ll be here soon, Lexie. Don’t worry,” Maxwell said, placing his hand on her shoulder.

“Darling, everything looks fabulous.” Olivia kissed both her cheeks. “I’m so proud of you,” she said earnestly.

“Come on, Liv. Don’t make me think you’ve gone soft,” Alexis teased.

“I mean it, Alexis.”

“I know you do,” she replied, squeezing her best friend’s hands. “Thank you.”

Charlie interrupted them. “Please take your seats. You need to start, Alexis.”

Alexis sat in the armchair; she glanced at the door one more time, and there he was, looking shamelessly handsome in a white shirt and jeans. Drake winked at her as he sat on one of the sofas next to her. His boyish grin had the power of rendering her speechless. She swallowed her nervousness and opened the book. Drake noticed that it was signed by Alexis Walker, and his smile got wider.

“Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Tom who lived in a small red cabin in the middle of the woods. Every night before bed, his mom and dad sang him lullabies and told him stories of faraway lands, brave princes, and courageous queens. His best friends were Buttons, a little grey rabbit that followed Tom everywhere he went, and Maxie, an enthusiastic fire truck with a loud voice that only Tom could hear. Tom wanted to travel very far; thus, his dream had always been to conquer the faraway lands his parents described to him every night. One sunny April morning, Tom put his wooden sword and blue cape in his backpack and left, followed by Buttons and Maxie, to live the adventures he had dreamed of.”

Alexis looked up and saw Drake staring at her with glossy eyes. He gave her a soft nod, so she turned her eyes back to the book and kept on reading. Perhaps to avoid thinking about his lost son, Drake’s attention focused on her. He looked at her, enraptured. Alexis’ bright brown eyes were almost shining; her silvery voice had the entire room captivated with her story. The inner light he had always loved in her was back, as bright as before. In only a few months, she had managed to regain control of her life and make her dream come true. Every time he thought that he couldn’t possibly admire or love her more, she surprised him again. He was utterly, hopelessly, crazily in love with her.

“… Tom, Maxie, and Buttons had lived an incredible adventure. Tom missed his mom and dad deeply, but he knew that they were waiting for him in their little red cabin in the middle of the woods and that he’d soon come home.”

Alexis closed the book with watering eyes. “Thank you for coming. This book means a great deal to me.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I hope you enjoyed it. I’ll be happy to answer questions if you have any.”

One woman holding a little girl in her lap raised her hand and asked the question Drake was dreading. “Is Tom’s character based on someone real?”

Charlie had warned Alexis that she needed to be prepared to answer that. She gripped the book and took a deep breath. “Yes, on my son.” After drinking a gulp of water to control herself, she added, “He’s no longer with us.”

Drake smiled at her sadly but reassuringly when the audience went silent for a few seconds.

Maxwell quickly raised his hand. “Um … I just wanted to know if you’re preparing a sequel.”

Alexis gave him a grateful look. “Not at the moment, maybe later. Thank you for your question, sir.”

A little girl in pigtails asked her a question about Buttons, and a blond boy questioned her about Maxie the fire truck.

After she was done answering and signing copies of the book, she went to meet with Drake, Max, and Olivia.

“I loved it, Blossom! I have to say that Maxie the fire truck is the best character. He seems to be the smartest, funniest, cutest one of them all. Certainly much more than the evil Queen Nevrakis,” Maxwell beamed as Olivia shook her head, for once, more amused than annoyed.

A sudden silence made Olivia realise that Drake and Alexis were looking at each other longingly. She cleared her throat. “I have a date with Jin tonight, so we better get going, Max.”

Maxwell beamed as he hugged both of them. It was unquestionable for anyone who knew them that Drake and Alexis belonged with each other, and nothing could make Max happier than to see them together again. “I’m so happy for you guys! See you soon!”

They both chuckled; Drake brushed Alexis’ hand with his, slowly intertwining his fingers with hers.

“Did you like it?” Alexis asked Drake timidly.

“It was wonderful. The way you described him was simply perfect.” Drake threw her a small smile. “It was our Tom. I admire you so much, Lexie. Thank you for this; I needed it too.” They locked eyes with each other, both their hearts racing.

“I’m ready, Drake,” Alexis blurted out and immediately felt the blush in her cheeks, her heart beating furiously in her chest.  

“Are you sure you’re ready to come with me?” he asked her with his deep voice, an intense longing in his eyes.

“As long as you still want me to,” Alexis gave him a coquettish smile.

He tightened his grip on her hand. “Always, Lexie.” The loving look she gave him back was enough to drive him wild. Drake looked around him; they were in a children’s bookstore surrounded by kids and Alexis’ old boss. Probably not the best place to kiss her as he was dying to.

“I have a surprise for you,” he whispered sheepishly.

Alexis arched her brows. “Really? What is it?” she asked excitedly.

Drake smirked. “A surprise has to be unexpected. As a writer, aren’t you supposed to know definitions of words and shit?”

“Smartass,” she laughed. “I just need to say good-bye to Charlie really quick, and we can go.”

When they got into the car, Drake leaned to her seat and cupped her beautiful face. She let out a soft gasp when he kissed both her cheeks, the corners of her lips, her nose. “I’m going to spend the rest of the night, of my life, kissing every part of you, baby,” he growled in her ear.

If Alexis waited another minute, she would’ve imploded right there, so she crashed her lips on his, making him groan with want. Drake pressed her body against the seat, but an annoying thought made him stop. “Our first time after all this time will not be in the passenger seat of my jeep, Lexie.”

Alexis bit her bottom lip. “Let’s go,” she urged him.

After a short drive, Drake pulled over on the side of the highway. He grabbed a silk tie from the back seat. “I need to cover your eyes.”

“It’s dark, and we’re in the middle of the woods, Walker. Are you trying to kidnap me?” she asked with a flirty tone.

A smug grin spread on his lips. “Actually, that is exactly what I’m going to do. Turn around.” Gently, he placed the tie around her head and tied a knot. “No peeking, Lex,” he said, kissing her head.

She shook her head, now too excited to speak.

After a few minutes, they arrived, and Drake helped Alexis to get out of the car. The feeling of walking in an unknown place with her eyes covered could’ve made someone nervous, but there was no one Alexis trusted more in the world than Drake; he would rather die than let something happen to her. They walked a few inches with him firmly holding her. When they stopped, he pulled her back against his chest, circling her waist with his arm. He leaned to speak in her ear. “Six months ago, in one of our phone calls, you told me how difficult it’d be for you to live in the cabin again. That you would love to start our lives somewhere else.”

Alexis nodded.

“That day, I recalled how much you loved that abandoned house next to the lake. It was small and run down, but you fell completely in love with it. Remember?”

“I do,” she said with a lump in her throat.

They were taking a stroll next to the lake when Alexis saw it. The house was almost in ruins, but according to her, it had significant potential. As it was clearly uninhabited and there was a window open on the ground floor, she climbed through it; Drake followed her, chuckling, with Tom in his arms. Once inside, he had to admit that the house did show promise. They would have to spend a lot of weekends renovating it, but he loved manual work and was sure Alexis would make it as cozy and comfortable as she had made his father’s cabin. Back in their own place, they daydreamed about buying the house and renovating it. She drew a small sketch of what she pictured: a huge kitchen where they could both cook together, a swing for Tom to play, a porch to watch the sunset, and a main room with a skylight where they could see the stars every night. It would take some time and a lot of effort, but they thought the house was worth it. When Drake was about to make an offer to the real estate agency, tragedy overcame them, and they forgot all about it.

Drake uncovered her eyes, and she gasped. They were standing in front of the house, but it had changed. Drake had spent the last five months working on it every minute of his spare time. The old washed-out exterior was now a beautiful wooden façade with a large, wide-pillared porch in the front.

He held her tightly. “Now this is the exterior. There’s still a lot of renovation work to do inside. You’ll see.”

Alexis had happy tears in her eyes. “I … I can’t believe you did this, Drake. It’s gorgeous.” She turned around, and he cupped her face and gave her an intense, searing kiss.

“Come on, I want to show you the rest,” he said when they finally parted, breathless. Drake grabbed her hand, and they laced their fingers together.

They stepped into the house, and even if Drake was right and the first floor still needed a lot of work, Alexis wandered around happily with her heart full. “I love the kitchen! We can have a large counter here,” she said, pointing to one side of the room. “What would you think about a thick wood table?”

Alexis’ face reflected so much excitement and enthusiasm that Drake couldn’t help but grin at it. His gaze followed her as she pranced all over the house with a thousand ideas of how to renovate every corner of it.

“So I gather you like it?” he asked, arching an amused eyebrow.

“Like it? I love it, Drake! It’s perfect. I’d like to move here as soon as possible!”

Drake couldn’t help but smile tenderly at her. “Are you sure? We can stay in the cabin for a few more months while we do the renovation work here.”

“If the water is running, I’d prefer to stay here,” she answered with an earnest smile. “This is us, Drake. Ours. A new life together. I’m not running from our past, and I never want to forget Tom,” she said, brushing a small tear with her hand. “I just want to start over in a place where we can create new memories.”

“If that’s really what you think, there’s a room that’s already finished.” He threw her a quizzical smile. “Do you remember the drawing you did of how we pictured our house?”

Alexis let out a spontaneous laugh that made Drake's heart leap. “I would barely call the doodles I made drawings, but I remember the moment, yes.”

“Well, I hope I did the doodles justice.” Drake held his breath as he opened the door.

Alexis gasped; he had remembered everything she had dreamed of. A soft, fluffy carpet. A big bed full of cushions, a fireplace warming the room, and the skylight over the bed. The moon and stars lit up the whole room through it.

Mesmerized, she took off the blazer she was wearing, and Drake’s eyes widened. The beige dress she had underneath was tight and hugged every single curve of her body. Suddenly, Drake was very aware of the taunting way she moved; she turned her back on him to look at the fireplace, and his eyes went straight to her bare upper back and the delicate line of her neck. Blushing, he moved to readjust himself. Her thrilled voice pulled him out of his thoughts.  

“I love it, Drake. Every single part of it! The skylight is exactly how I’d imagined it!” He took off his own jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “What?” she asked, catching her bottom lip between her teeth when she realized he was looking intently at her.

“Are you wearing that for me?” Drake’s low baritone and sexy smile made her blush crimson red.

“Maybe,” she answered with the most innocent look in her eyes but a sultry voice.

Drake cut the distance between them; even with her sexy nude heels, he towered over her. “Don’t give me that innocent look, baby,” he growled. “Or I won’t be able to control myself.”

Alexis leaned towards him, her hands playing with his collar. “See, Drake, that’s the thing. I don’t want you to control yourself.”

He swept her off her feet. She looped his neck in a burst of roaring laughter. “I want you so fucking much, Lexie,” he told her as he gently dropped her on the bed. Their bed. He hovered over her, holding his weight up with his right arm.

She hid her nose on his neck, inhaling the intoxicating sandalwood. “Me too, Drake.”

“You deserve the world,” Drake said, staring at her almost black eyes looking at him adoringly. He wanted nothing more than to make this night last as long as he possibly could. “It’s been four years that I’ve been thinking about this moment,” he said, gently kissing her cheek. “Four years that I’ve dreamed of making you mine again.” He growled at her ear as he nipped it. “And now, I finally have you here --” He softly bit her neck. “-- all for myself.” He kissed her collarbone as he slowly unzipped her dress. “This damn dress is making me wild, Lexie.”

As he rubbed his thumb on her lips and cheeks, Alexis’ heart beat so fast, she was sure he could hear it. Finally, he kissed her, and time stopped. His lips felt so soft on hers, his tongue so passionate when it slowly entered her mouth, intertwining with hers. His strong hand cupped her head as he deepened the kiss. Suddenly the need became urgent, and he moved to her neck, possessed by the need to claim her. Drake softly sank his teeth in her, making an exhilarated moan escape from her throat.

Slowly, he pulled the dress’ front zipper down, peppering sultry kisses on every inch of skin he discovered, until only her lacy underwear was left. He pulled her to him and kissed her senseless as he unclasped her bra. Her beautiful breasts appeared, her buds erect, ready for him to kiss them. Drake softly flicked his thumbs over them. Then his tongue tasted them, taking pleasure in the sight of Alexis arching her back for him. He took a deep breath until all he could smell was her cherry fragrance. With a cocky smile, he pulled down her last piece of underwear, leaving her completely exposed and vulnerable to him.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Lexie,” he groaned as his eyes wandered over her body lit up by the moonlight, and his calloused hands moved down her body, rubbing her face, her breasts, her hips, a trail of excited goosebumps appearing everywhere he touched. “And you are all mine.”

Alexis gave him a flirty smile. “I want to see you too, Drake.” She softly pushed him up until they were both on their knees.

The sight of her naked, kneeling in front of him and undressing him with nervous fingers, desperate to kiss him, to touch him too, almost killed him. She undid his jeans and let her hand wander around his cock. He drank in the sight of her, enjoying her soft, small hand around him for a moment. Her soft, skilled strokes on his impossible hard length felt incredible, but after all the months, the years they had spent apart, he wasn’t going to last long if she continued. “I won’t be able to resist much longer, baby.” He grabbed her wrist. “And there are a lot, a lot of things, I want to do to you first. Lay down,” he growled, standing up to toss off the rest of his clothes.

Alexis felt like she was on fire, ready to explode. Drake’s lips kissing her legs, her knees, and her inner thighs only made the fire wilder. She gripped the sheets when she felt his hot mouth on her, kissing the soft skin around her clit.  

“It drives me insane how wet you already are for me, Lex,” he said, parting her lips with his tongue and softly entering her, inebriating himself with her taste.

“Drake, god! Drake,” she chanted again and again as his expert tongue and fingers explored her, thrust inside of her. Feeling the heat build more and more, she tugged his hair, making him smile against her warm skin. Finally, she reached a point of no return and screamed his name again.

Drake smirked. “Fuck, I’ve missed that, baby.”

Still panting, she managed to answer in a soft voice. “Me too, Drake.” Drake caught her lips in a slow, tender kiss as she came down from her high.

“Come here,” he whispered, scooping her and sitting her in his lap. Alexis straddled him, enveloping his torso with her legs. Cradling her with his arms, Drake’s desperate lips ravaged her neck, alternating soft kisses with small bites. Her back arched, giving him full access to her breasts that he cupped, his thumbs slowly circling her hard nipples again. Alexis rolled her hips against him.

Drake chuckled against her neck. “Are you trying to tell me something, Lexie?”

“I need you now, Drake,” she moaned. His cock was already throbbing, but he felt like he was going to burst at her words

“Whatever you want, Alexis.” He positioned himself with the tip of his dick, teasing the little nub of her center. “Look at me, baby. I want to see your pretty eyes as I enter you.”

She locked her burning eyes with him, and he grabbed her hips, confidently guiding her body to enter her folds slowly, giving her time to adjust to him.

The world, the moon, and the stars, everything around them faded. Each set of eyes only saw each other, reflecting the passion, the excitement, the deep love they felt.

“I love you, Lexie,” Drake whispered as he slowly moved inside of her, adoring her smell, the way she moved, how she moaned his name.

“I love you too, Drake,” Alexis whispered back, reveling in the sensation of him filling her completely. Of her heart racing with every delicious thrust. Of his strong arms holding her tightly, safely. Of his hands caressing her back. “I feel you everywhere, Drake, god.”

They rocked their hips at the same pace, increasing speed as their movements became more passionate, more desperate. He ground into her powerfully, feeling her walls tighten around him. The sensation was unbelievable, an exceptional connection that neither of them could ever experience with anyone else. “Come with me, baby,” he whispered as his hand reached her center, allowing his thumb to rub the little nub in it, making her lose her mind. Alexis couldn’t formulate a coherent thought, let alone talk, as the most intense wave of pleasure of her life came cresting over her. A powerful “Drake!” escaped her lips as she climaxed.

His name on her swollen lips and the way she was still vibrating against him pushed him over the edge.

“Mine, Lexie, mine,” he growled, marking her neck as he filled her in complete ecstasy.

He pulled her into his chest, both of them silently enjoying their descent from heaven.

He held her tightly, kissing the top of her head as he lazily rubbed her back, incapable to stop touching her.

“A penny for your thoughts, Lexie.”

She looked at him through her eyelashes, smiling.

“I was just thinking about how absolutely perfect this was.” She stroked his chiseled abs with her hand.

He smirked. “You’re perfect, baby. A fucking work of art.”

Alexis smiled against his chest, a pleasant feeling of utter happiness settling in her chest.

Part of the night was spent with tender whispers, passionate touches, and shared laughs. The rest, they spent rediscovering every nook and hidden corner of each other’s bodies as if they were trying to recoup the last five years in a few hours. Finally, the morning lights caught them sleeping tangled in each other’s bodies. Drake opened his eyes first, smiling as he hadn’t done in five years.

“Good morning, baby,” he whispered in her ear, waking her up.

“Nuh, uh, too early.” She hid her head under the pillow.

“You have to see this, Lexie. Wake up,” he said softly, kissing her bare back.

“God, I’ve forgotten how good you are at motivating a girl.”

Drake chuckled. “Come here.”

Wrapped in the sheets with Drake hugging her tightly from behind, Lexie sat on the porch in front of the lake, and she understood why he had woken her up. In front of her eyes, a sumptuous spectacle of pink, ochre and golden sun rays extended over the glowing lake. It was the most stunning sunrise she had ever seen.

“There’s something I need to tell you that might change your mind about us,” Alexis warned him cautiously. She bit her lips, feeling remorseful. She should have discussed it the day before, but selfishly, she had wanted to enjoy the night with Drake.

He almost laughed at the idea. “Nothing would change my mind, Lexie. Test me.”

She took a deep breath and let the sentence out as fast as she could. “I don’t know if I ever want any more children, but I don’t think so.” She carefully gauged his reaction as she asked. “Do you?”

“I don’t know,” he answered sincerely. “I didn’t for a long time; I was adamant. ” He looked tenderly at her. “Now, I’m not so sure, but I do know that the idea scares the shit out of me.”

Alexis let out a relieved breath. “Me too.”

“I’ll tell you this. We’ll revisit the idea in a few years, but we won’t do it unless we’re both sure. Deal?”

“And what if I don’t change my mind, and you do?” she asked worriedly.

“Then we won’t, Lexie. All I want out of life I have right here,” he said, holding her even tighter. “Nine years ago, in my vows, I told you that I loved the fire in your eyes and how much you love life. I told you that I would always take care of that gorgeous inner light of yours. But I didn’t do a great job.” Alexis was about to protest, but Drake put his thumb on her lips, smiling. "I promise that I’ll devote the rest of my life to making you happy. I’m so proud of you, of everything you are, Lexie. I love you more than I did back then, much more.” He opened his palm, where he had their wedding rings in his hand. “I always knew that one day we would be wearing these again, Mrs. Walker.”

