#until it was me and one kid left so bargained my life for hers so she was rescued
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Vanishing Act (Kevin "KJ" Jimenez Fic)
Title: Vanishing Act (Part I of II)
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Kevin "KJ" Jimenez x Fem! Reader
Summary: You've lost everything: family members, your job with the US Marshals, your life, all because of one man: Lincoln Potter. When you get word that he's put a hit out on one DEA Agent Kevin Jimenez, you decide maybe you might get an ally in your quest for revenge. You just have to keep both of you and KJ alive until you can get your revenge on Potter.
***
Kevin Jimenez was never a lucky man.
He was intelligent, detail oriented, dedicated to his work but luck had nothing to do with it. It certainly had nothing to do with the current state of his life, that was for certain. Two years of borderline obsession with the Galindo cartel that resulted in divorce papers from his wife, custody arguments about the kids, and for what? If luck had played a part in his life at all, then at least he would still have his job after all that.
But Kevin Jimenez was never a lucky man.
That is, until today.
He has no idea how he managed to stand in the middle of his living room, bullets ricocheting off the walls, pictures, and decorations, and not so much as get nicked.
Larry Bowen, on the other hand, is not so lucky.
KJ is still standing in the middle of the room, no place to go for cover. Bowen is dead, two gunshots to his chest. EZ Reyes is to his right, Angel Reyes directly in front of him, and a third figure, a woman, dressed in black to his left. All three have guns pointed at each other. All he can do is hope his luck holds while the three armed assailants work this macabre interaction to its conclusion.
“Put the fucking guns down!” the woman shouts.
“You put your fucking gun down!” Angel yells back.
EZ takes a shot at her, clipping her shoulder and she returns the favor, plaster from the wall next to his face exploding with the impact of her bullet. Angel raises his gun in KJ’s direction but the woman fires again, this time hitting Angel’s gun and knocking it from his hand.
“Fuck!” Angel shakes his hand from the shock of his weapon being hit. “Who the fuck are you?”
Your eyes are zeroed in now on EZ, who’s crouched low by the wall in the kitchen. Slowly, he takes his finger off the trigger of his gun and holds it up. You do the same and every one takes a breath. The three of you don’t move any closer to each other but you all do holster your pieces. Now that the immediate danger is over, the adrenaline surge that KJ felt with the instinct of fight or flight and he could do neither finally explodes.
“What the actual fuck is happening?!”
Both EZ and Angel are suspiciously quiet. It’s you, to everyone’s surprise, that answers.
“Potter put a hit on you.” You motion to the two brothers. “My guess would be he hired these two bargain basement thugs to do it.”
Angel shakes his head. “‘Bargain basement?’”
EZ’s jaw ticks. “I was more offended by thugs.”
KJ feels the sharpness of the betrayal of the hitmen being family in his chest.
“Either way,” you continue, “Potter wants you dead for some reason, which means it’s in my best interest to keep you alive.”
KJ swallows. “You want Galindo? The Cartel?”
“I want Potter.”
It doesn’t surprise him that the odd ADA has made enemies along the way in his career. There’s a story behind the venom you use when you say Potter’s name. This isn’t about saving him at all. It’s about using him as leverage. And as much as that would have infuriated him in the past, staring down the barrels of three guns and a dead boss have altered his perception somewhat.
“Look,” EZ says, “whatever deal you have with Potter-”
You hold up a hand. “Let me stop you there. Because I can tell you all about the deals that Potter makes. I guarantee that one or both of you are looking at a lifetime sentence in jail which will magically go away if you put a bullet in this man’s head. And if you don’t, you’re going to suffer, your family is going to suffer, and no one is going to have a happily ever after.”
“What are you proposing?” Angel asks.
You take out a set of car keys and toss them at Angel. “I have a car sitting three blocks over at the back of a dead end street. It’s set up with a pipe bomb underneath it with a remote control, the garage door opener clipped to the visor. There’s already a body in the front seat, same height and weight as your target. And I’ve already planted his ID and some other belongings in the car.”
Angel looks at the keys. “Why didn’t you just blow it before you came here?”
You raise an eyebrow. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to need to add a couple more bodies to the car before I blew it.” Your eyes land on Bowen. “Glad I waited. If you’re worried about an investigation from the coroner blowing the cover, don’t. I’ve already paid him off to say it was Agent Jimenez.”
“You’re CIA.” The realization leaves his mouth before KJ can stop it. Your efficiency, your thoroughness, your resources all point to Black Ops level type shit. But you’re here by yourself, that much is obvious. If you had a partner, they would have been involved in the firefight. They would help with the body. You’re rogue.
