#History | Who’d Ever Dream A Child As Sweet As I Seemed Would Be The Source Of So Much Pain And Strife
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((Fun idle thoughts with Danie
Ghetsis is pretty much impossible to please in some cases.
Based on his room, there was a certain amount of infantilizing happening to N from Ghetsis--likely to preserve his 'pure and innocent' mind and feelings because he's easier to take advantage of that way.
So he always, always told N he would get bigger and stronger and older and smarter and someday he would be King. But no matter what he would always be Ghetsis's baby.
So of course when he hit, say. 10~13 years old. . .he started going into the phase of his life where he's "too old" to do this, or where "that's for children," "you aren't a baby anymore," and so on, both from Ghetsis and from the sages.
The sages told him he was too old to keep calling Ghetsis "Daddy".
Ghetsis agreed. So he called him Father.
Ghetsis disagreed. What's wrong with calling me 'daddy' when you're my son? What does it matter if it's how children talk? You're a child--you're my child. And no matter how old you get you always will be.
And of course in more official Plasma things neither was okay. So he would simply call him Ghetsis, even though Ghetsis often referred to him as his son(sometimes adopted, sometimes step, sometimes foster, sometimes just his son.)
It was inconsistent and Ghetsis had raised him well to hate inconsistency, if he didn't hate it naturally. Eventually it became a problem--he was spoiled given that he was King-to-be. When he got frustrated, it'd become a problem, he'd yell and stamp around and throw a tantrum and they'd argue and Ghetsis would say "you're acting like a child, Natural, would you stop this nonsense!" And N would say "do you want me to be a child or not!? Make up your mind!" But Ghetsis always wants him to be a child--but not like that--
Eventually N kind of cracked the code. 'Father' was what he should default to for the most part. He should refer to Ghetsis as 'Ghetsis' when speaking to others and when in the presence of Plasma members(but not necessarily Sages.) And when it was just them, and perhaps around Anthea and Concordia sometimes, he should say 'Daddy.'
And once he figured that out(and it's a miracle he did considering Ghetsis is contradictory and insatiable and absolutely impossible to understand sometimes) things were more or less straight and they calmed down. As long as they kept those distinctions N could deal with it. And as long as Ghetsis was happy there were no problems.
(It used to be harder for him to call him 'Father' to other people, strangers, but at present that's usually what N says. He was raised to be his father's dear child just like he was raised to be king. . .but being King had been a lie. . .so was that he was his son, his child, his baby a lie too? But a much less dangerous lie--it was the happier of the lies if it was one. He misses his. . .parental figure of various terms of endearment. They didn't get to be a family as much, and he wishes they could. . .so he refers to him often in casual conversation as 'my Father', sometimes specifying 'my Father, Ghetsis'--but when it comes to addressing the in-game events, he still has the 'this is a serious situation' habit of simply calling him Ghetsis. He doesn't know what he wants more.)
(He doesn't know if, if it was just them for a while, he wouldn't call him 'Daddy'--he's not sure he had enough of being Daddy's baby boy, of being allowed to just be a child who had the world decided for him and never a care in the world and not a king, to have a family, and he's not sure if he wants the coddling and babying of Daddy Ghetsis or the respect and acknowledgement of Father Ghetsis. But right now he can't have either one. He's struggling to accept that maybe that's for the best. )
#n harmonia#ghetsis#long post#Headcanon | The Horror That He Brings The Horror Of His Sting The Unholiest Of Kings#Worldbuilding | Show Me Where Can Do How Can Do It Who Can Do This With You#Family | I'm Here To Be Your Only Go Between#N’s Lessons | A Little White Lie Never Hurt Anyone#Characterization | Always Wanna Play But You Never Wanna Lose#Personal | If I Show You Then I Know You Won’t Tell What I Said Cause Two Can Keep A Secret If One Of Them Is Dead#History | Who’d Ever Dream A Child As Sweet As I Seemed Would Be The Source Of So Much Pain And Strife#okay to reblog#((if you wanted to do that for some reason i guess lmao))
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Artemis Rising
The story of a Goddess and a Demi God, star crossed lovers whose story was lost to the complexity of history. The truth is they were wronged. All because of the jealousy of a brother. Can they escape their fate in a modern age? Can reincarnation allow her to finally reunite with the ones who loved her?
genre: angst ; reincarnation/Greek mythology au ; werewolf au
pairing: Yoongi x reader; ot7 x reader ; ft: Ateez
warnings: abusive relationship, physical abuse towards reader, vengeful ot7, inaccurate description of Ateez as aggressive (they’re sweet babies I swear! But Eomma needed a bad guy), fighting, character death, of age drinking (more to be added mayhaps?)
Word count: 3197
Chapter 2
Above the moon waned, it’s glorious light barely casting a glow upon the stilled seas that would normally grace sweet Gaia’s shores.
“My child, why do you weep so?” Leto stepped from the shadows. The soothing calm that normally encased the Titan Goddess of motherhood was gone, replaced with a sense of distress and panic at the sight of her precious daughter weeping upon a piece of sea swept driftwood.
“Mother…” Artemis sobbed, reaching out to the tall figure and crumpling into her lap.
“Artemis, my darling. Speak to me. Who is the cause of your tears?”
It took the moon goddess a while to answer, so wrapped up in her grief that her entire body trembled and the moon shed a little more of its light, now barely a sliver in the sky.
“It’s O...Orion. He’s...he’s gone mother. By mine own hand…”
Leto gasped, pulling away to stare down at Artemis with wide eyes.
“The young hunter boy? The one who’d caught your eye and joined you in your hunts?”
“The very same. Oh mother what do I do?”
The night wore on as the goddess of the moon wept, seeking comfort in the arms of Leto who could only stroke her back in comfort and attempt to soothe her broken soul.
The sun began to rise, it’s golden glow muted and pale as Apollo approached.
“Son. Is this your doing?” A hint of anger leached into the benevolent Titan’s voice as she gave her only son a heated stare.
“Mother...I…”
“You knew it was him!” Artemis stood, short sword in hand as she rounded on her once beloved brother. “You knew and you challenged me anyway! All of this born of your stupid misplaced jealousy!”
“Sister, please I just…”
Artemis cut him off, lunging forward with all of the intent of driving the golden steel of the Gods through his chest.
“Artemis no!!”
***
Panic gripped me as I lunged forward, arm outstretched as if attempting to reach...something.
I shook my head in bewilderment, hoping the motion would wake me up enough to remember the dream that had left me with tear stained cheeks and a pillow soaked in my own grief. As with every other dream of mine though, it’d faded too fast. A wisp of a thing fading away in the morning light.
I sighed, finally allowing my hand to fall to the coolness of the bedsheet. A glance beside me let me know that once again Hongjoong had woken long before me...that or he’d never come to bed as the sheets beside me were as cold and empty as always.
I sighed again, letting the loneliness of the early morning caress my cheeks and dry the tears left over from the formless nightmare. Eventually I was able to get myself motivated enough to get up and start the day. It was honestly a perk working from home that I didn’t have a specific time to get up. But I preferred working on my writing early on in the day so that I could have the evenings to myself to relax and do whatever needed to be done before Hongjoong got home.
After a quick shower and change of clothes I made my way down to the kitchen in the hopes of having a quiet breakfast.
"Miss…"
I couldn't help the squeak that left my lips when Yeosang's strong, deep voice echoed through the vast expanse of the kitchen. Eyes wide I stared at his broad back, confused as to how he even knew I was standing in the doorway. Standing at the stove was Seonghwa, cooking away in a world of his own.
At Yeosang’s acknowledgement of my presence Seonghwa glanced over to me. I couldn’t help but wither under his intense stare. A frown formed between his eyebrows as he took in the bruise on my left cheek that I’d failed to cover up with several layers of concealer along with the way I shrunk away from their combined stares.
Neither of them commented though and it came as a relief that they turned back to their respective tasks after a moment more of silence.
“There’s omelet rolls on the way. Meat’s cooked and on the table.” Seonghwa’s words weren’t spoken to anyone but I knew they were aimed at me. Whispering out a quick thank you I scurried over to the dining table, head down and eyes pinned to the small pile of bacon sitting before me.
The rest of the meal was delivered quickly, the imposing men’s silence deafening as usual as they seemed to tiptoe around me. I’d come to expect and accept it at this point as it seemed that each of my bodyguards was absolutely terrified of reaching out to me in any way.
I could have used the comfort. Used some sort of touch or a soothing word to get through the monotony of my days. But I suppose that’s what Yoongi was for…
So I turned to him. Once dishes were done and put away I began texting him, checking in on his day, asking the usual best friend questions and hanging on to every time the phone would vibrate while I worked in the relative quiet of my little writing corner. Before I’d even realized it, the day had moved on without me.
I glanced up out of the window, startling myself at the abrupt darkness that had swallowed the day and cast the world into the deepest recesses of twilight. Somehow I’d missed lunch and dinner, and the hunger gnawed at my stomach in a way that made me nervous just thinking about it.
Hongjoong would be home by now, and the mere thought of facing him after last night set me on edge.
“Have you been holed up in here all day?”
I couldn’t help the squeak of fear that escaped me. Whipping around I stared wide eyed at Hongjoong who’d somehow walked into my office without me hearing and was leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Hongjoong...I...I didn’t hear you come in…” I pressed my hand against my chest, struggling to still the rapid beating of my heart.
He smirked, dropping his arms and pushing away from the doorframe. His movements were so smooth, so calculated. My gaze swept his figure as he stalked towards me like a predator, noting he was still in his business suit and tie though the latter was untied and hung loosely from his neck.
“Good. You weren’t supposed to.”
I shrunk down in my chair as he towered over me, shadows cast on his face making it hard to gauge his mood or what he could possibly want with me.
“Your meeting. It went well I hope?” No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t shove the slight quiver in my voice down and I hated myself for it. Hated that his presence alone struck such a level of fear in me even without him having done anything.
“Hmm…” His noncommittal hum echoed through the room and some part of me screamed in disgust at the way my body sagged with relief when he turned away from me and moved back to the bedroom door.
“I met with a few social acquaintances of mine.” Ever so slowly he closed the door, as if shutting the world out of our conversation. It wasn’t really necessary, no one here would ever dare walk in on him without announcing themselves first.
“Oh?” My tongue darted out to wet my lips and his eyes followed the motion almost hungrily. I couldn’t help but suppress the shudder of fear that raced through my bloodstream.
“You’re...acquaintances with that popular boy band...yes?” I couldn’t quite tell what he was after. His tone of voice was flat, almost as if he was already bored with the conversation even though he’d been the one to initiate it.
I turned in my computer chair to face him fully, watching as he leaned heavily on the closed door and folded his arms over his chest.
“I’m friends with them, yeah. Is...there…”
The sly grin that flashed across his face set every alarm bell ringing in my head. He was planning something, and the implications could honestly mean anything but none of it was anything good.
“I want you to invite them to the party tomorrow night. Make sure they come, no exceptions.”
I blinked, head tilting to the side as I followed his every move. He pushed away from the wall, stalking over to me slowly. It took everything in me to sit still instead of retreating back into myself as the predatory threat loomed over me in the form of Hongjoong’s imposing figure.
I stared at his chest for a moment as he pressed his hands on either side of me on the desk, effectively caging me in. When I’d finally found the nerve to look him in the eyes the fire there had me instantly shrinking in on myself.
“I want them there, no exceptions. No excuses.”
“Y...yes, okay Hongjoong…”
He continued staring at me for a long moment, face morphing into various emotions from distaste to mistrust and finally settling on neutral disgust. Grabbing my chin he pulled me close, sealing his lips against mine in some form of possessive dominance that had me melting in to him despite every cell of my being wanting to pull away and protect myself from him.
“That’s my good girl.” Patting my cheek he turned and marched off, leaving me confused and irritated with myself for the display of weakness.
***
“Hyung, remind me why we agreed to this again?” Jungkook coughed, slim fingers curled into the collar of his tie as he struggled to breathe around it.
“Because y/n asked us to, that’s why.” Seokjin growled, grabbing the young boy by the arm and twirling him just enough to reposition the tie accordingly and allow Jungkook to breathe.
“Well, I mean besides that…'' Jungkook blushed, eyes darting through the entryway and into the rest of the massive mansion. It’d taken everything Yoongi had to convince them to take their one day off to support their best friend. They’d been all for it up until he mentioned it’d been to support Kim Hongjoong’s ‘important announcement’. At that point they’d just about all gotten up and walked away until he mentioned she’d begged him specifically.
“Well here’s to hoping the food is at least good…” Taehyung muttered as he shoved his way into the entry hall and tossed his overly long coat at the poor overloaded coat rack in the corner.
“I swear if that fucker tries to make trouble for her tonight I’m going to tear his throat out.” Hoseok growled, eyes narrowed to slits as he’d just spotted the man in question.
Hongjoong strutted across the hall, disappearing through the large glass doors that led out to the lanai and the massive back yard where the main portion of the party was held.
“We’ll do no such thing.” Namjoon said. He placed a calming hand on Hoseok’s shoulder, giving the younger men each a piercing look that set them back to their relaxed state of alert once more.
“At least not until she’s ready to let him go and come home with us.” Yoongi huffed. He nodded for the lanai. “Let’s get out there, our girl needs us.”
The group complied, putting on their idol faces and smiling and waving to the small crowd that gathered as soon as they stepped out into the fairy light lit backyard. Finding her wasn’t hard. She flitted to and fro, handling one disaster or another while keeping a small smile plastered on her face as she played hostess to the hundreds of guests that’d been invited to witness whatever it was Hongjoong had planned to announce.
There even appeared to be several high ranking members of the press hanging around. Most hovering over the buffet style food tables while others interviewed various members of the staff along with guests in the hopes of getting an exclusive on what this party could be about.
“Vultures…” Yoongi muttered as he nursed the cup of punch he’d been handed by some faceless waiter.
“Aye, but they have their use. Keeps the eye on Hongjoong and off of me.” The soft voice that whispered beside him had him instantly grinning.
“Well hi there gorgeous.” He turned to her, eyes darting over her form to take in the sultry green dress she’d donned. The silken material hugged her in places that had him salivating, luckily though he was able to school his features quickly before she or anyone else could notice the hungry look he’d barely been able to control.
“Oh hush Yoongs. You know this is my least favorite dress.” She blushed, turning away from him to subtly fan the heat rising in her cheeks.
“Yeah, that may be. But anyone would be a fool not to appreciate what you’re flaunting.” He snickered half heartedly, hoping she’d take it as a joke and not as the truth he so desperately wanted to scream at her no matter who happened to be watching.
“Thank you for coming, Yoongi…” She whispered, eyes darting over to the grand stage Hongjoong had insisted be set up in the center of the garden.
“Anything for you little moon.” His words went unheard though as Hongjoong chose that moment to clear his throat into the microphone and interrupt any conversation that may have been taking place.
“Ladies and Gentlemen! I’d like to have your attention for a moment if you don’t mind!”
“As you are all aware, my family has been a leading edge to our beautiful city for many a generation. My father swore to uphold the law to the best of his ability, and when he passed several years ago it left a void in so many people’s hearts. His father before him served as well, standing with his fellow citizens to fight against oppression and the government corruption that’d been keeping us all down up until his final breath.” Hongjoong bowed his head as the crowd applauded, cheering his forefathers and shouting various praises as to Hongjoong’s own accomplishments.
He held up a hand, shooting them all a winning smile as they quieted down to allow him to continue.
“Pompous prick…” Yoongi muttered, taking a sip of his punch to hide the movement of his lips.
“Tonight we are gathered here, not only in celebration, but in unity. To come together not as reporters and millionaires and chefs and idols. But as fellow citizens brought together by a single cause, to make this city great again! To make our neighborhoods safer and our children safer. To bring us all together under one unified cause so that we can make Seoul great again!”
The crowd roared to life, cheering Hongjoong’s name and surging forward to crowd the stage as he smiled upon them on like so many obedient children.
“And so!” He spoke over the cheers, somehow making himself heard despite the noise. “I’m officially announcing myself as being in the running for mayor. Rejoice! For change is here!”
The woman beside Yoongi squeaked, her face deathly pale as she seemed to be on the verge of either throwing up or passing out. Yoongi knew that look, knew the impending panic attack that came along with it and began ushering her towards the relative safety of the house.
“Yoongi I…”
“Hush little moon, let’s get you inside and away from this crowd.” His fingers curled around her arm and she seemed to want to lean into the touch, but just before they could reach the door she stopped and turned to him with a wide eyed stare.
“I...I was supposed to make sure we had more sauce for the shrimp cocktail… I...I can’t go in just yet…”
A throat cleared behind them and Yoongi instantly dropped his hand, turning to address the newly announced politician.
“Hongjoong..” Yoongi nodded, barely a jerk of his head in confirmation of the man’s presence really but it was just visible enough as to not seem disrespectful of the man’s status.
“Ah! The famous Min Yoongi!” The politician grinned, pulling his woman close and gripping her hip tightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard many good things about you from my precious fiancé.”
Yoongi grunted in response. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, claws growing and sharpening in response to his growing rage. At the first pinch of pain as they broke the skin he released his fists, forcing his fingers to hang limply at his side.
“Y/n, have you dealt with the catering issues my dear?”Hongjoong turned to her, eyes piercing into her own. It was him dismissing her from the conversation.
She glanced over to Yoongi, eyes filled with apology as she bowed low to the both of them, nearly bent in half as she excused herself from the conversation.
Hongjoong watched her leave, his stare predatory in nature as he watched her disappear into the crowd.
“I heard you’re running for mayor.” Yoongi spoke quietly, knowing the puffed up man would be able to hear him over the noise of the crowd of partygoers.
“Ah, you have?” Hongjoong turned back to Yoongi, that predatory glare still filling his eyes with an insanity that only those born to create chaos and destroy others could possess. “It’s a lofty goal I know. But I feel the need to change things comes with power. And this world could really use a little bit of change don’t you think?”
Yoongi knew he didn’t mean positive change of any kind. This man was far too prone to violence to mean anything more than chaos and destruction.
“How does y/n feel about all this?” Yoongi casually took a sip of his drink. He angled his body away from Hongjoong slightly, eyes darting around the garden. He spotted Jimin and Namjoon heading towards y/n and a small part of him relaxed greatly.
“Y/n? Now why would her opinion matter in the slightest?”
At that Yoongi returned the entirety of his attention to the mad man. “Why...she’s going to be your wife soon. Doesn’t the idea that she’s being thrust into the limelight bother her?”
Hongjoong shrugged, lifting his glass to take a sip of champagne. “Honestly no. She knew my goals before she said yes. If she has anything negative to say about it she’ll tell me and we can address it accordingly.”
The pure menace in his tone let Yoongi know the discussion wouldn’t be very long and would almost surely end up with her gaining a new bruise or two, if not a trip to the hospital.
“For her sake Hongjoong...I really do hope you have her best interests at heart…” Yoongi turned to the man, his drink long forgotten as he fixed the man with a fierce glare.
“Because if anything else happens to her and I find you...you’ll wish you’d stayed in whatever gutter hole you crawled out of to get here.”
#bts x reader#bts soulmate au#bts werewolf au#bts greek god au#bts mythology au#bts angst#ateez angst#ateez greek god au#bts min yoongi x reader
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black swan.
pairing: king!min yoongi x spymaster!reader
fandom: bts
warnings: non idol!au ; royal!au ; historical!au ; death ; blood
genre: angst ; fluff
word count: 1.9k+
summary: you’ve always been loyal to the king, ever since you became his left hand, but the amount of deaths resting on your shoulders get to you every now and then. you rarely allow yourself to be vulnerable, too afraid that someone might see.. but anyone would have been better than for king yoongi to find you in this situation.
a/n: now, I’m going to be honest. I had to change quite a lot of your request to make it fit the idea that I had, but I think I managed to write it in a way that you’ll still be happy with it @strawbaeree
If someone had told you as a child this is where you'd end up when you're older, you probably would have cried and then ran away from what was to come. The future and the consequences of that future would have scared you, so much that you wouldn't have been able to fathom it, much less see it become reality.
This life that you lived now wasn't a life that you had chosen willingly. If you have had the choice, you would have done what your mother had always wanted and found love, living a peaceful and content life with your family somewhere on a farm where you’d be bothered by nobody.
But you were never given that choice.
Soon after your mother had passed and you were left to fight for survival, you had stumbled over an ambush in the woods while trying to find some berries to eat. You had heard the screams of a woman who was begging her attackers to kill her and not her son.
Everyone else would have run back to the village and gotten help, but your instincts that you cursed in hindsight made you run towards the ambush, pick up a dagger that you found on the corpse of someone – most likely another attacker that was killed in the ambush – and ram it into the back of the attacker that was threatening the woman and her child.
The woman let out a scream, mostly out of surprise and not shock of all the blood, but you couldn’t scream, not even after you realized that you had just taken someone’s life.
All you could do was watch the man crumble to the ground, dig his fingers into the dirt below him as he tried to get back up, but he simply couldn't. Whatever you had hit when you had stabbed him, it prevented him from moving. All he could do was lie there and slowly bleed out.
It was only when the woman got up and grabbed your face to make you look at her and not at the man on the ground anymore, that you realized who it was that you had saved that day.
Queen Eun Jung and her son prince Yoongi had been on the way back to the palace when they had been ambushed by a group of radicals who thought that the future king wasn't a royal at all, but an usurper. They wanted a distant relative who had been preparing for war against your kingdom to become king.
“The rightful ruler” is what they called him.
If they had succeeded that day, who knew what kind of person you'd be now.
But you had killed that man without having given it much thought on what the consequences of that action would be. Back then, you had just wanted to help. But the queen... she had seen your... 'potential'.
“My son will need a left and a right hand once he becomes king. I want you to be his left.”
You were only a child when she had said that. Left hand had meant nothing to you until you had started your training with the left hand of the – then - king.
Left hand was just a nicer word for the truth.
The truth was assassin. Spymaster. The one who'd do all the dirty work that no one else was willing to do.
You had often thought about running away back then, being so scared about what kind of life was lying ahead of you as you were taken on countless of missions and watched your master kill dozens of people. But what if you ran away? What then? You had no family, no money, nowhere to go. At least in the palace, you had a purpose, a roof over your head and warm meals to fight the hunger.
So you had stayed.
And that is how you became the woman that you were today.
Living in the shadows, never to be seen by anyone or anything except for your – now – king.
When you had met Yoongi, he was a gentle child. Never wanted to hurt a fly and was more interested in playing catch with you than learning about the history of his kingdom. He often snuck into your room at night and told you made-up ghost stories that made you giggle. He stole the sweets that you liked so much out of the kitchens, just because he knew you’d smile once he’d give them to you.
But he had changed throughout the years.
His father had died in war soon after you had joined them at the royal grounds and his mother succumbed to a fever a few years later. Suddenly being all alone, he threw himself into the world of politics, his goal now being that of his parents.
Finally ridding his lands of the treacherous king that would see him lie dead at the foot of the throne that 'the rightful ruler’ so desperately sought.
Now, your conversations didn't revolve around your favorite animal or favorite colors anymore.
Now, all he talked about, was who you should kill to give him any advantage in the upcoming war.
At first, killing was something that kept you up and night. Something that made you sob your eyes out, weep for those that had fallen by your hand. You never forgot the first man you killed, but throughout the years, the faces of those lives that you had taken started to blur, mostly because it was simply too many to remember.
You had become a shell of your past self, a killing machine which only purpose in life was to do what her king commanded her.
Spy.
Kill.
Report.
But every now and then, that little girl that you wanted to hold on to so badly, showed herself.
There was currently a big festival held at the palace after the right hand of the king – his commander – had successfully pushed back a foreign army at the border. A reason for celebration, definitely.
But you had never been one for these festivities.
And so you started to walk towards the only place in here that you ever felt peaceful at.
The huge lake at the outskirts of the royal grounds that was only illuminated by the moon casting its shine down onto the water.
The sound of strings started to fade, slowly, leaving only a faint sound that made you close your eyes and take a deep breath, feeling all the stress, anxiety and sadness slip away for just a moment.
You took off your shoes, raising the skirts of your red robes as you dipped your feet into the coldness of the water.
It was these moments that made you feel most alive and that was unfortunately not a feeling you often had anymore. It was as if the more lives you took, the more you died yourself.
You were so far gone in that moment – something that a spymaster definitely shouldn't be – that you didn't realize the reason for why you were here at the palace approached you. Or rather.. the lake, it seemed. Because you weren’t the only one that pretended to be strong day in and day out, when in reality, they would love nothing more than to just give up.
King Yoongi stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you standing there, his lips parting, even more so when you let your hair down, a sight that he hadn't seen since he was a child.
It was easy to forget that you were a beautiful woman, but as Yoongi was staring at you now, he remembered.
He remembered how fond he was of you when you were still children. How he wanted you to like him so badly, but at a certain point, with the tasks that he gave you, he gave up on that dream. You could never be more than a left hand for him. He had made you do too many bad things for you to see him in a good light.
But every now and then, his mind wandered to a place in which you and him had become lovers, maybe in which you had run away and started the peaceful life that you had always dreamed of.
It was naive to think so, thoughts he’d never say out loud.
But they were loud in his mind when they came.
Yoongi watched you pull out your dagger from under your dress and lean down, dipping it under the water and gently washing it off despite there not being any blood on it. He watched you caress the blade, then hold it up into the moonlight to inspect it, before gently placing it behind you on the grass. And once the dagger was safely put away, you pulled up the sleeves off your dress and started to wipe your arms.
It was only then that he saw the scars.
Some fresh, some old.
You had come back from a mission only yesterday and while you had been successful as always, didn't mean that you didn't run into trouble at some point.
His heart started to do things to him that he didn't like. A king shouldn't feel what he was feeling now.
Regret.
It was his mother that had dragged you to the castle with them, but it was him that gave you task after task. It was him that sent you into dangers again and again. It was him that would ultimately be responsible for your death.
Despite hating it, the feeling was too strong to ignore and so he made himself known by finally walking over to you.
“(Y/N)? Are you alright?”
In your head, you cursed yourself for being vulnerable out in the open, for letting your guard down when others could see you. And it wasn't just anyone that saw you in that state, but the man that should have never seen that you were still a person. Because that would make it harder to give orders.
You quickly put your knife away, pushed your sleeves down and put your hair back up in the ponytail like you did every day.
Yoongi let out a heavy sigh when you turned around and bowed, no sign of the real woman that you were a moment ago left.
You were his left hand again.
Nothing more and nothing less.
“Forgive me, my king. It was a moment of weakness.”
But instead of walking away with a nod like he should have, Yoongi actually closed the distance until he was right in front of you.
“Let me see,” his voice was soft and he reached out for your arms, pushing your sleeves back up.
You should have walked away that very second, but the little girl that liked the little boy so much kept you standing still and watched his every move carefully.
The man that people were so afraid of, that had gotten the title 'the mad king' was standing so close to you, tending to your past wounds with the softest touch possible.
You knew him, you knew that he wasn’t what people made him out to be.
But being so open with you was not something you had expected.