Alexis beamed. “I love you, too. You have no idea how much. For years, I felt lifeless, and now just looking at you, my heart hammers, Drake. You take away the emptiness, the sadness. You make me so incredibly happy.”

A bittersweet tear escaped from her eyes when she extended her hand and watched, immensely moved, how Drake slid her wedding band and engagement ring on her finger. Then she put his on.

Relieved, she turned her head up and caught his lips in a delicious, deep kiss.

Drake noticed a small, tiny tear. “What’s up, Lexie?”

“I was really convinced that I could never feel this extremely elated again, and now that I do, I also feel …” She stopped in her tracks.

“Guilty. You feel guilty for feeling happy.”

She nodded slowly.

“Me too.” Drake rubbed her cheek with his hand. “I think we have to learn to live with that, baby. Tom will always be here. He’ll always hurt.”

Alexis snuggled against him as Drake drew her into his arms. A loving smile spread on her lips; no matter how difficult or painful their grief would be in the future, they would be facing it togther.

The End.

#tw child death #tw dark fic #tw grief #tw grieving #drake x mc #drake walker #axwalker writes #drake walker fanfic #alexis o'brien #n*sfw #n*fw

[catatonicengineers]

A Defense of Cait Sith

Plushie Princess Saga:

A Hundred Ways to Put the WRO Back Together

A Hundred Ways to Wreck Shinra HQ

Reeve’s Adventures in Babysitting and World Saving:

And Take a Stand at Shinra

While There’s Still Time

On Plushies and Oppenheimer:

A Defense of Cait Sith

~

“We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried. Most people were silent.” - J. Robert Oppenheimer

I was eight-years-old when I played Final Fantasy VII for the first time, exactly one year after its release. Like many 90’s gamers, FFVII was a turning point into the world of RPG’s from which I’ve yet to recover. Kids today will never understand the coming of age that occurred somewhere between Yoshi’s Island and grappling with the ethos of Avalanche blowing Sector 1’s reactor sky high. It’s no surprise that my 3rdgrade brain found an essence of familiarity to cling to amid the existential dread and ecoterrorism that was the greatest game ever made.

Cait Sith was the cute, cuddly party member that validated my love of cats and ignited my adoration for moogles. I would relentlessly make room for him in my party, despite his terrible combat stats, and hurl endless Phoenix Downs every time he fell.

He was quirky, he fought with a megaphone, his limit breaks were oddly sparse compared to the rest of the cast, and his home base of Gold Saucer looked like a unicorn threw up all over a casino. What’s not to love?

According to recent Reddit threads, Youtube comments, and rage bloggers, apparently a lot.

The advent of the long awaited FFVII remake rightfully caused a massive revival of the excitement first felt by long time fans of the franchise. The release date has been confirmed for March 3, 2020 – two days before my 30thbirthday. Not gonna lie; feels like the universe aligned to bless the official passing of my youth with this nostalgia bomb.

It’s with this love of all things FFVII in mind that I’d like to formally pose a defense of the game’s most hated character.

Cait Sith/Reeve, this one’s for you.

The Laughter

We first meet the lively, dancing robo-moogle and cat combo in Gold Saucer and we’re not quite sure if this strange entity should count as one party member or two. Either way, he joins your crew as the quintessential comic relief with nary a backstory in sight. That’s right; you are now the proud owner of Cait Sith. A “fortune teller” by trade, Cait Sith’s motivations remain as murky as your party’s future.

At first glance, it’s easy to pass Cait Sith off as a filler character, the cute one added for giggles. The one the writers never bothered to flesh out because, let’s face it, that moogle is mostly fluff anyway. The “most useless character” title isn’t entirely unjustified.

If this was where Cait Sith’s story ended.

I still remember the day my older brother announced that he’d read ahead in the player’s guide (this used to be a thing, kids) and discovered Cait Sith was a Shinra spy. I’m pretty sure I went through all the stages of grief before settling on denial and assuming he was playing a joke on me. Surely, my favorite slot machine loving companion couldn’t be a traitor.

Enter Reeve Tuesti, the man behind the moogle. He’s the head of Urban Development at Shinra Electric Power Company. He wears a signature blue suit to work everyday. He hates board meetings. He’s not fond of his coworkers. Like Tifa, he’s an introvert. And he’s the guy who engineered the Mako reactors.

If Hojo is Dr. Frankenstein, Reeve is Oppenheimer. The tragedy of the monsters we create is always greater when it’s a monster we loved. Where the other Shinra execs are motivated by greed, power, and a desire to play God, Reeve is the only Shinra higher up we encounter with genuine empathy and a sense of advocacy for the people. It’s easy to assume that Mako reactors would improve lives, but as Marlene so eloquently asks, “isn’t that because we were taking away from the planet’s life?”

When faced with the guilt of a design gone horribly wrong, those in authority have two choices; own the guilt or double down. And Reeve doubles down.

I’ve never been a fan of the way modern RPG’s have everything clearly spelled out and spoon fed to the gamer. The reason we don’t need further backstory for Reeve is because his character arc is already apparent if we do a bit of digging. I was surprised to learn that the common conjecture behind the exact mechanics of Cait Sith involved him being a remote controlled, autonomous but non-sentient robot. Given that assumption, it’s fair to say that Cait Sith is a worthless character who lacks emotion or consequence.

One opinion I’ve seen trending is why not simply make Reeve join the party, sans the giant stuffed animal? After all, we’d get to see how he grapples with his role in Shinra and eventual betrayal of Avalanche.

Two words; cognitive dissonance. You have to question what kind of 35-year-old executive creates a plushie cat proxy to begin with. See I’ve never thought of Reeve and Cait Sith as separate. The gritty psychological mechanics that are Reeve have always been there, plush or human. Reeve has developed an alter that’s effectively a form of escape. The assertion that Cait Sith lacks consequence isn’t false – a robot carries out its duty, incapable of harboring guilt, blame, or moral repercussion. That’s a pretty darn good way to remain detached enough to stab your party members in the back!

Cait Sith is also an outlet for everything Reeve’s repressed executive life lacks. As Cait Sith, he’s silly and carefree, though not completely unfamiliar. Glimpses of Cait Sith’s witty quips are echoed in Reeve’s mock nicknames for his colleagues – “Kyahaha” and “Gyahaha” respectively. When life is tough to take, we laugh so we don’t scream.

Plus, the idea of Reeve controlling Cait Sith in real time, much like an MMORPG avatar, is just plain hilarious. I’ve always imagined him as the kind of guy who rolls up to his 9-5 office job, pops open a spreadsheet to look busy, and boots up Cait Sith in the other tab. He’s the OG Aggretsuko, the guy making Jim Halpert faces at the camera every Shinra board meeting.

And I get you, Reeve. Really, I do.

The Tears

Cait Sith’s sacrifice was a cop out for killing off a real character. Why didn’t Reeve just die instead of the plushie?

First of all, how dare you.

Second, not all deaths need be literal.

A pervading theme throughout FFVII is the concept of identity. Are we born into an existence we have no control over or can we choose who we are day by day? It’s easy to want to be someone else, the First Class Soldier who sweeps in, keeps his promise, and saves the girl. Our reality is often less of a fairy tale and riddled with our own failures.

By the time the party reaches The Temple of the Ancients, the line where Cait Sith ends and Reeve begins is blurring. Reeve speaks more often as “himself” through the plushie and the nuances in their speech and mannerism are blending. It’s no accident that this shift happens as Reeve becomes more at ease around Avalanche, ultimately switching sides.

I’ve heard a lot of criticism on the seeming lack of motivation to Reeve’s redemption. If we examine the cognitive dissonance theory that governs his character, the switch is far less sudden.

Cait Sith’s death is necessitated by Reeve’s accountability. The innocent plushie alter isn’t working anymore. It’s not enough to keep him from recognizing the horrors he’s been complicit to. Sacrificing this part of himself is the ultimate acknowledgment of culpability. It’s arguably a more important death than if Reeve actually martyred himself. Like Cloud, he no longer needs to be “someone else” and has started down the path of doing what only he, and not Cait Sith, can; stopping Shinra.

There will be more wonderful, fluffy moogle-cat plushies, but the need to disassociate completely is gone. He’ll confront whatever comes without a crutch – or in this case a teddy bear. Reeve reminisces that the original doll was “special” and we end with Cait Sith reminding him(self) not to forget this.

The Silence

In 1953, J. Robert Oppenheimer was denied all security clearance and effectively blacklisted by the McCarthy administration for his strong opposition to nuclear warfare.

Sometimes we find ourselves in a place we never hoped or expected to be in, surrounded by people we despise, and convinced the world is going straight to heck. We can either get out of dodge or stay.

If Reeve had indeed sacrificed himself rather than Cait Sith, this would simply have been yet another escape. He stays. He works. He gets Marlene and Elmyra out of Midgar. He spies on Shinra. He finally tells Gyahaha to stick it. He goes on to head the WRO and never stops advocating for the people.

Reeve’s not a fighter. He can barely get by with a handgun in Dirge of Cerberus and Cait Sith’s megaphone is no Masamune. Despite this, he takes a big risk by being the only insider on the team. We’re pretty sure Shinra doesn’t share Reeve’s opposition to capital punishment either.

Maybe this is why I’ve always loved Cait Sith/Reeve. I’m intrigued to see if Square Enix will add any further insight into our favorite plush moogle-cat-spy, but if they don’t, that’s alright too. Cait Sith is still a pretty solid character. After my brother spoiled one of the game’s major plot twists for me, I ended up reading the player’s guide for myself. And he was right. But he was also wrong. I recall marching proudly into the living room to declare that while yes, Cait Sith was a traitor, he was also a hero.

So fight your fight. Fail and fall. Hurl some Phoenix Downs and get right back up again.

#ffvii #ff7 #reeve tuesti #shinra #cait sith #.txt

[saint-hildegard-of-bingen]

If you love our country, please read this article, and continue to work to save our democracy. And stay hopeful!

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The despair felt by climate scientists and environmentalists watching helplessly as something precious and irreplaceable is destroyed is sometimes described as “climate grief.” Those who pay close attention to the ecological calamity that civilization is inflicting upon itself frequently describe feelings of rage, anxiety and bottomless loss, all of which are amplified by the right’s willful denial. The young activist Greta Thunberg, Time magazine’s 2019 Person of the Year, has described falling into a deep depressionafter grasping the ramifications of climate change and the utter refusal of people in power to rise to the occasion: “If burning fossil fuels was so bad that it threatened our very existence, how could we just continue like before?”

Lately, I think I’m experiencing democracy grief. For anyone who was, like me, born after the civil rights movement finally made democracy in America real, liberal democracy has always been part of the climate, as easy to take for granted as clean air or the changing of the seasons. When I contemplate the sort of illiberal oligarchy that would await my children should Donald Trump win another term, the scale of the loss feels so vast that I can barely process it.

After Trump’s election, a number of historians and political scientists rushed out with books explaining, as one title put it, “How Democracies Die.” In the years since, it’s breathtaking how much is dead already. Though the president will almost certainly be impeached for extorting Ukraine to aid his re-election, he is equally certain to be acquitted in the Senate, a tacit confirmation that he is, indeed, above the law. His attorney general is a shameless partisan enforcer. Professional civil servants are purged, replaced by apparatchiks. The courts are filling up with young, hard-right ideologues. One recently confirmed judge, 40-year-old Steven Menashi, has written approvingly of ethnonationalism.

In “How Democracies Die,” Professors Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt of Harvard describe how, in failing democracies, “the referees of the democratic game were brought over to the government’s side, providing the incumbent with both a shield against constitutional challenges and a powerful — and ‘legal’ — weapon with which to assault its opponents.” This is happening before our eyes.

The entire Trump presidency has been marked, for many of us who are part of the plurality that despises it, by anxiety and anger. But lately I’ve noticed, and not just in myself, a demoralizing degree of fear, even depression. You can see it online, in the self-protective cynicism of liberals announcing on Twitter that Trump is going to win re-election. In The Washington Post, Michael Gerson, a former speechwriter for George W. Bush and a Never Trump conservative, described his spiritual struggle against feelings of political desperation: “Sustaining this type of distressed uncertainty for long periods, I can attest, is like putting arsenic in your saltshaker.”

I reached out to a number of therapists, who said they’re seeing this politically induced misery in their patients. Three years ago, said Karen Starr, a psychologist who practices in Manhattan and on Long Island, some of her patients were “in a state of alarm,” but that’s changed into “more of a chronic feeling that’s bordering on despair.” Among those most affected, she said, are the Holocaust survivors she sees. “It’s about this general feeling that the institutions that we rely on to protect us from a dangerous individual might fail,” she said.

Kimberly Grocher, a psychotherapist who works in both New York and South Florida, and whose clients are primarily women of color, told me that during her sessions, the political situation “is always in the room. It’s always in the room.” Trump, she said, has made bigotry more open and acceptable, something her patients feel in their daily lives. “When you’re dealing with people of color’s mental health, systemic racism is a big part of that,” she said.

In April 2017, I traveled to suburban Atlanta to cover the special election in the Sixth Congressional District. Meeting women there who had been shocked by Trump’s election into ceaseless political action made me optimistic for the first time that year. These women were ultimately the reason that the district, once represented by Newt Gingrich, is now represented by a Democrat, Lucy McBath. Recently, I got back in touch with a woman I’d met there, an army veteran and mother of three named Katie Landsman. She was in a dark place.

“It’s like watching someone you love die of a wasting disease,” she said, speaking of our country. “Each day, you still have that little hope no matter what happens, you’re always going to have that little hope that everything’s going to turn out O.K., but every day it seems like we get hit by something else.” Some mornings, she said, it’s hard to get out of bed. “It doesn’t feel like depression,” she said. “It really does feel more like grief.”

Obviously, this is hardly the first time that America has failed to live up to its ideals. But the ideals themselves used to be a nearly universal lodestar. The civil rights movement, and freedom movements that came after it, succeeded because the country could be shamed by the distance between its democratic promises and its reality. That is no longer true.

Democrats and anti-Trump Republicans are often incredulous seeing the party of Ronald Reagan allied with Vladimir Putin’s Russia, but the truth is, there’s no reason they should be in conflict. The enmity between America and Russia was ideological. First it was liberal democracy versus communism. Then it was liberal democracy versus authoritarian kleptocracy.

But Trump’s political movement is pro-authoritarian and pro-oligarch. It has no interest in preserving pluralism, free and fair elections or any version of the rule of law that applies to the powerful as well as the powerless. It’s contemptuous of the notion of America as a lofty idea rather than a blood-and-soil nation. Russia, which has long wanted to prove that liberal democracy is a hypocritical sham, is the natural friend of the Trumpist Republican Party, just as it’s an ally and benefactor of the far right Rassemblement National in France and the Lega Nord in Italy.

The nemeses of the Trumpist movement are liberals — in both the classical and American sense of the world — not America’s traditional geopolitical foes. This is something new in our lifetime. Despite right-wing persecution fantasies about Barack Obama, we’ve never before had a president who treats half the country like enemies, subjecting them to an unending barrage of dehumanization and hostile propaganda. Opponents in a liberal political system share at least some overlapping language. They have some shared values to orient debates. With those things gone, words lose their meaning and political exchange becomes impossible and irrelevant.

Thus we have a total breakdown in epistemological solidarity. In the impeachment committee hearings, Republicans insist with straight faces that Trump was deeply concerned about corruption in Ukraine. Republican senators like Ted Cruz of Texas, who is smart enough to know better, repeat Russian propaganda accusing Ukraine of interfering in the 2016 election. The Department of Justice’s inspector general’s report refutes years of Republican deep state conspiracy theories about an F.B.I. plot to subvert Trump’s campaign, and it makes no difference whatsoever to the promoters of those theories, who pronounce themselves totally vindicated.

To those who recognize the Trump administration’s official lies as such, the scale of dishonesty can be destabilizing. It’s a psychic tax on the population, who must parse an avalanche of untruths to understand current events. “What’s going on in the government is so extreme, that people who have no history of overwhelming psychological trauma still feel crazed by this,” said Stephanie Engel, a psychiatrist in Cambridge, Mass., who said Trump comes up “very frequently” in her sessions.

Like several therapists I spoke to, Engel said she’s had to rethink how she practices, because she has no clinical distance from the things that are terrifying her patients. “If we continue to present a facade — that we know how to manage this ourselves, and we’re not worried about our grandchildren, or we’re not worried about how we’re going to live our lives if he wins the next election — we’re not doing our patients a service,” she said.

This kind of political suffering is uncomfortable to write about, because liberal misery is the raison d’être of the MAGA movement. When Trumpists mock their enemies for being “triggered,” it’s just a quasi-adult version of the playground bully’s jeer: “What are you going to do, cry?” Anyone who has ever been bullied knows how important it is, at that moment, to choke back tears. In truth, there are few bigger snowflakes than the stars of MAGA world. The Trumpist pundit Dan Bongino is currently suing The Daily Beast for $15 million, saying it inflicted “emotional distress and trauma, insult, anguish,” for writing that NRATV, the National Rifle Association’s now defunct online media arm, had “dropped” him when the show he hosted ended. Still, a movement fueled by sadism will delight in admissions that it has caused pain.

But despair is worth discussing, because it’s something that organizers and Democratic candidates should be addressing head on. Left to fester, it can lead to apathy and withdrawal. Channeled properly, it can fuel an uprising. I was relieved to hear that despite her sometimes overwhelming sense of civic sadness, Landsman’s activism hasn’t let up. She’s been spending a bit less than 20 hours a week on political organizing, and expects to go back to 40 or more after the holidays. “The only other option is to quit and accept it, and I’m not ready to go there yet,” she said. Democracy grief isn’t like regular grief. Acceptance isn’t how you move on from it. Acceptance is itself a kind of death.

#rumors and misinformation #dump trump #keep america great

[malereader-inserts]

Stages of Grief

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries / The Originals Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Male!Reader Summary: Some people go through the stages of grief in days, weeks or sometimes months but Elijah experienced it once within an hour and is forever stuck in a stage he’s afraid to leave. Word Count: 1,344 Request: “Hiya! Could I request some angsty Elijah Please? Thank you!” A/n: Very excited for Eurovision later tonight

Elijah looked around him, his hands were covered in blood, his white shirt stained in red.

All he could manage to grasp on was his family standing in front of him. His lips were trembling and hands were shaking, what has he done?