“Something like that.” You state it with finality before turning to Angel and EZ. “Potter’s going to show up here to look over your handiwork in about twenty minutes. I suggest you get this poor son of a bitch out to the car and blow it before he arrives. Whatever deal you all had will still be honored.”
EZ looks over KJ. “And what about him?”
“You’re going to forget all about him. He’s my problem now.”
***
Apparently, two hours into the drive up the coast, KJ realizes he’s not the only problem you have. That “clip” of the bullet from back at the house is still bleeding. He’s been watching the red stain grow, soaking the fabric of your black shirt and even spread to the upholstery of the driver’s seat of the Jeep Cherokee that may or may not be yours. If that wasn’t concerning enough, the thin sheen of sweat and pale coloring of your skin definitely is.
“You should let me drive.”
You scoff. “You don’t even know where we’re going.”
“I would if you tell me.”
“Not going to happen.”
He sits back in the passenger seat. “Of course not. You’re just going to pass out from blood loss in another hour and run us off the road. So glad I survived the hit to die in a fiery crash somewhere near San fucking Bernardino.”
“Are you done?” You shift in the driver’s seat trying to position your injured arm on the center console so it has some support. “Thought you would be a bit more appreciative of me saving your ass back there.”
“Only to kill us both out here.”
“Fine.” You jerk the steering wheel and pull the car over to the shoulder of the highway and slam it into park. “You want to drive, have at it.”
You climb out of the driver’s seat, cradling your injured arm against your chest as you stalk your way around the car and stop at the passenger side. Before you can change your mind, he climbs across the console and slides into the driver’s seat. He sits back and feels your blood start to soak into his shirt but there’s no way for him to stop that from happening. He supposes this is the price he has to pay to survive the car ride. You clamber into his vacated passenger seat with an angry, yet tired, huff.
“So?”
You roll your eyes. “So, what?”
“Where are we going?”
“North.”
“How far-”
“North,” you repeat before leaning your head back and closing your eyes.
North it is. He pulls back on the road and drives for the next two hours in silence. Whenever there was a cross road or interchange, he took whatever direction that was north. The gas light turns on somewhere around Bakersfield and he pulls off the highway to a gas station right by the exit. He pays for the gas, pumps it, uses the restroom and you still haven’t moved from your slumped over position in the passenger seat. When he returns to the driver’s seat, he pokes your leg, gives your elbow a slight shake and you come to, mostly.
“Where…”
“Bakersfield,” he answers.
You look around the gas station that he has yet to pull away from. It’s the middle of the night, hard to see any details past the bright service lights of the station. Your tired eyes squint, trying to see into the darkness, trying to see whatever threat may be lurking out there. “We have to keep going.”
“Why?”
“Away,” you slump back against the seat. You’re weak from the blood loss, and still very pale. Your eyes are having difficulty focusing. “From Potter.”
“I thought you wanted to take him down.”
“Take him down, we need to go up.” You laugh weakly at the statement.
You’re not making much sense and with his life completely topsy turvy at the moment, KJ needs you and all your faculties. He reaches over and lays his hand on your forehead, like he used to do for his kids. You swat it away haphazardly but thankfully you don’t feel feverish. “Alright, we’re stopping for the night.”
“No!” You sound like a petulant child.
“Yes,” he states firmly. “You need medical attention and rest.”
“No hospitals.”
On that, he had to agree with you. “No hospitals. You have a first aid kit in here?”
“Yeah.”
“Cheap hotel it is then.”
Your head falls against the glass of the passenger side door with a thunk. “Sure know how to show a girl a nice time, Agent Jimenez.”
He pulls back out on the highway, wanting to get past Bakersfield proper, and find something out of the way on the outskirts. “Guess I’m not an agent anymore.”
“Guess not.”
He presses his lips together, grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. He supposes he’s not a lot of things anymore: agent, husband, father. All those things are in the past, dead and blown up on some dead end street in his neighborhood. There’s only one thing that he still has, that’s still his. “You can call me KJ.”
He waits for you to give him your name but you’ve already passed out again.
***
You’re quite pretty. The early morning light paints your skin in a soft, hazy glow. Your hair is still mostly pulled back into a ponytail but strands have escaped and curled around your face. But KJ is certain the most attractive aspect at the moment is that you’re still asleep in the front seat of the car. You’re quiet, not angry, snapping at him with sharp sarcasm with a nihilistic edge.
You’re at peace and you’re lovely.