“You don’t have to do that,” your voice was fragile, which rarely happened.
“I know I don't,” he looked up into your eyes, “But I want to.”
It was quiet for a moment, only the faint sound of the strings were still playing in the background. Yoongi gently pulled you out of the water so you were standing in the grass with him before he took another look at the scars. His thumb was brushing over them, so softly as if he was afraid he'd hurt you... more than he already has.
You could tell that's what he was thinking, because despite the relationship you now had, you knew him better than anyone else, maybe even better than he knew himself.
“What happened to us, (Y/N)?” you could see him gulp down hard after his question.
“We grew up,” your eyes never left his face and you weren't startled when he suddenly looked up into your eyes again, even when you realized how close you were, “Life does that to you.”
You could see him think for a moment before his hand came up to your face to brush over a scar on your cheek, a scar that you had gotten young, from a mission that he had sent you on. A mission that you had almost died on.
“I wish it hadn't,” you didn't move an inch now, your breathing even, even when he started to caress your cheek, “I wish we were still the carefree children from years ago. I wish I could still sneak treats into your room to make you smile.”
A thought that often crossed your mind too. It was comforting to hear that you weren't the only one stuck in that time that seemed to have been so much easier.
But unlike him, who seemingly forgot who he was for a moment and where you were, you didn't. You had already let yourself be vulnerable before, but you wouldn’t let him be. You wrapped your fingers around his wrist and smiled softly at him, “I think it'd be better for you to go back to your festivities, my king.”
What surprised you was the hurt look that flashed over his face for just a split second.
But you still saw it.
You didn't know what he had hoped would happen tonight, maybe for you and him to finally be honest with each other and not pretend like you were nothing other than his tool for killing, but apparently you didn't want that.
Or so Yoongi thought, when he cleared his throat and walked away without another word.
But it wasn't like that.
You were simply doing what you had always been doing.
Protecting him.
Your eyes wandered to the man standing in the shadows that had watched all of this. It was only when Yoongi was gone that he retreated back into the shadows.
“In another life, Yoongi,” you whispered to yourself as you slipped back into your shoes, before following him, “But it can't be this one.”
#bts imagine#bts x reader#min yoongi x reader#suga x reader#min yoongi imagine#yoongi x reader#yoongi imagine#suga imagine#bangtan boys#bts#bangtan sonyeondan#min yoongi#suga#yoongi#reader#requests
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Hi hello Can I request pregnancy hcs for Nie Mingjue, Nie Huaisang, and Jin Guangyao? 🥺
Hello, dearie ❤️ Your request has been granted~ I hope you enjoy the fluffalicious headcanons.
P.S. I am just LOVING the fact y'all are asking for NHS. He deserves the world. And gosh, seeing reqs for JGY and NMJ warms my heart.
Nie Mingjue
Have you ever seen a boulder cry? No? Well now you have. The moment he learns you are pregnant, with HIS child, a child symbolising the strong love you have for each other, he'd go deadly soft. No, he wouldn't necessarily cry, but if you squinted you'd notice how his eyes would turn slightly glossy.
For once his constant scowl will actually disappear and he'd look (and feel) genuinely happy.
At first, he'd stay silent, thinking over what you'd just told him, before lifting you up gently (as gently as Mr.Muscle can) and giving you a big hug. Then he'd let go of you, straighten up and resume his previous resting scowl.
"I will do my best to be a good father."
Truthfully, most of the cultivation world didn't think he could even actually keep a lover around for long, much less go as far as to start a family, so news of a little Nie heir would come as quite literally - a shock. Suddenly, the entire world's eyes would be on you, much to Nie Mingjue's displeasure. Because of that, he'd become MUCH more protective of you. The world can be cruel, people can be cruel and life can be unfair, so he'd make sure absolutely nothing can hurt you.
Before he learned you are pregnant, he was already pretty gentle with you, but after telling him - he doubles on the care. He'd randomly come check up on you through out the day under the pretence of having to ask you about your opinion on "very serious matters at hand".
He'd also double on the meditiation sessions, trying to best his anger for the sake of your well-being. In fact, as secretly nervous as he is about the whole situation, somehow the very thought of you and your future child would bring peace to his heart. Though that is something Zewu-jun would conveniently forget mentioning to him. Alas, he'd suddenly remember once the two sat down for a cup of tea.
Nie Mingjue would secretly hope he could teach his child about the art of war and have actual proper sparring sessions, which he couldn't have with his brother. He would occasionally imagine, telling him stories of their ancestors, choosing their saber, showing them all of the Nie traditions and so on and so forth.
He'd also vow not to let his child turn into another Huaisang. (although knowing how complacent Nie Mingjue can be when it comes to his loved ones, spoiling this kid ROTTEN wouldn't be too far from the realm of possibilities.) Frankly, as long as his child can grow up to take good care of themself and the sect, he'd be content either way.
And above all, he'd be thankful, that he ended up with a family made on the foundations of mutual understanding and respect, and a child on the way, which is a symbol of true love.
Nie Huaisang
Denial.
Confusion.
Acceptance.
Does he absolutely love you to death? No questions asked. But the news of a child would catch him completely unprepared, which is fairly uncommon for the all-seeing mastermind that is Nie Huaisang.
Suddenly, saber practice and tests at Gusu seemed like a breeze. That isn't to say he wouldn't be happy, or glad, or proud - believe me, he'd be ELATED. It's just- is he ready to be a father? Is he ready to raise a child? Is he ready to be a ...role-model? Create a legacy?!
"But- I'm trash. What if I can't take care of this child? What if I fail at raising it? What if I'm a dead-beat dad? What if I die suddenly? What if war starts? What if the child doesn't like me? OH MY GOD WHAT IF THE CHILD DOESN'T LI-"
Please save him from his own self-doubt, he's more worried than Wei Wuxian and his self-worth equals that of a washing sponge. In reality, Nie Huaisang is so used to being underestimated, considered a mere spoiled prince, that the determination and unconditional love in your eyes would take him aback. Even more so, the trust you have in him, especially for raising a child, would leave him speechless.
And then would come the realization of the situation - he will be a father. And he will start a family with the love of his life, successfully continuing the Nie lineage. He'd be well-aware of the humongous responsibility that comes with raising a child and after taking a breather, he'd be more that ready to take on the world. And god forbid anybody dares say anything about his family.
After that whole fiasco, things would actually die down. Nie Huaisang is no idiot. The more obnoxious he is, the more unwanted attention he'd bring about. He'd be pretty casual with his care, often just lying with you, making blind guesses about the baby.
Sometimes, just to get a reaction, he'd ask like a spoiled child "are we close now" "are you there yet" and so on and so forth, generally aiming at making you laugh.
He has already made up his mind - once the child is born and is given a name, he'd paint it on the finest wooden fan imaginable. In FACT, getting to teach said child how to paint would his little not-so-secret dream.
As long as you're healthy, Nie Huaisang would more more than content with this turn of events. In fact, he'd be so proud to have you by his side.
Deep down he'd be totally soft and utterly emotional over the fact that he'll be a father, but those are emotions saved for later stages of your life together. (wait till you actually give birth)
Jin Guangyao
Imagine the sweetest, fondest stare in the history of stares ever. That is what you'll first see, once you inform Jin Guangyao of your pregnancy.
"What truly joyful news, my love."
He may be many things, many things indeed, but he isn't unattentive. You are his wife, his lover, the mother of his child and he would take great responsibility for that. He'd take care of you more than ever before, though he's always been extremely considerate.
Any darkness or intent of murder in his heart would dissipate once he sees you, and tripple should anybody so much as look at you the wrong way. After all, he has enough experience in the art of murder to know how to get around.
Living in a brothel with his mother showed him how harsh the world and society can be, so he'd vow to himself to give you and your child the life you deserve. Remembering everything his own father, if you could call him that, had or hadn't done for him, he has been given a good example of what not to do. He's promised to himself to be a good, loving father, who'd raise his child right. Simply he'd want his child to grow up without having to worry about surviving.
He'd fall utterly in love with this child before it is even born. He'd be constantly talking to your stomach, stroking if gently, leaving sweet kisses along your skin. That of course would only happen behind closed doors, yet the more your belly would grow, the more you'd get to spend time with Jin Guangyao.
While he wouldn't make a big deal out of your pregnancy, he wouldn't really hide it either. Lan Xichen, of course, would be first fo know, so he'd quickly come to give the two of you his blessings. Slowly news of the future heir would travel, so Jin Guanguao's overly cautious behavior would double. You'd still be allowed to go outside, of course, he is no monster, (his words, not mine) but he'd require you to go down town only when accompanied by him, or one of your most trusted people. He'd have spies everywhere, all to ensure your well-being.
He'd know almost immediately whenever you'd feel sick or generally uncomfortable because of the baby. And he'd be prepared with natural herbal remedies, massages and a ton of cuddles. Simply, he'd respond to your every beg and call. (I mean- he already does that but shhh)
Despite being, essentially, a criminal mastermind, there is no denying he is intelligent, resourceful, diligent and a good leader, in the core of it. Now, to that list can be added a good husband and a great father. After all, he'd want his child, no matter the gender, to be treated with respect and given all of the love it would require - what he always wanted, yet never received.
Thank you for reading~
#mo dao su zhi#mo dao zu shi#grandmaster of demonic arts#grandmaster of demonic cultivation#mdzs fanfiction#the untamed#mdzs#the untamed nie huaisang#nie huaisang#nie mingjue#nie clan#mdzs nie huaisang#jin guangyao#mdzs meng yao#meng yao#the untamed x reader#lianfang zun#chifeng zun#zewu jun
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PROMPT: Followup to How do you think Euryale would court the MC? #knifewifesquad
WARNINGS: Somewhat OOC
characters Mentions of blood Crimes against fashion
Unhealthy/Predatory Behaviors
Reference to Greek Mythology
Potential Spoilers for Routes
Written by @evoedbd
*****************************************************************
Alisha’s answer was gorgeous. There was no other word that summed up everything that ran through her mind. Cute, delicate, fiery, marblesque… all fell under that uniquely gorgeous category. In a manner beyond human or Godly monster, or any Alisha had seen in her brief life.
The first thing to captivate her was unimaginably expressive eyes. Gems the colour of peach, dancing a fine line between pink and brown. Pale and captivating. Shock blew them wide, even as a weariness hardened them, and something void of sanity swum in their pale depths. There was something innocent about them, how large and clear they were perhaps, topped by a petite brow that seemed to carry the weight of the world and pale hair a shade between winter sunshine and summer dried grass. Hair with a short cut, wispy fringe and hanging in girlish pigtails tucked between delicate little ears… with little earrings shaped like a butcher’s knife from a murder scene, complete with photo realistic colour decal. The Alice in wonderland went batshit crazy theme continued with a lavender summers dress, ending just above delicate knees, leaving little black shoes suited to a child on display. Shoes bathed in blood; little bows knocked askew.
“Who are you?” The woman demanded; voice shrill. Soft looking lips, only half coated with a dappling of peach lipstick, peeled back from teeth. Sharp teeth. Teeth with the top canines extended almost like fangs, though evidently within the human vein of acceptable. An adorable, proud yet dainty nose turned upwards, thin nostrils flaring as if scenting the air for the next kill. So, it was becoming apparently clear Alice should never have left wonderland… but even on the rampage, her unique appearance still fell in gorgeous. Godly even. As if carved from the finest marble, then drizzled with a faint layer of gold so she gleamed in the light.
“That was a stupid question. I know who you are. What the hell were you thinking? Just barging in here like that! I could have turned you into… well, a museum piece! Do you know how many museum pieces my sisters have donated?”
Something about the way she spoke of museum pieces made Alisha feel entirely uneasy. As if these pieces could feel… but that would mean… oh. Oh no. Please no.
Alisha went to open her mouth, went to speak, only for an utterly confused squeak to escape. Enough to make her want to facepalm. She was usually calm and rational, heck she faced down Hercules on the daily, but some insane chick had her squeaking. How was that even a thing? Well, she had to be real. She had a real-life Godly Monster, someone so potent she had etched her name in history, in her living room. So, she had it down to one out of three to guess from, but what would happen if she got it wrong? She had to think carefully, try to piece everything together on the fly. A beauty carved of stone, who spoke of statues as if they were living beings, with sharpened teeth? A woman who had an unhealthy obsession with knives and inflicting pain on demigods… or anything really… anybody? Why was Alisha still looking into her eyes?
“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you a- you’re hurt.” She’d started carefully, tilting her gaze cautiously to avoid looking as intimidated as she was, only to notice the black patch against the woman’s ribcage. No matter who, no matter what she was, she was hurt. She was bleeding all over her own shoes. Over Alisha’s furniture. And she was kind of sweet, even with the psychotic side. This was a woman who’d left helpful messages and items to support Alisha through some tough times. It made sense now why the acts were humanly inappropriate. Could Alisha really hold cultural differences against an injured woman?
“No I’m not!” The woman’s snappiness made Alisha’s heart jump. Her insides lurched, every droplet of blood trying to relocate an inch to the left. Yet, somehow, she didn’t move a muscle. The HERA agent simply stood her ground, extending her hand as she pointed to the dark patch against the lavender.
“What’s that then?” Alisha demanded, watching the other woman lower her gaze. Peach eyes fixed on the wound for a split second, lips pursing in clear irritation. Something about it had Alisha thinking the irritation was more for the dress than the cut.
“It’s a flesh wound.”
… apparently Alisha was right.
“That’s still hurt!” Alisha finally snapped, her exasperation bursting through her human instinct to fear the godly.
“Are you calling me weak?” The woman’s sharp demand was accompanied by an earthquake worthy shift in her attitude. The peach in her eyes shrunk, the band of colour narrowing down to pinpoints even as her eyes blew wide. A crazed monster, matched by the rows of unnaturally sharp teeth, which she had bared in a wide mouthed snarl. Something Alisha couldn’t help but smile at. Granted, she probably should have been revaluating her strategy given there was also a giant leopard seal snarling from her couch, with teeth for days and murder in its lavender eyes, embraced by a halo of lavender that betrayed it was definitely this woman’s aura… but, of course, Alisha didn’t. The longer she stared at the flex of aura, for every breath of salt and brine she inhaled, she could feel an answering tide within her. It swelled in her chest, overcoming her entire being, washing away all possibility and competition until it was the only thing that could escape her.
“Euryale.” The name tasted so right. How a word could have taste, Alisha couldn’t begin to explain. Yet, the way it rolled across her tongue, how it made her lips caress the syllables… it was the tide, an ebb and flow, the rolling of waves in her mouth to which Alisha was helpless to resist. The ancient name held such wonder, such elegance, something delicate and something fierce. Of course this was Euryale. How could Alisha have ever thought otherwise? She lacked the force of Stheno, nor held the renowned grace of Medusa. Euryale was potent emotion. The myths of her cries crumbling stone played in the back of Alisha’s mind, for if she were stone, she truly doubted she could handle anguish in such a raw form. Not if Euryale expressed it like she expressed her irritation.
“You’re not weak, at all, but you are hurt. I don’t understand any of what is going on, why you’ve been leaving me messages, or why you’re hurt, but you are hurt. I need to help you. I’m not about to turn you over to H.E.R.A. If you’d wanted to hurt me, you wouldn’t have sent me all those nice things. You’d have already done it. For now, that’s enough for me to trust you. Can you now trust me?” Alisha’s words were spoken gently, as one might speak to a nervy colt. She could only watch as peach reclaimed white, swelling until there was barely white left. Those gorgeous eyes glistened, oceans beginning to trickle from them before everything withdrew. Then, the scent was only a memory. The seal as tangible as a dream one couldn’t quite remember after waking.
“You don’t know… was my intent not clear?” The Gorgon questioned, lower lip trembling as she pouted. Alisha could only shake her head.
“Charybdis and Prime told me that lines of courtship were still done in human society! They even had me spend hours memorising hundreds of atrocious lines that I might woo you properly! They said romantic notes held universal intent!” Euryale went from mopey to utterly infuriated within a blink, stamping her little black flats into the pool of blood and salt water. Alisha could only blink.
“You were… you were attempting to hit on me?”
“I spent days researching the languages of the finest poets under their guidance, only for you not to understand their complexity?” The Gorgon continued. Alisa could only bite her lip, struggling not to laugh.
“You… googled pickup lines?”
Euryale’s cheeks flushed.
“Prime told me that was how you wooed in this era!” Euryale whined, crossing her arms defensively across her chest. With every frustrated huff, her murderous little earrings jingled, making Alisha’s struggle to keep her composure that much harder.
“And stabbed them into my door? For weeks…”
“I read delivery should be given personal flare! Stheno said I should be direct!”
Well… she was direct alright.
“By stabbing my door… for weeks…” Alisha reiterated, voice lacking emotion. Aphrodite was going to have a field day with this. May was probably already planning friendfictons… Alisha could only facepalm.
“I had to research your patterns for months to establish an appropriate time schedule-”
“Are you confessing to stalking me? For months?” Alisha had to cut in. So, that explained some things, probably should have freaked her out too… but could she completely fault this adorable creature? Ok, so it was unquestionably out of line, something that Alisha would have to have some strong words with Euryale about, and Euryale was a poster child for sweet but psycho… but it was somehow charming too. Euryale looked very much like a teenager grumbling about a crush. All the social floundering, the sincere effort put into it. So, things were very lost in translation, but… it was kind of endearing watching an ancient godly monster try to act like a twenty-year-old.
“I was observing! I had to perfect the wedding gifts.”
“Wedding…?”
“The exchange of blades? A proposal? You accepted them… you didn’t know their meaning, did you?”
Again, Alisha could only shake her head. No. Nope. Absolutely no clue.
What followed was a tirade of ancient Greek, spoken so vehemently it could be nothing but the most enthusiastic of cussing fits. It was accompanied by little stamps and huffs, so reminiscent of a toddler throwing a tantrum that Alisha was caught between cooing at the more twee aspects of the scenario or blushing at the few phrases she could roughly understand. She did neither. Before she could decide, Euryale’s foot came down that bit too hard in her previous mess, splattering little pink droplets across the floor. Her shoe slid through the puddle, sending the Gorgon sprawling onto the couch with the grace of a beached whale, and a terrified yelp that cut Alisha to the core. Before Euryale could stop it, a pitiful whine escaped her, degrading Alisha’s mind to one goal.
Comfort.
She sprang into action, reaching to press her hands tightly to the wound even as she broke into babbling.
“Hey, hey, hey! I am sure you’re really lovely, and would make a wonderful, erm, soulmate. But I haven’t really gotten to know you, and I really appreciate the knives, but I’m not ready for marriage… maybe we could start with something simple? Like coffee?” It was after her verbal outpouring that Alisha realised this was the first time she was touching Euryale. Months of gifts and messages had finally led to this. It should have been ground-breaking; Alisha had expected the moment to erode the mountains. Expected her heart to seize in her chest… but everything was still. The heat of blood and comfortable curve of Euryale’s body didn’t leave her brain melted. Didn’t feel monumental the way she’d expected. It was natural, just like the act of taking breath, as if she’d been born to do precisely this.
“Coffee?” The hopeful yet confused way Euryale muttered that had Alisha practically melting. How was this twee little psychopath so adorable?
“Yep. Maybe some dinners, or some movies? Oh, do you have a phone?”
“A… phone?”
“So we can call and text. I adore the gifts, but I can’t afford to keep replacing the door, not to mention if someone breaks in, I’m only human.”
“You’re Hera.” The Gorgon whispered, looking into Alisha’s eyes. Again, the peach had swallowed the white, brimming with such profound sorrow that Alisha couldn’t resist leaning closer to press her lips to the Gorgon’s forehead.
“I’m still only human… so, coffee?”
“Coffee.” Euryale agreed, lips pulling into a timid smile. Before either woman could process more, The Gorgon flinched, a hiss escaping between her teeth.
“And bandages?” Alisha suggested, earning some form of snort from Euryale to accompany the flush to her cheeks and the growing little smile.
“Bandages are good.”
In hindsight, Alisha probably should have asked what had happened, but she was far too lost in that gorgeous smile, in that beautiful moment of vulnerability, to do anything more than come to two very startling conclusions.
One - she was the biggest sapphic disaster to ever walk the earth.
Two - If Euyrale didn’t stop being so endearing, Alisha was absolutely fucked.
#answered#anonymous#lovestruck#women of lovestruck#eurayle#afk eurayle#eurayle x mc#astoria fates kiss#fluff#fluffy#scatterday
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Remembering
Title: Remembering
Pairings/Characters: Ron/Hermione
Summary: At seventy-something years old, Ron reflects on his life with Hermione.
Prompts: For QLFC - write about a character who is known as a warrior
Warnings: Canon mentions of war, Cursed Child compliant, because it’s how it happened.
Originally published: July 30, 2021 on Fanfiction.net, ao3 and Tumblr
Reposted: N/A
The smile etched on Ron’s face had not left him for the whole night. There he sat, listening like he had never listened before. She spoke with so much intensity, passion… pain. He took in every word, relished in them, savoured them. And as she spoke, he remembered.
From the moment he’d first laid eyes on her to now, he remembered every part of it.
On either side of him sat his children. Rose was on his right, her hand clasped in his. Hugo sat to his left, back straight and listening intently, too. Their eyes were fixated on the front, as was the rest of the audience.
But Ron closed his eyes and just listened.
And remembered.
…
She spoke of their time searching for Horcruxes. The way she described it to the captivating audience made it sound like a walk in the park. She left out the gory details, as they all had over the years. He’d read the history books, seen his name scattered throughout the pages. The words written didn’t reflect what had really happened during that time.
The words painted them all as heroes, and he supposed they were to some degree, but it was her that was the true hero.
It was her who had stayed strong throughout the whole thing, she who had culminated all their plans, who always believed.
For Ron, she was the hero, and from that moment on, she always had been.
…
As her voice filled his ears like sweet music, now reflecting on her accomplishments in the Ministry after the war, he remembered how strong she’d been during those times.
She’d worked furiously to get where she was today, starting in the Department for Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures, then moving into Magical Law, becoming the Deputy Head, second to Harry, and finally being named Minister for Magic.
Ron was so proud of her, because she’d fought for every second to get where she was. She’d worked day in and day out, many late nights, many early mornings, and Ron had been so proud of her. Always supporting her, cheering on her achievements.
Not to mention she’d successfully raised two children throughout the whole process, and they had turned into two wonderful humans. Rosie in her dream job of being an Auror-Healer, a leader now in that section at the Ministry. And Hugo, writing book after book with spells he’d invented himself, his name now on the standard Hogwarts textbook list.
Ron knew he’d played a part in the child-rearing, but how she’d done it without losing her head, amazed him.
Every day she’d give one hundred and ten percent to their children and another one hundred and ten to her work, and even more to him, her husband.
Even in the tough times, she was brilliant. She’d fought for her children, for herself, and even for him when she’d thought he needed it. She’d never backed down from a fight, never gave up.
And because of that, he’d fallen head over heels in love. Almost fifty years ago now, but he’d never fallen out of love. Not once.
Not when her hair started to turn grey, not when wrinkles appeared. If possible, as they got older, he loved her even more. Because not even age could beat her.
…
Next, she spoke of her family. Growing up as a Muggleborn, spending the first eleven years of her life ignorant to the existence of magic.
How she'd always had the support of her parents, how they did everything for her to make her transition into the wizarding world — a world they didn't understand — as easy as possible.
She spoke briefly of the family she gained when she came to Hogwarts. Of her friendship with Harry and with Ron, and how she'd met her life partner in the process.
At the mention of his name, Ron opened his eyes. He looked at her, his wife. The most amazing woman in this world.
She was smiling at him, and he returned it.
Oh, how amazing she was.
Her eyes flicked away again, taking in the audience once more. Ron closed his eyes again and listened to her tell them about what Ron thought was the bravest thing she had ever done.
She had altered her parents' memories. Made them forget her as a means to protect them.
It was so long ago now, her parents long-gone, but Ron still remembered it like it was yesterday. How she'd appeared at his doorstep, tears streaming down her face, and just fallen into his arms and sobbed.
Then, through a never-ending stream of tears, she'd told him what had happened.
Ron had comforted her as best he could — held her, offered soothing words — but the whole time all he could think about was just how amazing and brave she had been. How strong she was to have done something so selfless.
And he'd loved her all the more for that, watching her as the months went by as she stayed so stoic and strong despite not knowing if her parents would ever remember her again.
His chest, even now, swelled at the memory. He could never forget.
…
She gave a brief, personal ode to her husband and children, pointing them out in the audience. Briefly, all eyes were on them.
She also mentioned their four grandchildren who'd become the light of their lives over the past fifteen years.
Rosie's two girls and boy, and Hugo's little boy. All perfect little humans.
She named her family as her strength, as if she wasn't the strongest of them all.
Ron smiled. He'd have to tell her she was wrong when she was done here.
…
There was a long pause, and Ron once again opened his eyes.
She'd stopped talking and he could see the tears that had escaped her eyes. His instinct told him to go up and comfort her, but he wouldn't. This was her moment.
Silence echoed throughout the hall as she gathered herself. Then, finally, her voice once again ran out, shaking.
"These years have been the most wonderful, but it is time now that I pass it on to the next person. I thank everyone for my time here, for allowing me to be the longest serving Minister for Magic in history, and I'm proud of everything I have done over the years.
"As my final week comes to an end, I can now look forward to all the important things in my life. My husband, my children and seeing more of my grandchildren. Maybe, even, I'll get to go on a holiday that has been long overdue."
Ron smiled. He'd been asking her for years to go away with him, but she had always been too busy.
There was another pause as she seemed to search for the next words to say. But there seemed to be nothing else.
All she did was nod and say, "Thank you."
Applause broke out and Ron, along with Rose and Hugo, got to their feet with everyone else. His bones ached these days, but that didn't matter when his wife was involved.
It had been a brilliant speech from the most brilliant witch he'd ever been fortunate enough to know. They may be old now — as Eleanor, their eldest granddaughter liked to say — but at least they could enjoy another thirty or forty years together in peace.
The crowd continued to applaud as she made her way down from the stage to greet her family.
Ron didn't even let her say anything before he kissed her, an odd sight for those around them, for 'old people weren't supposed to kiss' as Samuel always insisted.
"That was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do," she said. "Saying goodbye to fifty years of my life…"
Ron merely smiled and nodded. "Yes, but like everything else, you exceed at all the hard things."
She smiled, for once conceding that she was good.
Ron kissed her again and then took her hand.
"And anyway, now your biggest challenge is yet to come. Now, you have to endure the rest of your life dealing with me."
Hermione gave a wry smile. “That’ll be easy,” she said. “I’ve been doing that for most of my life already.”
#romione#ron and hermione#romione fanfiction#harry potter fanfiction#hp fanfiction#ron weasley#hermione granger
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I've had 'Just give me a reason' by pink stuck in my head all day lol, I humbly offer it as a song prompt if it sparks anything :D
“If it sparks anything”... Fam, I just astralprojected back to 2013 and my first kiss! I had a lot of fun with it (although I got a bit distracted midway through, I’m sorry!)