His mind was foggy, he tries to recall back the past few days but all it was broken memories, unable to configure a true sequence of events. But, there was a look on his family’s face and he just couldn’t process what happened. Then he remembers how a witch cursed him to switch it off.

“Where is he?”

Elijah mumbles out, but the look of solemn in Klaus’ eyes made him panic even more. He can’t find you, his favourite person, his favourite vampire. The last thing he remembers was a witch cursing him and he fears the worst. He looks down at the mess around him, dead bodies in a circle around him.

Human, bite marks on the neck and he could see the bruises they had sustained trying to pry Elijah off them. 

“Where is he?”

He asked again, there was a choke to his sentence as Rebekah and Kol share a look, Rebekah’s eyes fell to her feet as Elijah refuses to think anything bad about you. Elijah looks back to his family who mutely watched him, wondering what he would do next.

“I need to find him-” 

Elijah takes a step forward, he was almost ready to speed to buildings he knows he would find you and if you weren’t there, yours and his little areas of New Orleans that you and he only knows. Your secret hiding spots.

“Elijah-” Klaus brings him back to reality, he gives him a small head shake, “No.”

Klaus’ voice was soft, too tender for Elijah’s liking and suddenly there was a loud blaring constant static noise in Elijah’s ears. He must be in a bad dream because you couldn’t possibly be dead, you can’t have just gone without him. He was supposed to protect you, you were, after all, the only person he had ever care about out of his family.

The shock was setting in.

You had a bond like no other, you understood him and his frustration. You became his new dream, his new hopes and wishes, his new future. He was ready to marry you, you and he had been planning the wedding and laughing at the attempts that Freya and Rebekah tried to take over. 

He still couldn’t get over how pretty you look when you were waking up in the morning, he still fawns over how fierce you looked when murdering a vampire or ripping a werewolf to shreds to protect him. Elijah admires how you would smile at him as if he was your everything, Elijah relishes the long nights in each other’s company whether it was wild or tame in the bedroom, he didn’t care because it was you.

Elijah was excited, for once in his vampire life, that you were going to officially have his last name, you were officially part of the family.

And you were dead.

“Who killed him?”

He was sure you were invincible, yet despite being a new hundred years younger than him. You were quick to pick up the Mikaelson fighting style. You were impossible to take down, hell, you were the one the got the least injured if you were needed to fight alongside the Mikaelson family. 

The family looked at each other, wondering who will deliver the news. It could be Klaus as he was the one closest to Elijah, the two had their moments but Klaus loves you. He thought of you as perfect for his brother. He’s never seen Elijah so smitten by you, Klaus remembers how he almost convinced himself that he’ll have no eyes as he rolled them too much with both your obvious pining.

However, the job lies in Rebekah. The girl who loved too easily, the girl who wants to find love in a cruel cruel world. She hesitantly steps forward to stand next to Klaus, he meets Elijah’s eyes.

“You did,” Her voice was soft and Elijah wanted to rage at her, “He tried to bring you back, he tried making you switch it back on but-”

“Enough!”

He couldn’t hear it, he wouldn’t hear it. He refuses. He looks down at his bloody hands, was it yours?

“Elijah...” Kol murmurs as Elijah snaps his head back up at him.

“Please tell me you’re lying, he- I couldn’t have- he’s alive, you’re lying.”

Denial, the first stage of grief, he refuses your death. You’re alive, he knows it deep down in his heart. You’ll be home, asleep in your shared bed - waiting for you. You have to be, you got to be.

“We wouldn’t have lied to you, Elijah, not as serious as this,” Rebekah soothes but she was met with a glare, she feared that this news was permanently switched the humanity off in Elijah.

“If you’re lying to me,” Elijah seethes, a threatening step closer to his family as he holds an excusing bloody finger at her, his glare slicing her open, “I will not hesitate to harm you.”

Anger, the second stage of grief, and Elijah doesn’t get angry often. Times, where he does, is when you were the subject of the offence if anyone dared to lay a hand on you or threaten you - Elijah would be angry that no one could stop him until he murders the person who would offend you. 

Elijah was seething with rage, his shoulders tense and a glare. Baring teeth and if you pushed him just a tad more, Elijah would not scruple to bring out his vampire's eyes

Klaus and Kol stepped forward, whilst they understood Elijah was angry for losing you, they couldn’t have another loss in the family. So, when Elijah noticed that Klaus and Kol ready to fight him his shoulders deflate, there was no tense within the shoulder blades.

“There must be a way to bring him back-” Elijah started to mutter to himself, he was a mad man as he continues to mutter words to bring you back.

They were witnessing the spiralling insanity of Elijah Mikaelson. Elijah was losing sense because you were the one that put sense into him. He just didn’t know what to do with himself.

“We’ve tried, Elijah,” Freya spoke, tilting her head to the side, “I tried, Davina tried, we tried together..”

“Then try harder,” Elijah exclaims, there was a broken tinge to his voice, as he pleads, voice cracking, “P-lease.”

Mikaelson was an egotistic bunch, they never plead, they never beg, they never bargain. It was one way or no way, they’ll find ways around things, find loopholes in order to avoid begging, pleading or bargaining. But, Elijah was a broken man who’s lost the love of his life, what is he that he has no you?

All he could do was bargain for your life as he collapses onto his knees, and finally, his tears had flooded. For the first time of the night, he started to cry. He doesn’t know whether if he could stop as memories and pictures of you inflicted his mind. He sobs and sobs into his arms, he doesn’t feel right.

He feels arms wrap around him, his family trying to comfort him, but there was no use. It wasn’t you and you weren’t coming back. There was no warmth of yours, there was no scent for him to devour and no more of your sweet kisses to get excited for. 

Elijah doesn’t know whether if he could get to the stage of accepting your death, of accepting that you will never come back. 

He’s got to live with the guilt that he was the one to murder you. 

Your last memory of him was him taking your life.

His last memory of you was kissing you goodbye and telling him to stay safe.

Life is unfair, especially knowing you’ll be damned to live it for forever.

#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson x male!reader #x male reader #angst #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries imagine #the vampire diaries x male reader

[evangeline-of-montfort]

ash garden (iv)

chapters 1, 2, and 3 read it here on ao3

A few short years ago, I would have run like a coward. The urge to disappear into the early morning mist and climb into the mountains still pounds through me with every heartbeat. 

But I don’t, because I at least owe him this fucking much. 

The convoy rolls to a stop on the Hawkway, two armored transports and a funeral hearse, blacker than the night sky. Bile rises in my throat every time I look at it, so I don’t. I remain kneeling next to him, my eyes fixed resolutely on the ground. Even my pride can’t save me from the shame and rage rolling in my chest. 

Around six this morning, I finally picked up a signal on my broadcaster. I sent a message to the estate, and then I pitched the fucking thing off the cliff. It didn’t save Davidson, and I hate it for that. 

I hate myself for that.

The door to one of the transports opens, and I don’t have to look to see who it is. The wedding band on his left hand is indication enough. Silver and gold, intertwined forever. 

I think of the matching ring squeezed in my own hand, leaving angry red imprints in my palm. Tears burn the back of my eyes, hot and stinging. 

Blinking them away, I stand to face the man I failed most in the entire world.

Carmadon is a greenwarden made of stone, the lines of his face chiseled with pain. His white suit is rumpled, his eyes bloodshot. My heart twists even tighter at the thought of him falling asleep last night, waiting for a husband who would never come home.

“Evangeline,” he whispers. His gaze flickers from Davidson to me and back again.

“Carmadon, I’m so sorry.” I hate myself for the empty condolence.  I’m sorry is the most useless thought in the world to a grieving person. But, like before, my words fail me. There’s nothing to say. Nothing I can do to alleviate the pain that I caused.

Carm bows his head, the smallest of movements. “Could you—could you give me a moment?” he asks quietly. 

“Of course.” My mouth is so dry that the words barely make it past my lips. I leave too quickly, trying to run from the grief. No matter what I do, I won’t be able to get away from it fast enough. 

Elane waits for me by the convoy, the platinum engagement ring sparking on her finger like a firework. She wants me to know she’s there, giving me the space to run again if I need to. It’s a kindness I don’t deserve. 

“Love,  you are alive,” is the first thing she says to me. Her eyes linger on my dirty knees, my torn uniform, the tear streaks down my face. She brushes her thumbs over my cheeks. “I will—” The tiniest crack appears in her voice—“I will be eternally grateful for that.”

I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve any of it. My first instinct is to shut myself away, to let my walls come up and hide me until I’m ready. But that won’t help me or anyone else. With a monumental effort, I make myself talk. 

“If not for me,” I whisper harshly, my eyes landing everywhere but her face, “he would be alive right now.” My shoulders shake as a wave of emotion sweeps over me, a sea of feelings I know well.  Self-hatred. Denial. Grief. Rage. 

Elane’s gaze meets mine, and it’s like staring into a mirror to my own soul. “You think I don’t blame myself?” she asks. “He may have died saving you, Eve, but  I  was the one that asked him to go.” She’s crying now, trembling against me, and I fold her into my arms and try to wish away all her pain.

“It’s not your fault. It’s  not your damn fault.” I say it over and over again, like a mantra. Like a prayer.  

“Evangeline, I sent him to his death. ” Her voice shatters on the last word. “And I just—I just remember watching him leave, and praying you both would come back safe, but...”

“It’s not your fault,” I whisper again, sounding like a broken record. My eyes are fixed on Carmadon, kneeling beside his husband, his shoulders shaking. On Elane in my arms, her tears sliding beneath wet eyelashes.  Look what you did,  the entire scene screams.  Look what you did, you stupid, stupid girl. 

I’m not wrong—it  isn’t Elane’s fault. 

It’s mine. 

~~~

My head spins as I run, and run, and run. Evergreens cast lengthening shadows over the track, and all I can think about is that at this time yesterday, Davidson was still alive. He’s been gone for almost a full day now, but the earth keeps spinning despite his absence. Even though it feels as if it should have stopped. 

The world ended when Dane Davidson breathed his last, but still the sun rises and sets. 

I see him every time I blink. In those split seconds behind my closed eyelids, blood soaks through his shirt, turning his uniform the color of the dawn. His fingers clutch the silver chain at his neck, lifting the ring to the waning light. The rise and fall of his chest slows. And stops. 

I keep running.

I guess I still  am a fucking coward.

Carmadon made a broadcast at noon today, and now the entire continent knows how and why the premier of Montfort met his end. Following the broadcast was a state funeral. I didn’t attend. I didn’t watch. How could I, given that his death was practically my fault?

No one has seen Carm for the rest of the day, and the estate is lifeless without his presence. The entire place is wilting: flowers turn brown on the balconies, trees shed their leaves, fruit shrivels and discolors. All of nature grieves for his loss. 

If I were a better person and friend, I would go after him. I owed him more than words could describe—and I repaid the debt by letting his husband die. But I can’t find it in me to face his grief again. I don’t want to look into his eyes and see condemnation, conscious or not.

Elane is better than I am. She was good enough to stand beside Carmadon during the broadcast and the service, the former queen of the Rift giving her support for the world to see. I was still here, punching heavy things and crying. 

No one has tried to seek me out yet, giving me space to vent. But soon, I’ll have to grow up and head inside to face the consequences of my actions. Soon, I’ll have to talk one-on-one with Carmadon. If not now, then inevitably later. After all, I was the last person to see his husband alive; I was the person that  caused his death.

And I still have his wedding band on a chain around my neck, resting near my heart. It thuds against my chest as I run, in time with my footsteps on the track. I need to give it to Carm, but I haven’t found the right words to say for when I do. 

Perhaps there  aren’t any right words for this situation. Perhaps some are just less wrong than others. 

Alone with my thoughts, it’s easy for me to sense the intruder when he comes. Metal rings out in my perception: his uniform is cut with chrome lining, and a silver ring adorns his left hand. 

There’s only one person that could be. 

I slow to a walk as he nears the track. My heartbeat pounds in my chest, and I rest my hands on my knees as I try to recover enough to speak. 

“Tolly,” I say, and my voice hitches on that one word. “I–”

He sweeps me into a hug before I can get any further. “Little sister,” he says, his arms wrapped around me. “We’ve been worried. You have to stop scaring us like that.” 

I lean into his chest, feeling the warmth radiate from his torso. My brother is not a touchy-feely person. Moments of contact like these are rare, so I cherish them all the more. 

“I’m not little,” is all I can think to say, but saying that only makes me feel more like a child.

Ptolemus smiles as he pulls away. “Evie, I’m a head taller than you and twice as wide.”

“Oh, shut up,” I say. It comes out with more venom than I intend, and I flinch at the hardness in my own voice. 

Instead of looking hurt, my brother examines me closer, his eyes searching. “Are you alright?” 

“No, I’m not fucking alright.” Angry tears suddenly well up in my eyes again. “But the person you should be asking that question is Carmadon. Not me.” I swipe at my nose with the sleeve of my training suit. The skin there is already raw and red from repeating the action too many times today. 

Part of me feels ashamed at breaking down to Tolly. Neither of us cried much as kids, and it’s not like we’re strangers to death. But Davidson’s death feels like no other. My brain doesn’t know what to do with it, swinging wildly between utter denial and complete breakdown. It’s too big to process. Too  unreal to have possibly happened. 

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay, Evangeline,” he whispers, pulling me close again. “But in the meantime, it’s okay to not be okay. Grief isn’t a contest. It’s not something you deserve or don’t deserve to feel. You are allowed to be sad and angry even if you weren’t hurt the  most .” 

“When did you become a therapist?” I snap, and immediately regret it. Everything is coming out harsher than I want it to. It’s like I can do nothing but push away the people I love. 

Somehow, my brother seems to have endless reservoirs of patience today. I hate that it probably comes from a well of sympathy I don’t deserve. “I’m married to a healer,” Ptolemus says, and I feel his smile as an infinitesimal tightening of his stomach. “It comes with the territory. And right now, all my therapist instincts are telling me to get you inside.”

“I’m fine out here.” 

“I can practically see your fingers turning purple.” He grabs my hand and turns it over to examine. “How long have you been out here, and when was the last time you ate?” 

“I—” I glance up at the sky. The sun is touching the horizon now, the sky bleeding red and violet. I’ve been here since mid-morning, but I’m not about to tell him that. 

Tolly scowls at me. My silence is as good as a confession for him. “That’s it. You need to come inside. You’ll catch your death out here.” When I still say nothing, he adds, “Don’t make me carry you.” 

I have at least enough pride left to walk on my own two feet, so I follow him grudgingly back to the estate. 

~~~

The soles of my feet scrape against the cobblestone path. The estate looms higher above me with each step as I trail behind Tolly, unwilling to go in. The lower levels have been teeming with government officials all day, and socializing—or worse, accepting condolences—is the last thing I want to do right now.

But Ptolemus doesn’t lead me through the entrance hall. We slip in through a side door, and he steers me down a hallway towards the kitchens. I stop short as something sparks in my perception, a feeling I would know anywhere. Elane’s ring. She’s here too. 

 Here, I realize as I look around the empty kitchen, but invisible.  

“Hi, love,” I say to the seemingly deserted room. 

No response, but I wasn’t expecting one. Elane will reappear when she’s ready, and not a moment before. We have different ways of handling our emotions. I rage and vent, not caring who hears me. She vanishes altogether to cope out of sight.

I help myself to a bowl of blackberries and a platter of cheese and crackers on one of the counters, suddenly ravenous. Tolly takes a seat next to me, leaving the one across from me for Elane. We both jump as her chair suddenly moves, scraping against the floor. 

“Hey.” She flashes back into view as she sits, still wearing her black gown from the funeral, and I think idly of her old Haven colors. Her red hair hangs limply against her shoulders, its usual luster gone.

With a pang, I realize she’s been grieving as well, but unlike me, Elane hates to be alone. I practically abandoned her for half the day, just when she needed me most.  Selfish.  

“I’m so sorry,” I say first. “I should’ve checked in on you.”

“Don’t worry about it: I had Lyrisa. I know you needed space.” To my relief, she smiles, and the expression reaches her eyes. “How are  you , love?”

I brace myself against another wave of emotion.  Wave is inaccurate at this point—it’s like a void that opens up inside me, draining me of everything else. “It still feels like a nightmare,” I admit quietly. “Like it couldn’t have actually…”

“I know,” Elane whispers. “Do you need to talk about it right now?”

Silently, I shake my head. The movement makes me dizzy, and I have to grab the counter to steady myself. Eating real food for the first time today has made me realize how hungry and thirsty I am. I don’t want to—and probably  can’t —do anything but change and go to bed. 

“Then we can talk about other things.” She reaches for my hand across the countertop, shivering slightly as she takes it in both of her own. “My god, you’re freezing.” Elane looks askance at me before leaning down to breathe warm air on our conjoined hands. “You’ve practically become a shiver, Evangeline.”

“I’m well aware,” I say. Her touch feels feverish to me, but that’s probably because my skin is ice cold. Experimentally, I try to wiggle my fingers individually of one another. It feels like they’re made of wood.

Elane laughs and gently presses a kiss to each one of my knuckles, her mouth warm against my skin. “Relearning basic motor control, are we? I can help you with that.”

“Get a room.” Tolly covers his eyes, feigning disgust at us both.

I leer back at him. “Like you and Wren are any better.” 

He makes a rude gesture and plucks a blackberry from my bowl. I snatch it from his hand and pop it into my own mouth. 

It feels good, this comfortable, easy rhythm between the three of us. It feels  normal  , but it isn’t the same  .  It’s impossible to ignore the void inside me, the grief that hangs over all of us, threatening to pop this fragile bubble of content. 

Because things aren’t normal any more. 

Davidson is gone.  