He sighs as he opens the passenger side door and rests his hand on your shoulder. Your brow furrows in your sleep but you keep sleeping so he squeezes your shoulder until your eyes flutter open. Immediately you’re on alert, sitting up straight and trying to take in your surroundings.
“Where-”
“North end of Bakersfield somewhere. Come on, I got a room for a couple hours so we could get that gunshot wound under control. Get some rest.”
“I’m fine. Bleeding’s stopped by now.”
“Yeah, well, it still needs to be bandaged.”
“We need to keep moving. We need to keep going north.”
He’s tired, bone tired, weary of dealing with one clusterfuck after another. He needs a break, a block of time to reassess the situation and come up with a plan. “Well, I need a fucking moment to breath. You said you need me because Potter wanted me dead. If that’s true, you’re going to fucking follow me into the hotel room. Let me patch up that wound and get some real sleep before moving forward.”
“Look, I know the DEA-”
“You don’t know shit!” he snaps. “You don’t know shit about me, about what I’ve had to fucking sacrifice for this fucking case! You probably don’t even know that those two ‘thugs’ that showed up to kill me were family.” He feels tears stinging his eyes. “Mi familia. Mi sangre.”
You don’t back down, but you do soften a bit. When you do speak, there’s no harshness to your tone. “You’re right. I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”
It’s a hollow victory but he’ll take it at the moment. He goes to the back of the Jeep and takes out the two duffle bags, slinging his bag over his shoulder and carrying yours. When he comes back to the passenger side, you’re standing next to the car but have a death grip on the door. He can see your muscles shaking from the effort to keep you upright. He slips his free arm around your torso and is surprised that you don’t protest. Perhaps you know just how bad a shape you’re in at the moment.
You lean on him for the short walk across the parking lot and then follow him into the room under your own power. It only lasts until you make it to the small wooden chair. The hotel room is basic, bare bones, but it looks relatively clean. He still pulls the comforter off the bed before putting the bags down on it.
“Where’s the first aid kit?”
“It’s in my bag, towards the top.”
He unzips the worn, leather bag and finds a smaller bag, equally as worn, sitting on top of clothes. He carries it into the bathroom and opens it up. There’s a good sized bottle of rubbing alcohol and he uses that to sterilize the counter and sink. He sees you in the mirror, leaning on the doorframe and unbuttoning your shirt. Well, trying to at least, as your hands are shaking from the injury and its side effects.
He steps over to you and immediately starts undoing the buttons himself, concentrating on the task and the reasoning behind it. The sooner he can patch you up, the sooner he can sleep. He expects you to swat him away, determined to do this intimate act yourself, but you don’t. You just lean back and let him do it, helping only when he starts to peel the semi dried fabric from your injured arm. He also expected your fire to come back, that ice cold determination to see your mission through but it hasn’t. You’re still leaning against the door jam, right shoulder and arm bloodied, clad in your jeans and simple black sports bra.
You look tired, weak…soft.
He turns and reaches for a clean washcloth, soaking it in the alcohol, before starting to clean the blood from your arm. “So you’re not CIA.”
You hiss and jerk your arm when the alcohol runs into the wound but still your movements. “What makes you think that?”
What makes him think that? He certainly can’t say the truth, that you lack the hard dissociative edge that he’s seen before in CIA agents. You’re staring at him through the haze of pain but you’re very much reading his expression. So he throws out the question that’s been plaguing him since he left Santo Padre.
“Why didn’t you just kill Angel and EZ?”
You take in a deep breath through your nose and release it slowly. “Because I know how Potter works. The people he sends to tie up loose ends are just as much the victims as the people they kill.”
He couldn’t argue with that statement.
“You’re right,” you say. “I didn’t realize they were related to you. How?”
“Second cousins.” He scoffs. “Not like they were my brothers.”
Something akin to pain, but deeper, passes through your eyes. It happens so quickly, he thinks he may have imagined it.
“And I’m not CIA. I’m a US Marshal,” you confess quietly. “Well, was one at least.”
He’s cleaned away most of the blood so he can see the wound. It certainly isn’t a clip, the bullet went completely through the muscle of the underside of your bicep. It went clean through though, but the bullet wound is still oozing blood and will continue to do so until it’s packed and bandaged. “Let me guess, witness protection?”
“Right again.” You glance down at the wound. “Guess it was more than just a clip.”
He pulls out cotton, gauze pads, and bandages, laying them out on the sterilized sink counter. “Spoken like someone who’s never been shot before.”
“My line of work we tried to prevent situations from getting to that point.”
“Sounds like you were successful.”
“Until I wasn’t.”