I also couldn’t decide whether I wanted to do a post-mountain fix-it fic or a modern AU, so you’ll get both! Here’s the angsty one (that’s way longer than expected) :)
Read on AO3
The unfairness of it all as he staggered down the steep mountainside was overwhelming. Twenty years of his life for... what exactly? For nothing at all!
Over half of his measly human life he'd spent trailing after that grumpy... horse's arse of a witcher. He poured his heart and soul into a song cycle just to change Geralt's undeserved horrible reputation! (And to get rich, of course, but that was neither here nor there.) By rights he should claim ten percent of Geralt's income, but did he? No, of course not!
He'd never asked anything in return. Nothing but company, a friend, a tiny bit of affection even. Not love, of course. He might be delusional and a hopeless romantic, but not that much of an imbecile.
He knew Geralt loved Yennefer and that the affection was mutual. It was pretty much obvious for about anyone who saw them together. And Jaskier wasn't just anyone. He and the witcher shared just about anything — food, coin, clothes, beds sometimes, when it was cold or there was only one room left. And, though the witcher denied that fervently, Geralt talked in his sleep sometimes.
Jaskier had discovered that one freezing night in a tavern in Kovir, when he'd woken up because he was uncomfortably warm. Additionally, to the heap of quilted blankets they laid under, Geralt had draped himself over him, too, clutching him tight against his chest. 'Cute,' Jaskier had thought, 'Geralt's a cuddler.'
But then he had started talking, and it had been torture of the most exquisite kind. Most of his ramblings were unintelligible, but those he could understand were unbearably sweet. "Don't go," Geralt would say whenever Jaskier tried to move away. Or "C'mere" and tug him closer to his chest. There were plenty of "Y'smell good"s and, on one memorable occasion an "I love you". None of them were meant for him, of course. But, oh, how he wanted them to be.
Jaskier had fallen for Geralt the moment he'd spotted him in that tavern, grumpily nursing his tankard of ale. He'd been absolutely smitten as soon as they walked free from Filavandrel and Geralt smiled at his "Respect doesn't make history" nonsense, thinking he wouldn't see. They had travelled together for the better part of a month, before destiny had parted them again. At an inn at the crossroads Jaskier had stolen a pretty lad's virginity and Geralt had ridden off into the sunset, not knowing he had stolen Jaskier's heart in turn. 'Good old days.'
Only that they weren't good anymore. Jaskier heaved a sigh that sounded more like a sob than anything else. What had previously been a rose-and-gold-coloured fantasy of a memory, seemed now rather dull, truth be told.
After a few weeks going their separate way, Jaskier had heard of a witcher near Hagge and gone to seek him out. They had travelled again, on and off. Most of the time it had been him, who had actively looked for Geralt, tracking down rumours about white-haired monster hunters. But not always.
Right before the whole child surprise ordeal, it had been him performing in a tavern and Geralt barrelling inside, interrupting him mid-song. "Jaskier!" the witcher had shouted. "There you are. I've got a contract, come with me?"
Or that other time in early fall. He'd gotten himself a comfortable place for the winter in the home of some noble lady, who he'd been entertaining with music, poems and other uses of his silver tongue alike, when one early evening a servant knocked on their door, quite adamantly insisting there was a visitor for the troubadour. His host had been none too pleased when he'd gotten up and dressed to greet a witcher of all people. "What the fuck were you thinking, bard," Geralt had growled, "not showing up all summer. I thought you were dead."
All in all, Jaskier had thought that his affection was, at least to some extent, reciprocated. And now this.
After twenty years the moment he'd dreaded had finally come. Twenty years of lavishing Geralt with love. Geralt, the person who'd been told he couldn't feel, mustn't feel. Twenty years of shouting his adoration to the heavens, to finally be told that it was unwanted.
To borrow Geralt's words: "Fuck." He needed a drink.
~*~
Geralt of Rivia was an idiot and he knew it. The revelation had dawned on him almost instantly after his foolish outbreak. Well, not entirely instantly. He had a feeling, at the very least, although he hadn't expected the bard to take his words literally.
He hadn't been able to get rid of him with his gruff exterior before, so he hadn't thought he would now. The realisation that Jaskier was truly gone dawned on him, when he reached the base of the mountain a few days later and the bard was nowhere to be found.
Roach was still there, as were Geralt's bags. Their content wasn't. After twenty years of carrying frivolous outfits, chewed-on quills tattered notebooks that smelled of lavender, they were uncomfortably light.
"Fuck," Geralt said quietly. He didn't know why, but some part of him had hoped to find Jaskier there. 'Where he belongs,' his brain supplied unhelpfully. He frowned deeply, trying to rid himself of that thought. Jaskier wasn't some kind of possession to be owned.
But when he settled down for the night that evening, the forest devoid of any melodic chattering, of joyful laughter, of life, he knew it was true. Jaskier might not belong to him, he mused as he crawled into his bedroll. 'But he belongs to my side all the same.'
Somewhere along the twenty years of companionship — gods, was it truly twenty years? It was nothing for him, but such a long time for humans, who aged so fast — Jaskier had managed to firmly worm himself under Geralt's skin, to the point where there was something missing now that he was truly gone.
Geralt slept terribly that night. When the sun rose the next morning, he set out on another hunt. Not for a monster, that time, but the best thing destiny had ever given to him, that he had chased away with his brashness.
The scavenger hunt led him halfway across the continent, until he stumbled into another tavern on the coast of Temeria. Jaskier's trail hadn't been too hard to follow. Apparently, his friend had been fucking and drinking his way through three kingdoms.
And the bard looked as if he was doing a good job of adding a fourth one. He was more than just a little tipsy, sitting rather than standing on the stage. An agonised look passed over his face when he saw Geralt. He wanted to rush over and pull him into a hug, but then Jaskier started singing and the witcher was just frozen in place. It was the most heart-wrenching ballad yet. It took him only about three lines to realise who it was about. 'Fuck,' he thought.
All his instincts told him to flee. He wasn't prepared for this. He couldn't do this. But Jaskier had seen him already. No getting out of it now.
So, he shouldered his way through the crowd Jaskier always attracted and tried to hide in some secluded corner of the tavern. It took incredibly long for the bard to finally finish his set, and even then he made no attempt to seek Geralt out. Instead, he languidly leaned onto the bar, flirting with the barmaid behind it.
He barely suppressed a growl. 'Fine,' he thought and got up to confront his mistakes. He slammed his tankard down next to Jaskier, scaring the barmaid off in the process. "Jaskier," he greeted him.
"Oh, great," he sneered in response. "There goes my bed for the night."
"Hmm," he answered and ducked his head. "I'm sorry."
"What, for chasing off my newest conquest? I fucking hope you are!"
"No, Jaskier," he answered honenstly. "I'm sorry for what I said to you."
"Hmph, you need to do a lot better than that," he said and reached over the bar for a bottle of strong-smelling liquor. He poured himself a glass and knocked it back. Without pause he continued: "Because you know what? I'm fucking angry, Geralt."
"Do we have to do this here?" he hissed. They were attracting glares. Never a good thing for a witcher.
"No," Jaskier admitted and stood up. Bottle in hand he walked towards the stairs. "You're paying for the room."
"Sure," he grumbled and flagged down the innkeep. By the time he had managed to acquire a key, Jaskier had already dragged himself upstairs and drained a good portion of the bottle.
Geralt snorted and unlocked the door, but didn't comment on it. "What I've been trying to say-" he began, and was promptly interrupted:
"How about trying to shut up?" Jaskier hissed and kicked the door shut. "How about trying to listen to me after twenty fucking years?!"
"Jaskier, what I said-"
"This isn't about what you said! Don't you understand? What you said is only the tip of the figurative dragon mountain. I thought you actually liked me! I thought we were friends."
'Shit,' Geralt thought and ground his teeth. "Hmm."
Jaskier laughed hoarsely. "Oh, great. That same old story again. Why am I even bothering...?" He drank straight from the bottle, swaying a bit on his feet.
"You're drunk," he tried to say as neutrally as possible.
"And you're shutting me out again," he countered. Neither of them were wrong.
"I don't know what to say," Geralt tried.
Jaskier wasn't impressed: "Evidently." He made no attempt to follow that up with anything.
After a few moments of silence, Geralt realised that it was his turn to try and fix this mess with words of all things. "I can't sleep," he tried. "Not since you left."
"Poor you," Jaskier mocked cruelly. "I can't either."
"I can't sleep without you," he tried again. "It's cold. I'm dreaming. And when I wake up I'm alone. Roach is a horrible conversationalist and my camps are too big."
Jaskier put the bottle down slowly, gaping at him.
"I walked the path for decades without you and it was fine. It's not anymore. I can't do it any longer. And I guess... I guess I was scared." The words weren't any less intimidating once he'd finally said them. "You said I talk in my sleep?"
"You do."
"I don't. It's been beaten out of me in Kaer Morhen."
"So?"
He closed his eyes as tightly as he could. It was stupid, he knew. Childish, even. But he couldn't look at Jaskier for this. "So, I meant it. Every word of it."
No reaction.
"Please, Jaskier, I need you to forgive me."
"Give me one reason and I just might." He could hear him come closer. "Say it," he demanded. "Look me in the eye and say it."
It took him every ounce of his discipline to open his eyes and look at Jaskier, barely two feet away from him. "I love you," he said quietly.
"Louder."
"I love you. I've loved you for years, and it scared me, so I couldn't let you know. Witchers aren't supposed to be scared, and that scared me even more, and-"
The rest of his words was silenced by Jaskier's lips. The bard practically leapt at him, snaking his arms around his neck and pulling him close. "You're an idiot," he said when he pulled away. "A fool, a nitwit, an absolute imbecile. The stupidest man alive!"
"I am," he agreed, looping his arms around his waist.
"Why, oh why, do I have to love you of all people?"
"You love me?"
He laughed a teary laugh. "I do, I do. For years and years. How didn't you notice?"
"Because I'm a fool," Geralt said and kissed him again. He just couldn't resist.
"I'm still angry," Jaskier informed him.
"That's alright. But you don't hate me?"
"Far from it."
"And when I wake up on the morrow, you'll be there?"
"Yes," Jaskier promised with another kiss.
Geralt couldn't help but grin. "Good."
#my writing#geraskier#geralt of rivia#jaskier#the witcher#geraskier fanfiction#the witcher fanfiction#prompt fill#post-mountaion fic#angst with a happy ending#i'm sorry if the ending's a bit wonky#heart-of-a-rose#look i've got an ask
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My Prince (1)
Pairing: Minghao x reader
Genre: fluff/(angst)
Summary: Life is not exactly easy being the royal gardeners’ daughter but at least it’s simple. When you’re suddenly called upon to serve as the prince’s personal servant, things get a little more than complicated, especially considering the secret history you and the prince share.
Part 2
Part 3
Warnings: general angstiness, a bit of a slow burn, very romantic, very soft, the fact that this will most likely become a long series cause I have no chill
Word Count: 3k
Author’s Note: this is a present for my sweet sweet baby @silverstonemanor you deserve the world, I hope you like it! She gave me the idea for this story a while ago. I would have posted stuff earlier but my extra self couldn’t stop and ran way too far with this whole idea. This was supposed to be a drabble and well, now it’ll probably become the longest thing I’ve ever written that isn’t a novel so yeah ^^” oopsie~
►
The sun was just peeking over the distant treetops when you entered the wide castle grounds with your parents, tool bag slung over your back. You didn’t mind waking up this early; you enjoyed watching the various shades of orange and pink roll over the sky like waves, until nothing was left but clear blue. Besides, in a few hours, the air would turn far too hot and humid for you to focus.
The royal gardens were massive. They’d seemed infinite as a child and even now, despite your position as gardener, you found yourself lost in them from time to time. You followed your parents to the place you’d left off the evening before: a long, narrow stretch of grass, flanked by vibrant tiger lilies on both sides. At the far end was a small, ornate pagoda, around which a thin body of water lay. It was a lily pond of your father’s own making.
“Start at the front,” your mother’s stern voice called from behind, “we need it perfect by noon.”
You did as you were told, getting on your knees in the damp grass, facing the flowers. They needed pruning, as well as weeding. There would be some sort of royal meeting held right here today and; naturally, the place should be spotless. You dug your fingers into the moist soil and pulled at the weeds haphazardly, eyes drifting to the sky more often than necessary. It was tedious work, being part of the royal gardeners but you’d never had much of a choice in the matter. Your parents had done it and the same was expected of you. It’s not like you minded it all that much; you just wondered sometimes whether there was something more exciting you could be doing with your life than fussing over the tiniest details of a garden so vast, the emperor would probably never even see half of it.
The distant neighing of a horse called your attention. Unthinking, you got up and jumped onto the raised platform of the pagoda, so you could see over the bushes of the garden. From the castle’s main entrance came about a dozen men on horses. They trod down the path that lead into an enormous forest. At the front of the procession was the emperor of Namin himself, his most trusted servant by his side. Your eyes went immediately to the horse behind them though; for that’s where the prince sat. The gold detailing on his robe glinted in the warm morning light as he silently followed his father.
“Hey!” your mother barked at you, “these weeds won’t disappear by themselves you know.”
You pulled your eyes away from the procession and hopped off the pagoda with a dull thump and a sigh. You wished you could join the people on their horses. You didn’t even care where they were headed; you just wanted to get out. You imagined adventures you’d have with the prince sometimes; it was a bit of a guilty pleasure and if anyone ever found out, you’d probably be banished from the grounds.
But the prince and you had been close once. You’d been only children but even then it had been scandalous. Servants weren’t allowed to interact with royals but, as the daughter of the palace gardeners you’d spent a fair amount of time on grounds, learning your parents’ craft. That’s how you’d first met him.
He’d been reading by himself under an orange tree when you’d found him, a young boy of seven. He’d seemed weary of you at first but in a matter of hours, the two of you would’ve seemed like best friends to strangers. You still remembered the way he’d smiled at you that first day when you said goodbye; as if he himself was shocked by how much fun he’d just had.
From then on, you’d been secret playmates. He’d find you in the rose garden, watching your parents treat the plants and steal you away for hours, playing hide and seek in the endless maze of greenery, until the sun went down and when you’d return, your parents were worried about where you’d been.
He hadn’t seemed much like a prince back then. You’d just known him as Minghao, your best friend. He’d been loud and wild and full of life, chasing you between trees and under bushes, not afraid to get completely covered in dirt. One time, you’d been teasing each other until finally, he’d pushed you into one of your father’s most prided fountains. You’d yanked him down with you, ruining the apparently-brand-new robes he was supposed to wear to a formal dinner with the ruler of a neighboring land called Yientan that evening. You hadn’t seen him in the following days and you’d felt extremely guilty but a week or so later, he’d jumped out from behind a tree and pulled you into another afternoon of carefree playing.
You were eight years old when you finally got caught. To make matters worse, it had been the empress herself who’d found you, hidden behind a banquet table at one of the royal summer festivals, laughing a bit too loud. You’d never forget the look in her eyes — hard as stone at her own son — as well as Minghao’s — positively terrified. She’d had the guards escort him back to his chambers assuring him there’d be punishment later. She would have banished you right then and there in front of everyone if it hadn’t been for your parents’ begging. They promised to have you start training twelve hours a day with them, to force all your focus on gardening so you wouldn’t have the energy to think about anything else.
You supposed you should be grateful. You would never have survived on your own outside the grounds should you have been banished.
After that, you barely ever saw Minghao and even when he was out in the gardens, you kept your distance. There were times when your eyes crossed and you’d share a look and a smile that reminded you of the way things once were. But even that didn’t last. Soon enough, Minghao grew up and you stopped seeing him as Minghao, the name replaced with ‘prince’, as others called him. It seemed to fit him more. By his fourteenth birthday, there wasn’t much left of the loud, wild, full-of-life boy you’d known. His back was straighter, his shoulders squared and his kind smile vanished. On the rare occasion your eyes did meet, his were cold like his mother’s and you just had to learn to live with that.
Because you knew your place now.
Yet, as you worked your way around the stretch of tiger lilies, your mind kept flitting to the prince. You couldn’t help it. You knew it was silly but, somehow, you still hoped you could return to how things were before.
You were a sweaty mess once the sun arrived high in the sky. Your hands hurt and your stomach was growling but your mother had told you not to take a break before the flowerbeds were in perfect condition. After that you’d still have to clean the pond, all before the clock struck three, when the meeting would take place. You were getting impatient and grouchy and when someone called your name you replied with a bit more attitude than you were allowed to.
“What now?” you groaned, turning around to see, not your parents, but a tall, thin woman in pristine, white and gold clothing. You nearly fell over into the flowers.
The woman didn’t seem fazed. “Come with me,” she ordered in a monotone voice.
You looked around for your parents and found them just as perplexed as you were. Hesitantly, you stood and followed the stranger through the garden. You knew by her clothes she must work at the castle but, as you had no idea of what went on on the inside, you couldn’t tell exactly who she was or what she wanted from you. You worried suddenly they’d somehow found out about your secret prince fantasies, which was a completely irrational thought but horrifying nonetheless.
You were taken through the main entrance, with its massive wooden doors and colorful flags — a gold dragon against a vivid blue backdrop. You'd been fantasizing about what lay behind them since before you could remember. More blue and gold flags? Statues of the royal family? Elaborate paintings or murals?
It was more than you could have dreamed of. The room was entirely bare, drawing the focus on the only the two things that mattered. The floor was a wood, so shiny you could see your face reflected in them, the gentle creak in them like a birdsong. The walls were painted a sky blue, decorated with gold, spindly tree branches. Their shine reflected onto the wood, lighting up the place beautifully.
You had no time to admire any of it. The tall woman’s stride was hasty and you could barely keep up. Tailing her through a small sliding door, you came upon a narrow hallway. You passed others in servant’s clothing: light colored, clean, silk robes. They billowed behind them gracefully as they shuffled past. It made you realize how much you stood out in your mud-stained tunic and trousers.
You ventured deeper into the castle, taking turns through sliding door after sliding door and you started wondering whether you’d ever find your way back outside, when suddenly, the stern woman turned around to face you. You were in a small room with a low table as its center piece. The woman motioned for you to sit and so you did, feeling your heartbeat quicken. What kind of punishment was in store for you here?
The woman took the seat opposite you at the little table, expression unwavering. “I’ve called you here because your services are required in the castle,” she said, sounding put off by the idea.
You could only stare at her in confusion. Why on earth would you be needed at the castle? Your parents did the odd job inside every now and again, mostly flower pieces for special events, but you’d never even been allowed in. Was this some kind of joke?
“Our royal prince’s personal servant has fallen ill,” she went on as if she couldn’t care less, “we need a temporary replacement.”
It took you a few moments to put two and two together.
“You mean me?” you let out a little louder than you’d meant to.
The woman raised her brows. “Believe me I would have chosen otherwise but as it is, you’re the only adequate servant on castle grounds available at the moment.”
Adequate, you thought perplexedly. That wasn’t really a term you’d ever use to describe yourself, let alone a term some crabby older woman would use to describe you.
“The position of any royal member’s personal servant has a set of very specific requirements. Age, gender, birth time,… I don’t expect you to know about it,” she sighed, quite literally looking down on you. “Skills can be taught,” she went on, rising and beckoning you to follow, “but unfortunately the alignment of the planets are beyond our control.”
She opened up a panel behind her, revealing a deep closet space filled to the brim with colorful fabrics. She pulled out a soft lilac robe, not unlike the ones you’d seen the other castle servants wear, and held it up to you, looking you up and down.
“This will do,” she said with a concerning lack of enthusiasm. She pulled out a bunch more similar robes and made a neat pile. “Come,” she ordered and left with the clothes.
All you could do was follow and try to process the ridiculous things you’d just been told. Perhaps you were just dreaming, you thought. Yeah, that had to be it.
You arrived in another bare room, this one large and rectangular. There were a couple of other servant girls, folding robes on the floor. They all rose upon seeing the older woman and bowed in silence. Then they noticed you and their eyes narrowed. You felt their stares stab at your already racing heart.
“Before we can begin your training you need to wash, child,” the woman said, laying down your new clothes, “I’ll be back in half an hour. Be ready," and with that, she left you standing there, completely in shock.
After awkwardly looking around the room for far too long to be socially acceptable, you plucked up the courage to ask for help. The young girls exchanged looks before reluctantly bringing you to the baths.
If you hadn't been so anxious it would've been the best bath you'd ever had but for all the luxurious oils and soaps to scrub yourself clean with, your brain was too preoccupied with everything that had just happened.
“I don’t understand,” you muttered when you were met with the older woman again, “I’m just a gardener.” You were shuffling after her in the narrow hallways, trying to wrap your head around things.
“Don’t be dramatic,” she answered simply, “it’s not befitting a royal servant. Besides, this is merely a temporary position. You’ll be back out with your tools in no time.”
Her name, you’d learned, was Tou Ma, or at least that what you were to call her. She was head keeper to the royal family, in charge of all female servants in the castle. Her face was long, with eyes like slits and cheekbones sharp as glass. You couldn’t tell how old she was from the heavy layers of powder she wore but supposed she must be older than your mother.
She spent the rest of the day attempting to cram an overload of information into your head. She taught you to bow ‘the proper way’, whatever that meant; apparently you’d been doing it wrong your entire life. She explained all the intricacies of etiquette, washing, folding, serving, dusting, pruning and a bunch of other things you’d probably forget by the next day. It was all so overwhelming that when it was finally over, the sun was setting and you were about ready to pass out.
“Now,” Tou Ma said, somehow still as fierce as she was at the beginning of the day, “the emperor and his son returned from their hunting trip approximately one hour ago. I suggest you don’t keep him waiting much longer.”
The words took the earth right out from under your feet.
“I have to see him?” you stammered, “now?”
Tou Ma looked unimpressed. “I’ve told you how he likes his tea,” she said, “don’t mess it up.”
You were one and all nerves as you approached the prince’s chambers. You nearly got lost on the way, the hundreds of hallways all blurring together after such a long day, but the entrance to his chamber was not easily missed. It was a heavy, wooden sliding door, it’s surface craved out, depicting a scene from a past war. It was imposing to say the least, with soldiers on horseback and a massive dragon in the sky, spewing fire. It did not manage to still your racing heart.
Taking a deep breath, you slid open the door.
There he was, the prince, sat in a blood red, upholstered chair at his desk, writing. He looked regal, you admitted, in his clean, silk robes and perfect hair; too beautiful to touch. He looked up at the sound of the door. His brown eyes fell on you and his lips parted in silence.
“Um,” you started awkwardly, which was already not the ‘proper’ way of serving tea, “I’ve brought you some tea.”
That’s when you noticed his brows furrow ever so slightly. Having forgotten everything Tou Ma had taught you just before, you walked over to the nearest surface — a narrow table against a wall — and set down the tray you’d been holding. You felt his eyes on you the entire time as you tried to remember how to prepare the beverage properly but when you were finally done after what seemed like forever, you found him hunched over his writing again.
“Okay,” you said softly, “it’s ready.”
He set down his pen and turned to you with a look that was impossible to read. The silence between you seemed to last forever and you felt your face go red hot. You noticed for the first time how tired he looked. He was seventeen, one year older than you, but the darkness under his eyes would suggest otherwise.
Part of you wanted to go nearer to him. You took a hesitant step forward but at once, you saw his eyes turn colder than you’d never seen them.
“You can leave,” he said suddenly, casting his eyes back down to his writing.
“Yes,” you stuttered, taking the emptied tray and hugging it to yourself, “of course.”
You stumbled backwards until you met the door, made an awkward bow and left the prince with a sinking feeling in your gut. You’d watched him change over the years from a distance, sure; but having him dismiss you so coolly when there was no one even around to see? Well, it hurt. Maybe part of you had hoped he’d act differently when it was just the two of you. Maybe you’d hoped he’d tell you all these years of iciness had been pretend for his parents. But clearly not.
In one day, your entire life had turned upside down and at its end, you were positive things hadn’t changed for the better.
Part 2
#minghao#xu minghao#the8#seventeen#minghao fluff#the8 fluff#minghao scenarios#the8 scenarios#minghao imagines#the8 imagines#prince minghao#kpop fluff#fluff#series#minghao series
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One Sweet Day
by katefiction (Maria) / 2014
I had this idea 5 years ago, but not for Will and Kate, just as a random story. It’s nice to have finally written it. I hope you enjoy and let me know if it’s what you expected! ;-)
Maria x
“A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams” – John Barrymore
I am a dying man.
At least, that’s what I’ve been told.
My organs are shutting down, as they have been doing gradually for the past ten years. 84 years is a long time for them to be working away, I don’t blame them for wanting to stop. It’s my heart that’s the biggest trouble maker though. It keeps slowing and refuses to pump the blood around as it should.
It’s the reason why I’m sitting in bed, reading all about my imminent departure from this world in the paper.
The thing about coming to the end of your life is that everyone wants to make you comfortable. They want to wrap you up in bed, as if that will delay the inevitable. It’s the polar opposite of what I want. I want to be seeing all the places I meant to see when I was healthy, and speaking to all the people I kept meaning to stay in touch with. I want to be fixing all the things I messed up.
‘Dad? Can I get you anything?’ My son pops his head around the door and scans me up and down for any sign of distress.
I wave my hand nonchalantly, ‘I haven’t expired yet’ I say a little breathlessly.
‘You’re not funny dad’.
My dad jokes had been thrilling him for 53 years.
‘George, come here, humour your old dad for a few minutes won’t you?’ I put my newspaper down and take off my reading glasses.
He is the spitting image of me, unfortunately. Luckily for him though, the male pattern baldness that has cursed our family for generations skipped him. With a head full of grey hair and at a towering 6ft 5, he cuts quite the dashing figure. Thank God for his mother.
George closes the door behind him and sits down on the chair next to my bed.
‘So what have you been up to today?’ he asks.
‘Let’s see…I woke up, bathed, had breakfast, got back in to bed, had a nap, and now here we are. Living the life, my son’
‘Do you have to be so morose all the time? I’d quite like to remember my father differently’
‘Maybe if my darling children allowed me out of this room from time to time, I would be more chipper’
George squints his eyes, ‘it’s for your own good, you’re not well enough to go gallivanting around’
The door clicks open and we both turn our heads.
‘Hi daddy, how are you today?’ Emma blusters in and kisses both my cheeks.
‘Hello sweetheart’. Despite the fact that Emma is 50, I still see her as my little girl. She still wears her brown hair down to her shoulders, and still flits around ordering everyone around just like she did when she was a child.
‘George and I were just talking about how he’s going to take me to the coast’
Emma sends him a sharp look.
‘No we weren’t!’ George protests.
She softens and starts smoothing down my bed covers, ‘good, we can go for a walk in the grounds if you like’
I grumble. As much as I love Balmoral, and chose it to spend my final days in, there are only so much of its grounds I can see.
‘Oh daddy don’t be like this’, Emma takes my hand.
I sigh, ‘I just don’t see the point of the two of you coming all the way from London if we’re just going to sit here all day, every day’
‘But we want to spend all the time we can with you dad’ George says.