And he isn’t coming back.

~~~

taglist: @freaky-freiday @evangelineartemiasamos @farleydiana @fuvkingmagnus @folkoftheair @lilyharvord @scarletbarrow @gansey-just-gansey @glossy-vanilla @thatoddgirl777 

#red queen #red queen fandom #evangeline samos #mare barrow #elane haven #evangelane #red queen fanfic #rq fanfic #evangeline of montfort #ash garden

[capmerthur]

THE ONCE AND FUTURE FIC

Yet another resurrection fic (sorry?). ARTHUR RETURNS IN CHAPTER 2. Lots of feeeeels, and overdue conversations (at last!) between our precious King and Warlock. Title might change as this goes along, but this has always been the work title in my head since I started thinking about writing it, so… Starts right when 5.13 ends. WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS IN CHAPTER ONE.

Excerpt PART VI:

"All those years; and you never said a word. You knew how and when I was to die; and you never said a word."

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDER CHAPTER VI)

(Sorry everyone - it's been looooong; but I wasn't entirely satisfied with this bit and had to clear it before going on.... here is the revised version, and more will follow !!!) 

 VI. (ARTHUR POV)

("What are you doing here, then? If you neither cured me through the lake nor provoked my return?")

Merlin seems to hesitate - looking embarrassed?

"I was waiting. Since you- I've been waiting for you."

And this just doesn't make sense.

"Why would you think I would, I could, ever come back, if I was...?"

"There is a prophecy, Arthur. So you were to return, in order to fullfill it."

"A prophecy?"

Arthur is stunned shocked. He had expected some malicious sorcery at work and Merlin having heard of it and come over - it would have made sense; and it would have given him the opportunity to fight, if not to save then at least to honour his lost people. But Fate? How is he supposed to make Fate pay? And what is Its intent to begin with? A prophecy about him? Arthur feels powerless. Is his life not even his own?

Then Arthur remembers the puzzling word has passed Merlin's lips once before.

(I'm sorry. I thought I'd defied the prophecy.)

So. Merlin had known about this? Before...? And had never said a word - again? Another secret Merlin has kept from him; but this time, about himself - about *his death*? It feels even worse than Merlin hiding his magic. After all, Merlin's magic concerned Merlin, indeed. But how and why could Merlin - who Arthur considered as his true friend, no matter how often he had repeated they couldn't be - keep something that concerned HIM from him? Especially something that monumental?

It hurts. Arthur wants to scream. But all that comes out is a shocked whisper:

"All those years; and you never said a word. You knew how and when I was to die; and you never said a word."

Merlin looks shattered by the accusation - but he doesn't refute it; only try to explain the unexplainable, eyes apologetic under Arthur's blaming gaze, voice so evidently full of guilt and regrets:

"Because I believed I could actually prevent it from happening, Arthur. You are the once and future king who will unite Albion and bring magic back to the land; and helping you achieve such a goal is to be my destiny. So says the prophecy. So I believed I was the one, the only one, able to prevent it from happening. And as it depended on me alone anyway, I thought I should spare you from the weight of such a burden."

Merlin lets out a deep sigh before meeting his eyes fully again, his voice turning urgent and pleading:

"What was I supposed to say? That your loved ones would turn against you? You wouldn't have believed me. And even if you had... I didn't want you to have to worry all the time and about everything. You have no idea how it feels - the infuriating and desperate helplessness; to constantly fight to stop something you constantly fear, but to see everything you ever try twist and turn against you; to realize at every corner that what you thought you understood means something entirely different; and that nothing you ever do makes a difference in the end... 'Once and future'? I used to think it meant you would win the war; take your throne back for good. Or die trying, by Mordred's hand and Morgana's will - but only if I failed. There were two stories, and I thought it was to be or/or; but it was and/and. I was such a fool, Arthur; such a blind fool. It's only when you- when you- that I understood what it truly meant as a whole."

Merlin sounds utterly sincere; not only heartbroken but even empty after his confession.

And Arthur wants to believe that Merlin's silence had been well-meant.

But Arthur can't help but feel betrayed still, lingering on the echo of yet another odd word he hadn't realized to be literal at the time.

(It's my destiny. As it has been since the day we met.)

And Arthur finally understands what he has never been able to comprehend until now. Merlin's puzzling bone-deep *devotion* to him; that dumbfounding unequivocal absolute *commitment* he has never wanted to doubt nor question. Well; it turns out it has in fact little to do with him... He is just a mean to an end, right? Arthur can't help but replay their shared years through his head now with this new knowledge; and it all slashes through him like a double treachery. Arthur can't even tell what feels the worst:

Did I ever know you at all?

Do you even like me at all?

'I want you to always be you', he had said - and he had meant it: the magic, all in all, had only been an addition to who Merlin was. But this? This isn't a simple revelation. This feels like a revolution - a definitive, shattering change. And it hurts, losing Merlin; even though he's right in front of him. Does the person he had always believed Merlin to be even exist? Yet another grief, on top of his fresh mourning for everyone and everything he's lost...

Arthur's hands turn into fists at his sides to suppress his urge to snarl.

"So that's why you came to Camelot. To fullfill your destiny."

"What? No! I had no idea- My mother hoped Gaius might be able to guide me: I had questions, about my magic, and-"

Merlin seems honestly surprised - and appalled - by his train of thoughts; at once standing and coming closer in his urge to explain. But Arthur moves away, keeping distance between them. He cannot trust anymore in his abilities to see straight through Merlin without further information. He has never seen straight through Merlin, apparently.

"When did you hear about it then?"

"A few days after I had arrived in Camelot", Merlin confesses right away; eyes pleading, definitely understanding the terrible weight of his words yet obviously choosing to come clean - but not moving closer this time, knowing it would only be rejected.

And it's here, again; in those little things. The way Merlin not only respects his boundaries, but respects them *even at his own expense*. The way Merlin has kept so much hidden, and for so long; yet can't actually tell a lie right to his face when asked for the outright truth, even to save his own skin. It cannot be pretense, right? On the one hand, Merlin's face tells him all he needs to know. But on the other hand, Arthur still needs more answers, and he commands them.

"Who told you?" (Not Gaius, right? Please; not Gaius.)

"Kilgarrah."

"Kilga- who?" Arthur is honestly puzzled. He surely never heard of someone with such a name in Camelot.

"The dragon your father kept prisoner under the castle."

"What are you speaking about?" Arthur doesn't let Merlin time to answer though, cutting him once more as he opens his mouth - collateral information must wait for later, when faced with such an enormity. "No matter; one treacherous beast just said (can dragons even talk?) *this nonsense*, and you believed it? It's insane!"

"The druids spoke about it too."

"That's even more insane! Why would the druids trust- They hated Camelot. They hated me."

"They didn't. Not all of them, at least. (helpless sigh) Anyway, the prophecy is truth, Arthur. Your return is proof of it. You were to rise again; when Albion's need would be greatest. And you just did, Arthur. You just did."

The words stab through Arthur, making him see red. So Arthur cannot be softened by the evident not only wonder but even joy in Merlin's voice and eyes and everything. It comes out in a roar.

"My people needed me! What need can ever be greater than that responsability!"

Silence falls, all the more shattering after his outburst.

But Merlin has heard his need for an answer, and so he gives him one - even if it's none; shaking his head in helplessness, voice breaking and eyes begging:

"I do not know, Arthur."

Merlin is nothing but obviously caring, and sorry - sorry for him; holding his gaze with only patience and commiseration - hurt about his hurt, regrets about his regrets, and helplessness about his helplessness.

And somehow, having to see Merlin's hurt and regrets and helplessness feels worse - worse than his own hurt and regrets and helplessness, somehow: because the pain on Merlin's features is his own doing, again - even though Arthur has sworn to himself only moments ago never to hurt Merlin that badly anew; and even though Arthur knows that none of the injustice he feels is Merlin's fault to start with, if everything had already been written in the stars anyway. Arthur now feels guilty for having lashed out.

Besides, Arthur knows his rage cannot and will not change a thing, sadly. Even Merlin's supposedly unparalleled magic is powerless, obviously. So. His whole purpose, his reason to be, has simply vanished. The desperate rage finally turns into crushing grief, the shout into a devastated whisper.

"The only destiny I ever wished for was to be the King Camelot needed. And now Camelot is gone."

"No."

The fiery professed word brings his attention back to Merlin - Arthur hasn't been expecting an answer; it hasn't been a question. Merlin shakes his head, a clear denial; and then kneels down on one knee, all reverent, head bowed down.

"For as long as I draw breath, Camelot still stands, Arthur. I may have grown up in Ealdor, but you have always been and will always be my King."

The words ring nothing but deeply heartfelt. But to Arthur, they only feel infuriating. Merlin officially bowing to him off formal ceremonial occasions makes him sick. Because surely Merlin is deferent in any way but not that one, especially when it's just the two of them. And most of all, because this is fake and wrong. Arthur wouldn't tolerate even for the most helpless person to bow to him simply because he should to start with; so the greatest warlock to walk the Earth, the most powerful being alive probably? The idea isn't only ludicrous, it's simply nauseating.

"Because a prophecy says that you were 'born to serve me'?", Arthur can't help but spit out, knowing now how literally Merlin had meant those words. It is not enough. It could never be enough. Arthur lets out a deep sigh though at the edge he couldn't keep out from his tone, realising in fact and no matter what, he is more angry at Merlin's Fate than at Merlin himself. How come Merlin isn't enraged too, to start with? He is just as much a puppet of Fate as he is, isn't he? "Get up Merlin; this is ridic-"

"Because I wouldn't change a thing, Arthur", Merlin exclames, cutting him mid-sentence. And it is not often indeed that Merlin actually raises his voice in anger at him; and it startles Arthur silent.

Arthur has crossed a line, apparently. The most startling though is to realize that Merlin's lines aren't about himself (he sure never looked angry over buckets full of cold water over his head or anything): they're about Arthur - once about Arthur creeping around in the woods unprotected for example; now about Arthur misreading him. Merlin's eyes are now boring into his, nothing but fierce and ardent; even though his voice turns again gentle and even adamant:

"You are not my King because of a prophecy. You are my King *in spite* of it. I grew up wondering why I was born with the abilities I had, indeed. But when I was told... Believe me, I really didn't want it to be true; at least, you bet I didn't want it to be *about you*. But then... I got to see what you were truly made of; who you really were. And everything I've ever done since then has always been for and because of you. That's why my magic is for you; and only for you, Arthur. Not because I am supposed to; but because I want to. Because I believe in you. And if my destiny is to be of any help to you then I am proud of it indeed - because I am proud of you."

As always, Merlin just sounds sincere, radiating unwavering loyalty; and Arthur is baffled. Can it still be true, despite it all?

"Please get up, Merlin," Arthur repeats, this time more gently.

"Not yet."

Stubborn - as always, again. It would make Arthur smile if it didn't feel so heartbreaking.

But then, Merlin lowers his gaze once more as his hand moves about his collar, and Merlin is presenting him with Camelot's ruler's ring, holding it out.

"Here. Gwen had what is rightly yours - according to each soul in Camelot - sent to me; so that I could give it back to you on your return."

And Arthur is paralyzed. It means so much. But he cannot take it. It is both too much and not enough. And more importantly: he has no right to - he has let his people down.

"Please, Sire."

And Arthur hears the word exactly for what it is. 'Sire' had used to be his official appellation in Merlin's language in their beginning ('My Lord' being restricted for sarcastic comments since its first use). But its meaning has grown over time - as Arthur had let simply his first name or nothing at all become the norm between them - and Merlin only uses it now on special occasions: whenever Arthur needs an extra boost in confidence and Merlin feels like insisting on his allegiance to him. Some things apparently truly never change.

"It doesn't have to be for me; nor for you."

He's transparent to Merlin, isn't he? Always has been, probably. It doesn't feel worrying though. It is a gift, to have someone who understands him that intrinsically.

"It is the wish of your people. Take back your ring. Wear it with pride. For the love of Camelot."

And how could Arthur deny this? The rallying cry is deep embedded in his soul, indeed - and he would never turn it down. No matter his guilt or inadequacy, Arthur will honor his people's will.

"For the love of Camelot."

Arthur finally takes the ring from Merlin's hand and puts it on.

/

AN:

I swear, those two will be the end of me. Everything about them is so LOADED, and it hurts :( Their shared history is heavy. Merlin's lonesome centuries are heavy. Arthur losing in a wink his reason for being is heavy. I'll never rest until they get some happiness, they just deserve it :(

Also, please don't be angry at Arthur. He's not at his best in this bit, I agree; but his purpose for being alive is gone for good and he's supposed to be all right 'because it's meant to be'? He has a lot to go through, and it is a lot to take in. So remember two chapters ago. Arthur isn't good with talking about feelings; but he's brave, and when it matters, he speaks - and he actually said A LOT to Merlin then, for someone usually emotionnally constipated who expresses his affection by throwing punches, right...

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS)

(Warning for this chapter: suicidal thoughts)

I. (MERLIN POV)

Merlin holds Mordred’s sword in his right hand, appraising it. He still can’t believe he has found it; still can’t believe it’s actually in his hands.

Over sixty years now - nothing; yet far too long - Merlin has been waiting for this moment. Since he has begged Freya, and threathened (and apologised - he couldn’t blame Freya for not listening; he wouldn’t have either, if their roles had been reversed), and begged again - in vain, for Excalibur. Since he has finally understood that he was a fool to hold onto hope for something that couldn’t, wouldn’t come to pass. Arthur was *never* coming back: Merlin had simply witnessed enough - he had witnessed too much; and too many times; and definitely one time too much one time too many - to ignore it any longer.

/

It was not that Merlin had grown too tired of waiting - too tired of the ache, the longing, the loneliness… For Arthur? Merlin would *always* wait; however long it might take.

It was not that Merlin had come to believe mankind didn’t deserve Arthur to rise again to start with - even though it *was* an easy conclusion, when it was at its worst, when it turned its anger against itself - too many horrors, atrocities, bloodshed. But mankind could be beautiful, when loving, in any form; and marvelous, too, when it was at its best; when it turned its anger towards its limits: the medical progress over the ages would have had Gaius exhilarated, and proud; and what about its general neverending thirst for discovery, for explorations, for quests? - of course Arthur would come back: if only he could.

It was just that Merlin had finally understood that he had been played - not even because Albion (the name has since long fallen out of use and its people had been scattered through the globe, so it might mean nowadays something else than it had used to to start with) had got united without Arthur (and even if it still only meant Great Britain, well, it might after all need to be united again); but simply because the list of unending reasons why Arthur should have come back to save the day and yet hadn’t (to mention only the very top of the list: half of humanity wiped out in a finger snap by the Black Death? the whole world collapsing in chaos, bend on destroying itself - World War?) had turned out suspiciously too long, and finally impossibly too long, as mankind had truly reached the lowest point not only ever but even possible without Arthur rising yet again (organised experiments and torture on toddlers, honestly?).

So.

Arthur wasn’t ever coming back from the dead, simply because no one ever came back from the dead (except as a shade - and that would be even worse, wouldn’t it? - or at a cost too great to burden anyway). It had been easy to believe in the prophecy; simply because it had been what Merlin had wanted. A distant promise of Arthur returning was still way better than no Arthur at all, and so Merlin had willingly taken the bait. But the fake prophecy had obviously been made up; as revenge, or entertainment - or both; and Merlin had felt stupid for not having realized this ages ago - The Sidhe were proud indeed; and Merlin had thwarted them. (It had been easy to forget it at first - to tell himself that they hadn’t known Arthur was THE Arthur at the time, whatever…) Merlin wasn’t sure about what Kilgharrah might have exactly known or not (On the one hand, Kilgharrah had forged Excalibur, who had always truly helped them. And Merlin had been warned by the Great Dragon, right from the start, and repeatedly; so wouldn’t it all have worked out just fine if he had listened. On the other hand, if he had listened? Wouldn’t he have been a monster, punishing people for crimes they had not yet committed? So maybe giving him the truth had in fact been the sure way to have him not acting on it. After all, Kilgharrah had hated the Pendragons - at least Uther - enough to have tried to wipe out Camelot. And he hadn’t been exactly pleased either to discover Merlin was a Dragonlord, even if he had seemed to soften when he had realized that Merlin would not control him as a puppet. And last but not least, Kilgharrah hadn’t taken care of Aithusa as Merlin had thought he would; and that’s how Aithusa had ended up with Morgana - and had forged the sword that had killed Arthur), but it didn’t change anything anyway…

Well, you bet Merlin hadn’t been willing to indulge them any longer. Not that anger was what was driving Merlin, of course. There was simply *no point* anymore in waiting. Nor in living, to be honest - especially as it might be what kept him from actually finding Arthur again somehow; next life, paradise, wherever and however and whenever? Merlin was no religious man, but even he had no answer about what happened after death after all. Maybe it was worth a shot? It was a very, very thin chance indeed; but it was still more of a chance than just staying here waiting for *nothing*… So. Merlin had begged Freya for Excalibur. But as she had kept absent, it had dawned on him at some point that Excalibur wasn’t the only blade he could use… Merlin had searched for that other mighty weapon through his magic for years; then had sent his creature to retrieve it when he had successfully localized it.

/

And here, now, finally, is Mordred’s sword.

And Merlin feels no dread, no fear, while holding it. If anything, he feels calm - calmer than he has ever been, probably. And that’s how Merlin knows that his decision is indeed right: even his magic agrees.

He should do it in the lake though. Magical artifacts just shouldn’t linger around in the open, huh…

Yes.

Let Mordred’s blade rest along Excalibur.

And let Merlin rest along Arthur.

Freya will make sure they all lay undisturbed.

Merlin blindly pulls at the cord around his neck, taking it out from under his tunic and sliding his left hand along it until it closes around Arthur’s mother sigil (AN) and Camelot’s ruler’s ring (Gwen had it brought to him, so he could give it back to its true owner on his return: Camelot in the meantime was to be ruled by a Concil of Knights and a Guardian, until Arthur would come back to sit on his kept empty throne and his kept empty seat at the Round Table).

Merlin closes his eyes; makes a silent promise.

I’m coming, Arthur.

He takes a first step into the lake.

.

Backstory: +1500 years in short - because it hurts and I just don’t have the heart to fully write the prologue I had intended to write:

Merlin has never left the lake. He kept waiting. He couldn’t, wouldn’t leave, (nor SLEEP even for that matter by the way) no matter for how short - imagine if Arthur came back just when he was NOT there, huh. And of course he wouldn’t trust his magic to warn him somehow - it had failed Arthur when he needed it the most after all. So no. Merlin has never left the lake. But Gaius has mentioned to him (Merlin got visitors, in the beginning (and his mother came to live with him until she died); before he cut himself off the world) how maybe the time he was given without Arthur was to LEARN more about magic; so that he would be prepared when Arthur came back to face whatever ordeal they were supposed to face. Because even if Merlin is hyper *aware* - he feels *everything*, through his magic - practice is necessary too.  So Merlin mastered the art of molding sand/clay and animating it with his magic (basically, he walks the Earth as Old Merlin - because people tends to let old grumpy men on their own - whenever he needs anything physically). He can speak, hear, see, learn, through him, following the world as it expands (America, Australia, etc etc, because even if he was aware they existed, he couldn’t physically *go* there before they were ‘found’). And he can touch, and carry (for example you bet he brought back something red for Arthur to wear every time - Merlin sort of owns a ‘male red mode through the ages’ museum by now - and he hates it, of course).  The first time Merlin has truly thought Arthur *would* come back has been The Great Plague. The second time has been WWI. The last drop has been the Nazis and Unit 731 experimentations.  So Merlin sent its creature to fetch Mordred’s sword after having localized it though his magic - and that’s what Old Merlin is bringing back to him when this all starts (aka that shot at the end of 5.13)…

(AN: Just so you know, Merlin’s magically pierced in the thickness of Ygraine’s sigil to pass a cord - he  wouldn ’t make a hole in the front design of course!)

(Also… A resurrection fic!? What am I getting myself into!? I’m still a newbie around here so I definitely haven’t read enough Merlin fics to ever claim making something original (so by the way, please feel free to let me know your all time favourites resurrection fics! So far I’ve read The Change Trilogy and Like the cycle of the year we begin again (and they’re both gorgeous reads so run and read them if you haven’t yet!) but I haven’t seen (yet?) my take, both on the waiting and on the getting along after Arthur’s return, in the fics I’ve read so far, so I thought I might as well write this down ?)

.

II. (ALTERNATE POV)

Arthur regains consciousness under water.

He’s cold; so cold he’s shaking - helpless, steady spasms he just can’t put an end to (being past half dead apparently has repercussions?). But it’s bright, up over him, and he instinctivally pushes himself up towards the light; towards the air.

The moment he breaks the water, Arthur registers that he’s not only alive but that he feels *just right*. No pain in his side, no weakness, no dizzinesss, no strain: nothing wrong at all - except from the convulsions from the cold, but you bet he’s not going to complain, all considered. The sun is veiled by clouds, but feels nonetheless like a welcomed warmth on his face, and Arthur breathes deep, bringing his arms up and turning his palms towards the warmth too as the tremors start to subdue; he’s alive!; and well! He doesn’t need to pat his absent wound in wonder, nor to look at the water, transparent clear instead of bloodened red, to know that what he feels is true.

Merlin’s done it.

He *has* saved his life.

Again.

It’s both unexpected (Arthur had been so sure he had taken his last breath, when all had finally faded to black) - and yet somehow expected. Magical waters and a sorcerer who knows how to work its power would do wonders, obviously. It has happened before after all, bringing his beloved Guinevere’s spirit back?

A sudden realization; and Arthur can’t help but laugh. And it feels so exhilarating - alive! alive! - the laugh turns into a howl; and Arthur relishes on it, throwing his head back. Honestly? How could he have ever been *so* blind - of course it had been Merlin then too by the water edge, disguised as an old woman!

/

Somewhere on his right, a buoying laugh erupts.

And Merlin knows that laugh. So hearing the exact right tone of that entirely unexpected laughter at once feels as if a vicious invisible hand is squeezing at his heart.

He had forgotten it; he realizes. But he would recognize that howling laugh amongst any other…

Merlin doesn’t dare to *believe*. Cruel hope nonetheless blooms unbidden in his heart, and his eyes can’t help but zero in on the source of that sound.

And it is exactly as it should be; exactly as it has used to be…

There *is* ARTHUR; standing in the lake, water reaching his hips, chainmail glistening, head thrown back as he laughs. (Has anyone ever looked more simply breathtakingly majestic no matter what they did and even without trying?) Merlin can only see his back, but you bet he would recognize the shape of that back amongst any other too.

Merlin’s breath is knocked out of him; and Mordred’s sword falls from his hand.

Merlin knows what he hears and sees *cannot* be true. He has seen the world in a much, MUCH more desperate state without Arthur coming back then. There is absolutely no reason for Arthur to come back right now. So. He is being granted a vision; that’s all. But of course Merlin wouldn’t, couldn’t, try to take his own life anymore, not after having had even just a glimpse… Besides, he has just handed over the last sword that could end him anyway. Merlin has to acknowledge The Sidhe’s thinking; they know exactly well how to play him. But damn, they are vicious.

But no matter the abysmal pain from such a low blow, Merlin still considers this to be a gift, and is determined to draw it out for as long as he will be allowed to. Those few seconds might sustain him for another fifteen centuries to come, and maybe more…

/

Arthur quiets down after a while. Thinking about his savior: where is he?

Arthur scans his surroundings; and the warmth he feels when he finally spots Merlin definitely eclipses the sun.

/

The laughing stops, and Arthur turns, eyes searching; and a bright smile appears on Arthur’s face the moment they find him.

“Merlin!”

Merlin’s knees give out. His name through Arthur’s lips has sounded *exactly* right - righter than in any memory Merlin has relied on to live on hanging onto. And it hurts. The shame, and guilt - to realize he had forgotten *this* too? It shouldn’t have been possible - to have something so dear going misformed; a pale, withered, incomplete, erroneous copy, so far from the original that its truth has disintegrated? Oh yes, it hurts.

And Merlin’s fingers dig; hard, deep into the sand. He cannot reach out. He longs for; he *aches* to - both physically and emotionnally. But he cannot. As long as it’s only his eyes and ears that are deceived, then he can pretend it is true…

Merlin starts to cry. He can’t help it; he cries - as he hasn’t cried since, well, all those years ago: silent tears endlessly streaming down his face, unabached, treacherous; and Merlin hates them - hates the way they blur his vision when he has to - HAS TO - *see*. He is powerless to stop them though.

It is *blinding*.

Merlin has tried, so hard, to keep remembering, to NOT forget. But his memories, even sustained with his magic, have so obviously failed him; haven’t done Arthur any justice at all. Merlin has forgotten so, SO much; and being proven just how much he has actually forgotten slices through him like a knife. The exact darker shade of Arthur’s blond hair when wet. The exact way Arthur stands and moves. The exact sharpness of Arthur’s features - his nose, his cheeckbones, his jawline. The exact shape of that smile - that particular, undeniably fond smile following his name Merlin has used to live for and from. Guilt slashes through him again. How could he have *forgotten* the exact shape of *that* smile; the most precious to him amongst the myriad of each and every of Arthur’s smiles?

/

But then Merlin collapses, instead of cheering with him - he has thought him gone for good? And Arthur suddenly feels like there is still after all a gaping aching wound on his body; but this one deep in his chest, and of his own making. He owes Merlin *everything*, doesn’t he? Yet he has hurt him - and so very severely. Despite it, though, Merlin obviously still cares for him; and so very much… His own behaviour puts Arthur to shame. So. Arthur hadn’t had the time nor the strength to plainly apologize before. But he has now; and he won’t run away from the words that he needs to say - and even more important, that Merlin needs to hear…

/

Arthur is now rushing through the water towards him - so fierce!, so strong!; alive and well!? His smile is gone though; replaced by worry - because of Merlin’s tears, no doubt: yet another reason to hate them then…

And then Arthur is plopping down in front of him, out of breath; and Merlin gets proof again of just how much he had forgotten - the exact colours and depths of Arthur’s eyes! There is now a fragile smile back on Arthur’s face - a soothing smile, meant only for Merlin’s sake; and it’s going to break Merlin’s heart, no doubt.

.

III. (MERLIN POV)

“I’m fine, Merlin. I’m fine.”

And not only the voice is perfect, but the language is the one Merlin hasn’t heard for over a millenium…

“Arthur?” is all Merlin can let out - no more than a somewhat hiccuped whisper as he still has no breath, no voice, to start with; but an obvious plea coming from the depths of his soul. A world of wonder, and longing, and ache, and disbelief, and hope - because no matter what, Merlin can’t help but want; can’t help but hope - in those two syllabs that own his heart. Magic *does* exist, after all; and Merlin would give it all - all the magic he possesses, all his pain, all his hopes, everything - for this vision to turn real.

Arthur’s already fragile smile falters: “Don’t you remember, Merlin. No man is worth your tears.” The reproach is nothing but badly fake though, and Arthur’s voice somehow breaks as it ends: “Especially not me.”

And then suddenly - and so quickly Merlin doesn't register any of it before it has actually happened, and so it is too late for him to move backwards to prevent it from happening - Arthur brings his hands on Merlin's face, gloved fingers brushing his tears away under his eyes - and Merlin can *feel* them!?

Merlin is lost; lost in what he sees, lost in what he hears, and lost in what he feels. Can this be true? Can it truly be true?

But then Arthur starts speaking again - rushed out words leaving Merlin stunned.

"I apologize, Merlin. The way I reacted- (sigh) I deserve all the names you've ever called me and more. I'm thick, and dumb, and *such* an idiot, and a complete dollophead, and a cabbage head, and a prat, and a royal *ass*, and I still don't know what a clotpole exactly is but I'm certain I am the definition for one indeed too. I may have seen anyone with magic turning against me; but I should never have doubted *you*, Merlin. I should have remembered the butterfly (AN)."

Merlin just cannot believe what he's hearing. It's everything he has ever wanted to hear; everything he has ever hoped to hear - so how can it be real?

"But more than anything, I think, I'm sorry because I should have known, Merlin. I called you a liar; looked at you like you had betrayed me. But you've told it. You actually shouted it for everyone to hear; and I believe you nearly told it to me, privately, at least once, and presumably more... But I just didn't want to hear it, did I? So I'm sorry I was such a coward; a *coward*, Merlin. And I'm so sorry, and so ashamed - and honestly I really can't blame you for not trusting me to understand: because you were right; and it guts me, Merlin. And 'There is no place for magic in Camelot'? How hard it must have been for you to say-"

Merlin can't help but shake his head, about to interject. Not because (even if it's true) one exception shouldn't and couldn't be enough to break a rule anyway; at least not at once, and not until Arthur would understand that magic itself isn't corrupt. Not because it hadn't been hard in fact to say those words - at least not hard enough, and that will always feel wrong. But simply because real or not just cannot matter anymore; not when Arthur's gaze is boring into his very core, pleading and honest and full of a guilt Merlin just can't bear to witness: "Arthur-"

Arthur silences him though, cutting him off by shaking him once by the shoulders: “But what counts is that I know, now, Merlin. Your magic is not only part of who you are; it also makes you who you are. And I will trust it; because I trust *you*. You must believe- No, let me rephrase this before you obey me again - because you *always* obey me, don’t you Merlin; even when whatever I say in anger or despair isn’t intended nor meant to be an order; and I’ve done it so often, haven’t I… ‘Do not put me into that position again’? ‘Tell me it’s gone’? (AN) So. Can you believe me; Merlin? It’s not an order; I definitely do not deserve to give you any order at all to start with anyway. You don't even have to forgive me; you shouldn't forgive me maybe. But please, at least, can you b-”

“Of course I believe you. And there is nothing to forgive, Arthur. Nothing.” Merlin half shouts, ancient words flowing instinctively, head skaking 'no’ for emphasis, bringing his hands up to Arthur’s wrists and pushing downwards, keeping Arthur’s hands in place on his shoulders. If this is a waking dream then Merlin never wants to leave it. This is solid enough, real enough, for the rest of his maybe neverending life. “You’re here. You’re well. That’s all that matters, Arthur; I swear that’s all that has ever mattered to me.”

Arthur holds his gaze for a long, long time; as if waiting for Merlin’s clear eyes to betray his words. And when he finally seems confident enough that they are indeed genuine, he whispers, but it sounds like a pledge: “And you’re here, Merlin, and you’re *you*; and I swear that’s all that will matter to me from now on.”

.

AN: Tiny quote from my Body Swap fic; sorry, I just couldn’t NOT put it there, it just FITS…

(Also, just imagine they speak in old brittonic… but please don’t expect me to write it? sorry?)

.

IV. (MERLIN POV)

Arthur squeezes his shoulders one last time and then lets go, about to stand.

“Now, let’s go home. We have a feast to prepare in your honor.”

Merlin cannot tell if his heart has just completely healed or totally disintegrated. Let’s go home?

It’s real! Of course it’s real. If Arthur doesn’t know- It’s real! Arthur is truly back! And that’s…

But *Arthur doesn’t know*. And so *Merlin will have to tell*.

Merlin blanches. He feels guilty, anew. Because he has hoped and prayed and begged for Arthur to return; with everything he had. He has been selfish, hasn’t he? And he has been blind; stupidly blind - again. All those years he has prepared for taking care of a still bleeeding wound, for clothes, for food, for any necessities; but it has never crossed his mind that Arthur wouldn’t know… and he is not prepared for Arthur’s emotional pain; and even less for causing it. Some small part of Merlin can’t help but wish now that Arthur had stayed in the lake after all, had never awoken. It’s too cruel. Merlin shouldn’t be the one to break Arthur’s heart.

Arthur is reading his panick wrong, of course:

“Don’t worry- No one else has to know about your magic if you don’t want to. But you DID end the war, Merlin; you did what I couldn’t do - Morgana… All Camelot should know what they owe y-”

And Merlin can’t bear Arthur’s concern on his behalf any longer; making it last feels like a betrayal. And no matter how much Merlin doesn’t want Arthur to get hurt, ever, he cannot and will not lie - not about this. Conjuring ghosts wouldn’t be real and would only make it worse in the end anyway. The only option is a clear cut, right away.

“It’s not- (deep breath) I’m so sorry, Arthur. We cannot go home. You were gone. For such a long time. For such a long, long time, Arthur. I’m so, so, sorry.”

And Merlin watches, feeling his eyes filling up once more, as Arthur’s eyebrows furrow in incomprehension; as Arthur blinks, taken aback as realization hits; as Arthur’s eyes turn desperate and pleading, shaking his head in denial-

“No. I remember just-” His voice falters as he probably notices the house behind them - the house that definitely hadn’t been there before - and who knows what more (trucks on the road farther away? joggers in strange clothes passing by?) “And you look exactly-”

And Merlin has nothing to say, nothing to offer, to soothe the hopelessly growing pain ready to crush his King, hollow him out - nothing but the cruel testimony of his once more, always, useless tears; and Arthur knows, indeed.

It comes out as a whisper, but it sounds as if Arthur’s spirit has gone with it, vacillating.

“They’re all-”

And the only thing Merlin can say still is: “I’m so sorry” - again.

“My people? My Knights? My- Guinevere…”

And it hurts. Oh, it hurts; to have to see Arthur’s broken heart on his face, to hear its crack as his voice breaks on his Queen’s name and his head turns away.

“I’m so sorry.”

A litany; a chant; a prayer. Over, and over, and over. Pointless, worthless, useless, anyway; as his King cries silent tears, all the more shattering by their quietude…

Then Arthur is up and pacing, a fierce but dark spark in his eyes as his hands turns into fists - anger, rage; of course.

“Why did you bring me back then? How could you bring me back if-?”

And Merlin would gladly take a blow; if it could help Arthur to feel better, somehow. But nothing comes. It’s Arthur. Of course nothing comes.

Arthur briefly closes his eyes, inhaling sharply. And when he opens them again, Arthur’s anger hasn’t faded; but isn’t directed towards Merlin anymore.

“But then; you would have brought me back right away, wouldn’t you have - if it had been in your power…”

And Merlin feels crushed, again; by how he *always* fails Arthur, indeed.

“I’m so sorry…”

.

AN: I realize I do have a thing for Merlin crying - blame it on Colin’s A+ crying performances - so of course it has to appear somewhere… Merlin will not weep though for much longer, if it can reassure you…

.

V. (ARTHUR POV)

Merlin hasn't said the word; but Arthur heard it anyway.

Dead.

He'd been dead.

And for such a long, long time, Merlin had said; even though it feels merely minutes since he closed his eyes?

It makes no sense; it feels unreal - impossible. Merlin hasn't aged a day...

And yet... The grief in Merlin's eyes tells him it's true. Everyone he knows, except Merlin, is gone. Arthur doesn't know what feels worse. To know that he will never see any of them again; or to know that he has failed them all... He feels unfulfilled, hollowed out; utterly lost, even though knowing exactly where he is...

He feels furious, too. What is the point of coming back to life, if it's coming back *too late*?

But Arthur simply knows, somehow, that Merlin - who has literally collapsed upon seeing him emerge from the lake; who has seemed so utterly shattered by his apology; and who looks now so honestly sorry for his loss, gazing up at him from the ground, nothing but stabbing understanding and concern in his eyes - isn't to blame for that lost time.

Which means his presence, here and now, is puzzling indeed:

"What are you doing here, then? If you neither cured me through the lake nor provoked my return?"

.

@clone-number-1

#merlin #merthur #bbc merlin #merthur fic #bbcmerlin #the once and future fic #my own two spells #fic #fanfic #text

[tales-from-exo-planet]

YÚNNÁN || PATHCODES VOL. II

ACT I. “Kuoshi” Length - 3,096 Mood - Resentment, Confusion, Pairing - Yixing x Reader Trigger Warning - mention of suicide “Baby tonight, forget your worries I’ll use my warmth to embrace you/Baby tonight, the anticipated sound of the clock strikes/Baby tonight, let the story flow like this/This is the time to decide the unforeseeable future/Baby tonight, I need to hold you tonight to relieve the worries ”

“Tonight” by Zhang Yixing _______________ December

Mending.

It was the second time you’d taken a walk down the hall since arriving back at your office this morning.

Except this time you took the stairs instead of the elevator down to the first floor.

Out to the lobby.

Out to the fresh air.

Of the Spring City.

“Ma’am, shall I have a car brought around? My apologies for not having a car ready ahead of time,” the attendant commented as soon as he saw you pass over the threshold of the lobby doors, your cane clicking into place beside you.

Perhaps you only sensed a slight irritation in the way he looked at you when you smiled, and shook your head that “it’s not a problem.”

“My apologies nonetheless ma’am. Please be careful,” he stated, a slight derisive tone in his voice as you moved past him and down the steps to the busy street below.

It took some doing to keep up with the flow of foot traffic now that you were up once again from your desk, but you welcomed the challenge eagerly, preferring to be out amongst the fresh air than waiting another moment for him to return. 

You’d talked about this meeting with Yixing briefly over the past couple of weeks, once he’d received the official invitation to the Governor’s residence.

The general headquarters for Yixing’s conglomerate had been a flutter since it’s arrival, and request for Yixing’s presence in early December.

“Of course you will accept this offer of appointment to aid the Governor of Yunnan, Yixing. His is the second highest office available to a public official within our province. He is second only to the Secretary of the Provincial Congress. It is what we have been waiting for. Your parents would be proud,” his advisors had insisted once he’d finally opened the letter.

It had been hand delivered by a personal messenger from the Governor, who was tasked to wait for Yixing’s response.

You had been in the middle of planning the first Return to Terra festival to be held in a yet to be decided public square following Kyungsoo’s short visit some months before when the letter had arrived that stalled all conversation that had previously been underway.

The look on Yixing’s face was bound, and refined, even when his glance passed over you.

But you’d expected nothing less.