He wonders if he’ll reach a point when he’s able to talk about this clusterfuck with the succinctness and resignation that you just did. But you’re talking and that’s something he wants to encourage. The more he knows the better. “So how did Potter fit into that situation?”
You’re quiet for a moment. “You almost done?”
And just like that, the conversation is over. He wraps the bandage over the cotton and gauze and fixes it in place with a metal clip. “Done.”
“Thank you.” You pick up your bloodied shirt and toss it in the trash. “Are you hungry? There’s a Burger King across the street.”
“No,” he starts cleaning up the bandages. “I’m good. You?”
You shake your head. “Maybe after some sleep.”
Which brings up another issue. There is only one bed out there. By the time he repacks the first aid kit, you’re already under the sheets and balanced on the right edge of the bed. He debates taking a shower, getting into a clean set of clothes, and then laying down but it all seems to be too much of an effort. Instead, he lays down on top of the sheets and stares at the cheap, popcorn ceiling. He listens to your breathing, wondering if you’re just going to stop mid-inhale from the blood loss. IF he’s going to have to take you to the hospital for an infusion and proper stitches. But you don’t. And soon, he finds himself being drawn under the blanket of sleep listening to the steady exhalations of you next to him.
***
When KJ wakes up, it’s completely dark in the room. He listens for your breathing but doesn’t hear anything. There’s nothing. No sound, no movement, no warmth.
“Fuck.”
He turns on the light next to him and braces to find your dead body. But you’re not there and somehow that’s worse. You’ve left him stranded in northern Bakersfield with no car, no new ID, and fifty dollars in cash. What exactly did he expect though? He has nothing on Potter, less than nothing in fact. His entire career in the DEA has been completely erased. The sight of his office being stripped and torn apart still makes his stomach churn.
There’s nothing for him to do until he figures out where he’s going to go and how he’s going to get there. He gets up, grabs his bag, and heads into the bathroom to get cleaned up. He tries to come up with a way to make some money while he showers. Without being able to use credit cards or withdraw from his bank accounts, if he even has them anymore, he’s going to need to make some fast cash. Maybe the hotel needs some extra help and he can get enough together to get somewhere further away from Santo Padre.
He’s pulling his t-shirt over his head when he hears a noise come from the other room. He had left his gun on the back of the toilet and he picks it up as he peers through the steam left over from his shower. The door is partially open, light flickers in from the faulty streetlight outside the room. The smell of fresh food: charbroiled and smoked meat, cheese, and grease hits his nose and causes his stomach to growl. There you are, struggling with bags of food, a hurt arm and a stubborn, dented door to a cheap motel room.
You didn’t abandon him. You didn’t leave him in the middle of nowhere.
“Jimenez, some help here?”
He tucks the gun in the waistband of his jeans as he moves to help you through the door. “Sorry. I, uh, I thought you left.”
You give him a slightly concerned look. “I did leave. To pay for a few more hours for the room and grab some food. You okay there?”
The relief he feels at your return shouldn’t be as strong as it is, but here he is. Heart slowing from its rapid pace, a slight burning to the back of his eyes. You didn’t leave. You didn’t abandon him. This too means more than it should. He puts the bags of food down on the small desk and re-locks the door. You drop into a chair, exhausted and pale.
“You shouldn’t have gone out there by yourself.” He tries to sound chiding but it lacks conviction. He’s still too relieved that you didn’t leave him behind. “You’re still recovering from the blood loss.”
You pull a hamburger out of the Burger King bag and unwrap it. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
He gives you a disbelieving look and you slowly cave.
“Okay, okay, I haven’t actually been shot and had significant blood loss before.”
He starts pulling food out of the other bags. “What did you get?”
“I didn’t know what you like to eat so I got a bunch of stuff.” You point to a plain white plastic bag with styrofoam containers. “That’s supposed to be some award winning BBQ, coleslaw, and potato salad. There’s also some more Burger King, lo mein and egg rolls, and a meatball sub.”
“What, no Indian food?”
You take a large bite out of the burger. “I owe you some chicken tikka masala then.”
He takes half the BBQ and sides, sitting down on the other chair at the small desk. It only takes a couple bites before he realizes just how ravenous he is. He can’t remember the last time he ate. He can’t really remember how much time has actually passed since the events in the living room. It seems like a lifetime ago already. You’ve finished the burger and are reaching for the meatball sub.
“I don’t normally eat like this.”
He motions to your shoulder with his fork. “It’s the blood loss. Your body is trying to make up for what it’s lost. Protein is the best thing to eat.”