‘You know if mum was here, she’d agree with us’ Emma looks at me with those lovely eyes that are just like her mother’s.
‘You’re mother was a taskmaster’ I laugh.
They glance at each other, clearly pleased to see me laughing.
Emma leans in, ‘how about you tell us about you and mum?’
‘What about us?’ I ask.
‘Oh you know, how you met, why you started dating, everything’
‘I’m sure there’s a book about that somewhere you could read…or twenty’
‘Yes but we want to hear it from you, the real story, don’t we George?’
‘Er…yes’ George says, cottoning on to Emma’s idea to cheer me up.
‘There’s not much to tell, you’ve heard it all before’
‘There must be something we don’t know’
‘Well…I suppose there could be…something you never knew about’
My heart begins to slow. I can feel it sometimes, struggling to push the blood around.
There is an unwritten rule in life that some things should stay private. Especially from your children. But those rules don’t apply on your death bed. I suddenly understand why people feel the need to confess at the end of their lives. Because if you die without ever revealing something, then it’s almost as if it never happened, or it never mattered.
And she mattered.
I rub my chest to get my breath back.
‘Take your time dad, we’re listening’
St Andrews University, 2001
The first time I saw her, she was walking along the landing in our halls of residence, St Salvador’s (or ‘Sallies’), books in her arms and a look of determination on her face.
She’d obviously been walking pretty fast from the library. Her hair was swept around her shoulders and her cheeks and nose pink from the walk. In contrast, I had just woken up and was only just on my way to breakfast.
The first week of my university life had been spent a) hiding in my room, b) hiding in the library in Sallies, c) hiding amongst the friends that I already knew from Eton. I had resolved that I couldn’t spend the rest of the year (or four years) like this and had a new found determination to make more friends. There was no time like the present.
‘Er hi’ I said as she rummaged in her bag for her keys. Her room was across the landing from mine and a few doors down.
She turned to face me, ‘hi’. Her subsequent expression was the same one that I’d seen a thousand times. That sudden registration of who I was. ‘Oh’.
I ploughed on, hoping to break the impending awkwardness, ‘I’m Will’.
I thought I saw a twitch on her lips. She knew my name. I knew she knew my name. ‘Catherine, or Kate, whichever. Nice to meet you’. A crimson blush was creeping up her neck and into her cheeks.
I shuffled my feet, ‘you too…so erm…’
Before I could finish, she cut me off, gesturing to her books, ‘I should really get on’
‘Of course, yeh, see you around!’ I waved my arm in the air, then realised how over the top it was to wave at her across the hallway. I pulled it down self-consciously.
‘Have a good day’, she said and scuttled off into her room.
I blew out my cheeks the second she was out of sight. It was hard enough talking to new people, it was even harder talking to girls.
*
The dining hall at Sallies wasn’t your average canteen. With its oak panelled walls and stained glass windows, it looked more like an old court room. It certainly felt like one the first few times I’d entered it. Everyone turned from their long benches when I walked in, and gawped as I made my way to the top of the hall, as if I was a guilty man walking. The table my friends and I sat on was next to ‘High table’, which was used for formal dinners with academics every Thursday night. Each student would get a chance to attend one of these dinners during the year. I had been asked on my first week, but declined the invitation, saying I couldn’t make it that night. In truth, I didn’t want to single myself out so early on.
I sat down next to Oliver, who’d become a good friend.
‘Finally!’ he scoffed, stuffing a piece of toast into his mouth. ‘I thought you were never going to emerge from your cave.’
‘My first lecture is at 11, there was no need to get up’, I said, looking over to the queue to the breakfast buffet.
‘There is if you want to get the pick of the good food in the morning.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Plus all the fit girls eat breakfast early’.
I laughed and scanned the room. There were plenty of good looking girls in Sallies. Coming from an all boy’s school, it should’ve been a feast, but I found myself nervous and suspicious of them all.
‘Kate’s late today’, he said looking over to the breakfast queue.
I turned my head. There was the girl I’d just met, plate in hand, standing alone at the back of the queue.
‘I suppose I’d better start queuing before all the food’s gone’ I said, getting up.
Oliver sniggered, ‘convenient’.
‘What? I only just met her like two minutes ago’
‘Better get in quick, all the good ones get taken in the first term’
I’d heard about the feral hormones that raged in first year halls. Relationships were made, one night stands had and the contagious spread of ‘he did, she did’ gossip was hard to avoid. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be involved in that, I was a young man after all. Just that I couldn’t afford to have the whole country hear about my bedroom habits for the sake of one night of sex.
‘Hi again’ I said as I got in the line behind Kate.
‘Oh hi’ she said sheepishly.
‘So, early trip to the library was it?’ I asked.
She moved along, picking up pieces of fruit from the platters. ‘I just wanted to get some of the core reading done before lectures start properly’.
She seemed reluctant to look me in the eye and focussed on choosing her breakfast.
‘That’s smart. What are you doing?’
‘History of Art’
‘Oh really? Me too’
She finally looked at me and smiled. ‘I know, I saw you sleeping under your hat in the introductory lecture’
I laughed, ‘I wasn’t asleep, I was just keeping my head down, there were a lot of people there.’
I don’t know what compelled me to be so honest, but despite her nervousness around me, there was something inherently calming about her.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise’ she said, clearly embarrassed.
‘It’s fine, don’t worry. To be honest I didn’t take much of that lecture in’.
We got to the end of the line, both choosing fruit and muesli, and laughed when we looked at each other’s matching plates.
‘Did you want to sit with us? You know Oliver don’t you?’
‘Oh I’m sorry I’m meeting the girls.’ She gestured over to a group of girls who were sitting at a table trying not to look over to us. I recognised a few of them from our floor. ‘But I’ll see you in the lecture later?’
‘Sure, yeah’.
We carried our food to our separate tables and I glanced over to her as we did. Her friends giggled and started interrogating her in hushed tones.
Kate, however, merely shrugged and carried on with her breakfast.
*
I never did see her in that lecture. Well I saw her, but we didn’t speak. In fact, we didn’t speak for the next two weeks.
Love stories are often made out to be lightning bolt moments. That moment where you see a person for the first time and they change your world instantly. It wasn’t like that for me. I’d had girlfriends before who I’d fancied immediately and followed them around like a lost puppy. With her, it was different. I thought she was attractive, of course. Everyone did. But she wasn’t like other girls. She had an air of quiet confidence as she walked around campus or sat in seminars. Yet it was like she didn’t realise she was special.
It was one Autumn evening that I spoke to her again. I was bent over my desk attempting an essay on renaissance art, clicking my pen on and off as I tried to wrap my head around it.
University wasn’t all I’d hoped it would be. I’d made some good friends and experienced the typical student nightlife, but during the day, I struggled to keep up with the work and dozed off during lectures.
I slammed the book shut and let out a frustrated growl. I had a 10 am deadline and had barely written 100 of the 1000 words required. As it was Tuesday, most of my friends had gone out to take advantage of the half price drinks at Ma Bells and I knew if I didn’t finish this soon, I’d have to do it under the noise and chaos of their return from the bar.
It was then that it occurred to me to try and get some help. I’d seen Kate in lectures scribbling down notes for the whole hour while I played noughts and crosses with course mates. I just prayed she hadn’t gone out.
Stepping across the hall, I gave her door a gentle rap. It took me by surprise when I heard a soft ‘come in’ from the other side.
Opening the door, I found her sitting cross legged on her bed, print outs and notes spread across her duvet, and a highlighter in her hand.
‘Oh hey’ she said, looking slightly taken aback to see it was me.
‘Sorry, am I interrupting? You doing that renaissance essay too?’ I said, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward being in her room.
A student bedroom wasn’t like a regular bedroom. I was a place to sleep, eat, work, stress out and hide away. It was like a whole home rolled into one tiny space. With the exception of my extra security measures, Kate’s bedroom was identical to mine. A single bed took up almost the length of one of the walls, and a desk spanned the back wall, with a single window above it. The room also crammed in a wardrobe and a book shelf. Like everyone else, Kate had decorated her room in her own style. Her walls were covered in photographs of people – presumably family and friends – and scenic views. Other than a few books lying around, it was remarkably clean and tidy; a world away from my pig sty of a bedroom.
‘No no, I finished that a couple of days ago, I’m just reading up for the next lecture’
‘Wow’ I said, shocked at her ability to be so organised.
She lifted an eyebrow at me and smiled, ‘sooo, have you done yours?’
I instantly felt at ease at the slight derisiveness in her tone. ‘See, that’s the thing, I was hoping, if you’re not too busy that is, that you could give me some pointers?’
She immediately piled up her notes and put them to one side, ‘what do you need to know?’
Somehow, Kate knew that by ‘pointers’ I really meant that I needed to know everything we’d been taught in our renaissance module.
After collecting my notes and laptop from my room, I sat down opposite her on her bed and we went through my question, ‘How did Giotto liberate Italian painting from the traditional Byzantine style of the early Middle Ages?’
There were four questions to pick from, and unfortunately she’d chosen a different one from me, yet still knew a remarkable amount about the subject.
‘How do you know all this?’ I said, after she described one of Giotto’s paintings to me.
She blushed, ‘I spent some time in Florence in my gap year – am I being a know-it-all?’
‘Not at all’ I laughed.
As she explained her twelve weeks in Florence to me and pointed out the panoramic views of the city on her wall that she’d taken, I noticed a distinct twinkle in her eye.
‘So what did you spend the rest of your gap year doing?’ I asked, relishing the time not talking about myself.
‘Actually, I went to Chile with Raleigh’ she said reluctantly.
‘No way! So did I! Don’t tell me we went at the same time?!’
Any ideas of doing my essay were quickly thrown out the window as we spent the next half an hour talking about our expeditions in Chile. As it turned out, Kate had been there a few weeks after me, but was well aware I’d been. She just hadn’t wanted to bring it up.
‘We should probably crack on’ she said pointing at my laptop after a long conversation about one of the expedition leaders and his tendency to wear the same socks every day.
‘Yes, right’ I said, clearing my throat. ‘Work…right’. I placed my fingers on the keyboard willing them to type something.
‘Here’, she grabbed a scrap piece of paper, ‘it will help to plan it out’. On it she wrote the essay question and highlighted some of the words in her pink highlighter, drawing lines from each of them.
‘So “Giotto”, who was he and why was he important? Then “Byzantine style”, what was this style? Then “liberate”, how did he liberate it, what did he do?’
I sat watching in awe, ‘you make it look so simple’
‘Once you’ve chopped the question up, it is simple’ she smiled. ‘Do a paragraph for each with a few quotes from the textbooks, plus and introduction and conclusion and you’re done. That’ll be good enough for-‘ she looked at her watch ‘-11 pm the night before’.
‘I should probably know how to write an essay by now, shouldn’t I?’ I said, embarrassed that she had to explain it to me.
‘It’s different to school, you’ll get the hang of it. Besides mine might be a load of rubbish’
‘I doubt that very much, you’re far too prepared with your fancy highlighter’
She giggled, ‘here, have it’. She handed the pink highlighter to me. ‘For good luck’.
I used it so much during that year that I only gave it up when the ink ran so dry that it left barely visible scratchy pink lines across my notes.
*
That night marked the beginning of our friendship. We began to walk to lectures together and sit together in the lecture hall. She even managed to get me to concentrate on the odd occasion. But even that wasn’t enough for me to enjoy the subject. As the first term drew to a close, I was having serious doubts about the course I’d chosen, and Kate’s obvious enthusiasm for art history only confirmed my thoughts that it wasn’t for me.
Luckily for me, I’d managed to make a tight knit group of friends who I could trust with my indecision. But it was Kate that convinced me to stick with St Andrews and by the time the second term came around, I was a Geography student.
When we returned that January, everything seemed brighter.
‘It was strange not having you in the lecture today’ Kate said one evening as a group of us huddled over bags of fish and chips in the common room.
‘I can’t say I missed it, present company excluded obviously’
She gave me a small smile, but turned away quickly.
Our friendship was easy and natural, but there was still a part of her I felt I didn’t know. She was open when she was with her girlfriends, but when it came to hanging out with the boys, she held back. She was certainly aware of the effect she had on them, with the amount of offers she’d had. I’d heard through the gossip chain that she’d been on a date with an older student named Rupert just before the Christmas break. She hadn’t mentioned it to me or any of the other boys.
‘You coming out on Thursday?’ Fergus asked me. As a friend from Eton, Fergus and I had maintained a close bond.
‘I’m going to dinner at the High table, I should probably accept this time’
‘So come out afterwards, you’ll need to get pissed to wipe the memory of it, trust me’
Kate turned back around ‘you’re going on Thursday too?’
‘Yeah…you as well?’
She nodded and I grinned. Suddenly the prospect of a formal dinner with academics sounded a lot better.
‘Aww look at you two’ Fergus teased.
‘Shut up’ I said chucking a chip at him.
‘Do you want to go down together’. She looked at me uncomfortably and I stumbled. ‘Just so it’s not as awkward walking in I mean’
‘Oh…ok yeah’ she said, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Next to me Fergus was sniggering childishly.
Looking back, it was obvious what he knew long before I did.
*
By the time Thursday evening came around, I was back to dreading the dinner. Pulling at my tie, I knocked on Kate’s door.
‘Just a minute!’ she called from inside.
An image flashed through my mind without my consent. One of her getting dressed in her room. In her underwear. I blinked quickly to swat it away.
‘Hey!’ she said, opening the door. For once, her room was a mess, with clothes and shoes all over the floor. ‘You look smart’.
‘I feel like an idiot, but you look erm…’
She was wearing fitted black dress that went down to her knees and had small thin straps. Compared to the student uniform of jeans and a hoodie, it wasn’t what I was used to. Her hair was straighter than usual too, and seemed bouncy and shiny.
Amazing was what I wanted to say, ‘…erm very formal’
She looked down at herself and pursed her lips, ‘is it too formal?’
‘No no no, that’s good! You look good formal, perfect’.
‘Well that’s alright then’ she said, grabbing a shawl from the back of her door.
When we got to the main hall, academics and fellow students were mingling around looking distinctly awkward while clutching onto their drinks.
‘This looks fun’ Kate whispered sarcastically.
I smirked at her, trying not to laugh. I got us both a glass of champagne and shuffled around the room saying hello to everyone.
When it was time to be seated, me and Kate gravitated towards each other and sat on the far end of the long table with an academic either side of us.
The academics made a point to speak to us all at the dinner table in turn.
‘So William, you’ve changed your course to Geography. I trust you’re finding it easier than your last course?’ a tweed clad lecturer asked me.
‘Well it’s only been a few days, but I think it’s a lot more suited to me. I couldn’t get along with history of art’.
‘You do have to have a certain flair for that subject, not everyone has an eye for the nuances of art’, he took a swig of wine.
At university, I’d learned there were two main types of people. Those who wanted to befriend me at any cost, and those who were vocal in their dismissal of me in an attempt to show how much they didn’t care. That academic was in the latter group.
‘Actually William has a great eye’, Kate suddenly said, before he could speak again. ‘But I imagine Geography will be more of a challenge for him intellectually, not less’.
The academic looked slightly put out and I blushed.
‘Well yes I suppose’ he said grudgingly. ‘So you are enjoying the subject?’
Kate nodded enthusiastically, ‘I love it’.
‘What are your plans after university?’
I noticed how he hadn’t asked me that question, no one ever did.
‘Well at the moment I’d just like to get on with my degree, but maybe if I do well, I’d like to go into curating’.
The academic nodded and muttered something about that being the typical route for art history graduates, but I had stopped listening. I was more interested in watching Kate as she smiled politely, listening to the next student speak.
When the dinner was over, we left the hall at the first given opportunity. As we walked back up the stairs to the bedroom, Kate checked her watch. It was already 10 pm.
‘Thanks for sticking up for me in there’.
‘No problem, he was being a bit of an idiot’ she laughed.
‘At least that’s over and done with now’.
‘Yeah’ She seemed in a hurry to get back to her room, where as I was keen to chat to her for longer.
‘Are you coming out now? I’m meeting the others in town’.
She glanced away, ‘Oh. I’ve made other plans’.
It was clear that she didn’t want to divulge what the plans were or who they were with but a sinking feeling in my stomach told me I probably knew.
We said goodnight and I got changed into jeans and a jumper. A few minutes later after texting Fergus to find out where they were, I headed out onto the green lawns of Sallies quadrangle.
Straight ahead of me, walking towards the gate away from the halls, I saw them. Kate was smiling up at Rupert as he talked animatedly, gesturing with his hands. I heard her laugh ring over the quadrangle as she slipped an arm into his and realised that her dress, the hair and everything else was for his benefit. Not for the dinner’s, and certainly not for mine.
My stomach sunk into my feet.
*
Once I was aware of those feelings, I couldn’t escape them. Every little thing she did made me like her more. The way she got up early to go swimming even when she’d had a late night. When she was so raging drunk that she had to be carried into bed. The way she was so into her studies that even when we all teased her, she still worked harder than all of us combined. And how she would do anything to stop me winning in our tennis matches.
Rupert had become a regular feature at Sallies, and I had gotten used to seeing him around. Not that I was particularly happy about it.
One night after a bar crawl, we were all stumbling to our corridor and Kate was attempting to drag him to her room.
‘I have to go, or I’ll miss my study group in the morning’ he told her.
‘Please please please’ she said, locking her arms around his neck. He held onto her waist to keep her standing.
‘I’ll text you tomorrow’, he seemed completely sober compared to her.
She pouted her bottom lip and attempted to kiss him.
‘Let’s get you to bed’ he said, and wrenched her arms apart.
I hung around in the corridor for the next twenty minutes, where my friends were congregating with pieces of jam and toast to help sober them up.
Rupert came out of Kate’s room not long after and trotted down the stairs without so much as a goodbye.
‘What a dick’ I slurred to no one in particular.
‘Who?’ Fergus said.
‘That bloody Rupert the Bear’.
Fergus laughed, ‘he’s an alright bloke’.
‘No. No.’ I waved my arms around aimlessly. ‘An alright bloke doesn’t say no to her’.
Fergus’ eyes lit up mischievously ‘I fucking knew it!’
‘What? No. It’s not like that. Don’t be a dick’.
He patted me on the back sympathetically, ‘plenty more fish’.
I slumped against the wall. ‘Yeh but but she’s not a fish though’.
‘No, you’re right, gotta respect women – she’s a woman, NOT a fish’.
To my mind the words coming out of my mouth were perfectly sensible, ‘she’s not just a fish, she’s a dolphin, like a really pretty dolphin’.
Fergus nodded gormlessly, ‘right, yeh a dolphin’.
It was when Fergus started making a squeaky dolphin call that I knew it was time to go to bed.
I was more than relieved to break up for Easter if only to get away from Fergus making dolphin noises whenever Kate was around.
*
That April, the trees started blooming in the quadrangle and I was happily settled at St Andrews, and doing a course I enjoyed.
For all of us at Sallies, thoughts had begun to move to what was going to happen next year. For me, it was harder than most, I not only had to find people to live with, but those people had to be ones I trusted. On the first day back after Easter, Fergus, Kate, and her friend Olivia came to me with a proposition.
‘We’ve been talking’ Fergus began. ‘You and I decided we wanted to live together next year right?’
‘Yehhh’
‘And Olivia and I want to live together’ Kate continued.
‘Okay’ I said.
‘So how about we all move in together’ Olivia concluded.
The idea of living with Kate next year had never really crossed my mind. In fact I’d worried that I wasn’t going to see her at all next year.
‘Are you sure you want to live with boys?’ was my first reaction.
Kate laughed. ‘To be honest Will, I think we’ve all left it a bit late. We should’ve started looking in February. I think we’re each other’s best options right now’.
‘I suppose…as long as you’re all comfortable with it’ I was speaking collectively but only looking at Kate.
They all nodded and so it was decided. Within the week, Kate and Olivia had found a little house in Hope Street for us to move into. Once my security had made its checks and plans, the contracts were sent to Kate.
One evening, she came to my room, contract in hand. My room looked like a bomb had hit it and I swept around picking up dirty underwear and socks from the floor. She’d only been to my room a number of times during the year as I tended not to invite anyone in.
‘I hope you’re going to be tidier in the new house’ she joked as I tripped over my desk chair in an attempt to hide the two week old pizza box on my TV.
‘Course, it’s just revision time, you know?’
She tilted her head to one side, ‘I’m joking Will. Though you are a slob’
‘Oh. Yeah I knew that’.
She handed me my contract and made to leave.
‘Is there anything I need to look out for in the contract?’ I asked in a vain attempt to keep her there.
‘Just what you’d expect. If you paint a wall, paint it back when you leave. No pets. Pay for anything you break, that sort of thing.’
‘What about guests staying over?’ I said, my mind formulating a way to ask about Rupert.
‘I think it’s ok as long as they don’t end up living there’
‘Right yeah, so, um, does Rupert mind you living with two guys’. Evidently my attempt to be subtle failed.
Kate blushed and started adjusting her hair, which was in a high bun. ‘We’re not seeing each other anymore’.
If I could’ve floated up to the ceiling I would’ve.
‘Since when?’ I said, trying to sound casual.
‘Oh just before Easter’
‘Sorry’
‘It’s fine. Anyway I better get on’. She said it so quickly that I didn’t get a chance to ask her what happened.
I regarded Kate as one of my closest university friends and yet I couldn’t help feeling a little deflated that she hadn’t already entrusted that information to me. We talked about almost everything together. She teased me when I was being stupid, calmed me down when I was pissed off, and guided me when I was feeling a bit lost. There was still or door that wasn’t open to me, and I knew if I didn’t act soon I would never be let in.
*
Kate now being free and single had a strange effect on me. I was jubilant and yet still reluctant to do anything other than admire her from afar. As far as I could tell, she had no idea how I felt and no feelings for me in return. We continued to hang out as normal in our group, until one night, Olivia and her loose lips changed everything.
It was a raucous post-exam blow out in June and seemed like the whole of Sallies had come out on the quad to celebrate the end of the first year. Streamers, foam and toilet roll covered the trees and grass. Stereos were placed in about ten different windows causing a mass of different music to bounce of the buildings. Alcohol was in plentiful supply and we had a variety of bottles scattered on our section of grass.
Kate and her girlfriends were sat under one of the trees chatting and giggling. I watched as a couple of them got up, leaving just Kate and Olivia hidden by the tree’s canopy of branches.
‘Hi’ I said, walking over and hovering over them awkwardly.
‘Hello’ Kate said and patted the ground next to her, ‘sit’.
I sat down and helped myself to some wine. ‘Having fun?’
‘Yes, apart from we keep getting deserted so those two can go and flirt with the fourth floor lads’ Olivia said.
I looked over to where their two friends were play fighting with some boys over a bowl full of pink liquid that was apparently a cocktail.
‘Do you not fancy some of that fluorescent drink?’ I said to Kate.
‘No thank you!’ she winced.
‘Because you’re a lightweight?’
‘I’m not a lightweight, it just looks disgusting’
I smirked at her as a reminder of the time I had to take her home at 11pm after she had mixed her drinks.
She pulled up a bit of grass and threw it at me, ‘shut up’
‘I don’t believe I said anything’ I laughed.
‘You don’t have to say anything. Your face is annoying’
I spluttered into my wine, ‘my face is annoying?’
‘Yes – you have a smug face’ she clarified.
‘That’s mean. I think I might need to rethink moving in with you’
‘Good’
‘Great’ I threw a wine cork at her and it bounced off her knee.
‘You’re such a child’ she laughed.
‘You started it’ I pulled up some grass and sprinkled it in her hair.
‘That went in my wine!’ she squeaked.
‘As fun as this is, I think I might go mingle’, Olivia stood up abruptly.
I’d forgotten she was even there.
‘Sorry Liv! It’s Will’s fault, stay please’ Kate gave her a winning smile.
‘I think Will would rather have you to himself’ she said, not unkindly.
Kate stopped her protests and went bright red. The smile was wiped off my face too and I stared into my glass.
‘Ooookay, I’ll leave you two to it’ Olivia escaped, looking amused.
We sat quietly until I could think of something to say. I hadn’t realised that Olivia knew how I felt about Kate. In hindsight, it was obvious. The way I buzzed around her. The way she was the only person who I’d get up for to go for an early swim with. The fact that she was the only girl I complimented on nights out.
‘We can swop wines…if yours has grass in it’ I offered wetly.
‘It’s only a couple of blades’ she smiled, but wouldn’t look at me.
Now was my opportunity and I knew it.
‘So that was awkward’
‘Liv can be a bit funny when she’s been drinking’, she said, consciously pulling down the denim skirt she was wearing.
Around us, bodies were falling over and entwining with each other in a messy display of alcohol fuelled passion. I looked at her, wishing I could be that uninhibited at that moment.
‘I don’t mind being alone with you’ I said abruptly.
‘Yeah, it’s fine’ she said, looking around the quad.
‘I mean, I like being alone with you’.
She looked at me, her cheeks turning slightly red to match the colour her lips had become from the wine.
‘I think you’re really cool’ I continued, cringing at my every word. She knew what I was trying to say but wouldn’t take the bait.
‘Thanks’ she said quietly.
‘Do you think that maybe when we get back next semester…I could take you out or something?’
She finally stopped staring into her glass and looked up at me.
I wanted the ground to swallow me up. The look of sympathy on her face was excruciating.
‘I’m really flattered, but um, sorry, but no’
‘No?’
‘I think you’re lovely Will, I really do, but not in that way.’
‘Is it Rupert?’ I asked out of nowhere.
She seemed taken aback, ‘no of course not’
‘Why did you two break up?’ Since I’d already humiliated myself I had nothing to lose.
‘Because he was too busy with uni stuff … it’s not really important though’
I fired off another question, ‘you seemed to really like him’
‘Well yes…but I think I went out with him out of being homesick more than anything. Anyway –‘ she said before I could ask anything more about Rupert. ‘ – I am sorry, I didn’t know that you liked me’
I fidgeted with my glass, ‘I kind of thought you might like me a little bit’
Her body stiffened in surprise, ‘why?’
‘Just how you kind of look away when we’re talking sometimes’
There was that look of sympathy again. ‘I did that because I didn’t want you to think I was flirting. I know how much hassle you get from girls and I really didn’t want you to think I was one of them’
I nodded slowly, ‘well this is embarrassing’.
She put her hand on my knee which didn’t help the situation, ‘let’s just forget about it, I won’t tell anyone’.
‘I think everyone already knows’, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. ‘Anyway I’m gonna go chat to the boys’.
‘I’m sorry’ she said again as I got up.
‘It’s fine’, I lied.
*
Summer was a welcome break after Kate’s rejection. I spent time at Highgrove and in London, as well as on the polo field. Female company was plentiful, but even when a girl was laughing at my jokes and obviously flirting with me, I couldn’t get Kate out of my head.
She didn’t even have to try to make me like her. She had an ease about her that made me feel at home whenever she was around and I missed that. I had invited all my university friends to Highgrove, but Kate had declined, sending me a simple text to say she was going on holiday.
When we got back to St Andrews in the Autumn, I had no idea how I was going to be around her.