Following your return to work, a slim white unaddressed envelope greeted you on your desk one morning, within which was a small stack of photographs of you, and Yixing.

In public.

In moments that you trusted to have been private.

And a single note.

“Is this what a Foreign Direct Investment does for the people of Yunnan? Will this bring prosperity to our province?”

And though you wanted to throw the note out the window, you braced yourself against your desk, fighting the urge to scream as you counted down from 10 before dialing Yixing’s office, and asking his secretary to schedule a meeting with him before lunch.

Instead, he came immediately following your call.

You stood by the window, hearing him enter.

His breath came, and escaped him as if he’d run the flights down to your office in a frenzy.

“Baobei, what happened? What’s-”

You felt the wind knocked out of you for a second time as you heard his confused stutter into shocked silence as he looked at the photos you’d spread across your desk, and the lone note whose handwriting you didn’t recognize.

“Baobei, I can fix this. Just let me bring this to my advisors-”

“Yixing, you cannot fix this. Look at what the rest of the note says,” you spoke slowly, calmly.

A pause as he did as you asked, before a flurry of movement upon your desk as he looked for the unfolded photocopy of the report filed with the Central Commission for Discipline Inspection detailing improper usage of company funds earned through an international financial agreement for personal/recreational benefit, and lewd public behavior.

The second claim was out of spite, but the first claim brought a cold chill to your spine.

A shroud of shame snaking its way around your ankles, tying you in place.

Not only had the Butler violated your peace.

Now his employer haunted your every move.

“But for some reason you chose to go back there. You’ve made your choice. Now stick with it…”

“It’s not over _____,” he said to you from far away, across the wind, across the world.

And you turned to him, your cane made of the pure iron of Yixing’s mines, tapping a meditative semi-circle at your feet as you faced him with fresh tears in your eyes.

“Yixing, it is over. It is. You cannot risk your businesses for me. I will not let you. There have been too many officials that have been brought to justice within the past six months by this one commission for crimes I hadn’t dreamed of. There is a serious effort being made to stamp out any whiff of corruption. Don’t tell me that you forgot the official who committed suicide after being found out not only for shady business dealings, but for keeping several mistresses. Impropriety, and indiscretion is not tolerated Yixing. Never. We can-”

“We cannot just give up. You are not, and have never been my mistress. We have not misused-”

“It doesn’t even matter if we did not misuse company funds. It doesn’t matter where the money came from. It doesn’t matter if their claims were unfounded. Yixing don’t you see?!” You felt the air chilling within you as you looked at him, seeing him in his willful innocence, and faithful morality. Seeing his pure susceptible heart, and wanting to forcefully protect it, and yourself.

“_____-”

“Yixing once they start looking into your history, they will ask about me. They will ask about this mysterious accident you have made up. They will ask what really happened. And then they will find out about the Butler. It is over, Yixing,” you stepped back as he moved forward, your cane clattering to the floor, abruptly abandoning your hands in your hurry to move away, and shield yourself from comfort.

But he moved swiftly still, catching you before you slid to the hardwood floor.

“Why are you asking me to give you up?” his grip was gentle where he supported you, but you knew that he was ever mindful that he was protecting you from the rage resounding within his own body.

“I am not asking you. The world demands it. I have compromised you. I have compromised myself. I have shamed your office. I-”

“How we feel about each other is a shame?” He was genuinely surprised, his clear eyes clouded in vivid grief of which you could not see through to the end.

“How do we feel about each other? Is it real? Was it convenient for you? Having me here at the office? Why-”

“Why are you looking for a way out? Are you asking me to be angry with you? To resent you? Why are you running away?” You were horrified at the sound of it. At the truth of it. Of how real it had become, and how much you didn’t want to be part of this pain.

“Will you think for just a moment? Can you forget me for just a moment and think about the people of your province? The promise I made to you when we first met? That is why I’m here,” you had been keeping your eyes on your own hands holding his forearms within his silk white button down sleeves, willing your core to remain strong as you’d learned in physical therapy to keep yourself upright.

One of his hands lifted to your chin, propelling your gaze upward as the thunder, and rain of the rage within his eyes bore down on you.

“Is that the only reason why you’re here?”

“Yixing-”

“I need to know now so that I can plan my next move,” the lightning flashed closer.

You shook your head, willing him to stop, and to let you go.

“Yixing-”

“Yes or no?” He snapped.

“N-no,” you breathed, and he exhaled hotly, pulling away from you so that he could stand.

He crossed to your desk, quickly gathering the photographs, and the note, placing them neatly into the slim envelope as if they were documents he was going to ask his secretary to file away.

You waited, watching the muscles in his back twitch as he stood with the envelope placed upon the desk as it had been when you arrived.

His arms were spread out before him, his open palms flat against the desk as he leaned forward, his head bent in serene thought.

You picked up your cane, and held it between both hands, waiting.

“We will apologize to the staff. I will schedule it. I will meet with the Commission tomorrow morning. I will fix this,” he stated simply as if he was telling you what he’d like to have for dinner.

He turned to you, the rage shifting wildly within his eyes.

“I will fix this,” he said airily.

And the following afternoon, following his impromptu meeting with the Commission, within his own office he apologized to the staff for his indiscretion in revealing the intimacy of your growing personal relationship, and vowed to behave more appropriately in the public sphere.

“Going forward, I will honor my position, and your investment into this company. I will honor my commitments, and I will not disgrace you, nor your efforts to serve my selfish desires. Please accept my apology. If you do not, and wish to be parted from this business, I will do my best to understand, and respect your decision,” he said with head bowed to his advisors.

You also bent beside him, your cane biting within the palms of your hands as you held tight to it for support as you waited for their acceptance, or denial of your apology.

“We will only accept, if you truly move forward with dignity. You risk not only your public image, and your family’s hard work, Yixing. You risk our image, and our hard work. You risk the livelihood, and happiness of the people of Kunming, and of Yunnan. You have been tasked with an incredible duty. Please see to it, that you behave accordingly, and with honor as you have promised us once again,” his eight wisened advisors commanded in earnest unison.

Within their acceptance, you heard all the things you had feared, and known to be true.

Effective immediately, you were a ghost.

Unwanted.

You saw within their eyes, the pictures they had taken.

The anger in their hearts, as they drafted the official report, and mailed it to the Commission.

The immediate glacial distance between you bore a distinct atmospheric change within the office that Yixing’s staff seemed unsure whether to welcome, or question.

You arrived to the office separately each morning, and returned to your separate homes when your work was completed.

When you were in his presence, you pretended not to know what it felt like to be in those arms, or to have those same fingers in your hair signing off, and drawing up new plans for Yixing’s commitment to the Pathcodes.

A commitment he had not yet asked you to consider.

“Let me know if it ever becomes too much,” he whispered to you between chaste kisses in the elevator of his headquarter building before stepping away cleanly as the doors opened, his lips pressed into a pleasant crease as if you’d only asked him to turn around so you could adjust his tie before he was off flying to Berlin, heading to the office, or making a trip to the mining or farming sites he managed.

At first, when he also began to privately see a therapist after an initial consultation with _____ (London Reader) as part of your prior rehabilitation agreement you thought his consistent soft spoken reminder was an acknowledgement to what suffering he thought you had endured, and what he had spoken about with her, and his assigned therapist you’d yet to meet or hear anything more about.

But over the past year those words, and that phrase he would utter right before pulling away from you, felt more, and more like he was pulling the chair out from under you, and watching to see whether you were strong enough now to make it on your own independent of him.

It took everything in you to stop seeing yourself as a burden to him.

But you wondered.

You wondered when he hired a fresh group of interns, and staff to maintain the accounts you managed since your solemn apology.

“I would appreciate all of you taking the time to learn the extent of the work ______ maintained during her time here with us. I would appreciate the same level of care, and attention that ______ paid to these accounts,” you’d heard Yixing, and watched as if from behind a wall of impenetrable glass, your hands sweating, and itching as you stood before the assembly of bright eyed, hungry souls focused on the man beside you.

On the man who would lay you down again tonight.

Tonight.

“I’m willing to give up everything for you..”

“How is taking everything away from me, giving everything up for me?”

*Heated, palpable silence*

“What will there be left for me, if I’m pushed to the sidelines here?”

“What do I look like coming in to work, and supervising the work that I was meant to do?”

*Tension in his jaw*

“You have to understand baobei…”

“What is there to understand when you don’t talk to me? How am I supposed to know the plans when you don’t-”

*Living, breathing fire in his deep umber, and coffee eyes*

“Why do you want to fight? What do you want me to do? You told me it was over! You asked for this!”

“I said that we couldn’t keep seeing one another at the office. But I didn’t say that my job was over. I didn’t say that I was done working. I didn’t say I wanted out of the business. I want you to talk to me! Stop treating me like I’m damaged goods! Stop tiptoeing around me!”

“Oh?”

*Fire building in your chest, billowing, higher & hotter*

“Yixing, get out. Get out, damnit! Get OUT!”

“Don’t raise your voice when you could simply tell me what the matter is. That’s what children do…”

“Get the hell out!”

Days of silence in the sunlight.

Weeks of solitary quiet that he would be away, while you were supposed to be healing, and focusing on your health following your unfortunate accident.

Hushed apologies when he would return with flowers.

And apologies. “I should not have said that…”

“I have so much on my mind…”

“I want to do this right…”

“We never seem to have enough time…”

But he wouldn’t stay the night.

“They’re not here Yixing. They don’t know that you’re here unless you tell them.”

You hated the way you were pleading with him with your eyes, your lips, your mouth, your cold heart.

Gasping for the air he denied you of when he disappeared to once again be on assignment, to be responsible, to be who he was before you met one another.

To continue on while you were on hold.

Because he had promised.

And you made him promise.

A whole world of possibilities open to him that you were denied privilege except when the air within you cooled, and he suddenly came willingly, and frequently, and lovingly.

“I want us to have a future. But I have to protect you. You have to understand. When you are ready, the Pathcodes could be where we begin once again. But you have to decide. I can no longer have you associated with my businesses in the way that you were before. It’s too dangerous. The Pathcodes is a new opportunity. I want to offer a different aspect of Yunnan there…and you can be instrumental in that. Together, we can create something altogether new, right _____? Right baobei?”

*Kisses, tenderness, apologies, loving. So much loving. So many promises. Blissful, unhurried union*

But in the daylight you walked to Dongfeng square alone, wandering to the vendor selling the steamed spring rolls you liked.

She prepared two cartons of juanfen the way you liked before you had to open your mouth, and ask with drool dribbling down the side of your mouth.

“Shall I make a third? He’s not coming today?” She asked, as she squinted behind you as if she could see him sprinting to catch up.

As if he’d just let you walk ahead.

You shook your head, offering her the precise amount bidding her farewell before ducking out of the smoke, and back up the walk to your office building.

You walked carefully, proud of the way you balanced the plastic cartons as you made your way back up the stairs to your office, faltering on at the door when you met eyes with Yixing leaning against your desk.

“I thought you were with the Governor?” you asked, looking at him with his arms folded across his chest in his black Valentino trench with cream detail.

He looked at the juanfen in your hands, licking his lips quickly as he moved forward towards you, his expression vacant.

Not yet.

Not here.

“There are some people here that I’d like for you to meet,” he gestured you forward with his hand, taking the piping hot juanfen from your hands, and placing it on your desk before he led you out, and down the hall to the conference room where you came face to face with two women, and one very familiar smiling face.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I am so glad to see that you’re in much better health,” one of the women said as she reached out a hand to you in greeting, coming forward as soon as you stepped into the room behind Yixing, her heels clicking across the floor as she moved towards you.

While maintaining a solid grasp on your cane with your dominant hand, you reached out to her, taking her hand in yours and giving it a firm shake as you returned her smile hesitantly.

She also stood to the side, allowing her associate _______ (Almaty Reader) to step forward and greet you in similar fashion, though she moved noiselessly.

“Hopefully this meeting will allow us to iron out the last details we need for our Christmas Gala. Minseok was insistent on planning taking place here in Yunnan instead of at the venue in Berlin where it will actually be taking place…something about Yixing being unable to leave as he was already tied up here?” The lilt at the end of her phrase suggested to you that she knew no more than you did, and you tried to hide your disappointment at the lack of insight she was able to provide.

Yixing cleared his throat, pushing aside the question ________ (Almaty reader) brought up as he held your hand much more firmly in his as he introduced Minseok once again.

“Ah, it’s wonderful to finally meet you once again ______, and thankfully in much better health. I realize that Yixing has been unable to share much with you recently, what with all the changes occurring here at the office. Please forgive us for coming up so suddenly, and not offering a warning. If you have the time, we’d love to speak with you about what we have come to call the Pathcodes. It is a venture I think we could utilize your expertise in. You have been a tremendous help to Yixing here, and he believes that you could continue that within the Pathcodes. ______ (Berlin reader), and ______ (Almaty reader) have prepared a packet for you with some options to consider. If you could please have a seat,” Minseok gestured to you, cleanly pulling you forward from Yixing’s grasp to settle into a chair you’d sat in on occasion, but now came to as if transported into an altogether new space.

His eyes were dazzling.

The fragrance of his breath inviting.

The way he spoke to you.

The way he lifted you clean away.

Up, and above.

Beyond.

To a different dimension.

To a world entirely away from the weighted fog you sifted through day in, and day out.

A world where you were no longer bound to the perimeter.

Tied up, and away.

Forsaken.

Grounded.

You were exposed to the air.

Your hair.

Your skin.

Your body alive.

Your movement free.

Relieved.

Of consequence.

Punishment.

Possibility.

Was Yixing there too?

Could he be there waiting for you?

Unbound?

When had you been given the code for entry?

#exo fanfic #Pathcode AU #lay fanfic #yixing fanfic #Human realm #universe gamma

[the-everlasting-dream]

The Revelation AU - Drake x MC, Part 5

Summary: As Elizabeth’s life hangs in the balance, her friends are faced with the harshness of reality while they wake for her to wake up. 

A/N: Y’ALL ASKED FOR IT! Here is the beginning of the angstiest possible route to a happy ending (that will come eventually). This was the hardest one to write because of all the different perspectives but I hope I did them justice? After this cliff hanger you may experience extreme shock, disbelief and denial so please have mercy on this writer when you grab your pitchforks. 

Also special thanks to @chantelle-x0x for making the character aesthetics for this chapter! She is amazing at this as I have told her so many times before! 

Word count:  5400  This is the longest one in the series, I apologise but I couldn’t have split it any other way. 

Warnings: Brief mentions of blood, injury, death, grief.  

CATCH UP HERE

Two days after the accident...

HANA

BREAKING NEWS: CORDONIA’S NEWEST DUCHESS, ELIZABETH RICHMOND HAS HAD A TRAGIC ACCIDENT AT THE CORMERY ISLE. EYEWITNESS ACCOUNTS STATE THAT THE CAUSE WAS AN UNSTABLE BALCONY IN THE VANCOUER MANSION. 

In her assigned room in the Vanceour estate, Lady Hana Lee sat in darkness, listening to the Cordonian radio host break the news to the country. She felt a sudden chill at his words and pulled the wooden blanket draped over her shoulders tighter around her body. The events of the last twenty-four hours had been a blur to her in the moment and now a tear slipped down her face as the truth of what had taken place started to really hit home. 

Elizabeth had fallen off a balcony. Elizabeth.

The thought seemed so misplaced. This was the kind of thing that happenned in books or movies, not real life.. And definitely not to someone she knew, her friend.. 

Hana had arrived back from Cordonia’s general hospital barely an hour ago where the doctors worked around the clock to save Elizabeth’s life. Her friend had still been in surgery when Liam finally convinced the rest of them to get some sleep. 

Drake, however, would not be moved. 

 He had remained stubbornly glued to chair in the waiting room, seated closest to the door that the medical professionals came through to report on the outcomes to the various surgeries that were taking place. His messy brown hair was clutched tightly between his fingers, he had only moved to lift his head each time he heard the door open. Despite his heavy eyes and exhausted body, he'd roughly declined any offer for rest or sustenance, ignoring Hana's pleas and Maxwell’s cajoling until Liam had put his hands on their shoulders, shaking his head and their efforts ceased. 

 After hearing about the commotion at the end of the press conference, she along with Maxwell and Liam had all come running to the press room but upon hearing a rough scream, they diverted their path to the heritage room. There they were shocked to have found Drake lying on the edge of the dilapidated balcony screaming Elizabeth’s name until his voice raw. Liam’s shaking fingers had the emergency services in the scene in record time but the wreckage was so severe that they had to radio in for a helicopter to rescue Elizabeth. Hana remembered Drake’s eyes wild and desperate, ready to throw himself off the cliff’s edge when he’d heard this. 

 ‘Fuck them, I’ll climb down and get her myself!’ 

 He would have nearly succeeded if Liam and Bastien had not held him back. When they’d finally reached the hospital after following in a car, Elizabeth had immediately been taken to the emergency room and they’d had little more than a small glimpse of her bloodied figure before she was wheeled into the surgery. A clipboard had been thrust into Hana’s hands and she was instructed to fill out Elizabeth’s personal details. She paused, pen hovering over the space labelled ‘Patient Full Name.’ It was only then that the group realised how little they knew about their friend... 

 ‘I know that one,’ Maxwell chimed in unexpectedly. ‘Elizabeth Aishwarya Richmond.’ 

Three heads whipped around to stare at him. ‘How do you know that?’ Drake asked almost menacingly, eyes narrowed. 

 Maxwell visibly panicked at the question. ‘Uhm.. I just asked her one day?’ 

Hana watched as Drake hung his head. ‘She never mentioned that to me. And I-I never thought to ask,’ he remarked hollowly, shuffling his feet a little. ‘Some fiance I’d have been, I didn’t even know her full name…’ 

‘Don’t worry about it man,’ Liam replied, patting his arm gently. ‘It's not a big deal anyway. None of the rest of us knew...’ 

Drake nodded vaguely despite the tears shining in his eyes and between the four of them, they managed to complete the form.   

It was 2.30am now. 

Something inside Hana gave way and she fell to her knees, seeming to lose the ability to hold herself up as sobs wracked her body. The adrenaline of the last few days had finally worn off giving way to a profound sense of exhaustion in more than just the physical sense of the word. 