“You’re not just saying that to keep the potato salad all to yourself, are you?”
He looks over at you and sees a small smirk at the corner of your mouth, a slight brightness of mirth in your eyes.
You didn’t leave him.
Not yet, anyway.
***
You finally tell him where you’re heading: Olema. It’s a small, touristy town along the coast about thirty miles north of San Francisco. You have a friend who runs a bed and breakfast there and who is willing to give you both some space to regroup. Right now though, the plan is less focused on revenge and more on healing. You try to drive but have to pull over two hours in because you’re still too weak to keep your head up and your eyes open.
“You can get some sleep. I can use Google Maps-” he stops himself short. That’s right. You made him toss his cell phone into the car before Angel and EZ blew it up. No phone along with everything else. All his pictures of his family, his soon to be ex-wife, his two kids. The loss of something so simple like a picture hits him like a tidal wave and he has to forcibly swallow down the lump in his throat.
You open the glove compartment and pull out a slip of paper, writing the directions down. “Here, just keep taking the 5 up to the 580 West. When we get to San Rafeal, you’re going to get on the 101 North. Then we hit the 1 which will take us straight into Olema. If I’m asleep by the time we make it into town, you can stop at the Due West Tavern. It’ll be on the left side of main street about a mile into town. We should get there towards the end of dinner.”
He takes the slip of paper and tucks it in the visor, hoping you don’t see the sheen of tears in his eyes. But he knows you probably do. You’re incredibly astute and detail oriented. He figures you wouldn’t be successful in your job if you weren’t. “Thanks.”
You’re quiet for a moment. “Eighteen months.”
“What?”
“That’s how long I tell people that it takes to adjust to their new lives. Eighteen months.”
He feels another wave of grief hit him. “That sounds like forever.”
“The first year is hard. You remember all the anniversaries, routines, holidays and traditions. Once you get past that first year, that’s when you stop existing and start adjusting. It takes another four to six months to settle into the new life then.”
He remembers what it was like when his mother died. The first year had been terrible, all the memories and holidays exacerbating the loss of the quiet, kindhearted woman who endured hell on earth so he wouldn’t have to face it alone. “It’s like the grieving process.”
“That’s exactly what it’s like.” You turn your head and study his profile for a moment. “It’s okay to grieve, to feel the loss. It’ll help shorten the adjustment period if you acknowledge the emotions for what they are.”
“Grief.”
You hum as you fold your legs close to your chest and put your feet on the dashboard. “Survivor’s guilt is a big one too.”
Bowen. He can still see the dark red stain of blood soaking into the jute rug and spilling out onto the hardwood floor of the living room. He chances a quick glance over to you, your relaxed posture, half closed eyes. He’s detail oriented too and wonders if you’re in a sharing mood now.
“Who did Potter take away from you?”
You pick at a rip in your jeans. “Everyone. Everything.”
He waits to see if you’ll elaborate but by the time he looks over, you’re already turned towards the door and asleep. He glances up at the directions you gave him and estimates there’s only about another two and half hours of driving ahead. So he does what you suggest and he sits with his grief for that time.
***
You’re still asleep, curled into a ball in the passenger seat when he pulls into the gravel parking lot of the tavern. He wonders if the place is open given there’s only two cars in the lot despite it being seven forty at night. He turns the car off and releases a long sigh. He’s drained. Emotionally, mentally, physically. Now all he wants to do is sleep for about a week. He reaches over and gently squeezes your arm.
You sit up immediately and take in your surroundings, letting out a slightly disgusted noise. “Can’t believe I slept all the way here.”
“Six to eight weeks.”
You open the passenger side door and slide out of the car. “What?”
“That’s how long it takes for someone to get their strength back from significant blood loss.”
You nod as you start to make your way towards the front door of the restaurant. He takes a moment to take in the area. The sky is not completely darkened by night yet. The smell of the tavern food, fish and steak, drifts through the air and mixes with a sharper, cleaner scent. He knows he should know what it is but he can’t put his finger on it at the moment.
“Hey,” you shout and he sees you’re holding the door open for him. He hustles his way over to you and follows you into the building. You’re familiar with the place given the ease in which you navigate the formal dining room and lead him into the dark bar area of the tavern. Everything is dark wood, the floor, ceiling beams, bar, tables, chairs even.
“Sorry, kitchen’s closed-” a man appears from behind the bar but stops mid sentence when his eyes land on you. A large smile breaks across his face. “Hey, you made it!”