Arriving to our house in Hope Street, I found my housemates in the living room deciding on the position of the television.
‘Finally!’ Fergus said as I walked in. He came over to give me a welcome whack on the back.
Olivia queued behind him and gave me a hug as she said hello. When I got to Kate, she gave me a loose hug with her head turned in the other direction.
‘Good to see you’ she said as she pulled away.
That evening, Kate and Olivia went out to get some Chinese food as Fergus and I stayed in to cart the girls’ boxes up the stairs.
‘What is going on with you two?’ Fergus said as I passed him on the landing.
‘Who?’
‘You and Mother Teresa, who’d you think?’
‘Nothing’ I said shortly, dropping a box of shoes into Olivia’s room.
‘Bullshit. You’ve been avoiding her all day. Spill’, he leant against the bannister.
‘I asked her out alright? And she said no’
Fergus was a hawk when it came to gossip and his face opened up like an excited child, ‘when?’
‘Before the break. Now can you hurry up and get those other boxes’. I was irritable but he knew my breaking point and I was nowhere near it yet.
‘What was her reason?’
‘She doesn’t fancy me, what else’
‘Urgh. So that’s it, you’re not speaking to her now?’
‘I am speaking to her, but I’d rather avoid humiliating myself again’
He ran down the stairs and ran back up with Kate’s radio, ‘oh come on, you two have so much in common’
‘Thanks genius’ I said sarcastically.
‘So why have you given up so easily?’
‘Did you not hear what I just said?’ I ran back down the stairs to pick up another of Olivia’s boxes. I was leaving all Kate’s stuff for Fergus.
‘Oh come on Willy, if at first you don’t succeed…’ he grinned like the Cheshire cat.
‘I’m not trying again!’
‘Mate, stop being a wimp, you said it yourself, you humiliated yourself, you can’t go any lower than that!’
In a twisted way, what he was saying made sense. Kate knew how I felt now, I’d already done the hard bit.
Fergus winked at me conspiratorially. ‘She might’ve changed her mind over the summer, you never know’.
*
Kate hadn’t changed her mind, I found out the next day.
She’d asked me to go on a long walk with her to clear the air. As we walked up the hills of Fife, she spent ten minutes telling me how nice I was and how sorry she was about how insensitively she’d reacted.
‘So there’s no chance you’d want to go on a date then?’ I said with my new found realisation that I had nothing to lose.
The hair was whipping her hair all over her face and she pulled it back, ‘no, but I love you as a friend, I really do!’
‘Thing is Kate, we have a lot in common, don’t you think it’d be a shame not to try?’
She looked a little surprised but kept her trademark composure, ‘I don’t want to lead you on’.
‘You wouldn’t be because I know how you feel – or don’t feel’ I offered.
She tucked some strands behind her ear which immediately became loose. ‘We have to live together, let’s not ruin that’.
‘If it doesn’t work out, that’s fine’ I said.
She looked at me through her dark lashes, ‘I’m sorry’, she said, cutting the conversation short.
I was beginning to hate the sound of that word.
*
The thing about Kate was that she was extremely popular with the boys. When we went out she would get multiple offers, and said no to all of them.
On the week we came back to university, a large group of us met at Ma Bells for a bar crawl. Kate was wearing jeans and a strappy black top, with her trademark hair curling down her back. I did my best not to stare at her.
The place was packed, full of freshers who were already half cut. As we stood at the bar attempting to buy some drinks, one of the drunken guys clambered up to Kate.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ he said, his glass of beer splashing over his hand.
‘No thank you’ she said and turned her gaze back to the bar.
‘Come oooon. It’s a free drink!’ he placed his arm around her waist and she shrugged him off.
‘I said no’ she said, more sternly this time. ‘Please don’t touch me’.
‘Whatever Morticia’ as he walked away, his hand grazed along her bum.
She turned and tried to slap his hand away but missed. He laughed in her face and carried on walking.
My heart pounded with anger and I pushed myself off the bar with the intention of grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing him to apologise.
A warm hand landed on my forearm and stopped me before I could get anywhere near him.
‘Leave it. Please’ she said.
‘He’s a…’ I started.
‘A caveman, I know. But you don’t need to be in the papers for having a bar fight. At least not in the first week back’. Despite the noise in the room, her voice was gentle. ‘I appreciate it though, thank you’.
I held onto her green eyes for a fraction longer than I should’ve before nodding.
That night taught me two things. One. That Kate wasn’t just a friend. She was a best friend who would protect my reputation above herself. Two. That every other guy in St Andrews would never treat her as well as I would.
And I was determined to prove it.
*
The following day I asked Kate on a date again. She said no.
And so on the following day I asked her once more. She said, regretfully, no again.
A week on I found an advert in a newspaper for an opera that was coming to Fife. I knew she liked opera, so tore it out and scribbled ‘you and me?’ on it. I slipped it under her door one evening. In the morning I found it on the floor next to my door with ‘You, me, Fergus and Liv?’ written on it with a smiley face.
We went back and forth like that for weeks, with her saying no in the most polite way she could to every idea I had. But even she had a limit to her patience.
By the end of October, and on average, after five requests for a date every week for a month, Kate had stopped being so gracious and had stopped apologising for rejecting me. Instead she’d reply to my texts with You know this is classed as harassment, don’t you? or No thanks stalker.
I liked it better that way.
Late one evening I lay in bed unable to sleep and shot her a text.
You awake?
A reply came a few seconds later.
Yes.
What you doing?
Reading.
Can I come and read with you?
No you can’t.
Liv and Fergus won’t hear.
No.
There’s an old book store in town, it sells antique books and stuff.
I know, I keep meaning to visit that place.
Shall we go together?
In a purely platonic way, then yes.
Great, I love books.
Course you do.
I do!
I don’t think I’ve seen you reading for pleasure in the whole time I’ve known you.
I do it in secret. I’m quite brooding and mysterious like that.
LOL.
Why is that funny?
Go to sleep William.
That weekend the two of us visited the book store, Bouquiniste in town. It was a cold October day and Kate was wrapped up in a big coat and red scarf. I teased her about overdoing the winter gear but resisted the urge to tell her she actually looked quite cute.
Bouquiniste was shabby from the outside with a worn out sign and books covering the windows. When we got inside, it was as dark and dusty as expected, but Kate seemed to love it.
The shop keeper gave us a quick hello from behind the counter and carried on reading her book. For a small shop, it crammed a lot in to its three aisles that spanned the width of the space. After walking down each aisle, we ended up at the back of the shop in the classics section.
‘Oooh Emma!’ Kate whispered.
I turned around looking for the source of Kate’s excitement, ‘who?’
She laughed quietly. ‘Emma…you know the book?’
I looked at her blankly.
‘Jane Austen?’ she added.
‘I know who that is!’ I said triumphantly.
She rolled her eyes, ‘Emma is one of her books. It’s my favourite Austen. And this copy is Victorian, isn’t it gorgeous?’
She handed me the book which was slightly tattered and covered in a deep red patterned leather jacket.
I sniffed it and coughed, ‘it’s a bit musty. Is it a first edition?’
‘William!’ she said in scandalised hushed tones. ‘Jane Austen was not from the Victorian era, honestly, you have so much to learn’.
‘Maybe I could have a private Austen lesson from you?’
She rolled her eyes again and put the book back carefully.
‘Is that a yes?’ I asked as we moved along the shelves.
‘You know it’s not a yes’, she said trying to hide a smile.
‘I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about this’ I said, pretending to look at an old art book on the shelf.
‘I don’t know why you’re being so persistent’ she said in return.
‘I thought that was obvious actually’ I laughed drily.
She shook her head and turned away.
‘It would be so much easier if you just said yes you know’
‘Or you could just stop asking me’
‘Am I really that repulsive?’ I looked at her, pretending to be sad and she hit me lightly on the shoulder.
‘I’m not looking for anything like that from anyone right now’
‘So we can just go on a date! I’m not asking you to marry me’ I realised that I was acting like an annoying child, but it seemed to be working.
‘You don’t give up do you?’
I grinned widely. ‘How about this. You let me take you out on one date, and by the end, if you’re still not interested, I’ll admit defeat. I won’t ask you out ever again.’
I watched her as she mulled it over, scanning my face with her curious green eyes.
‘It’s going to be a long couple of years otherwise’ I added for good measure.
‘Alright fine!’
‘Really?!’ I don’t know who was more surprised, her or me.
‘Yes, but you have to promise you’ll stop after the date. And it’s only one date’ she said, pointing at me like I was a naughty child.
‘I promise. You never know, you might come back for more’
‘Shut up’ she laughed. ‘We’ll never get your head back through the door at this rate’.
*
All my intentions of knuckling down to study that week were quickly forgotten. We had set a date for the following Friday which gave me a few days to prepare.
Unfortunately for me – and for Kate – going on a date to a restaurant wasn’t realistic for me and so I had to be a little more inventive. There came the benefit of being friends; I knew what she liked and didn’t like and could create a date purely aimed for her.
By the time Friday rolled around, all I had told Kate was that she needed to wrap up warm and wear some walking shoes.
‘So where are we going?’ she asked, eyeing up the big backpack I was wearing as we got into my car.
‘You’ll have to wait and see’ I smiled as I put the bag in the boot.
‘I’m guessing we’re going on a hike? That or we’re leaving the country, what on earth is in that bag?’ she asked.
‘So many questions! Just enjoy the drive’ I started the ignition and made my way out of St Andrews.
The entire duration of our twenty minute drive was spent with Kate interrogating me about our destination. Unfortunately, she was astute enough to realise we were driving to the coast and that we’d be going hill walking when we got there.
‘Eleven o’ clock is quite early for a date, you know?’ she said as we approached Anstruther.
‘Hey, you said we could go on one date, you didn’t specify any time limit! I’m taking advantage of the opportunity’. I glanced in her direction and was pleased to see she was smiling.
I parked up on a scenic spot on the sea front and we headed out on the coastal trail.
‘Do you want me to carry any of that? I feel kind of bad that I’m not carrying anything’ Kate asked, looking at the backpack again.
‘I’ve got it thanks. And if that’s your way of finding out what’s in here, then try harder’
She narrowed her eyes at me and gave up.
Over the next hour we wove our way around the coast line of the small fishing village of Anstruther. Avoiding the harbour with its shops and cafes, we kept to the walking trail which was flat, but slightly rocky at times. Nevertheless, it was away from the main part of the village, which was exactly what I wanted.
The two of us chatted easily as we walked about the village, university and home. Truth be told, I hadn’t planned the conversations out like I had everything else and the line between a date and two friends going for a walk was blurry.
‘So, you still thinking of curating after uni?’ I asked, trying to steer the date into less familiar territory.
‘I think so’ she said, kicking some stones along the shore as she went. ‘I’d love to work with art every day. You know, set up exhibitions, get people engaged with it and stuff. I think it can come across kind of stuffy and pretentious’.
‘You’re telling me!’ I scoffed.
‘Will…why did you even take History of Art? I’ve kind of always wondered’
‘Because I didn’t know what else would be…useful. For my future, I mean’, I flinched thinking about the tense conversation I had with my father when I decided to drop the course.
‘It just seems so unsuited to you now, sometimes I can’t believe you even took it’, she looked up and smiled at me sweetly.
‘I know I know. At least I fixed it before it was too late’.
She hesitated for a moment and then carried on talking, ‘what do you think you’ll do after uni?’
How refreshing it was to have someone ask me that, and how happy I was that it was her asking.
‘Go into the army I suppose. Until…until I can’t anymore’. I stopped short. I hated thinking about my life after university.
‘What would you like to do, if things were different?’ she asked softly.
‘You mean if I were normal?’ I said sarcastically.
‘No’ she said plainly. ‘I mean if your life was normal. You’re already pretty normal from where I’m standing’
I held back on grinning like an idiot and concentrated on answering the question, ‘I’d want to do something that was making a difference, something with conservation in Africa if I could, or a paramedic even’
‘Those are two pretty different jobs’ she laughed.
‘You know what I’m getting at though…don’t you?’
‘I do’, she said placing her hand on my arm. For a moment I thought she was going to hook it in the crook of my arm like she did with Rupert. ‘You want to be able to make use of yourself for the greater good, that’s pretty cool’.
‘Shame I won’t get the chance’ I said, raising my eyebrows.
‘What do you mean?’ she said, suddenly animated. ‘You’re going to have an amazing opportunity to be a voice for all of this stuff’
‘I’d like to be more than a voice’ I said resentfully.
‘Oh Will, stop!’
She meant it metaphorically, but I did so physically, halting on the shore. She did the same and turned to me.
‘I know your future is really scary – God knows I couldn’t do it – but you have the biggest platform anyone could hope for. You’re going to be able to give all of the things a step up. So maybe you won’t be able to work with the animals in Africa, but you’ll be able to tell the WHOLE WORLD about it and they’ll listen!’
She gesticulated wildly with her hands.
‘You really think people will listen to me?’ I said cynically.
‘Well not at the moment no. Maybe when you grow up a bit though’. She shrugged and began climbing some rocks.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I called to her, clambering behind.
She turned and grinned wickedly at me.
‘Are you just trying to wind me up?’ I said, exasperated.
‘Maybe – or maybe I’m just trying to show you the positive’. She plopped herself down onto a rock. ‘I’m kind of hungry’.
‘You don’t take any bullshit, do you’ I said, sitting next to her.
‘Not really’ she leant her head on her knees. ‘Does it make you like me less?’
‘Nope. More.’
*
Kate was delighted to find that some of the items in my bag were two bowls, two spoons, some bread, and a thermal flask full of tomato soup.
‘Did you make that?’ she asked as I poured a generous portion into her bowl.
‘What do you think?’
‘You never know!’ she laughed.
‘I didn’t have time to take cooking lessons this week, otherwise I would’ve’.
She patted my knee, ‘this is fine’.
‘Maybe on our next date I’ll cook for you’ I sniggered, but she merely looked at me sideways while she ate a piece of bread.
When lunch was done with, I slipped a baseball cap on to disguise myself and we wondered back into the village to have a look around. It was a fairly cold November day and it almost felt like we had the place to ourselves.
‘So is this a good date so far?’ I asked her.
‘Pretty good, yes’.
‘The best you’ve ever been on?’ I ventured.
‘Ask me when it’s over’ she laughed.
There wasn’t a lot to see in the village other than a few shops so we decided to go into the most touristy shop we could find.
The shop was covered in tartan paraphernalia, from bags to hats and umbrellas.
‘I should get that for my brother’ I joked, pointing at a tartan hat that had long ginger hair attached to it.
Kate laughed and browsed through a rack of cheap kilts, ‘you should wear one of these’.
‘I don’t think I’ve got the legs’.
‘Course you have, every man looks good in a kilt’, she held a pink and green one up to my waist.
I took a step towards her, ‘even me?’
I thought I saw her blush and she put the kilt down, ‘even you’.
After walking around the shop, we ended up at the confectionary counter where they were selling local sweets and fudge.
‘That looks yummy’ Kate said, and she bent down to survey the different flavours, ‘shall we get some for the house?’
We chose a selection of clotted cream, strawberry and vanilla and I insisted on paying for it as Kate looked at the boiled sweets.
When we left the shop, I handed her a small paper bag of fudge.
‘Are we going to eat it all before we get home?’
‘No, this one is just for you’
She opened it to find chunky cubes of chocolate and mint fudge. ‘How did you know I like chocolate and mint?’ she asked, beaming.
‘I pay attention to you’
‘Oh. Well thank you, that’s very sweet of you’, she handed me a piece and we went back to find a secluded area on the shore to sit.
For the next couple of hours, we simply sat and talked while polishing off the bag of fudge. We talked about our families and the weird traditions we had at Christmas. I laughed at the thought of her father dressed up in various costumes as their Christmas day tradition. Kate laughed as I described some of the gifts my brother and I had bought my grandmother over the years.
We talked about children – Kate wanted three, and I wanted two.
We even talked about exes, and why they were exes.
‘You know you’re very dear to me, don’t you?’ she said after we discussed which exes we were still friends with.
‘But not in a “you’re hot” way?’
She rested her head on my shoulder, ‘in a “you’re an awesome friend and always will be” kind of way’.
‘I suppose I’ll take that’ I leant my cheek against the top of her head.
For all my trying, a second date wasn’t looking hopeful. Yet being in her company, separated from everyone else was enough in that moment.
‘Are you ready for dinner?’ I said after a few moments, noticing she was closing her eyes.
The sun was beginning to set and it was going to get pretty cold, despite it only being five o’ clock.
She popped her head up, ‘there’s dinner too?’
‘I told you I was taking advantage of the time with you didn’t I?’ I stood up and reached out to pull her up.
We walked up to the harbour again and found the place I’d looked up online.
‘Ansthruser Fish Bar’ she said, ‘are we having fish and chips?!’
‘We are, if that’s ok with you? This place is award winning apparently’
‘I love fish and chips!’ she said as if she wasn’t expecting a fish and chip shop in a fishing village.
‘I know Kate’.
When we got back to our spot, the tide had stared to roll in, so we placed ourselves on a grassy bank higher up.
‘Hold on’ I said as Kate began to sit down.
I opened up my bag and pulled out a picnic blanket and three candles that I’d stolen from next to our bath.
‘Are those Liv’s candles?’ Kate laughed.
‘She won’t miss them’. I placed them in a line along the blanket and lit them all with a lighter.
‘You thought of everything didn’t you?’ she said as she sat down and carefully unwrapped the fish and chips.
‘This is my attempt at romance’. I pulled out a bottle of red wine from the bag and two plastic glasses.
She laughed when she saw it and remarked that I was like Mary Poppins.
As the dusk settled, we ate our dinner in a comfortable silence. When Kate pulled her sleeves down to cover her cold hands, I dug around my bag to find the blanket I’d packed for that very possibility.
I placed it on her lap and she let out a quiet ‘oh’ of surprise.
‘Have you had a good day?’ I said slightly out of sorts. She was looking at me in a very odd way.
‘It’s been lovely Will, really’.
We sat looking at each other for a moment as I thought of something clever to say. She really was very pretty.
‘The candle’
‘What?’ I said, breaking the moment.
‘The candle!’ she launched up, throwing everything off her.
One of the candles was lying on its side having fallen over. It was quickly catching onto the threads of the picnic blanket.
Kate acted immediately, stomping on the small fire until it was extinguished.
‘Well that was a disastrous end!’ I said blowing out the other ones.
‘It was an eventful end.’ She laughed. ‘And in answer to your question before, I suppose, yes it is.’
*
It took me some time to figure out what she had meant by that statement. I ploughed through our conversations from the date, until, finally I accepted that she meant that it was the best date she’d been on. I tried not to look too much into it. Kate had made it clear that she only liked me as a friend and I had accepted it.
I kept to my promise and didn’t ask her out again, but couldn’t help flirting with her in the week that followed our date. I was pushing my luck, I knew, but to my surprise, she didn’t resist as much as she had before. When I complimented her, she no longer accused me of trying to woo her. And when I held onto her waist as I squeezed past her in our small kitchen, she didn’t seem to mind. She even let me monopolise her time when we went out, as we danced until the early hours.
On one particular Friday, the four of us staggered back into the house at four am.
‘It’s freezing!’ Olivia squealed, throwing her bag on the couch. ‘I’m putting the heating on’
‘The radiators need bleeding, it’s not going to make much of a difference’ Kate said, kicking her heels off.
‘Why haven’t you boys done anything about it!’ Olivia shouted from the kitchen, where she was attempting to work out the central heating switch.
‘Why should we do it?!’ Fergus said, collapsed on the floor.
‘That’s very sexist Liv’ I laughed.
She popped her head around the kitchen doorway, ‘just because you don’t know how to do it’
‘Course I do!’
Kate laughed quietly and I immediately felt the need to prove myself. Most people assumed that I was useless around the house, and for the most part they were right. I couldn’t cook, hated cleaning and Kate had to teach me how to use a washing machine. But I was resourceful.
‘What you laughing at?’ I said, poking her in ribs.
‘Nothing’ she said, slapping my finger away.
‘Fine, I’ll do yours first!’ I grabbed radiator key from under the sink and legged it up the stairs and into her room.
The three of them ran after me and watched as I knelt down next to her radiator. I slotted the key onto the screw and attempted to turn it.
‘Erm do you know what you’re doing?’ Fergus asked from the doorway.
‘Yeh!’ I said slightly too loudly as I struggled to turn the key, ‘the air just needs to come out’
After a minute of me struggling with it, Fergus and Olivia gave up on me and left to go to bed. Kate stood behind me looking concerned.
‘It’s fine Wi –‘ she began just as I wrenched the screw.
‘ARGH!’. Boiling hot water came spilling from the side of the radiator and onto my hand. ‘FUCKING HELL!’
The pain seared across my hand and I shook it manically. ‘GOD THAT HURTS!’
Kate ran out of the room and was back within seconds with a bowl of cool water and a flannel. ‘Come here’, she ordered.
I sat on the edge of her bed and she dipped the flannel in the water and squeezed the water over the back of my hand. She continued to do it in silence, dousing my hand with the water.
‘Maybe you shouldn’t have done that with the central heating on’ she said.
‘Sorry’ I mumbled.
‘It’s ok’ she gave the top of my hand a little stroke.
‘You know, you’ll make a good wife to someone one day’ I said. ‘Though not to me’
She smiled, ‘well you’ll make a good husband too. When you learn how to do manly things around the house’
‘And maybe I should work on my first dates too’
‘Your first date skills are fine’
‘Because it was your best date ever?’
‘Well yes’ she said, focusing on my hand.
‘But not good enough for another one?’
Kate bit her lip and avoided making eye contact with me, ‘mmm’.
‘Mmm? What does that mean?’
‘Nothing…’ I could almost see the cogs turning in her head. ‘I just wouldn’t mind if there was another one’.
I stopped short and gaped at her. ‘Are you serious?’
She said nothing but her cheeks were turning pink.
‘You want to go out with me again?’
‘Maybe’
‘Maybe? MAYBE?!’ I roared with laughter.
‘Shhhh!’
Suddenly the pain in my hand disappeared. ‘I can’t believe after all that, you ACTUALLY want to go out with me. I thought you weren’t interested?’
‘I changed my mind’ she said.
‘Why?’. The grin was plastered onto my face.
‘Because you’re sweet…and you take notice of things. And you’re persistent’
‘I thought that annoyed you?’
‘It did. It does’ she laughed. ‘But it was also quite nice in a way’
‘Do you fancy me Kate?’ I challenged, because I wanted to hear her say it.
She rolled her eyes, so I poked her in the ribs again with my good hand.
‘Do you do you do you?’ I continued poking until she physically had to push me away.
‘Yes! Ok? Yes’.
*
That night marked the beginning of our relationship. The friendship that we’d carved over the past year had given us the foundation for what would become some of the happiest years of my life. But even stuck in our little bubble of St Andrews, I was determined to protect her from everything that came from being my girlfriend.
For the first few months, we’d go out with friends in tow. At the cinema, we would all go in huddled together, but once inside the room, Kate and I would sit at the end of the row discreetly holding hands in the dark.
It wasn’t so easy to be affectionate elsewhere, but we made do with friendly cuddles and a kiss on the cheek when we met for coffee after lectures.
Our first kiss didn’t need to be so discreet. We had stayed in one evening in early December while Olivia and Fergus took advantage of the cheap pre-Christmas drink deals at Ma Bells. We were grateful for the time alone that had so far been confined to one of our bedrooms with our housemates wolf whistling through the door.
Kate had taken over the spaghetti bolognaise that I had attempted for our fourth date, and was gently stirring the mince in a new pan as I scraped the burnt remains off the first one in the sink.
‘Leave it to soak, it will come off easier later’, she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.
I threw the scourer onto the draining board, filled the pan with water and huffed.
‘It might need a squirt of Fairy Liquid too’ she said carefully.
I grabbed the washing up liquid and squirted a generous amount into the water without saying a word.
‘There’s no need to sulk’ Kate giggled.
‘I’m not sulking, I’m just pissed off it went wrong AGAIN’, I glared at the floor, thinking of the two other dinners I’d ruined recently.
‘To be fair, you were just not concentrating, it would’ve been ok if you kept stirring it’
‘Yeah well I got distracted’ I said.
‘By what?’
‘By looking at you’
‘Oh so it’s my fault now is it?!’, she carried on stirring with one hand, but used the other to smack me with a tea towel.
‘Yes, I was deep in thought’
‘About what…or do I not want to know?’
‘About how I’d like to kiss you but I don’t know if you want to kiss me’
She stopped stirring and a smile crept across her mouth, ‘why don’t you try and find out’
Heart thumping, I walked over to her and leant down. She didn’t look up from the cooker until I’d given her a peck on the lips. When I did it again, she responded, settling her face into mine. Her lips were as soft as I’d imagined and her scent was one that I only could identify when I got that close to her. Raspberries.
I removed her hand from where it was clasped around the wooden spoon and locked my fingers into hers.
It was as if everything had slotted neatly into place.
*
Our relationship wasn’t one of huge public displays of affection or massive passionate breaks ups and make ups. It was a deep and comfortable connection that no one could rival.
She was the person I could talk to about anything, knowing that she would understand my need to go over things over and over again. She was patient and kind, but was never shy in putting me in my place.
Falling in love with her had crept up on me.
In our third year, we had move out of Hope Street and into a more remote cottage just out of town. It gave us the opportunity to take long walks in the countryside, spending hours talking until it got dark. The realisation that I loved her came after one of these walks when Kate was curled up in my bed having fallen asleep while we were watching a film.
Her hair was fanned across the pillow and her fingers were curling in and out of her palm. I wondered what she was dreaming about. I suddenly realised that I wanted it to be like that for the rest of my life. I wanted to see her every morning and talk about what we’d dreamed about the night before. I wanted her to fall asleep next to me every day and subconsciously nestle into my side like she often did in the middle of the night.
Words were not my forte, however.
The following day, I went out to buy a card for our first anniversary. Throwing out any formalities, I just wrote ‘love you’ on a postcard of Anstruther that I’d found in the newsagents.
‘Here you go’ I said, giving her the postcard and kissing her in the kitchen later. ‘Happy anniversary’.
There was the smell of something chocolatey coming from the oven.
‘Aww thank you’ she said taking it and laughing at the postcard without reading the back. She placed it down on the counter. ‘I know we said no gifts but I thought I’d bake you something’.
She opened the oven and pulled out a tray of brownies. My postcard suddenly looked very lacklustre.
I thanked her and we engaged in a long cuddle. ‘Are you going to read the card?’, I said, mumbling into her hair.
She looked up at me suspiciously, and untangled an arm to grab the postcard. I watched her face turn from amusement to surprise as she read the back.
‘You don’t have to say it back’ I jumped in as she was about to speak.
‘Don’t you want me to?’ she said.
‘Course I do, just…no pressure’.
‘I love you too’ she said shyly.
They were the words I never thought I’d hear from a woman, let alone a woman like her.
*
While Kate continued to study hard for her degree, I left all the academic work until the last minute, preferring instead to play sports or go out and get drunk. University for me was a once in a lifetime experience. I was well aware that this level of freedom would never come my way again and I was determined to exploit it.