This was Elizabeth, her best friend, her first real friend. The first person to see past the facade she’d been trained all her life to put forward to the woman she was underneath. Where she had been scolded for voicing her opinion and punished for the slightest mistake, her friend had instead offered encouraged and advice and Hana had found herself growing bolder and bolder, taking control of her own life for the first time in her twenty-six years. 

Elizabeth had believed in her even before Hana did herself and if she was gone, who would believe in her now? 

 The weight of this hit Hana hard as infinite possibilities and scenarios swirled in her mind. If Elizabeth died what would happen to her? Where would she live? Who would she go to for advice? Her parents wouldn’t take her back now that she’d scorned them so where else could she go? 

Depressed at her meagre prospects, Hana sunk into the mattress before shooting back up and grabbing her phone, double checking that the ringer was on full volume. Liam had promised to let them know the moment that there was any word about Elizabeth and as her friend’s life hung in the balance, Hana would have never forgiven herself if she missed the chance to say goodbye.  

Nine days after the accident...

MAXWELL

DUCHESS ELIZABETH RICHMOND REMAINS IN HOSPITAL IN A COMA FROM HER INJURIES. THERE HAS BEEN NO MENTION OF WHEN THE DUCHESS WILL RETURN TO HER DUTIES AND EARLIER THIS WEEK KING LIAM OFFICIALLY CALLED OFF THE UNITY TOUR IN LIGHT OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES.   

Maxwell Beaumont almost dropped his phone on the brick path as something tugged abruptly on his arm, jerking his eyes away from the news article he was reading. He looked down at the corgi attached to the leash in his hand, its brown eyes and wagging tail made it hard not to smile. He crouched down to rub Cooper’s ears. The dog cocked its head slightly, letting out a small whine and Maxwell thought he saw a glint of sadness in its usually playful gaze. 

'I know boy,' he said wistfully, scratching the corgi's head. 'I miss her too.’ 

 Ever since he and Bertrand had returned home to Beaumont estate, taking Elizabeth’s corgi on walks had become a daily ritual for him, something to get his mind off everything that was happening. Most days it worked as it gave Maxwell something to do while the whole country stood at a standstill, hold their breath as they waited for news about the condition of their favourite duchess. That was easier said than done however and now he couldn’t help as his mind slipped back into the events of the past week. 

*Flashback*

The doctors and surgeons had worked around the clock, racing against time and after almost 40 hours in surgery, Elizabeth had eventually pulled through narrowly avoiding the worst. When they had finally been able to see her, Elizabeth had been wrapped in so many bandages and wound dressings that he had barely recognised the woman he had come to call his best friend. Deep purple circles splayed out under her eyes and her mocha skin looked pale under the harsh fluorescent lights. Her mouth and nose were covered by a large oxygen mask, in fact her face was hardly visible under the bandages around her head. A nurse was adjusting the various tubes connecting her to various machines, the ventilator, drip, heart rate monitor. More bandages covered her limbs and unmissable, the ones spanning dangerously across her stomach tinged slightly red. 

 Maxwell gulped at the sight.  ‘W-what happened to her?’ His voice came out in a hoarse croak, shattering the thick silence that had developed as they crowded together in the small room. 

‘She fell off the balcony Maxwell,’ Bertrand’s dry tone held irritation. 

 The younger Beaumont felt the unfamiliar rush of red hot anger course through him as he turned on his brother. ‘You know that's not what I meant. Tell me exactly what happened.’ 

‘Maxwell you wouldn’t-’ 

He didn’t let him finish. 'Wouldn’t what Bertrand? Wouldn’t be able to cope with the truth? Wouldn’t be able to understand all the technical terms? Because I’m too dumb? Or maybe you think I’ll make a joke about it? You think I can’t take this seriously?! She’s my best friend and I demand to know what’s wrong with her!!’ 

‘Maxwell stop!’ Hana’s panicked tone pierced through the fog of rage and emotion. 

Collecting himself, Maxwell realised that he had been gripping the lapels of Bertrand’s blazer so tightly they’d begun to tear. Releasing his brother, he dusted off his hands taking a moment to organise his thoughts before he regarded his friends expectantly. 

 ‘Well?' 

Liam answered this time, struggling to keep his voice steady. 'She’s sustained a serious head injury and a few broken ribs, fractured pelvis, broken shoulder as well as a collection of cuts and bruises from the debris of the balcony. There was a lot of internal bleeding thats why the surgery took so long. The doctors said it would have been worse. She was really lucky that she’d only fallen about 25 feet and not the entire length of the cliff. Her broken bones will heal but at this point its the head injury they’re more worried about.’ 

The gravity of his words plunged the room into silence, yet again save for the beeping of the various machines around Elizabeth’s bed. Maxwell inched forward reaching forward hesitantly to touch her hand. Just as his fingers made contact however, a frenzied beeping sounded out and Elizabeth’s body started to spasms and shudder violently. 

'What’s happening? Why is she doing that?’ Maxwell screeched, panic flowing through him. 'Nurse, nurse, someone help!' 

In the blink of an eye, three nurses entered the room, one turning to the group. ‘Your Majesty, Your Graces I have to ask you to leave the room please. We need to stabilise her now.’ 

Before he knew what was happening, Maxwell had been pulled into the hallway and the door was shut in his face. He whirled on Drake, shoving two hands against his friend’s chest roughly. 

'You were supposed to look after her man! You were supposed to protect her!' 

'You think I don’t know that? You think this is easy for me? To see her like that?’ Drake’s entire body was taut as he pulled himself to full height a few inches taller than Maxwell. ‘You were just her friend I was the one meant to be marrying her!’ 

Both of them were locked in a tense standoff, hands balled into fists, neither wanting to back down. Around them, other hospital patrons watched in surprise. 

‘Maybe its a good thing you didn’t then because look where she ended up!’ He spat in reply. 

‘Say that again I dare you.’ His friend's voice was dangerously low but Maxwell didn’t care. 

‘Come on Maxwell. You’re making a scene,’ Bertrand swooped in, gripping his arm as he yanked him away from the other man. 'We’re going home.’ 

*End of flashback* 

‘Maxwell!’ His brother’s voice cut through the memory as he approached. ‘Hurry up! We’re late to fetch Elizabeth’s parents from the airport!’ 

 Maxwell shot to his feet. ‘Chanaya and Danvir? I totally forgot they were arriving today.’ 

‘Thats Mr and Mrs Richmond to you,’ Bertrand reminded him. 'Yes well they have had quite a few complications with their travel arrangements but they will be arriving soon.’ 

 Maxwell had coaxed the corgi back to the house following his brother when something occurred to him.   

 ‘What about the Marquess and Neville?’ 

Bertrand’s face darkened frighteningly. ‘They’ll be paying for that if King Liam or I have anything to say about it,’ he replied in his signature Duke of Ramsford tone that Maxwell had heard many times but he noted that this time it was different. 

The threat held in the words was very real and the younger Beaumont almost shuddered, glad that he wasn’t on the receiving end this time.

Fifteen days after the accident...

KIARA

AND NOW FOR OUR DAILY CHECK-IN ON DUCHESS ELIZABETH: THERE HAS BEEN NO OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT FROM THE ROYAL PRESS SECRETARY BUT AN INSIDE SOURCE HAS CONFIRMED THAT THE DUCHESS’ CONDITION HAS STABILISED HOWEVER THE FULL EXTENT OF HER INJURIES WILL ONLY BE KNOWN WHEN SHE COMES OUT OF A COMA.

‘Off to the hospital mon chere?’ Joelle asked her only daughter as she watched her head for the door. 

 ’Non Maman. King Liam has moved her to a secure ward not too far from the palace,’ Kiara answered, ducking into the lounge room of their manor where her mother sat watching the news. Her eyes flitted to the shot of the wreckage on screen and she instinctively clutched the bunch of flowers in her hands tighter. 

‘Bien sur. Please send her my best and to Drake too. Those poor things…’ Joelle sighed turning back to the screen. ’Such a terrible tragedy to happen to such a lovely pair. You’re sweet to go and visit her.’ 

The knot in her chest only tightened when Kiara heard her mother’s words. After the accident, she had feigned sickness and returned home where she had buried herself in her diplomatic duties instead, determined to shut everything out as the country was shocked by the news. Her parents were happy to have her home but they were too busy to notice the change in their daughter. Her brother Ezekiel had approached her attempting to extract the truth but she had pushed him away. 

All the guilt and regret she had been trying to shove down over the past two weeks now bubbled up dangerously. It had kept her up late, preventing her from sleep as she tossed and turned thinking of what she could have done. It had kept her from going to see Elizabeth even though she knew she should have and after two weeks of talking herself up to it, she had finally mustered up enough courage to go. Her mother’s tone was gentle and admiring but instead, Kiara eyes filled with tears and her lower lips began to wobble. She couldn’t keep what had happened to herself   

 ‘Maman..’ Her voice was small, squashed by the guilt again now as she toed her way around the couch. 

 ‘Oui?’ Joelle answered vaguely, her attention still on the TV. 

‘Maman,’ she began again unable to stop her voice from cracking. ‘It's all my fault.’ 

‘What do you mean cherie?’ Her mother turned to her confused. ‘Mon chere you can hardly blame yourself for what happened.' 

The dam of feelings that had built up over the past fortnight finally burst and Kiara sunk down beside her mother switching completely to French now. 

’No Mother, you don’t understand… This wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for me.’ 

-  

Two hours later, Kiara found herself outside the door to Elizabeth’s ward. She had confessed everything to her mother who had held her as she sobbed, gently stroking her hair listening while she admitted her part in the lead up to Elizabeth’s unfortunate accident. Though Joelle reassured her repeatedly that it hadn’t been her fault, Kiara just couldn’t bring herself to believe it. Mere words wouldn’t be enough to take away the guilt she felt. She’d almost abandoned the idea of visiting altogether but something tugged at her conscience telling her no, it was time to stop running. She needed to face this. Now mustering up her courage, she knocked once to announce herself before twisting the handle wincing as the door creaked loudly. Kiara’s eyes flew immediately to the figure on the bed. 

 Lying unmoving on her back, Elizabeth’s eyes were clamped shut while a collection of machines and devices surrounded the bed. The duchess' dark hair peaked out from under a thick wide bandage wrapped around her head. If it wasn’t for the gentle rise and fall of her chest, Kiara could have sworn she was looking at a statue and her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the numerous cuts and bruises that littered the other woman’s arms. 

Gulping deeply, she felt her confidence filtered away but before it could, she inched toward the side table to set her bouquet down with the others placed there. The crinkle of the wrapper making contact with the table was louder than she had meant for it to be and Kiara was barely able to keep her wits when dark head suddenly jerked up from the farther side of the bed. 

 Drake. 

 'I-I’m sorry,’ Kiara faltered, almost ashamed to be caught. 'I just came to drop these off. I didn’t mean to wake you.' 

 Seated in a chair beside the bed, he took a moment to adjust to wakefulness and in that time, it occurred to her that this was the first time they had been in the same room since the night at her estate. 

'No its fine really,’ he reassured her, exhaustion heavy in his voice. 'Just dozed off I guess.' 

Fighting waves of regret, she kept her eyes trained steadily on the girl on the bed, determined not to let her emotions get the better of her. 

'How is she?' 

Drake sighed wearily, running a hand over his haggard face. ‘She’s started breathing on her own yesterday which is a massive improvement. The doctors say its a miracle that she landed on her side rather than her back because her shoulder took most of the impact. They managed to stabilise her and stop the internal bleeding but on top of that she broke a few bones too so its gonna take some time before she’ll back to normal.' 

 Kiara nodded carefully, digesting this information. 'Did they say when she’ll wake up? 

He shook his head gravely. ‘Its all up to her I guess,’ he answered gesturing at Elizabeth. 'She’s recovering well from the massive head injury but they won’t know the full extent of the damage until then.’ 

 Kiara’s stomach dropped. She'd had minor differences with Elizabeth in the past, formed first throughout the social season and extending a hand of friendship was difficult due to the nature of competition. Contenders like Olivia and Madeline made it hard to believe that anyone would genuinely be interested in forming friendships without ulterior motives. Kiara was an ambitious woman and took pride in her abilities to get her what she wanted but it had always seemed too easy for Elizabeth. The American had been difficult to stomach at first, as she, despite having no courtly training or special skills, seemed to succeed almost blindly at winning the heart of the prince. To add to their bitterness, she’d indirectly humiliated all the suitors by turning him down. 

It had only grown deeper when Elizabeth started to pursue Drake Walker, another competition she had lost and the diplomat had been left with cold anger as she was rejected yet again. While Penelope had easily taken to the new duchess, Kiara found it harder to let go of the resentment. 

Despite all this, however, she realised that she’d never hated Elizabeth. The duchess didn’t deserve for something like this to happen to her. She had proved herself to be a kind and caring leader, something Kiara valued highly. If Kiara could take it all back, she would in a heart beat. 

 She swallowed hard before responding. ‘I’m sure she will be back to normal in no time.' 

‘Let’s hope,’ he nodded before addressing her again. 'I’m surprised you came to visit. Elizabeth would have liked that..’ 

Kiara paused. Would she? Would she have liked me if she knew all the bad things I had wished on her? 

‘She was my friend after all. I’d better go,’ she suggested, mumbling a weak excuse as she headed for the door. 

‘Kiara.’ At the sound of her name coming from his mouth, she froze, back still to him. 

 ‘Yes?’ 

 ‘Its not your fault you know?’ Drake told her. 'What happened to her...' 

Why was everyone telling her that? She knew he meant it from a place of thoughtfulness but it didn’t make her guilt any less. It wouldn’t take back what she had done or change what had happened. 

 All this and more swirling in her mind but she just nodded. 

-  

As she stepped over the threshold, Kiara was so immersed in thought, she almost bumped into someone coming in. 

 ‘Oh pardon!' 

‘Its alright dear,’ the woman reassured, her American accent complimented perfectly by her kind tone. Her dark skin and lively eyes struck a chord of familiarity and something occurred to the diplomat. 

 ‘You’re Elizabeth’s mother.' 

‘I am. And you must be Kiara?’ Mrs Richmond beamed, looking even more like her daughter. 'She often talked about you and Penelope among her other friends. Thank you for being such a good friend to our Aishwarya, dear.’ 

Kiara nodded again, this time unable to keep the tears from falling as she rushed away leaving her companion bewildered. 

Twenty-four days after the accident..

OLIVIA

BREAKING NEWS: THE GROUP BEHIND THE ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT ON THE ROYAL PALACE 3 MONTHS AGO HAS BEEN OFFICIALLY IDENTIFIED. AS WE SPEAK, MEMBERS OF THE TERRORIST GROUP ARE BEEN ARRESTED BY THE ROYAL GUARD.  

Olivia Nevrakis smiled as she scanned images of the resisting criminals splashed across the front page of the morning’s newspaper on the breakfast table before her. There was no better way to start your day than with an arrest of an entire terrorist group she mused, delicately sipping her tea. She went on to imagine all the ways they would be punished if only she was in charge of dealing them out, wondering if her methods would have differed greatly to that of her ancestors. Before she could dwell on it, her phone chimed reminding her she had to be at the palace in half an hour.   

When she arrived, Liam was already seated in one of the meeting rooms with Hana and Maxwell. The latter gave her tentative smiles while the king nodded in greeting. 

 ‘Thank you all for coming. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the good news but we have other matters to discuss. Naturally, the court wants to have a ball in celebration and it would be a strong front to put forward if all of us attended.' 

‘Are parties all those  can think about at a time like this?’ Drake’s rough voice cut through the room as he stepped through the door. 

’So nice of you to join us Drake,’ Olivia scoffed as he took a seat next to Hana. ‘I’m was beginning to think you’d superglued yourself to Elizabeth's bedside.’ 

‘Ignore Olivia,’ Liam placated shooting her a cautionary look. ‘We’re glad to have you with us man. How is she?’ 

Drake sighed, seemed to age 10 years. ’She’s… stable. Not much has changed. Her parents are with her now.' 

 ‘Will Mr and Mrs Richmond be joining the festivities?’ Hana inquired trying to break the tension. 

Liam shook his head. ‘They will be departing back to the States later this week for their other daughter’s graduation. They wanted to stay on longer but there was no avoiding it. They actually wanted to take Elizabeth back with the-‘ 

‘Take her back?!’ Maxwell interrupted. ‘But- They can’t! She needs to stay here with us. She hasn’t even woken up yet!’ 

The king held up a hand for silence. ’The doctors have informed them of that it is very important that she be kept stable in this sensitive time. I have assured them that she would continue getting the best care Cordonia has to offer.' 

Maxwell nodded sombrely, plunging the room into a melancholy silence. 

 Like everyone else, Olivia’s mind shifted to Elizabeth. In her first few encounters with the American, she’d readily dismissed her as the clueless foreigner who was sure to crack after one week. To her initial surprise and chagrin however, Elizabeth had proved her otherwise, surpassing all the trials of the court with as much grace as a noble born lady. Back then, Olivia held no love for her but she could appreciate strength when she saw it and surprised herself by agreeing to work with the foreigner to restore her name. Elizabeth had been like the glue that held their little group together for without her their friendships would not have developed as well as they did. Although she had harboured feelings of resentment towards her for turning Liam down even those had been fading lately. 

If Elizabeth did die, she had no idea what the future would look like for them and there was little Olivia hated more than uncertainty. It made her impatient and more prone to outbursts and for a moment she bitterly resented the duchess for compromising it, when she was only just getting the hang of the whole friendship thing. 

‘She’d save us all some trouble if she hurried up and kicked the bucket already.'  

There was a sharp intake of breath from the room and the redhead's eyes widened she realised that she had voiced her comment out loud. 

 ‘Olivia!’ Hana chastised.   

Her eyes landed on Drake who was glaring at her, jaw clenched in anger as the veins in his neck throbbed dangerously.  

’Nevrakis I know being empathetic isn’t really in your capacity but just this once could you cut it out with the sarcasm?’ 

 Olivia’s usual flawless exterior faltered slightly as she realised her last comment may have gone a step too far. Her mouth dropped open to apologise but one glare from Drake silence all response she would have formulated. She remained quiet for the rest of the meeting as the rest of them discussed the plans for the ball. Even though the assassins had been apprehended they still needed to persuade the court that Liam was the best option for Cordonia. After almost two hours of tactics and strategy, Liam released them and she approached Drake carefully. 

‘Drake I-‘ He brushed her away with a dismissive wave. 

‘Forget it Olivia. I wouldn’t expect you of all people to understand.’ 

 Now that stung. 

 Olivia knew she put forward the emotionless, cold-hearted persona very well but now it was coming back to bite her. Underneath the facade, though she would never admit it out loud, these people has wormed their way into her heart and she really did care for them. She just wished she could find it in her to voice it out loud. 

The Duchess of Lythikos mentally shook herself at the thought. Her feelings would have to wait. There was work to be done now and if she was going to help Liam rally the support he needed, internal monologuing wouldn’t do anyone any good.

Thirty-one days after the accident... 

LIAM

AFTER THE ARREST OF ALL MEMBERS OF THE TERRORIST GROUP THAT THREATENED THE ROYAL FAMILY AND MANY OF THE NOBILITY, CORDONIA IS RECOVERING WELL AND IS ON ITS WAY TO PROSPERING. THE SHARES ON THE CORDONIAN RUBY ARE AT AN ALL TIME HIGH UNDER KING LIAM’S STRONG GOVERNANCE.

‘Gracias Your Majesty. I look forward to our next meeting where we can iron out those last few details.’ 

‘De nada, Signor Gutierrez. I believe this trade deal will greatly benefit both our countries. I look forward to a long and fruitful relationship between our countries.’ 