“Hey, Tony!” You give him a one-armed hug. “I know it’s late but-”
“I got you.” He motions to a corner booth, away from windows and a guttering candle in the center of the table. “Have a seat and I’ll scrounge up something for you guys. I’ll call Mom too, let her know you’re here.”
“Please tell me you have some clam chowder left over,” you ask, easing yourself down into the booth.
“For you, I will find some.” He turns to KJ. “What about you?”
He has to admit, he’s hungry again and anything sounds good to him. “I’m not picky.”
Tony claps him on the arm. “My kind of customer. What do you guys want to drink?”
“Whatever’s on tap is fine for me.” You’re already propped up in the corner, your injured arm resting on the table. KJ can see some slight bleed through your shirt. Tony notices it too.
“I’ll bring some whiskey too. Make a couple boilermakers out of it.”
KJ slides into the booth across from you. He can’t tell if it’s the poor light but your skin tone is still ashy and you look exhausted. “So, Tony and his mom are going to help us?”
You nod. “Tony’s mom, Amelia, used to be my boss. She was my mentor, taught me everything I know. She’s retired now but helps me out when I need a safe place to crash or stash people for a short time until witness protection can iron out paperwork.”
“She’s the one who runs the Bed and Breakfast?”
“Yeah. It’s a good front for moving people quietly. A good blend of tourists and fugitives. It helps that Olema is out of the way for most people.”
“Why do people come here?”
“Mostly for the hiking trails in Point Reyes National Seashore. There’s lots of hikers and backpackers that come through here. There are some horse stables and you can do trail riding too. But in a state where you also have National Forests like Redwoods, Sequoia, Lassen, and Yosemite National Park, this little place gets passed over quite a bit.”
Tony comes back with two bowls of rich looking clam chowder, a container of oyster crackers, two beer glasses, a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. “Alright you two, eat up because mom is on her way and says she’s a lot to discuss. You know what that means.”
You roll your eyes but immediately reach for a spoon. KJ looks at you expectantly. “What?”
“What does that mean?”
A small frown crosses your face. “It means we don’t have a lot of information to work with. I don’t know why she’s surprised though. Potter is as slippery as an eel in an oil spill.”
“How long have you been chasing him?”
“About five years now.” You close your eyes when the first spoonful of food goes in your mouth. “No more talking about Potter. This food is too good to be ruined by conversation about that asshole.”
KJ actually finds a small laugh inside of himself before picking up his own spoon.
#kevin jimenez x reader#kevin jimenez x you#kevin jimenez#maurice compte#Vanishing Acts series#mayans mc fic
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Human Touch ~ Chapter One
A/N: This is the follow up to Playing With Fire, but can be read as a standalone. I thought Frerin deserved a nice, steamy romp just like his older brother got with Leda, so this is his story. I know I’ve got like three other fics to update, but I thought maybe I’d throw this out there and see what everyone thought of it…
Summary: Frerin Durin had the perfect life, until he found out his wife was cheating on him. Now, he’s navigating uncharted territory as an about-to-be divorced single dad. Dating is a mess, he’s dealing with the fallout where his kids are concerned, and really, he would just love a vacation away from all of it.
Elena Madison is new to Sidleburg, new to the history department at the high school, and also navigating life as a newly single parent. The last thing she needed was for her daughter to come down sick, when she hasn’t even had time to unpack the moving boxes, never mind find a pediatrician. And the last thing she ever expected was to meet a man like Dr. Frerin Durin…
Neither Elena nor Frerin were looking for anything, but fate has a way of messing up even the best laid plans. However, both have been hurt and both aren't at all sure they trust themselves, never mind trusting someone else...
Pairings: Modern!Frerin x OFC Elena Madison
Characters: Frerin, Elena, Alyssa, Nurse Angela Hart, Nurse Leigh Addams
Warnings: None (yet)
Rating: T
Word Count: 4.1k
Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @buckybarnes-thorin @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @albionscastle @absentmindeduniverse @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms
If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!
I know I ain’t nobody’s bargain, but hell, a little touch-up and a little paint ~ Bruce Springsteen
December 15
Monday night, 2:50AM
“Dr. Durin?”
Frerin rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but we just got a call from the ER. They need you down there.”
“What time is it, Leigh?”
“Ten to three.”
He bit back a groan as he sat up. He was getting too old for being yanked out of bed in the middle of the night. “Okay. I’m coming. What is it?”
“A six year old with exposure.”
“Exposure?”
“That’s what they said.”
He slid down from the bed where he was tying to catch some sleep in the on call room, and grabbed his white coat from the foot of it. “What the hell was a six year old doing out in this?” He gestured to the sleet pounding against the window.