Kate would often remark that I still acted like a fresher well into our final year. She on the other hand was mature beyond her years. She had plans for everything; colour coded charts and lists upon lists of things she had to do. I encouraged her to be more spontaneous, and would often take her to the coast at a minute’s notice just to break the cycle.
On a January day in our final year, she was holed up in her bedroom working on her draft introduction for her dissertation. Her tutor had wanted it the following day and she’d spent days poring over each of the 2000 words.
‘Do you want to get some air?’ I said, appearing at her door with a cup of tea.
She was sat in her usual position, cross legged on her bed, with her notes and laptop in an ordered chaos around her.
‘I need to get this done’, she said without looking up, her eyebrows furrowed.
‘How many drafts have you done of this draft?’ I laughed.
She didn’t find it funny and merely shook her head.
I sat next to her, being careful not to mess up her notes and rubbed her back, ‘come on, it’s only the introduction, you’ve got months to change it. He just wants to see you’ve made a start’
‘How can you be so relaxed about it?’
‘Because it’s not a big deal’ I said.
‘It is to me’ she snapped.
‘It’s our last few months, we should be enjoying it’
‘I came to university to get a good degree, not to get wasted every night’ she didn’t look at me but she didn’t need to.
‘Fine’ I growled, placing the tea on her bedside table, and left the room.
It was our first proper argument, and the first one that I didn’t give in on. Late that night, she crept into my room and burrowed under the covers.
‘Have you finished it?’ I asked, still wide awake.
‘Yep. Finally’ she whispered.
We lay next to each other for the best part of fifteen minutes, listening to the ticking of my clock.
‘I’m sorry’ she finally said. ‘I love you.’
I tuned over and pulled her close. That was the thing about Kate; she had me wrapped around her little finger. Even for someone as stubborn as me, I couldn’t remain angry with her. I was firmly under her spell.
*
In our final months at St Andrews, we spent as much time as we could together. Naturally, all talk in our house turned to the dreaded post-uni plans. With Fergus, Olivia and many of our other friends deciding on masters or jobs to apply for, I shied away from the question.
That is with everyone apart from Kate. We talked at length about the future as individuals and as a couple. She worried that we wouldn’t get to see each other after we left Scotland, and secretly I worried about it too. We talked for hours, trying to plan how and when we would see each other and how we could keep it quiet from the media. The constant conversations exhausted us both and we began to get frustrated that there was no simple answer.
It was something that consumed us over those final months. Each time we spoke about it, we left it unresolved to the extent that we began avoiding it all together.
The issue only came up again one evening during a rowdy dinner party we’d thrown. Kate was sat on the staircase alone as the rest of our group of ten chatted noisily in the living room.
‘What you doing over here?’ I asked, taking a seat next to her.
‘Just taking some time out’. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
I took her hand, ‘what’s wrong?’
‘I’m just scared of things changing’
‘They don’t have to’ I said, resting my chin on her head.
‘What about in the future? Like years into the future?’ she said suddenly. ‘What will be expected of me?’
Conversations about our future was usually reserved for the immediate future, not years in advance. I thought carefully about what to say.
‘Well you’ll be expected to be a kind of support to me. But you can do whatever you want’ I added.
‘Are you sure about that?’ she looked at the ground.
‘Remember what you said on our first date? That I have the opportunity to support so many things. It’ll be the same for you…and you’ll be amazing at it, if it’s what you want of course?’
‘I want you’. It didn’t pass me by that she had avoided the question.
‘What about when the press find out about us. When they find out where I live, where I work…’
‘We can cross that bridge when we come to it. I’m going to look after you, don’t worry’, I smoothed down a wayward piece of her hair.
‘There’s this graduate traineeship I’ve seen, for curating’ she said, changing the subject.
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah, it’s for two years. It looks pretty amazing’
I kissed her on the head, ‘you should apply for it, sounds perfect for you’
Curating was something Kate had talked about since our first year and it was an idea that she’d become more passionate about during her degree. Her enthusiasm for it was something that I was often jealous of; because I knew she could turn her passion into a career and I couldn’t.
She leant into me and sighed.
A hint of something twisted in my stomach; a reaction that I tried to ignore and push aside.
It was dread.
*
The final week of university was bittersweet.
My plan was to get some work experience at different places and then make a decision on what route to take. But my eagerness to begin my adult life properly was tinged with the knowledge that the best few years of my life were about to come to an end. I was going to miss my friends, who had become like a second family. I was going to miss the seclusion of St Andrews and the agreement with the media to leave me alone. But most of all, I was going to miss her.
We savoured the moments that we could see each other every day and took advantage of not having to plan the times that we saw each other. But the days seemed to pass so fast that even when we were together twenty-four seven, it didn’t feel like it was enough.
Bored of packing my room up, one afternoon, I went to distract Kate.
She was knelt on her bedroom floor carefully wrapping up some photo frames in bubble wrap.
‘That was an awesome night’ I said, pointing at a picture of her and I at a ball last year. I was wearing a suit, and she had on a little black wrap dress. She had danced me under the table that night.
She smiled sadly at the picture and wrapped it up, ‘there’s been a lot of awesome nights. I can’t imagine having so much fun over the last four years if you had left in first year’.
I sat down on the end of her bed, wrapping my legs around her. ‘I doubt I would’ve stayed if you weren’t here’.
She tilted her head up and began to speak, but noises of clattering from downstairs where Olivia was packing her kitchen stuff stopped her.
‘Shall we go for a walk?’ she said.
It was a warm May afternoon and with exams over, everything and everyone seemed more relaxed; even the Scottish weather.
We strolled hand in hand to our favourite isolated spot half a mile from the house, when she began to slow down.
‘I need to talk to you’. The tone in her voice was suddenly grave.
‘Ok’
‘I’ve been given a conditional offer for that traineeship’ she said.
I lit up immediately, ‘that’s amazing!’ I said, grabbing her into a hug.
She let me and then pulled away, ‘as long as I get a 2:1 or above, I’m on it’.
‘Brilliant, that’ll be no problem for you then’, I couldn’t disguise my pride at her achievement.
‘The thing is, it’s not all in the UK’
The atmosphere dropped around us, ‘where…’
‘There’ll be a few months in London, and then I go to Moscow, then Madrid, and Venice’
‘Wow, well I’ll miss you, but it’ll be an amazing experience, and you’ll come home often won’t you?’
She didn’t say anything and just looked into the distance.
‘Won’t you?’ I repeated.
‘It’s for two years with a possible proper job at the end of it’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘I don’t think this…us…will work.’
I laughed but it came out sounding strained ‘we’ve talked about this, we can make it work.’
‘How? If I take this traineeship, we’ll be apart for two years, and when I come back I’ll get a job I love. Then what? I give it all up?’ Her face was set in an agonising expression.
‘Look, all that will happen when we get married. Before that, you can do whatever you want! You’ll have years before that’.
She remained unconvinced.
‘I thought you loved me’ I said, petulantly.
‘I do!’ she said, offended. ‘It’s just I’ve worked hard for the past four years….’
She didn’t have to continue because I understood what she meant. This is what she had been working towards for four years. The late nights, the stress, the argument we’d had; it was all building up to the moment she left university.
And I was asking her to put it all to one side for me.
Kate was everything I ever wanted and more. The problem was that ‘more’ didn’t include me.
‘Please don’t do this’ I said, feebly attempting to change her mind. ‘Go, enjoy it, but we don’t need to break up’
‘I think we do’
‘But WHY!?’ I said, almost shouting.
‘Because I’m not sure, and it’d be unfair to you to be not sure’, tears were pushing up into her eyes.
‘You’re not sure about me?’
‘Of course I’m sure about you. But I’m not sure that I could be totally happy living that life. I’m not sure I would be able to do it. Maybe in a few years that would change. But right now, I can’t keep wasting your time and pretending I’d be ok with it. Because I don’t know if I’m ok with it.’
I couldn’t argue with that. Who was I to hold her back, to ask her to commit herself to a life she didn’t want.
She cupped her palm around my face and leant her head against my chin, ‘I’m sorry Will.’
There was that word again, come back to haunt me.
*
We avoided each other for two days, not speaking or looking at each other. Even being in the same room together was torture.
We had all decided a week in advance that we’d spend our last night having dinner at the house and then go into town with our other friends.
Dinner was a tense affair and by the time we were ready to go out, I was ready to call it a night. Despite the fact Kate and I weren’t speaking, I still wanted to spend the final evening in her presence. Anything else would’ve felt wrong.
We made it to one of our favourite bars that we often visited to play pool. I could see Kate attempting to be cheerful, greeting our friends with hugs and pretending that everything was fine. She was in a denim skirt, tights and boots with a black top. Her hair was half pulled back from her face showing off every one of her features.
It was like a stab in every part of my body every time I remembered she was no longer mine.
Half way into the evening, some guys from uni decided they wanted to play pool with the girls in our group. One in particular from Kate’s course took a liking to her. He was tall, with strong broad shoulders and an easy confidence. Kate politely allowed him to show her how to aim into the pocket using a complicated ricochet move.
There was no touching, no sense of chemistry. Just a man showing a woman how to play pool. It was something that I would’ve ordinarily done.
She tried the move and failed, then tipped her head back and laughed.
I clenched my fists and made for the door, shoving the guy out of the way with my shoulder as I went.
‘Whoa! Careful mate’ I heard behind me. But the blood was rushing to my ears, pounding so loudly that I could barely hear.
I got home, slamming the door behind me and retreating to my room. I must’ve only been standing there for a few minute when Kate came bursting through my bedroom door.
‘What do you think you’re doing?!’ she shouted.
‘Go away’ I said, the words struggling to come out.
‘You were really rude back then’ she said angrily.
‘Well maybe you shouldn’t flirt with people right in front of my face’ I retorted.
‘I wasn’t flirting and you know it!’
I did know it, I just wanted to hear her say it.
‘Please don’t be like this Will’
‘What do you expect?’ I snarled.
‘For us to part as friends? Like we started?’ Even as she said it, I could tell she wasn’t convinced.
‘I don’t want to be your friend’ I said. ‘You’re…’
I couldn’t finish the sentence because I knew she already knew what I wanted to say. Soul mate. I had called her it once and she’d laughed asking if it usually takes that long for soul mates to get together.
Instead, I took a step towards her and kissed her hard on the mouth. She released a small sob but carried on kissing me anyway.
Neither of us spoke as we unbuttoned, unzipped and peeled away our clothing, clawing and grabbing at each other until the sun came up.
In the morning, she was already dressing when I woke up.
‘Why did you let this happen?’ was the first thing I said to her.
‘What?’ she said, her back turned to me.
‘Why did you spend three years with me if you knew you didn’t want my baggage?’
‘I wanted you’
‘So you just let me believe that we’d stay together?’
‘I thought we’d stay together. I didn’t start thinking about what would happen after until a few months ago’. Her voice was tired.
‘You’ve known for a few months and let it carry on then’
‘Stop it William. Please don’t make it harder to say goodbye’. I could tell she was crying even with her back turned.
I sat up and glared at the ground. ‘Fine. Goodbye Kate.’
I refused to look at her, but I knew she was facing me now. I could tell just by listening to the shallow sounds of her breathing. I don’t know how long she waited there for me to give her something more, but eventually her weight lifted gently off the bed. The sounds of her breathing, that I’d become so used to having beside me, and expected to have beside me for the rest of my life, were replaced by a soft click of the door.
*
The crowds had lined the streets on Graduation Day, just as we’d expected. I waved at them, and they happily waved back. But to me, their faces were just a blur. There was only one person I wanted to see.
She stepped onto the lawn; scroll in hand, her robes flowing behind her. Her skin was tinted and glowing and a beam spread across her face as her family came to congratulate her. If she knew I was looking in her direction she didn’t show it as she chatted and laughed, her dimples dipping into her face.
It was the last time I ever saw her.
“I hope you never have to think about anything as much as I think about you.” ― Jonathan Safran Foer
Balmoral
I open my eyes to find George and Emma gaping at me. It takes a moment for one of them to speak.
‘What happened?’ Emma says, her voice coarse.
‘I’m sorry?’ I say, and take a sip of water.
‘What happened to her? To this Kate person’ she asks, mouth still agape.
‘Well’ I sigh, ‘I presume she went and did her traineeship, I didn’t have the heart to find out’.
‘What about mum?’ George interjects.
‘Kate was the reason I met your mother.’ I tread gently, knowing how hard this must be for them to hear. ‘A couple of years after university, Fergus organised a reunion of sorts. The thought of seeing Kate again made me want to run and hide, so I went and played at a charity polo match instead. That was where I met your mother, as you well know’.
‘I had no idea this person ever existed’ Emma says dumbfounded. ‘You’ve never mentioned her, not once, not even as a friend!’
I suddenly feel very tired. ‘Yes well, I’m not proud of how things happened.’
‘Did Mum know about her?’ Emma asks.
‘Yes, to an extent. She didn’t know exactly what Kate meant to me though’ I say.
‘Which was what exactly?’ George looks at me with a warning look in his eye. He was always fiercely protective of his mother.
I can’t bring myself to say the words so Emma does it for me.
‘She was the love of his life. Obviously.’ She says it so plainly and it surprises me.
‘I loved your mother very much’ I say, trying to reassure them both as if they are both still children.
It was true, I did love their mother. She had been a support to me for over fifty years and the day that she died five years ago was one of the hardest days of my life. As much as I loved her, I still never stopped thinking about Kate. About the way I felt like I was floating whenever I was near her.
‘Why did you feel the need to tell us all this?’ George says, still angry.
‘Because I’m about to die, I suppose. I wanted someone to know how special she was’
‘I’m sure her own family know that’, George snaps and stands up.
‘Look, son, when you get to my age you just want to talk about the past. To make amends. The way things ended with Kate has haunted me for my whole life’.
My hand starts to shake and Emma grabs it. My heart strains again and I rub my chest. It seems to get worse every time I think of her.
‘George please’, he is turned away from me but doesn’t turn around.
‘Oh for goodness sake’ Emma stands up and grabs George by the arm. ‘We all have our secrets, this is one of daddy’s. He dying, get over it’.
Emma always did have a wonderful way with words.
They sit with me for another hour, asking questions occasionally, but I am beginning to drift in and out of sleep. I hear them get up and leave, and then the mumbles of an argument in the corridor outside. I don’t know what they’re discussing, but I hear the familiar sound of George relenting to her before I sink into a deep sleep.
*
The following morning, I wake up wondering if yesterday’s events really happened, feeling a mixture of anxiety and relief.
My eyes creak open and I turn my head with an enormous effort. A pair of eyes are looking back at me.
Green eyes.
My heart jolts in a way that I didn’t know was possible anymore.
‘Hello’ she says.
I am transported back sixty years as her voice runs through me.
‘How did you?…what?’ is all I can say.
‘I got a phone call yesterday afternoon asking me to come up to Balmoral urgently’ she says quickly.
‘But how…’
‘Your daughter is quite resourceful apparently’ she laughs.
I laugh too despite my shock and notice her face for the first time. Her grey hair is tied up in a neat bun and wrinkles are set deeply in her face. But her eyes are still exactly the same.
‘You look beautiful’ I say.
‘Smooth as ever’ she says, rolling her eyes.
It’s as if nothing’s changed.
I am at a loss for words until she takes my hand knowingly.
‘Shall we go for a walk?’ I say. I don’t want her to see me like this, confined in this room.
I may be dying but my pride is very much still alive and kicking.
The nurses help me into my wheelchair and take me out to the grounds where Kate takes over, pushing me gently along the paths.
‘How have you been?’ I ask.
‘Good, and you?’
‘Well I’m dying, but other than that, life has served me well. What about you? I want to hear about your life.’
She tells me all about that past sixty years. How she did her traineeship and gained a job at the end of it. How she followed her dream and ended up curating all around Europe’s galleries. How she met her late husband at work and they had three children. Just like she always wanted.
‘How many grandchildren do you have?’ I ask.
‘Five’
‘Ha! I have six. Beat you’
She laughs, ‘it’s not a competition William’
‘Of course it is, it always is’.
She settles down on a bench and places my chair next to her. ‘This is a lovely place’ she says.
‘I’m sick of it’ I say grumpily. ‘How about you take me out somewhere’.
‘St Andrews is only a couple of hours away’ she jokes.
I stare at her, ‘let’s go’.
‘William –‘
I take her hand in both of mine. ‘Please Kate, I’ve been stuck here for weeks. Let’s go back, I’ve been meaning to go for years but I always put it off’. The words come out in a jumble but she knows I mean them.
‘I don’t want a dead man in my car’ she says.
‘You drove here?!’
‘Yes’ she says looking affronted. ‘I’m old, not an invalid’.
I chuckle, ‘how about you take this invalid on a ride then?’
*
Kate leaves me outside and sneaks up to my room, collecting my medication and a few blankets.
‘I could go to prison for this’ she says when she returns, rolling me to the driveway at an alarmingly fast rate.
‘Emma and George didn’t see you did they?’
‘No’ she says breathlessly, packing her little red car.
Between the two of us, I am hauled into the passenger seat, brimming with excitement. I direct her to a side gate where I know there is only one guard standing.
I pop my head out of the window and say to him, ‘I’ll be back soon, they know all about it’.
The guard looks slightly startled, looking around for my security convoy, but before he can question it, Kate speeds away from the gates, the two of us laughing like naughty schoolchildren.
*
Two hours later, we arrive in St Andrews. We comment on all the things that have changed as we drive around – which is almost everything. The only thing that has stayed the same are the university buildings and we both descend into a respectful silence as we pass Sallies.
After much discussion, we decide on a remote area near to our old cottage. Kate pushes me up the small hills with some effort until we find a stone wall she can sit on.
On the way here, Kate stopped for snacks and she pulls out a packet of chocolate brownies from her bag and rips them open. We munch on them in silence.
‘My children are going to kill me’ I say.
She laughs. ‘Emma is lovely by the way, both of them are. You did well there’
I cough and she hands me a bottle of water. I take it but my hands are shaky and she holds it in place for me.
‘They are wonderful children’ I agree. ‘Did George give you a hard time?’
‘He was perfectly gracious’ she says. ‘Just like his father’.
I smile and she holds onto my hand.
‘Yes Emma is certainly more like her mother. Or her namesake’
She looks at me curiously.
‘Emma?’ I say, smirking. ‘You know the Jane Austen book?’
‘You named her after Emma Woodhouse?’, she says.
‘Well someone recommended the book to me a long time ago, so I read it’
She bows her head and squeezes my hand, tears springing to her eyes.
‘Kate.’
‘Don’t say it’ she pleads.
‘Say what?’
‘I don’t know, but it’s bound to make me cry’
‘I want to say sorry. The way we left things…the way I said goodbye to you –‘
‘It was my fault too’ she says. ‘I didn’t make it easy’.
‘You did what was right for you’. The wind is gathering and I wrap my coat around myself tighter.
‘I loved you’ she says, looking into the distance.
‘I’ve loved you for sixty years’.
‘Sometimes I think I missed my chance to be truly happy’, she brushes some crumbs off her lap.
‘You haven’t been happy?’
‘No, of course I’ve had a wonderful life, with a job and a husband and beautiful children, but something was always –‘
‘Missing’ I finish.
‘Yes’.
‘Yes.’
‘If I could do things again…’ she begins.
‘Hey, we don’t need to dwell on that. You’re here now’
‘I should’ve been there then’
My bones are achy and stiff but I lock her fingers with mine, ‘we’ve had happy lives. Maybe not the ones we expected back then, but we got through it’
‘I didn’t get over it though’
I look at her and her eyes are glistening.
‘Neither did I. Not fully. But I always wanted the chance to tell you I was sorry’
‘Well you’ve said it now’
‘Not just for being a complete idiot that day. But for not fighting for you. I should’ve tried harder’
‘I didn’t really give you a choice’. She leans against my shoulder and I place my chin on her head.
‘I just wanted you to be happy’
‘I have been. In my own way’, she says stifling a yawn.
I can’t suppress a laugh. ‘Does this remind you of anything?’
She closes her eyes and smiles, ‘we just need you to set fire to something now’.
*
Two bags of chips later and we head back home, ready for the torrent of anger from my children.
‘What you do think you were doing!!??’
‘Do you know how dangerous that was?’
‘We were worried sick!’
But I’m not listening. I can still feel the Fife wind on my face. Still taste the salty chips. And still feel her hand on mine.
I am tired but walking on air. I’m put back into bed and instruct my children that if they blame any of this on Kate I will cut their inheritance in half.
As the sun sets, Kate sits next to my bed. My heart is slowing again, but this time I don’t try to fight it.
‘I should probably leave you to rest’ she says.
When I look at her, she is the girl I fell in love with. Her hair tumbles around her shoulders in brown waves, her cheeks are pink and rosy and her eyes are glinting. I reach my hand out to touch her face, finding it smooth and soft as it always ways.
‘Stay’ I say.
She leans over and kisses me softly on the cheek. Butterflies explode inside me.
‘You should be with your family now’ she says gently, passing a wet drop from her eyelashes to my cheek.
‘Kate’
‘I know Will. I know. I’ll see you again, I promise’
She knows. At last, she knows.
I’m faintly aware of movement around me, more people enter the room and some leave. There is a constant sound off weeping somewhere.
Flashes of colour pass through my mind. My children clambering over me in the garden, and the smell of the grass. My wedding day; the taste of the smoke from the fireworks. The charred taste of slightly burnt spaghetti bolognaise.
I hear the slow thud of my heart over the voices around me, relaxing with every beat.
Until I can’t hear or see anything anymore.
And yet, my senses pick up one final thing.
Raspberries.
The End.
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Genre: Veeeeery slight angst, Fluff, Best friends to lovers
Word count: 3,050
Being together is that—
No matter how many days, weeks, months, or years go by, keep every promises made.
a/n: heavily listened to coming home while writing this, maybe you should too
When we first met
Jaehyun was the kind of person who endeared himself to everyone who knew him and you were swept off your feet the first time you saw him, roaming the corridors looking for your new classroom where they’d been relocated in the beginning of each year. The school personnel had this system going on ever since the dramatic increase in the number of students and to suit the new batch of each grade, or simply cause of the Pungsu-Jiri (Korea’s Geomancy or Feng Shui) thingy. Yeah, it was kind of unnecessary.
Given plenty of time to break away from each other’s gazes if you wanted to, but neither did even with your feet continued walking yourselves in the opposite direction.
How could anyone have such warm brown eyes as those? It was virtually impossible!
Jaehyun changed your whole life as you knew it. You became best of friends, and whispered to each other on every occasion possible.
Twenty minutes into the class you spent sipping your Coke with your head bent, under the desk, behind the erected textbook to shield yourself.
History teachers were obsessed with things that weren’t there any more. They lived in the past and expected us to want to live there too. You couldn’t imagine that any history lesson can be a thrill a minute, but with Mr. Lee in command, the expression ‘to die for’ took on a whole new meaning. Mostly everyone sat there sighing and thinking, “Why are the clock hands moving so slowly, has the battery committed suicide?” Mr. Lee was a very boring teacher. You meant very boring. He looked boring and sounded boring and everything he said was boring. He was Mr. Boring-Boring, Sir Boringest, Lord Boring of Boring-in-the-Brain. He droned on and on and on about nothing you wanted to know, then wrote it all on the board and told us to copy it down, or write an essay on it, or ask him questions. He didn’t get many questions, mainly because no one had been listening or trying to read his crabby handwriting.
SLUUUURP—
Reaching the bottom of your cup, though not too loudly, just loudly enough so that Mr. Lee, standing in the front, a few feet away, could hear you.
“Who was that?” he roared, his eyes darting everywhere, scanning everyone, until they settled on you.
Instinct was not about being the smartest, but it was about being in tune with your inner drive and you turned to your only friend. He first eyed you with confusion, then gave a questioning look over the top of his glasses
“Jung Jaehyun!”
At the call of his name, his jaw dropped, eyes widened with disbelief, frustrated and full of rage at being your scapegoat. This girl! She’ll be the death of me.
In the end, you compensated for your mistake by flashing him the widest smile in your footlocker collection of smiles.
The beginning: Promise of the youth
During the summer holiday, you secured a part-time job at a rental record store. Jaehyun would sometimes visit and you would play the newest music out dancing and clowning around when there were no customers in the store.
“Hey, tell you something. That guy at the counter-”
Jaehyun tilted his curious head to the direction of the said individual, not caring that the man would notice the two youngsters were openly discussing him.
“Don’t be so obvious, idiot!” Your nudge turned him back to you, “He’s the store manager. Apparently he first met his wife here and they’ve been together since then. Believe it or not, it’s been fifteen years! Isn’t that amazing? I can’t believe anyone can fall in love for such a long time!”
“You sure are a mathematician. And nosy.”
“I’m an expert when it comes to this.”
“Should put it into good use instead. Like, what? Education?”
“Shut up.”
When you met them, you didn’t understand what held them together. You remembered thinking, This is really an odd couple! After spending some time with them and learning their story, it all made sense. He was her anchor, and she was his ultimate challenge; but more than that, they genuinely seemed to love one another.
“Gosh, I can't imagine how I'd be like when I'm thirty…”
It was always the future—a perfectly vague, indefinite future that terrifies you. You wished you could stay like this forever, young forever, happy forever. Your needs are simple, far more so than the needs of an adolescent or adult. Just think of a child, laughing at the least thing that catches its fancy, the image of himself or herself in a mirror, or the way a family pet behaves.
Here you have Jaehyun, the secret source of your happiness.
His voice broke in upon your thoughts, “Thirty-year-old unmarried woman… There're tons of them!”
“Thirty— I don’t want to be that—” You shuddered, fighting back waves of panic at the image of an old lady alone with too many cats. “If I’m still single at thirty, you have to marry me.”
Your abruptness caught him off guard. He didn’t speak for a moment but there was a glint of mockery in his eyes, a mischievous smirk played on the corners of his lips, as if he wasn’t taking you any less seriously for it.
“What kind of reaction is that?” So you nudged him in the ribs, laughing all the more when he made an overly dramatic wince.
“I want to have a Harry Potter themed wedding… A sunflower bouquet… Ooh, and you know what? I’m gonna abandon the heels, they’re going to kill me!”
He chuckled. What a lady.
“How about you? Tell me about your dream wedding.”
“That would be marrying the love of my life.” Then he grinned. The indentations in his cheeks called dimples, making his smile heart-meltingly sweet. His eyes crinkled almost closed when he smiled, too.
“You’re boring.”
“What were you expecting? Dyeing my hair blonde or pink or purple?”
“That would be nice too.”
She fell in love
“Jung Jaehyun!” You shouted his name and started waving frantically. He recognized your voice immediately despite the muffling effect of your scarf. And his heart dropped to his feet when you barely checked the road for cars before you went streaking across it.
Next to him was a guy you’d never met before. He was about the same height as Jaehyun, his right ear a bit pointed like an elf’s, and with a face like that, you damn sure would’ve remembered.