‘As do I King Liam. I must mention I have never seen a monarch who prioritises the safety of his people as well as you. Other countries could learn much from your method of governance.’ 

 Thanking him, Liam hung up the Skype call with the Spanish embassador, gently massaging his temples as he scanned the headlines on iPad in front of him. 

 The politician's words had come from a place of kindness but all they seemed to inspire was a sense of deep guilt within him. A quote from his childhood studies on Cicero returned to his mind. 

 The safety of the people shall be the highest law. 

 He’d watch Constantine rule with this principle and though his father had many faults, he always had his priorities right. As a monarch it was his cardinal duty to keep his people safe and after the assassination attempt the weight of the crown had pressed heavily on Liam's shoulders. It has eased slightly now the assassins had been captured and apprehended. The economy was finally stabilising and thanks to the ball a few days ago, he had secured more than a few important deals with the help of his friends. 

Cordonia was finally prospering, getting back to her feet so why did he feel so terrible? 

 The answer lay a few miles away in a hospital bed. 

 After the accident, as soon as Elizabeth was stable, he’d immediately placed her in a secure ward with state-of-the-art facilities and the best medical professionals. He’d given her the best possible care but still the guilt persisted. To say Elizabeth was a very special person to him would be a huge understatement. She had no idea but she represented the beginning of  a new life for him, one where he would take matters into his own hands to make his own decisions. If possibility had a colour, he was sure it would be the green of her dress from the night they’d met in New York city what seemed like a lifetime ago. He loved her and though she hadn’t reciprocated in the way he once wanted her to, Liam knew she would always hold a unique place in his heart. Any ill feeling of resentment when she chose Drake over him had faded away now and in its place a strong friendship was blossoming. When he promoted her to duchess, Liam had looked forward to seeking her counsel during his rule. Unlike him, Elizabeth hadn’t been born into nobility, she knew the struggles of the common man and was more in tune with their needs as he never would be. 

She would have been an amazing duchess. 

No, he corrected himself. She is going to be an amazing duchess. 

Now that her life hung in the balance, it was all too easy to succumb to the temptation of pessimism and he found himself constantly fighting against it now, knowing that his friend wouldn’t have approved of his despondency. He would do it. He would continue to fight the good fight, with or without her, Liam promised himself that. 

 A frantic buzzing of his phone broke him out of his thoughts. He’d been in that position for so long that his arms twinged slightly as he reached for the device beside him, glancing at the screen to reveal a text message from Drake.

Hospital. Now. 

Twenty minutes later, Liam strode purposefully down the ward hallway, staff parting in front of him like the Red Sea. Before he could reach the door to her room, a gasping Drake stumbled out, barely able to stand as heavy uneven breaths wracked his figure. Fear rose up in Liam as his mind automatically assumed the worst but before he could say a word, Drake’s body began to pitch forward and he caught him just before he could hit the floor. 

 ‘Drake what happened? Is she okay?' 

‘Liam… Liam she…She doesn’t..’ He choked out, clutching onto the sleeves of Liam’s blazer as the king helped him to stand. Drake gulped deeply, desperately fighting for air as he attempted to articulate his thoughts. 

 ‘She doesn’t what?! Is Elizabeth okay?' Liam could not help the notes of alarm and impatience that laced his tone as he questioned the other man. ‘Dammit Walker what happened?’ 

 He watched his best friend’s brown eyes well up with tears, his face contorting with anguish. ’S-She doesn’t remember Liam!’ 

 The king's face screwed up in confusion at the words. ‘You’re not making any sense. What do you mean she doesn’t remember? What doesn’t she remember Drake?’ 

Liam would never forget the look of complete and total despair in his friend’s eyes as he finally gasped out his response. 

‘She doesn’t remember falling in love with me.’

-

A/N: YOU ASKED FOR ANGST AND I OBEYED! Leave me some reaction gifs to giggle at. 

Tags: @chantelle-x0x @choicessa @mariamatsuo @pbchoicesobsessed @xxrainbowprincessxx @boneandfur @lizeboredom @topsyturvy-dream @lovemyrestingplacethings @american-duchess @withice @limenagirl @sir-wigglesworth @ayo-minty-jess @ninamckenzie22 @drakelover78 @h3llostrang3r @cocomaxley @zarina-x-zig @nicestrokepam @bizzyschoices @decisso @kellyale1804 @mrswalkerreynolds @kamybelen-blog @hhiggs @jenjosh5 @bruhvs @natalievgoodehenry @choiceswreckedme @laniquelove @theroyalweisme @jamielea81 @penguininapinktuxedo @tmarie82@crookedslimecreatorpasta @asprankle @drakewanker @mrs-walker-nazario-levine @graceisgone56 @josieschoices @smritysriv @drakewalkerfantasy @bobasheebaby 

Sorry if I missed anyone! And idk why some tags aren’t working. If you want to be tagged click HERE because I might forget if you just comment. 

#drake walker #drake x mc #trr drake #trr au #the revelation au #the royal romance #the royal romance book 3 #hana lee #maxwell beaumont #bertrand beaumont #king liam #trr liam #olivia nevrakis #trr kiara #trr penelope #choices #playchoices #choices fanfiction #choices fandom #I KNOW OK #I AM EVIL #BUT YOU ASKED FOR IT #i gave the people what they wanted and now they are mad #now would be a good time to admit that my name is btobape and i live in the sahara desert #because im fully expecting death threats and screaming #pls have mercy on me #there will be a happy ending #its only 12 chapters away #sorry not sorry #long post

[quemedicen]

https://www.theschooloflife.com/thebookoflife/our-right-to-be-miserable/

The official religion of modernity is happiness. It sounds pleasant but being asked to smile is an extremely coercive requirement. There is a freedom that our age seems subtly yet horribly keen to deny us: the freedom to be miserable.

This kind of jolly person is different from a happy person; a happy person smiles because they feel like it, a jollying person smiles because they are compelled to, because there is all sorts of unprocessed grief inside them from which they are manically in flight. If they stopped laughing for a moment, they might have to realise everything regrettable that they haven’t until now been able to face; all the emotions they haven’t dared to accept in themselves, the anger against someone who let them down, the rage against something or someone they were supposed to love, the guilt about the error they made. 

It is unnatural for anyone to remain untroubled and unsad for longer than fifteen minutes. There is always something sombre on the horizon. That is why the notion of being not just occasionally very happy but fundamentally and long-term jolly is such a peturbing possibility, built upon a denial of reality. Even babies have lots to feel sad about. They’ve just left the womb, the most comfortable and intuitively nourishing place on earth, they’re having to discover all the disappointments of trying to feed and keep one’s body comfortable. They have so much to learn. They may even be getting the first intimations of mortality. Why would such a complicated creature ever feel like doing more than let out a very occasional giggle?

We should be allowed to recognise that life is a hospice, not a hospital, that we are doomed and ailing; that anxiety follows us at every turn, that we are immensely fragile and always on the cusp of some new disappointing realisation. We should never have to tell anyone that we are ‘doing well.’ The automatic assumption should be that of course we are in some kind of crisis: financial, romantic, reputational, existential – because that is what we humans are like. We should stamp out the suggestion from billboards that we could ever be something lighter and sunnier. Even on holiday, of course we will be miserable; even when we’ve done ‘well’ in aspects of our lives, we’ll be at wits end most of the time. Of course we hate ourselves and wish we’d done most things differently.

We need a society ready to meet us on our own terms – not one that is trying to get us to laugh sentimentally. We know in our hearts, and at 4am when we wake up in a panic, what life is really like, the despairing, anxious, always unsettled, always fretful and always questioning business it is. The next stage of our evolution will be to take what we know of ourselves and build a society around it, a society that has the courage to accept its true psychological complexity.

#the school of life #self knowledge #mood #personal #web posted

[kyuuzuchiha]

~ The five stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Describe your muse in each stage after losing a loved one. (sasuke)

UPSETTING AND TWISTED REACTION ASKS FOR SAD MUSESAcceptingConsider this in my Canon AU Itachi’s Will after Sasuke kills Itachi.

1. D E N I A L

When Sasuke learns that his brother is not the man that Sasuke thought him to be, Sasuke’s denial of his brother’s actual death is short-lived. For maybe an hour or so, he sits with the dead body and waits for Itachi to wake up. He’s rather composed in this state, as he’s mulling over eveyrthing he learned about Itachi. It doesn’t take long for him to realize that this misinformation has lead him horribly astray and he progresses into the next stage, abandoning Itachi’s dead body in haste.

2. A N G E R

At his deceased brother’s side, Sasuke becomes consumed by a stifling anger for what Konoha officials had forced his brother to do. The presence of manipulation of someone so loyal, loving, and dutiful is disgusting to him. His anger drives him into mania. He’s pulling at his own hair, wanting to rip it out. He’s not sleeping. He’s traveling toward Konoha in a blind rage. He forgets the way a few times, forgets where he’s even going, for the sleep-deprivation has his mind twisting in ways he’s not used to. This stifling anger lasts for days before thie advanced state of sleep-deprivation leads him into the stage.

3. B A R G A I N I N G

He’s confused a lot, often speaking unintelligably when interacting with other. It’s difficult to discern which subjects he even speaks about. His sentences are short, clipped, jumbled. At times, even the words he uses are unrecognizable. He can be found talking to trees, bargaining with them to return his brother’s soul to him. He’s “seen” his brother’s eyes in woodland animals and chased them down to beg his brother to return. He looks to the stars nightly, believing that his brother has returned to them, and asks Itachi to come back to him. He will even beg at nothing, hoping his brother can hear how desperately he needs him.

By this point, goals of reaching Konoha have been buried in his brain and he’s wandering aimlessly around in search of his brother. He even tries to seek anyone who may be rumored to be able to return the deceased to their living state (unaware of edo-tensei at this point). This stage lasts for another few days before his body becomes too exhausted to carry on.

4. D E P R E S S I O N

Sasuke takes refuge in an abandoned cabin and sleeps for what seems like days. When he wakes, he realizes that he is unable to bring his brother back, nor is he able to defend his honor or honor his memory properly due to his current state. This leads to an overall feeling of uselessness and perpetual misery. This stage lasts for months.

He’s unable to leave his bed for days. One day, when he pulls himself from the sheets, he finds some canned food in the cabin and heats it up. After eating, he goes back to sleep for a few days. This process repeats, until he eventually has to go find more food. He’s unable to speak, seemingly having gone mute. He doesn’t move very quickly. A few times, he runs right into trees, clipping them with a shoulder or even just hitting them straight-on in his haze. He doens’t care to haggle, handing over whatever price he’s asked for. He’ll eat his food raw, not even bothering to cook it. He won’t hunt or buy meats that require preparing. He can’t even find his own water source, so he stoops to buying water as well. All of this bothers him, but he’s powerless to change anything.

5. A C C E P T A N C E

Once Sasuke accepts that his brother has passed, and the circumstances under which his passing had to take place, he returns to basic, normal Sasuke Uchiha standards. He’s quiet and reserved, yet his presence is always known. He thinks things through thoroughly, though still with a sense of urgency. His passion is hard to stoke, but it can be revved up at times. He uses a level-headed nature to decide that he doesn’t want to cease his slow onset of blindness without first understanding the will of his brother. He wants to carry this will on, so his plans for Konoha remain under-developed until he can better understand the best way to honor his brother.

#calebtheloser #thanks for the ask~~ #about sasuke

[bubblezen]

im sending it for the 2ND time bc >:( ok buttt have u thought about how RFA members (and MC) would feel when they realized they were just infatuated w each other and not in love?? like they get together but later on they break up??? i want the angst p l s for shits and giggles

………an attempt will be made -Mod Zen 

Zen:

He really thought you loved him. 

He did, and he couldn’t imagine his life without you. He didn’t want to pass a day without hearing your voice, seeing your face, feeling your touch. 

It wasn’t until one day, when you realized that the intensity of his feelings didn’t match yours in the least. 

You came home, and saw a cute little note he had written and realized your heart didn’t flutter anymore.

He didn’t make you as happy as he used to.

When you called him later that night to talk to him, he knew something was wrong. You weren’t smiling, and you didn’t seem to be happy in the least. Something was on your mind.

“Zen, I-I don’t love you.” 

There, quick and easy, like a band-aid. You tried not to notice the tears in his eyes, the shaking of his hands. 

“You…you what?”

“I think…it wasn’t real, my feelings for you.”

Instantly, he heard voices he didn’t want to hear.

She doesn’t care about you, she only liked you because you were attractive. She never loved you, and if she didn’t, who else would?

Silently, you told him that you were leaving to stay with a friend for a short while, your bags already packed in anticipation for this moment. 

The second the door slammed, he broke. 

He fell to the ground and started sobbing, unable to even move. It wasn’t until the sadness turned to rage that things started breaking. 

Frames were broken, presents, trinkets, almost everything. 

It took him a while, but eventually he managed to regain a facade that everything was alright. He didn’t mind that you found someone else. He didn’t mind that you looked at him with an absolute love. No, it never killed him on the inside to realize you never looked at him like that. 

His narcissism only got worse after that incident because he had told himself that if he managed to convince himself that he was a pretty boy and that’s all he’d amount to, it wouldn’t hurt anymore when he saw you again, or if someone walked out of his life again.

So then…why did his heart still hurt?

Yoosung Kim:

The two of you moved pretty fast after you met at the party. 

You loved him, he loved you, there wasn’t anything wrong with presenting yourself as a couple now was there?

You did all of the stereotypical couple things like watching movies, going out to eat, etcetera.

After a while, you realized that you both felt…empty. 

You were sitting beside each other and there was a lull in conversation, but not a comfortable silence. 

It was awkward. And it wasn’t as though this was the first time. In fact, it was beginning to happen very, very often. Neither of you knew what to do, and there wasn’t a way to fill it without becoming more awkward. 

You still stayed together, you out of a sense of duty, and Yoosung because he felt it was almost necessary since you were his first girlfriend. 

Eventually, you both had to be honest with each other and acknowledge the fact that you both weren’t in love, but you were merely infatuated. 

You broke it off mutually, but decided to just stay friends in the end. 

Months after, you become super close friends and each other’s best confidant.

He comforted you during your breakups, and you him. You both were each other’s support system and there was nobody you trusted more. 

It hit you when you were sitting at home, texting him. He sent you a picture of his current girlfriend, fawning over her when you realized that you did love him. 

At first, you just weren’t sure because you rushed into everything, but once you broke up and took your time getting to know each other, your feelings grew into an absolute love for him. 

But there was no way you could get between him and his new girlfriend so you had to stay quiet. He was happy, and that’s all you wanted. 

Jaehee Kang:

You watched as her interest in spending time with you began as the cafe took off. 

She busied herself and more often than not you could barely get any time to spend alone with her. 

One day, it finally all came to a head when you literally asked he if she wanted to go out, and she said something about not being able to trust any of the other employees with the shop. 

You felt your heart stop. You thought that she had been just as in love with you as you loved her, but as the days passed by, you realized that she didn’t love you, but more like the idea of you. 

But, it seems even that got boring for her. 

You thought that you’d have to be the one who broke up with her but it turned out she could tell herself that this wasn’t working out. 

She sat you down, and told you honestly and to your face that she didn’t feel like your partnership was a relationship anymore. 

Honestly you were glad. After all, she was honest and she didn’t try to drag everything out. Quick and concise, that was always her. 

You managed to go back to your place without crying too much and just sat against the door, numb before you realized you needed to take care of yourself. 

The days continued to pass by as you worked hard to move on and eventually fell in love with someone else. 

Now you two are class A besties that are perfectly inseparable. 

Jumin Han:

He was so madly in love with you. 

You listened to him without him having to prompt you to. You could see past his facade and for the lost and confused person he really was. 

The best thing for him to come home to was you willing to just listen to him talk about mundane things that happened at work. 

In a way, you taught him how to feel. 

So then, imagine his surprise when you told him that you didn’t think you loved him anymore. 

He was in complete denial, and was hoping that you were just messing with him, or you were just having a bad day or something else happened. He didn’t think he did anything wrong. 

As you explained that you didn’t think he was really the one for you and that you had fallen out of love-if you could even call it that-so you needed to leave him before you hurt him. 

At this point, he was numb. He couldn’t even process this. Leave before you hurt him, did you see how he felt? Couldn’t you see the pain on his face. 

He was almost ready to find other, monetary ways of convincing you to stay when he knew that it really wouldn’t work. Instead, he made the decision to just let you go. 

It went against every fiber of his being, but he knew deep down that he can’t force someone to stay no matter how he feels about them. 

Instead, he threw himself into his work.

He did everything that he could to distract himself, created various projects, checked everything meticulously because so long as he was busy with his job he didn’t have to remember you leaving him.

There was nothing he felt that he could do, nobody that he felt could fill that void in him. 

And he never trusted himself to fall in love ever again. 

Saeyoung Choi:

He didn’t know that such intense feelings could fade so fast. 

Once you and him became official, the initial joy of seeing you in the chatroom faded. 

His heart didn’t skip a beat anymore when he heard your voice. The butterflies in his stomach calmed themselves whenever he saw your face. He knew that he wasn’t in love anymore. 

He was so confused for the first couple of days, wondering just if it was just a fluke. 

He thought that he had never felt this way about someone, loved someone as passionately as he loved you. 

But, once he realized that his love for you really was fading, he began to distance himself. 

Despite everything else. he knew that he couldn’t hurt you. 

He tried to get you to break up with him, busied himself and purposely went to bed after you did and woke up before you did. 

He thought that if he got you to leave him, it’d be easier. 

It didn’t work. 

He ended up having to tell you himself. He had to tell you that he didn’t love you, nor did he ever think that his feelings for you were ever love. 

He’ll never forget the look on your face. The grief, anger, and unshed tears. 

When you walked out of that door, he sighed to himself, knowing that it was for the best. After all, he didn’t want to drag a relationship out longer than it needed to be. 

From that point on, you never really talked to Seven. You’d ignore him in chats, or just make polite small talk before excusing yourself. He honestly didn’t mind. 

But, he couldn’t understand.

Why did it hurt him so much that you had another’s arm around your shoulder? 

#bubble scenarios #mystic messenger #mystic messenger scenarios #choi saeyoung #saeyoung choi #hyun ryu #ryu hyun #zen mm #mysme zen #zen #yoosung kim #kim yoosung #kang jaehee #jaehee kang #han jumin #jumin han #mod zen