“I don’t know,” Nurse Leigh Addams shook her head as he joined her in the hallway. The lights were softer than normal, since it was the middle of the night, but he was still mole-eyed.
“Damn it, do you know where I left my steth?”
“Take mine, but give it back.” She reached up to drape it around his neck, then gave him a gentle push. “Go.”
“I’m going.” He rubbed his eyes as he turned to make his way to the elevators. The pediatric unit was on the eighth floor, and fortunately, the elevator was quick. He was alone in the car, and all he could think about was getting a cup of coffee. Caffeine was a must when he worked the night shift. His days of being able to power through without it were firmly behind him.
The doors slid open and where the pediatric unit was fairly quiet at almost three in the morning, the ER was a bit busier and must’ve been for some time, judging by the sheer number of patients he saw. The rooms and curtain areas must’ve been at capacity, since there were nearly half a dozen patients on gurneys in the hallway as well. He moved by them, dodged paramedics clattering by with their stretchers, and at the main desk, said, “You called, Angela?”
Angela Hart smiled. “Dr. Durin, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you on nights.”
“Yeah, well, McArthur is out with the flu, so someone has to cover. Where is the frozen six year old?”
“Paramedics are rolling up now.”
He rubbed his eyes again. “Is there coffee in the lounge?”
“There should be, but it might be from the day shift.”
“It’s caffeine. I don’t care if I have to chew it. Let me know when the kid’s back.”
The lounge was directly across from the main desk, and thank Christ the coffee seemed fresh. He poured a cup, raided the fridge for half and half, only to find nothing but flavored creamers. He wrinkled his nose, but grabbed the French vanilla and poured it into the cup.
“Frerin,” Angela poked her head into the lounge, “your boy is in Trauma One.”
“Okay.” He swallowed a mouthful of coffee, winced as it scalded its way down his throat, and then he set the cup on the table. “I’m coming.”
Trauma One was down the short hallway and to his right, one of three in the ER, as they were the county trauma center when Robert Wood Johnson University Hospital was too far for transport. He hadn’t spent much time in the ER lately, but had spent enough that he knew the ER docs and nurses, they knew him, and they all worked well together.
“Okay,” he said as he came into the room, “give me the bullet…”
“Mom?”
Elena Madison bit back a groan at her daughter’s whisper. “What is it, Alyssa?”
“I don't feel well.”
Elena lifted her head to squint at the clock. Three-thirty in the morning. She reached over to switch on the lamp. “What’s wrong?”
“My throat really hurts and I can’t get warm and everything hurts.”
“Do you want to sleep here, with me?”
“Can I?”
“Come on.”
Alyssa climbed up into the bed and snuggled up against her. Heat wafted from her daughter’s body, hot enough that Elena laid a hand on her forehead. “How long have you been feeling like this?”
“A while. I felt funny when I was doing my homework, but thought I was just tired. But now… I really feel awful.”
“Let me see if I can find the thermometer. It might not be unpacked yet.”
Alyssa squinted at the light and nodded. “Okay.”
Elena frowned. Alyssa looked pale. Almost chalk-white, actually. The flu was going around at Sidleburg High, where she was a freshman. Oh, she hoped it wasn't that. They’d only been in town a few days, she hadn’t had time to find any kind of doctors yet and didn't even know where the nearest medimerge was.
Still, she got up and padded into the bathroom, where she searched for the digital thermometer. Luck was on her side. It was tucked into her makeup bag.
She brought it back to her bedroom. “Under your tongue, peanut.”
Alyssa nodded as she opened her mouth and let Elena slip the thermometer under her tongue. Then, she sat very quietly, just resting her head against Elena’s shoulder until the thermometer beeped.
Alyssa pulled it out and frowned. “One-oh-two, Mom.”
“Okay, tell you what, why don’t you just stay here and try to get some sleep and if it gets any higher, we’ll run to the ER?”
Alyssa winced. “Everything just hurts… I don't even want to lay down.”
Elena sighed softly. “Do you want to go see a doctor?”
“Will it help?”
“I don't know. It’s probably just the flu, but it might not be, either.” Elena gently pressed her hand to Alyssa’s forehead only to have her flinch and jerk back with a muted cry. “Okay. We’ll go over to the ER. Let me throw some clothes on, okay?”
Alyssa nodded and gingerly lay down to curl into the fetal position. “Okay.”
Elena grabbed a hoodie to tug on over her tee shirt, The leggings she had on would suffice, so she tugged on thick socks and her work boots, ran a brush through her hair and tugged it up into a hasty bun. “Ready, honey?”