Grinning broadly, “This is my classmate, Sicheng.”
“Hi.” As he spoke Korean with his delicate Chinese accent, the words dripped from his lips like honey.
“And she is-”
With a warm smile and you introduced yourself, interrupting whatever Jaehyun might have added. Though you’re already telling him of information which was much not needed.
“Oh… You both are-”
“We’re besties!”
“We’re heading to the cafe for awhile, do you want to join us?”
“Sure!”
Then you fell for him and discovered that when it comes to romance, intelligence takes a back seat to stupidity. Jaehyun half agreed, half disagreed. To him, you’re always the latter even before your blind infatuation.
Cupid, that little rascal, had already fired his arrow into your heart and had no intention of letting you escape this magical feeling. And that’s how you described the whole theory of ‘Love at first sight’ to Jaehyun, who’d probably known it better than you did.
Then, she had her first heartbreak.
“We broke up…” You showed up unannounced on his doorstep crying bitterly only for him to drag you to the courtyard, away from his dormitory where you wouldn’t be seen or heard wailing like a toddler who had lost her lollipop, where you wouldn’t be causing disturbance to the neighbouring students, and where he wouldn’t be mistaken for the one that shattered your heart into fragments.
“He said I never stopped talking, said I talked too fast. He pretended he couldn’t understand Korean and talked shit about me in his Ching-Chong language. He said I’m annoying and loud…” You paused long enough to take a breath, and felt more tears streaming down your face. “Am I... Am I really that annoying?”
Something about your current state made him want to pick you up and tenderly wrap you in a blanket of protection. It was laughable to hear you whining about ‘the Chinese guy’ you once fell head over heels for. He was trying hard to control his smile that wanted to show on his face, and shook his head instead. “No, not at all.”
“Am I loud?”
Though afraid to fuel your outburst, “Sometimes…” It was a fact.
“I am not loud…” You spun around and stomped toward the bench, your lips pouted in misery and your head placed in the south right now.
When he patted your back in a futile attempt to calm you, you moved after his hand in double time. “Stop patting me…” A few incoherent mumbles of him being the annoying one instead, then, “Jung Jaehyun! If I’m still single at thirty, you have to marry me.”
“You always say that.”
“You need to swear it this time.” Wanting him to stay true to his words, you held his right hand up.
“Swear, what?”
You rolled your glossy eyes and exhaled a breath in exaggerated impatience. Was he dumb or dumb?
“If I’m still single at thirty, Jung Jaehyun will have to marry me!”
As he repeated, “If I’m still single at thirty, Jung Jae-”
“No!” You scolded and whacked him on the arm. “Idiot…”
An uncontrollable smile stretched across your face as you slowly relaxed. He stared at you for a moment, grinning faintly, an amused glint in his eyes. There was magic in you, he decided.
You slumped back into the bench, your eyes staring into space, your mind numb. Unshed tears blurred your vision and you caught the warm drops that slipped past with the backs of your hands. Naturally, you reached over and rubbed them on his jacket to try to wipe away the traces of madness. He never complained, of course.
“You know… You do have a superpower…”
“What is it?”
“The superpower of making my tears disappear…”
As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. Talk about being a charmer. “That’s gross…”
Chill crawled down your spine and he mimicked your shiver. “You are gross.”
Long time no see
At eleven o’clock, files for the meeting laid in front of him that he probably wouldn’t even notice his phone buzzing. He looked down at the familiar caller ID flashing on the screen.
Without thinking twice he picked up the call.
Immediately connected through the line, your piercing cry blasted his ear. “He said he wanted to break up with me…” Unbeknownst to yourself that it was so loud the people next to him could hear you. He smiled at his colleagues apologetically and quickly excused himself from the room.
He found what he guessed to be an unused room, hidden away down a relatively quiet corridor. Then he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and one ankled hooked over the other. Even though he couldn’t see your face at the moment, he could paint a perfect picture of tears streaming down your face, snot hanging on your nose.
“Okay, okay. Stop crying.” Jaehyun was laughing. You took no notice, but went on crying. The more you cried the more he laughed. Your sobs, like fulminations, were thunderous. “You’ve gotten stronger, you know that?”
“Huh? … What?”
“I said. Your howling has gotten stronger.”
“No, it didn’t. Bastard.”
“I’m in the middle of a meeting right now. Talk to you later.”
Though the phone call was cut short, it made you feel much better. Instead of hogging him on, you decided to leave him a text message, saying, “Thanks for making my tears disappear.” It was that corny line again, that he couldn’t help but grin upon reading.
“Hangout this weekend?” He replied.
Saturday of that week
Jaehyun offered to pick you up at your place.
“Hey.”
It still hadn’t completely sunk in that how much you’d matured in the last few years. Medium height, you had long dark hair, which you’d forego your full bangs, soft romantic curls looked shiny and healthy, as did your skin. He could tell from the way your outfit moved along with your body that you had a woman’s figure with lots of curves.
“It’s been awhile,” you started.
Staring at you too much would be creepy though, awkwardly he put his hand up with a smile, he ushered you into the passenger seat and got behind the wheel of his car and drove off.
“Broke up again?”
“I’m okay. It’s not the first time for me.”
He glanced over at you a time or two, perhaps worried, but you didn’t seem to be mad or crying. As he was about to speak, your cell phone’s high-pitched ringtone crashed into the conversation, shattering the moment in an instant.
Incoming call: Jerk
“It’s him- He’s calling! Should I pick up? Should I?”
“If you want to-” Once again he got interrupted as he was trying to talk some sense into you.
“Hello?” “What is it?” “Didn’t we break up already? Why are you still calling me?” ”You’re freaking weird. Why are you apologizing all of a sudden?”
During your phone conversation, Jaehyun cast a rather wary glance at you before dragging his eyes back to the road.
“Alright… I’m not mad anymore…”
Upon listening to whatever you’re saying, though piece by piece, it sounded like you’re back together and things would be great again. After all, it was just the typical bickering between a couple.
With a final assurance to your not-an-‘ex’-anymore that all was well and you really weren’t mad anymore, the call ended. Just as if reading your mind, Jaehyun shook his head in disbelief while you only grin at him sheepishly. At least the rest of the hangout could be enjoyed with none of pouting and sulking, you thought.
Another six months
Jaehyun’s phone alerted him to a text, it was frank
I’m getting engaged soon
Will hand over the invitation card when we meet next time
Two sentences of such simple words—as something bound to be, and bound to happen. Yet it left an impact on him. He swallowed to alleviate the tightening in his throat, but the feeling followed him, peaking and then fading, falling as petals fluttering from a dying bloom. For a second prior, he was really, truly happy for you.
Somewhere on the other side, you felt a tremendous emotional effect after clicking your phone shut following the message delivered. Something ran over your head, and maddeningly ran through again and again. What was wrong?
In a disoriented state of mind, you began rummaging through drawers and cabinets until you found the box you wanted. You pulled it out and opened it, revealing a stack of picture squares, a two carrot ring, and finally a limited edition Hamburglar figurine that both you and Jaehyun were lucky enough to redeem. The set of eyes stared dumbly at you as you silently gazed at the little thing that managed to hold such fond memories.
Meanwhile, Jaehyun had always had the figurine with him, laid on his workstation somewhere visible so that he continued to be reminded by it. Too, he was fixated on the pair of acrylic painted eyes in remembrance of the past.
The day before 30th
Jaehyun had been waiting for you inside a cafe situated a block from the deadly intersection, sipping on a glass of iced latte, though the weather was nothing sort of a torrid summer.
Upon agreeing to the meet up, he had sorted everything out in his mind and promised himself to confront you with a good-natured congratulation on your marriage none other than a dear friend should.
Less than ten minutes later, you appeared on the other side of the glass, waving and smiling brightly. Pitter-patter of the rain drops hitting your umbrella steadily intensify as did something else…
“Hi,” he greeted with a dimpled grin, and then wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, a smear of coffee on his chin when you snatched up his glass and took a long swallow. Again, he said nothing about your behavior that he had gotten used to, only glaring at you with the ever same expression of This girl! She’ll be the death of me.
“Invitation card,” he said, reminding you what all this was about in the first place.
But so nonchalantly, you uttered, “We broke up.”
Your eyes caught the slight lift in the right corner of his lips, Jaehyun unable to stop a small smile from making it onto his face. Simultaneously, his brows raised in surprise.
“You didn’t cry?”
Almost proud of yourself, “No.”
“Lies.”
“Really,” you continued with the realization of the fact that, “Liking and loving someone is different.”
Jaehyun convinced himself, to the bone, that you’re okay. Assimilating that you’d indeed matured to understand how relationship works instead of diving in blindly on the spur of the moment by acting upon emotional states like a teenage girl in love. Emotion comes and goes, rises and falls. Certainly, love doesn’t last forever. But the foundation of love is commitment, and he wished you’d learned that as well because…
“Do you remember what day it is tomorrow?” your calm voice interrupted his chain of thoughts, as you stared at him in anticipation.
“Of course I do. It’s your 30th birthday tomorrow.”
Grinning and beaming with unbridled glee, for once you bet on your bold self saying that, “So, you still remembered our promise then.”
As if he had been waiting for years, thought he was ready, but was somewhat embarrassed and gave you a warm, shy smile. The once dying bloom came back to life, thriving, lush and flourishing. The pent up feeling on that one, great heart, burst forth in an uncontrollable, deafening shout.
“Tell me,” you coaxed his trigger to give his word of honour.
“If you’re still single at thirty…” Nervously, he gulped and avoiding your intent eyes. “I’ll have to marry you.”
“You must keep your promise, Jung Jaehyun.”
#nct scenarios#nct jaehyun#jung jaehyun#nct fluff#nct angst#jaehyun scenarios#jaehyun fluff#jaehyun angst
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Topic Meme: His mental state (I’m curious, seeing as he thought my very-real muse was a hallucination)
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Ghetsis is well into his 60′s approximately--which honestly, according to my father’s nurses and such, wasn’t that old. Nonetheless, the guy’s had two severe psychological breakdowns resulting in stress-induced strokes. A stroke cuts off the oxygen to parts of your brain and when that part eventually suffocates or is otherwise heavily damaged from lack of oxygen, I’m sure you can imagine what that’ll do to somebody’s body let alone someone’s brain.
On top of that, there’s the dementia. That’s why he perceived Brett as a hallucination at first--Brett was out of place in an otherwise normal setting, a child he didn’t recognize in his hiding place. Normally the Shadow Triad prevent any intruders or threats from getting anywhere near the hideaway, assuming one even stumbles into the magic slip space that puts you on the same plane of existence as it in the first place. So. Strange child where a strange child would, logically, not be? Probably a hallucination.
(A lot of rambling under the cut, talk of mental illness, physical illness, disability, real life parental death. . .just a lot of stuff, probably a lot of nonsense, some of it a mite personal as a former caretaker. I’d’ve put icons in to space things out but. I’m kinda tired after writing all of this lmao also I have to fast for a thing tomorrow so I’m just gonna. Head off once I post this and gets oem rest.TL;DR: google ‘symptoms of dementia’ and ‘effects of stroke’ and you’ll get a good idea of Ghetsis’s mental state at any given point in time.)
At least a small child is the least of his hallucinations. He has them now and then, or otherwise misperceives reality or misspeaks about his perceptions, and they can vary from little things to big things. They’re usually nothing major--something is there that isn’t or he hears sounds that aren’t real. Sometimes he sees people or his mind misproccesses one person or thing as another(sometimes he refers to the Shadow Triad as N, Anthea, and Concordia for example) and he just kinda rolls with it sometimes.
Other times he tries to ignore it until it goes away or tries to ‘fix it’ one way or another. Major things are more along the lines of that he’s displaced from where he actually is, is floating, his environment is drastically changing--stuff that majorly impacts his ability to proceed. But it’s usually like. Galvantula crawling on him or voices and things like that. Stuff that you might notice him responding to, but that can be dismissed or that he shrugs off.
If he hallucinates something detailed and realizes it(because, y’know, it doesn’t make sense, for example,) he usually just rolls with it until it ends--his mind doesn’t take well to being ignored or dismissed and can ratchet up the awful if it isn’t acknowledged, hence why he decided ‘well, there’s a hallucination child here, i’d better just acknowledge him’ lol.
In general, Ghetsis’s memory is not good. Oftentimes it’s inconsistent--sometimes he remembers some things but not others, sometimes he remembers everything, sometimes he doesn’t even know who he is. Now and then he’ll remember things in one state of mind, forget them in another, and if he goes back to the previous state of mind or a different one, he has no problem remembering the previous thing. But he has no control over this. While he mostly remembers more recent years events, he might struggle with some before them--or he might randomly drop one memory or process or another.
Sometimes these memory lapses result in things like not remembering what year it is and as such not knowing how old he is. He may interpret himself as being younger because his mind just. . .receded back to that point in his understanding. If you ask him where he is, he might say he’s at the Harmonia Estate even though that’s completely off base. He’ll give you a radically incorrect number if asked for his age. He’ll say he has no children. He won’t remember what Team Plasma is.
Sometimes his mind reconciles things like his height in relation to other people and things and he doesn’t question them at all. For example, he could see N and his mind says ‘that’s Natural. That’s your son.’ but rather than ‘he’s in his early 20′s. he’s the hero of ideals. he betrayed you. he abandoned you. you hate him. you miss him. you wish you had your son back’ his process says ‘he’s seven years old. he’s just learning to read. he learned to do a cartwheel yesterday. he’s having a hard time with the studies Gorm is going through with him, but for now he’s okay with the others. He falls down everytime he gets on his skateboard but he always laughs and gets back on it’ and he’ll treat N as though he’s a child. He’ll acknowledge that N is getting big or getting heavy if he has to acknowledge his appearance, but his mind’ll just kinda. Make that make sense to him.
There’s not really any way to snap him out of this--sometimes he can be led back to a proper psychological state, other times you’ve just gotta wait it out. Ideally, let him sleep and he’ll be better when he wakes up.
There are days where he’s in clearly awful condition. Sometimes he can’t talk or acknowledge anything, just completely unresponsive. Other times it seems like nothing was ever wrong with his mind in the first place.
As you can imagine, that’s mostly just processing things. . .his already horrifically inconsistent personality that he changes to befit the situation and person he’s speaking to is now even more inconsistent and he’s got little to no control over it. Oftentimes he’ll be himself to some degree. Other times he might be horrifically depressed or lost and reclusive or sorry and miserable. . .sometimes he’ll be emotional and wild--and he’ll lash out aggressively if anybody tries to help him, even if he clearly needs it. He might not remember his interests or his relationships with people or be able to focus. . .he’s all over the place, although I’m still kinda tentative about portraying it.
A lot of it is inspired by my dad and his condition when he was alive and I was taking care of him. So while sometimes I may laugh at it sometimes or occasionally use it for comedic effect, honestly part of me does want to portray a lot of these struggles he has realistically--but I’m also a very ‘laugh at everything because what else are you gonna do be miserable all the time?’ type of person(or i try to be--I find it important to see the comedy in everything because honestly life is ridiculous and there’s no reason not to laugh at it or enjoy it as long as you also accept the severity of it) and I worry I’d portray something too comically or be interpreted as making a joke even when I’m not.
. . .But, yeah, Ghetsis’s brain is fucked up basically. Look up what happens to stroke or seizure patients and the effects of dementia and you’ll get a decent grasp of what it’s like to be my Ghetsis in the present day.
Despite it all, he’s still Ghetsis. . .but between age and arrogance and madness, he’s lost a lot of his ability to give a fuck and he just. Does whatever he wants within his ability. Boundaries? Filters? Often completely absent. So sometimes he’s Ghetsis--master manipulator, King in personality and intentions, regal and serious and calm and strategic and careful and classy and elegant and deceptive--and sometimes he’s Ghetsis--Professional Fuck-Upper of Shit who constantly has Break My Stride by Matthew Wilder playing in his own head who just does whatever and exists to piss people off and have fun. But the thing is? Ghetsis has always been somebody even his closest people couldn’t tell the personality of. What he’s like, who he is, it escaped even the sages. It escaped everybody that this man was evil for literal years.
So in a weird way, he’s exactly the same. . .just a little more extreme and spiteful. Normally he’s a liar because it helps him fit smoothly into society without suspicion, but now sometimes he’s brutally honest and you realize how disturbed he is, how fucked what happens in his head is.
. . . . . .And yet. He’s bounced back from so many things before. He’s been a radically confusing and difficult and inconsistent person before.
Sometimes you can’t help but think ‘this is a trick too.’
Either way. . .he’s a mess. You’ll almost always still be able to see that he’s Ghetsis in his thoughts and actions and words, but sometimes he’s. . .different. Sometimes that’s just Extra Ghetsis, and sometimes you see what’s beneath the Narcissism and he cries and apologizes and struggles and lets himself be helped and asks for help and says he just wanted to help let him help how can he help he doesn’t want to be useless he doesn’t want to be broken let him prove he exists and functions even if it’s just to himself. Better yet, let him die. He can’t live like this anymore. He’s not living. He hasn’t been living for years, he’s a broken, worthless entity and he just doesn’t want to be anymore. Those’re still rare sides of him to see--you’re more likely to get completely unresponsive, mute, dissociative, confused old man type Ghetsis than self-loathing Ghetsis who regrets his actions and who he is and has been and what he’s done.
But yeah. Ghetsis’s mental state is. Not great! It’s much worse than he lets on most of the time! His physical state is pretty poor, too, although that varies too. Some days he can walk without assistance, some days he needs his cane, a walker, a wheelchair, some days he’s bedbound completely and if he tries to use his leg(s) he’ll just wind up falling down. Sometimes he can speak with little to no problem, sometimes he can’t do anything but mutter nonsensically, sometimes he can’t even make sounds. He’s just. . .not well. But somehow he’s still recovering. One could suppose it’s simply because he’s Ghetsis and he’s always been a little. . .powerful. Ethereal. Magical. Special. A cut above the rest.
Like my dad, he’s been told or had his caretakers told many, many times he probably wouldn’t make it more than a few years, months, weeks, he’d be lucky if he lived through the night.
But Yveltal be damned, he’s still here.
And he’s gonna be here for a while, I imagine.
If he gets his way, he’ll be here forever.
#medical cw///#disability cw///#ask to tag#long post#History | Who’d Ever Dream A Child As Sweet As I Seemed Would Be The Source Of So Much Pain And Strife#About | I'm Finished Making Sense Done Pleading Ignorance#Personal | If I Show You Then I Know You Won’t Tell What I Said Cause Two Can Keep A Secret If One Of Them Is Dead#Headcanon | The Horror That He Brings The Horror Of His Sting The Unholiest Of Kings#OOC | In Your Head In Your Head They Are Fighting#((/flops))#abib918#((thank you very much for the ask❣))
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I.19
Originally posted August 6, 2020
Summary: Jango's cousin was given to the Jedi and he'd been helpless to save him.
Details: Sequel to I.13. Born a Mandalorian Obi-Wan.
xxxxxx
Jango's history was written in regrets and betrayals.
When he was on Kamino was when they were loudest in his memories, crawling through his dreams. His buir, Galidraan, the weight of chains, the people who had died and the people he'd let down.
Staring through the door, now, was another one.
When his dar'ba'vodu had stolen a child of House Mereel and given it to the Jedi, it had been a scandal. Jaster had stripped her of her name and banished her, declared her dar'manda, and even Kyr'tsad had honored that.
At the time, Jaster had been trying to find some way to demand Ob'ika back, it wasn't legal to do such things without the aliit'alor's approval and he had certainly not approved. Then he'd died, betrayed, leaving Jango with all of his work, all of his unfinished business. Their broken aliit.
His ba'vodu had no hope that the Jedi would return her child. She hadn't pulled the trigger, but she'd let herself die in battle from her grief.
And then Jango was alone, truly alone, and between the New Mandalorians and Kyr'tsad, and all their other enemies, he...just didn't have the ability to fight for his cousin.
He pushed him out of his mind, telling himself that as soon as the fighting was over, as soon as he'd consolidated power, he would bring Obi-Wan home.
At Galidraan, he'd thought of him for the first time in so many years. Watching the Jedi, emotionless monsters moving through the battlefield, striking down his people like they were vermin, his mind had gone to Obi-Wan. Whose only language had been Mando'a, who had been brought up as any proper Mando'ad should be. Who had been so sweet, so kind, that even at five Jango had been sure he'd grow into a wonderful person.
What horrors had the demagolka visited upon that little boy? Had they broken him beyond repair or had they broken him and built him back into one of these creatures?
And then it had been over and even if he'd wanted to, he was as powerless to save Ob'ika as he had been to save any of the others.
He'd thought of him again when Tyrannus--Dooku--had come to him with this contract. But he hadn't let himself consider what the consequences of it would be for Obi-Wan. Maybe, in the back of his mind, he hoped his cousin would see his familiar face reflected back so many times that it would break through whatever mind tricks the Jedi had used on him.
It was clear that Obi-Wan remembered him, despite how well he hid his expressions. His eyes had widened, his breath had sped up. The sound of Jango's name had seemed to freeze him in place.
He invited him in, dismissing Lama Su easily enough. And then they stood in silence, studying each other.
Ob'ika had been a little kid last time Jango had seen him, only the slightest hints of what he'd be like when grown showing through. His hair had darkened, his dimples hidden by a beard, but his skin was still light and freckled, his eyes still bright despite his obvious tiredness.
It enraged a part of Jango to see him so at ease wearing the robes of a Jedi, using their mannerisms. And, yet, he could not be too upset. Other than Boba, this was his only aliit left in the galaxy, arrived at his doorstep just before he'd be in danger from the plots against the Jedi. The greatest luck Jango had ever been on the receiving end of, maybe.
"Bob'ika, k'olar. Urcir cuun ba'vod'ika." The three of them stared at each other, Boba and Obi-Wan seeming to match in shyness.
"It's nice to meet you, Boba," was the reply they received, the Basic making Jango grit his teeth. "And...and it is good to see you, again...Jan'ika."
Jango smiled at that, telegraphing boldly as he reached out to pull Obi-Wan into a hug. He signed to Boba with the other, behind Obi-Wan's back.
"Ni ceta, Ob'ika," he breathed out, holding his cousin tightly. "Ni ceta."
"What--Jango, why are you sorry?"
"I couldn't save you from them. You were trapped with the Jedi and I couldn't save you."
"I wasn't, Jan'ika, I was where I needed to be. They trained me, they helped me. I don't know what would have become of me, without them."
He'd known of the dreams, anyone who'd spent any time near Obi-Wan had, but they'd been expecting him to grow out of them. And there were even disciplines within their own culture that dealt in powers beyond what the average person was born with, Jaster had been trying to get into contact with someone who could teach one.
Obi-Wan's dar'buir had not even given him the chance to explain.
"And now you've learned what you needed to and you can come back."
The way Obi-Wan stiffened, Jango knew he'd protest. He'd been with them for three decades, of course he would be indoctrinated into believing that was a good thing. It was no matter, though, because Jango knew exactly how to deal with Force users.
He focused on his very real desire to help as Boba came back into the room and handed him the hypospray under the guise of giving Obi-Wan his own, tentative hug. And their cousin was too busy smiling down at Boba in delight to notice the injection until it was over.
"Jango, what did you--"
"Don't worry, Ob'ika. This was jate'kara, finding you now. I won't let anyone steal you away from our aliit again."
xxxxxx
Mando'a:
buir - parent
dar'ba'vodu - in this case former/disgraced aunt
dar'manda - disgraced former Mandalorian
-'ika - added to a name, creates a sort of cute nickname (Ob'ika, Bob'ika, Jan'ika)
aliit'alor - like the head of the family
ba'vodu - in this case, aunt
demagolka - basically a heinous monster
aliit - family/clan
k'olar - come here
urcir cuun ba'vod'ika - meet our cousin
ni ceta - I'm sorry
jate'kara - luck
#character: jango fett#character: boba fett#character: obi wan kenobi#ship: jango & obi wan#verse: mandalorian obi wan#theme: dark#theme: mandalorian culture#theme: possessive behavior
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My Favorite
Trope: Soulmate marks.
Twist: Lexa doesn’t have one. Clarke does.
1/?
~
Lexa had lost her soulmate when she was eleven years old. The two words that she had cherished and daydreamed about for years had one day simply vanished, leaving behind no trace they had ever been imprinted on the inside of her wrist. Overnight, her life had taken an unthinkable turn, and if the whispers behind her back had not been enough to rock her self-esteem, if the bullying and the taunting hadn't broken her, it was her friends cutting ties with her that had felt like the most painful loss.
Her parents had had to put her on the registry for the Markless, which she'd always found to be ironic, as it painted the biggest mark on her yet: outcast. The Markless had a flaw; a part of them so fundamentally wrong that they couldn't truly love, nor be truly loved in return. Few people cared to mingle with them, as history had proven them to be the criminals of this world. And if they hadn't done their crime yet then surely they would, one day, and rare were those who wanted to take the chance to be in their lives when it happened.
Lexa didn't know what it meant for her or what she'd done at eleven that had made her so undeserving of love, but she'd refused to let anger consume her. She'd kept her head low and kept her arms covered, even in the summer, and for the next eighteen years she'd lived her life as best she could.
In the city, blending in had been easier. There were apartment buildings for people like her, and though they were rarely the safest, Lexa had been happy enough in her studio. She'd met her first true friends in years there, and then a few more in college, where minds were more open than in her small town. Some simply didn't care, others refused to buy into the fear mongering, and Lexa clung to them tightly, grateful for their affection and their flaws, the ones that society had marginalized as well.
Her closest friend was Anya - tough like nails and no-nonsense - who Lexa had met while they studied in the hopes of one day teaching. Yes, sometimes it was a wonder to Lexa as well that she would willfully step in school classrooms again, but how would the world ever change if the new generations weren't taught differently? Lexa had long ago found refuge in language and literature, and if she could one day extend a hand to a child shunned by their peers, if she could be the teacher she had needed in her teenage years so many times, it would be worth the pain of reviving old wounds. As for Anya, she wasn't markless but had gotten pregnant from an encounter with a markless partner, which had brought her family so much shame that she'd started finding the entire system loathsome. She'd had her daughter's name tattooed over her mark, packed their bags for the city and never once looked back.
The decade had seen some improvements for people like them - and the world was changing, even if slowly. There were programs started to facilitate their lives and more inclusive spaces offered. There were even dating websites, and if Lexa had once been embarrassed to even sign up, she now relied on them exclusively. Her college girlfriends might have been open-minded, but it'd never changed the words imprinted on their wrists.
Layover was perhaps the word Lexa detested the most in the English language, as people like her were the first ones to suffer from it. There had been Costia, first, who Lexa had loved as best she could, even as a broke twenty-year-old with full-time studies and two part-time jobs, but it had only lasted a year, until Costia had taken a linguistics class and met the girl whose first words to her were marked on her skin. In her defense, Costia had broken the news gently–and Lexa had loved her enough to be happy for her, though perhaps not when she had felt her heart plummet into her stomach.
Lexa had wondered afterward if it was true what they said about the Markless: if she had been able to let go of Costia because she was unable to truly love. When she had asked Anya about it, the woman had shrugged and told her one relationship was hardly strong enough proof.
Louisa had whirled into Lexa's life over a year later, but left just as quickly when another student had tapped on her shoulder and uttered the very words Louisa would sometimes mumble in her sleep. Lexa had been walking out of the class auditorium with her when it had happened, and she had felt herself freeze on the spot. After all, she'd spent enough nights in the same bed to know what words were on her girlfriend's wrist. Louisa had been so flustered that she'd babbled something back, and evidently the curly-haired boy who'd asked her a question had heard back the words imprinted on his own wrist, his smile spreading so wide that Lexa had felt sickened by the sight. She'd gotten blackout drunk for the first and last time that night and woken up on Anya's couch.
Afterward, Lexa had refused to waste her time. She dated a few markless women during grad school, but the relationships still naturally ran their course, and each time Lexa had wondered if the whispers were true: People like her couldn't know true love.
Which, inevitably, led to the second most detested word in Lexa's vocabulary: settling. It was a term that the Marked had coined some centuries ago, aimed at those who built lives and started families with partners they knew weren't their intended. It happened, of course, that in this world many didn't meet, but hope was to be maintained until one's last breath. There were records of couples meeting as old as 101 years old, and so whoever didn't wait was poorly regarded, though never as poorly as the Markless, who inspired fear rather than pity.
Though she didn't care for the word and its connotations, settling was something that Lexa had accepted for herself. It was clear by now, at 29, that she should seek a markless woman who shared her values and had a compatible lifestyle. It wouldn't be the love that movies and songs wrote about, but it could be a strong bond regardless - companionship - and together they could even have a family. It was seeing Anya around her daughter, Tris, that had planted the first seeds of yearning for a fuller life and someone to share it with.
It was with the very intention of settling that Lexa had packed her bags and moved to her dream city, much smaller in scale and population than the one that had offered her so much, but a place with a progressive enough reputation that Lexa knew she could be happy there. Anya had helped her with the move - a two hour drive away that both her and Lexa had felt weigh heavily on them. It would be the first time Lexa was far away from the friend who had, by all means, saved her life more than once.
When Lexa had applied for a teaching position at the Polis private middle school, it had been with Anya’s full support. She had coached her through the high-brow interview process and then celebrated when Lexa had officially been offered the English teacher position, to be started in two months for the new school year. For once, the stars had seemed to align.
That was, at least, until Lexa had stepped into her new apartment and realized just how strongly it smelled of fresh paint. On her first night alone, Lexa had woken up so dizzy that not even a morning walk had lessened the feeling. She’d resigned herself to the fact that her new place would be inhabitable for at least a week and had quickly found a hotel to stay in for the next few days.
~
Jake Griffin was the proud owner of Griffin Hotel, a warm place with under thirty rooms and a distinctly cozy appeal to it. It was not luxurious but still well-kept, with a room near the foyer for the breakfast buffet and another sitting room with armchairs, a bookshelf, and a view on their garden. Lexa had only taken one suitcase up to her room, but after Jake had left her to it, she’d felt oddly compelled to walk for a bit before she turned in for the night.
She put on her comfiest sweater and wandered out of the hotel, finding her way to the garden and enjoying the soothing sound of the small fountain there. Through the window to the sitting room, she could see the bookshelf standing tall and wondered what titles she would find on the spines of those old books. She went back inside and walked into the room, but stopped when she found that there was someone sitting on one of the armchairs.
She couldn’t be any older than Lexa, with her hair in a loose up-do and her legs curled up beneath her. She was completely absorbed in a book, an edition of Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café so worn that the cover was only kept on thanks to three paperclips. There were notes sticking out of it and some ink stains on the edges of the pages. Lexa felt a sudden thrum of excitement at the prospect of a shared interest.
"I love that tomato,” she said offhandedly.
Her eyes widened as she realized the moronic string of words she had uttered. The woman’s head snapped up and Lexa felt her cheeks grow hot when she noticed her bewildered expression.
"That novel, I mean," Lexa quickly corrected. "It's a good one. Wonderful."
The woman blinked at her and when, finally, her mouth parted open, Lexa was so certain that she was about to say something that she couldn't help but feel disappointed when she merely nodded instead. But her disappointment quickly vanished when the woman’s face suddenly broke into a smile; one so sweet that Lexa felt herself smile right back.
When she motioned for Lexa to sit, Lexa promptly did.
"I'm sorry if I interrupted anything," Lexa said. "You seemed so engrossed."
The woman shrugged. Lexa wrung her hands on her lap. "It’s actually the first book I ever borrowed at a library.”
At the woman's arched brow, Lexa felt that she had been asked to elaborate. "I was nine. It was summer and I was wildly bored."
The woman suddenly sat up and pinched both edges of the book before showing the considerable space between her fingers. Lexa understood her meaning and smiled sheepishly.
"Yes, it was definitely too dense and mature for me. But I loved the world. Then I got obsessed with frying my own tomatoes - my mom never forgave me for setting her new pan on fire.”
The woman laughed, a soundless expression that made her eyes crinkle and her tongue peek out between her teeth. Lexa had accomplished many things in her life, but making this woman laugh felt like her proudest moment.
"Clarke?"
Lexa recognized Jake in the doorway, looking over at the woman in the armchair and then yawning loudly.
"I'm turning in. You need anything, hun'?"
Evidently, Lexa had stumbled upon Jake's daughter. When Clarke lifted her hands and signed something with them, Lexa thought to smack herself. She had been blabbing without once wondering why Clarke didn't respond verbally.
Jake chuckled at something Clarke signed. "Fair enough. Goodnight, kiddo."
After he left, Lexa stood up and cleared her throat. “I’m so sorry, I-” She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I've been talking your ear off and you probably just wanted to read in peace."
Clarke looked up at her with a curious expression, one Lexa couldn’t read at all.
“Hm... goodnight, then.” She smiled weakly and walked out of the room, already reaching for the bedroom key in her pocket.
Though she felt like an idiot, Lexa couldn’t resist one glance back before she turned the corner. She found Clarke looking at her with a soft smile, her expression so full of wonder that Lexa knew she would not be able to forget it.
-
Part two
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HOLD! WHO GOES THERE? WHY, IS THAT [CATLINA JOHAR] THE [MADAME OF THE HOUSE] OF [ILLASQA]? THEY DO LOOK [ASSERTIVE] FOR A [WOMAN] OF [29] YEARS. DON’T THEY CALL [HER] THE [SAVVY AND PROTECTIVE HARLOT]? I’VE HEARD THEY’RE ALSO [SILVER TONGUED AND VICIOUS] THOUGH. DON’T TAKE MY WORD FOR IT BUT THEY DO LOOK AN AWFUL LOT LIKE [SUMMER BISHIL].
Basic Info
NAME: Catlina Johar
PRONUNCIATION: Cat-Leena Joe-Har
OCCUPATION: Madame of the Nightshade
AGE: 29
PLACE OF ORIGIN: The Red Keep
FAMILY MEMBERS: None known
Physical Description
HEIGHT: 5′2″
HAIIR COLOR: Dark chestnut with some lighter brown highlights
EYE COLOR: Dark brown
GENDER: Female
BUILD: Pete and slim
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES?: None besides a few freckles
ANY HEALTH RELATED ISSUES?: None
Personality
Catlina isn’t a sweet person. She can drip honey from her tongue if that’s what you want but it’ll cost you. Overall, she is someone who isn’t afraid to speak her mind but won’t give you any insight into her past. She does have a bit of an explosive temper but her rage is something she rarely taps into because she knows if she did, the things she’d say would probably land her in prison.
She is, however, extremely loyal to those who have been good to her. Whether that’s a simple favor or someone who has befriended her, you can be sure Catlina Johar will have your back. She is extremely protective of the people who work in her brothel and by extension, the people that work in the tavern. The tavern itself is owned by someone else but they all work together closely.
Additional Info
Catlina runs a tavern and brothel in Illasqa currently, though she was born in the Red Keep. I would love for her to have a few girls and/or guys in her care and business partners. Anything involving the brothel, essentially. As well as rival brothels or establishments too. She’s extremely protective of the girls in her care and wouldn’t let anyone do anything without their consent.
I’d love the Elliot to her Margo. He could be someone who frequents the tavern/brothel or someone who bought it with her. Essentially, he’s her only real friend and the only person other than herself she actually trusts. She would kill for him… and probably has. And he thinks of her as his best friend.
People from her past. She was born on the streets of the Red Keep, her mother was probably a prostitute herself. But an older woman took pity on Cat and took her in, essentially ‘buying’ her from her mother. She was the only person Cat ever saw as a mother but she died when she was a child. Afterwards, Cat lived on the street and probably ran with some bad crowds, fending for herself. She probably made friends enough with some of the prostitutes and convinced them to let her clean up after them or fetch them food and drinks, etc, that they gave her a little closet she could sleep in. She eventually got a job as a serving wench and worked as a prostitute when she was older. But I would love plots from her past, anyone that would have known her back then.
History
She could have ended up in the gutter, in the shit and the muck, in the poorest areas of the Red Keep were it not for her intense desire to not die. Catlina was born without a last name. She was born without a first name until she was given up, just a few days after her birth. Her mother was a prostitute and she was an accident.
Cat was given up to an old woman known around town as Mani who often sold pastries and bread and cakes to the courtesans and clients that visited the Red Door. Her mother had left her in a basket, her only words to the old baker woman were “Please… I can’t. Please take my johar.” The first few years of her life were probably the happiest she could have actually known, given all of the circumstances. The woman was old and growing frail, already into at least her mid-sixties by the time she’d been given Catlina. But she had a heart full of love and a warm home, even if it was really just a room on top of her bakery.
The woman had decided to give Catlina a real name, though she often called her ‘Johar’ as her birth mother did. She taught Catlina how to read and write over the years and some basics that she knew about keeping her business going in the bakery. She often told Cat tales of her own youth and the life she’d led with her husband who had died a few years before. It had been a joyful and full life, even if they’d never had children. And she never told Cat who her mother was, only where she worked. She always said “We’ll talk about this when you’re older.”
But older never came for Cat’s caretaker. She was returning from buying goods from the woman when the bakery was ablaze. The old woman’s body had been burned to an unrecognizable degree and all the magi putting out the fire could tell her was that they hoped she’d died before the inferno took over the home. It seemed the oven had caught the rickety old walls on fire and the rest… was left as cinders. She had once again lost everything and she realized the woman who’d taken care of her was the closest thing she had to a mother.
For weeks, the girl managed to survive on the streets, doing odd chores for various business owners who knew her caretaker. They gave her a few coins, enough for her to buy some bread and fruit and occasionally would let her sleep in their store rooms. It was enough for her, she only ever wanted to survive.
Catlina found herself on the streets during a storm and afterwards, the girl became terribly ill. She remembers falling asleep on the streets and later feeling nothing but warmth. She didn’t know that’s what death would feel like but she was certain she was dying. And perhaps it was Jvala greeting her herself. Welcoming her back into the volcanic earth that she grew.
When she came to, she found it wasn’t Jvala’s warmth welcoming her into the After, but rather someone physical and real and towering and… she was terrified at first. Arvasdarr happened to be the one to find her, broken and sick and cold as she was in the streets. And through whatever hope or goodness or pity he had left in his heart, he took her in and helped her recover. She was with him for a few months at the most, and he’d never quite felt human. She’d asked him very straightforward if he was a dragon. He laughed at her but that was all the answer she needed. Even as a child of just ten years old, she knew he needed his freedom. And he needed to fly free more than anything. And he couldn’t do that looking after a kid. So she went to the place her Mani had mentioned, the Red Door.
No child of ten should have seen the things Catlina saw there. But she begged a few of the girls to give her chores, errands, let her clean, anything, if they’d just let her stay in one of the small store closets. They allowed this little trespass as long as she stayed out of their way. So Catlina went to Arvasdarr and the two parted ways. It was for the best, although he might have been the closest she’d ever find to a father figure.
The years drug on for Catlina, she cleaned, cooked, ran errands, bought groceries, mopped up bodily fluids and even helped the women at the brothel kick drunk men out of their rooms. And she stayed out of sight when she could and out of the way the rest of the time. The women there kicked her a few coins back every time she did them a favor and Catlina began saving more and more of it, buying only as much food as she needed to survive, the rest she stockpiled in order to one day leave the Red Keep.
She had dreams, she wanted a small house somewhere on a beach maybe, and she wanted to live by what she could provide herself. If she found a family along the way, she might be happy to make her own, but all she needed, perhaps, was independence and her own indomitable willpower.
Catlina started servicing the clients too sometime around fifteen or sixteen. She was making more money and paid for a room at the brothel out of her cut. Still, she scrimped and saved, occasionally fighting with one other girl there specifically, but she paid her as little mind as possible. She knew it would solve nothing and get her nowhere near what she wanted.
At eighteen, she left the Red Keep. Her first stop was a three year long stint in East Reach before she finally had enough money saved to book passage and move permanently to Illasqa. She found work there at what was then the Shrieking Clam. But she was motivated and she put in more than her fair share of hard work. On top of taking clients, she did what she could around the tavern and inn to make it function and look better.
She also met Avitej Kumara there. If only she’d known how much her life would change just by meeting him.
The first rule for any whore is to never fall in love. And perhaps she’d broken that rule the moment they’d locked eyes. But she would not realize the extent of the hold he had on her for many years. He was wild then, seemingly untamable. But he’d come often to the Shrieking Clam, it was a favorite haunt of his apparently, and when he’d laid eyes on her, there’d been no one else he wanted to claim.
The next few years were a whirlwind for Catlina. She quickly gained the previous owner of the Shrieking Clam’s favor by being hardworking and having the business tact and savvy that he was looking for. He was aging and wanted someone to take over for him. He trained her on everything she needed to properly manage a brothel and as she stepped further into the role of leadership, the place really started to turn around, and she took less and less clients.
When the man finally retired, Catlina was twenty six. By that point, she only ever took one client when he came around, and she had fixed and rebuilt all of the broken parts of the brothel. She renamed it the Nightshade and slowly, but surely, it had become less and less of a den of debauchery, and more and more a palace of pleasure. If it was any other sort of business, it would be respectable outside of Loqoala, even admired and favored.
But that was Calina Johar’s life. Hard work. The fate she was given overcome by sheer will but the fate she wanted still so far out of reach.
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Dean's Journey Home
Dean slipped his hand into the hidden pocket inside his windbreaker, checking for his wand. It was the fifth time he’d reached for it since leaving King’s Cross Station, an old nervous tick made that much more intense by the shocking events of the past few days. Dumbledore was dead, and Voldemort was creeping back into power. The last thing Dean needed was to drop his wand on the tube.
That wand was one of the first things his mother had purchased for him when they’d entered Diagon Alley six summers ago. Marjorie Thomas, who was rarely at a loss for words, was stunned into silence when she saw little silver sparks shoot from the end of the third wand her son tried.
“The wand chooses the wizard,” Ollivander had said with a smile. He explained that Dean’s wand was 11 inches, made of beech and with a single unicorn hair at its core.
“This is a wand for a wizard with promise. A kind wizard who will go on to do good things,” he said. Dean remembered his mother’s sigh of relief, the way the tension seemed to drain from her body if only just a bit. Just a few short weeks before, they’d both thought magic was the stuff of fairy tales, and now here they were standing in a wand shop, on a street hidden from non-magical eyes, preparing for Dean’s first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She could at least take solace in the idea that her oldest son was still the sweet boy she’d always known, regardless of his new-found abilities.
Dean smiled at the memory and gave his wand a grateful squeeze before his thoughts drifted back to the troubles that lay ahead of him. How would he explain any of this to his mother? Voldemort, the Death Eaters, Dumbledore’s murder? For the past few years – since Harry returned from the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament carrying Cedric Diggory’s lifeless body – he’d kept her in the dark about the troubles brewing in the Wizarding World, afraid that she would withdraw him from Hogwarts. Although he loved his family and understood the danger of Voldemort’s return, he couldn’t imagine attending a Muggle school when he knew a place like Hogwarts existed. How could he, when he’d spent years learning to cast spells and make potions? When he’d seen unicorns, hippogriffs, and dragons? How could he leave the place where he’d learned to fly?
Before Cedric’s death, the Wizarding World had felt like a dream. Paintings moved and ghosts existed. He could literally brew liquid luck if he wished. Returning to the Muggle world at the end of each term was bittersweet. He missed his family desperately when he was away, but he still found himself longing to wake up in his four-poster bed in the Gryffindor Tower, Seamus, Neville, Ron, and Harry snoring softly around him.
His mother was the only person from his non-magical life who knew the truth about Dean’s school. She’d told his family and friends, including his step-father and half-siblings, that Dean had been granted a scholarship at an impressive boarding school in Switzerland. His brothers and sisters spent a great deal of each school break teasing him about becoming posh. Dean pretended to be annoyed, when all he really wanted was to tell them the truth, Statute of Secrecy be damned.
Things would never be the same, he thought. For one, Dumbledore was dead, and although Dean had always known that he was quite old, Dean hadn’t imagined a time without him there to protect and guide Hogwarts. The first time Dean had seen Dumbledore with his long, sweeping hair and his colorful robes, he’d thought, “Now, that is what a proper wizard is supposed to look like.” Dumbledore, Hogwarts, the Hogwarts Express, all of it had made it clear: magic was real, and Dean was someone who could wield it. Dean Thomas was a wizard.
The safety that Dumbledore provided was also gone. It was common knowledge that Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort ever feared, and Dean could imagine why. He hadn’t had many interactions with the late headmaster, but he’d often felt that Albus Dumbledore could see right through him. If it weren’t for the kind twinkle in the elderly wizard’s eyes (or, the fact that Dean didn’t have much to hide, in general), Dean supposed he would have feared Dumbledore, as well.
What was to stop Voldemort from his mission to bring the Muggle world to its knees, now that Dumbledore was gone? Voldemort’s hatred of both Muggles and Muggle-borns was a known fact, and Dean was fairly certain that he came from a completely non-magical family. What would become of people like him? People whose blood was considered “dirty” by pureblood wizards who had been inbreeding since the time of Merlin?
Of course, he could never truly be certain of his family lineage. His father, Samuel Thomas, had disappeared when he was just a baby and had no other family to speak of. His mother always said that she was never sure she got to know the “real” Samuel, anyway.
“I supposed he showed me what I wanted, and I wanted to believe it was all true,” Marjorie Thomas would say, whenever Dean asked for her to talk about his dad. He did that less and less over the years, not wanting to drum up any painful memories. But to him, it sounded as if they’d had a perfect relationship before his dad disappeared. Marjorie often said that strange happenings tended to take place when Samuel was around. There was that time when Dean had almost fallen down the stairs, and somehow, had landed safely in his father’s waiting arms. Marjorie raved about Samuel’s cooking, but she always said that he seemed to make these amazing meals in no time at all. Then, there was the timing of his father’s disappearance.
For years, Dean had just believed that his father got tired of having a family and decided to skip out on them. Or, if he was feeling more generous, he spun himself wild stories about his father slipping on a patch of ice, banging his head, and waking up in a hospital with no memory of his life or his wife and child. But the more he learned about Wizarding history, the more he started to wonder. His father’s disappearance lined up almost perfectly with the first rise of the Death Eaters. Was it possible that he’d run afoul of them somehow? Or, worse, that he’d died while in their service?
When he’d tried to look up his father in the Wizarding family records Madam Pince kept in a dusty corner of the Hogwarts library, he’d come up empty. If his father was a wizard, there was no way to prove it. At one point, he had started to doubt whether or not “Samuel Thomas” was even his dad’s real name.
Dean shook his head, startling the older white woman who had sat down next to him on the tube. He’d been so deep inside his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed her presence. He gave her an apologetic smile, but she frowned at him and moved her handbag to her other arm. Dean felt his anger flare. At Hogwarts, he’d had to worry about Slytherins stage-whispering “Mudblood” whenever they caught him alone. Out in the Muggle world, he was a Black teenager, growing into a Black man. He supposed both forms of hatred came from a place of fear, and he honestly wasn’t sure which one was more dangerous.
“Excuse me,” he muttered bitterly and moved to another seat on the other end of the train car. He had five more stops to go, and he wasn’t going to spend that time watching her clutch her handbag for dear life. He wanted so badly to be home already, to be back around people who loved him. It had been a rough few weeks, after all, he thought, as his mind drifted toward what felt like the most frustrating problem of all: Ginny.
He hated himself for thinking about a girl at a time like this – even if it was Ginny Weasley – when the entire Wizarding World seemed to be falling apart, and yet, he couldn’t help himself. Everything seemed to remind him of her. The red-headed woman who’d boarded the train a few stops ago. The Firebolt pin she’d given him to fasten to his school bag (it could hover a few feet off the ground if you unpinned it and said “Up”). Another teen couple who he’d seen cuddling on a bench at the train station, seemingly oblivious to the fact that a whole world existed outside of their embrace.
Ginny hadn’t been a perfect girlfriend, by any means. She had a habit of getting annoyed at all of his attempts at chivalry. He supposed that she was right. Some of the “polite” things he’d assumed she would find charming could be a bit much, but he hadn’t been trying to help her through the portrait hole the day they broke up. It wouldn’t have made sense, as she’d been climbing into the Gryffindor Common Room since long before they’d become an item. Then, there was the way she had looked at Harry, when she didn’t think Dean could see. At first, he just thought that she was intrigued by him like all of the Gryffindors seemed to be when Harry wasn’t being accused of being the Heir of Slytherin or being made out to be an attention-hungry prat in The Daily Prophet. But then, her brother, George, had made a joke about Ginny swooning over Harry every time he turned up at the Burrow, and Dean had felt a strong urge to punch Harry in the face.
Ginny was the first witch who seemed to notice that he existed, and he’d fallen for her harder than he’d expected. Occasionally, Muggle girls’ heads turned when he was back in his old neighborhood while on holiday, but at Hogwarts, he had often felt invisible. He wasn’t really sure if it was because he, like the rest of his roommates, so often fell into the shadow of the Famous Harry Potter, whose own popularity (or, more often, infamy) seemed to be a near-constant source of personal turmoil for him.
Other times, Dean wondered if it was simply because he was one of only about ten Black students in the entire school. It was something he’d wanted to talk about with the other boys in the Hogwarts’ Black Student Union, but it never felt as important as their talks about white European wizards’ disdain for African wizards and their wandless magic, or the discomfort that Blaise felt whenever his fellow Slytherins expected him to join in on their bigotry towards Muggle-borns. Frustrated and unsure, Dean had ruled out dating altogether, until Ginny.
And now, she had taken up with Harry Potter, of all people. Harry, who she’d told him not to worry about. Harry, who he’d caught shooting envious glances at he and Ginny whenever they were around. Harry, who he’d defended when Seamus accused him of lying about Voldemort’s return. Harry, who he’d remained loyal to, even when he had been suspected of being capable of pure evil.
Dean had tried and failed to hate Harry over the past couple of weeks. But now, in light of all that was happening, Dean knew that he would have to let it go. Harry was rumored to be the Chosen One, the one who would finally defeat He Who Must Not Be Named. Deep down, past the jealousy and betrayal he felt whenever he thought about Harry and Ginny kissing for the first time that day in the common room, Dean knew that it was his duty to support Harry. When the time came, he must be prepared to fight. Even as the train arrived at his stop, and he began to make the walk to his mother’s home, where he was sure there would be a delicious meal and several crushing hugs from his brothers awaiting him, he began to plan his escape back into the Wizarding World and into the war.
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These days
These days have been rolling on. Like little tidal waves kissing the tips of sandy shore. Foam sprays and salt coating the air.
And in its essence, nature seems undisturbed. A casual occurrence. One of those ‘if you blink, you’ll miss it’ moments.
It all sounds peaceful, but like the ocean there are layers. Just as the sand itself. underneath the strands of low maintenance weeds, passed the emerald waters that almost seem translucent.
There is history. There is depth. In both those regards, there is fear.
The fear of darkness within depth. The fear of repetition within history. Because if it’s not both, it’s one or the other.
But... I am hopeful....but....I am lost. This incites fear in me.
Because getting lost in something like this, in my depression, in my thoughts. In myself. No one, but myself can find a way out.
And yes, I know. I know I have the greatest team of excavators, true friends and family that would dig me out of the center of the earth with their bare hands alone. A love who would dive to the deepest depths, no seconds thoughts.
But tell me why I still feel so alone? Why do I fear myself. Is it because I never truly stopped hating myself, I just got happier? Maybe I found more things to bide my time.
That's what is so frustrating to me because I am grateful, I feel it. This overwhelming love from all around me and this insatiable feeling of wanting to give everyone my all. But I’m still this person. This monster and I am so ashamed. So very very ashamed. I can’t stand to look myself in the eye. I can’t face my mother because this is her daughter. I can’t face my friends because this is what they have to see. I can’t even begin to imagine the toll I take on my lover because this is who he is stuck with.
and recently I want out. That quick easy ‘stop-it-all’ method. How selfish can I get? I even amaze myself these days.
But in this chaos, I found stillness. When there are a trillion moving parts frantically clanging against each other. So loud. Too overbearing. I found a small voice.
smaller than a child’s. “You cannot erase suffering with disappearing. You cannot erase suffering at all, but that does not stop you from finding peace.”
You don’t say? Huh. Something in me clicked, the idea that suffering is natural. It is inevitable. That there is no single sentient life that has not known ‘suffering’. That sadness, that despair..... it’s just as natural an occurrence as the tides crashing onto shore. A natural disaster.
And just with that, I felt comforted. I even thought for a second that small voice, sounded like a remnant of me. Of who I am with the depression reduced out. She sounded quite lovely. She helped me in that stopped period of time. Where my eyes were unfocused and my breathing even.
Where the only noise I could hear was my heart and for the first time in a long while I had realized I was alive.
And it scared me because I’d been living as if I was in a dream. Thinking about dying as if I could take it back when I got tired of it.
That is not how anything works.
Because once you’re gone, thats it. I understood that. 26 years and I finally get it. That you can’t erase suffering with disappearing.
Once you’re gone, that suffering stays. It transfers to your next of kin. To those you claim to love. And this is no guilt trip, this is pure realization that maybe we should, I SHOULD, start treating myself with a little more respect.
Because I owe to so many people to keep living. To my mother who carried me for nine grueling months as such a young age. To my friends who’d only every shown me love. To my partner who continues to give me happiness fit for a god.
All they’ve ever asked of me was to be happy. Was to live my life. Yet in the fog of my suffering, my mental illness, I felt doomed.
And it’s quite cliche when they tell you, ‘the answer is within you’. But I’ve got an inkling its got more to do with you having the control. no pre-destined shit. No fate mumbo jumbo. Like actually doing what you want on your terms.
How crazy is that? It’s new for me. For as long as I’ve known, my depression and anxiety had been calling the shots.
To my mother, Thank you.
To my lovely friends, Thank you.
To my dear, sweet Christian, Thank you.
To you, the one reading this, Thank you.
You haven’t seen the last of me.
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