Alyssa nodded slowly, sitting up with a wince. “My hair hurts.”
“Yeah, fevers do that. Come on.” Elena eased an arm about Alyssa’s waist and gently helped her to her feet. “Let me just grab my keys and we can go.”
Outside, Alyssa sucked in a sharp breath. “The snow hurts…”
“I know, baby, I know. I’ll have the car warmed up in a jiffy, I promise.” She helped Alyssa around to the passenger side of her Accord and gingerly fastened the seat belt. “Just close your eyes and try to sleep a little if you can. We’ll be there in a few minutes, if I don't get lost.”
“Try not to get lost, Mom.”
“I’ll do my best, Sarge.”
That earned her a weak smile and she pressed a light kiss into Alyssa’s hot forehead. Then, she closed the car door, skirted the car’s nose, and sank into the driver’s seat.
The advantage to trying to find Sidleberg Memorial Hospital in the dead of night was there wasn’t a lot of traffic. The downside? She still didn't know exactly where it was and even with the GPS, it took her longer than she would have liked to find it. But finally, she swung the car into the driveway, looped around to pull up in front of the big revolving door leading to the ER.
“We’re here, honey. Let’s get you inside and I’ll move the car, okay?”
Alyssa nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“Good. Come on, baby, small steps. We’re almost there.”
“I’m so cold…”
Elena came around to grab her about the waist. It might have only been her imagination, but it seemed more heat radiated from her daughter than before and she shivered as well now. “Easy, honey. We’re almost there.”
“I just want to lay down, Mom.”
“I know. Soon.” She nudged the door with her hip to close it, then slowly walked Alyssa into the brightly lit waiting room and guided her over to a chair. “I’ll be right back.”
Alyssa nodded, curling into a ball once more. “Okay, Mom.”
Elena crossed to the reception desk, where the nurse sat behind a plexiglass wall. “How can I help you?”
“I think my daughter has the flu, but her temperature has really shot up in the last half hour. It was one-oh-two when we left and I think it’s gone up.”
“Her name?”
“Alyssa Madison.”
“Date of birth?”
Elena gave her the information, dug out her insurance card, and waited as the nurse typed all of the info into the computer system. The nurse offered up a reassuring smile. “She’ll be brought back as soon as possible, Mrs. Madison.”
“Thank you.”
She went back to where Alyssa sat and not five minutes later, another nurse, in cranberry colored scrubs, came over to them with a wheelchair and a hospital bracelet. “Alyssa?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m Carol, how are you feeling?”
“Like crap.” Alyssa looked over at Elena. “Sorry, Mom.”
“It’s okay.” Elena ruffled her hair. “You get a pass because you look like you feel like crap.”
Carol smiled. “I know, there’s a lot of flu going around.” She looked up at Elena. “Who is your pediatrician?”
“We don't have one yet. We’re new to the area.”
“Well, you’re in luck. We’ve got the head of the department here tonight and he’s really good. So,” she fastened the bracelet about Alyssa’s right wrist, “why don't we get you back into a bed and get you a nice heated blanket?”
“I’ve got to go move my car,” Elena said, gesturing to the black Accord still in front of the door.
“That’s not a problem. Gloria will buzz you back and tell you where to find us. Don’t worry, Mom. We’ll keep an eye on her. Can you move over into the chair for me, Alyssa?”
“Sure.”
As Alyssa moved, Elena went out to park her car in the parking deck. There was spot just beyond where the ambulances charged, and she quickly locked the doors and hurried back inside, where Gloria told her she’d find Alyssa in Room Six, and told her where she’d find Room Six.
Alyssa was dozing, looking almost as pale as the hospital linens and Carol was still there. “Her temp is one-oh-two-point-three. You made the right decision in bringing her in, Mom. Is she allergic to any anything?”
“Cashews,” Elena said with a slight smile as she cast a worried look over at her daughter. “They make her lips and tongue tingle and swell.”
“Is she on any medications?”
“No. She’s always been a healthy kid. Aside from finding out about the cashews, anyway.”
“And medical conditions? Heart or kidney problems?”
“No. Again, she’s a healthy kid.”
“Okay. We’re a little busy, but it shouldn’t take Dr. Durin long. If you want to watch television, the remote is on the tray.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
After Carol left, Elena sank into the single chair alongside Alyssa’s bed with a soft sigh, reaching up to rub one eye. It was nearly three-thirty. Thank God tomorrow was Saturday. She hated calling out sick when she’d only been there a few weeks, but would have had no choice if it was a weekday. She had no idea how long they would be there, and had no idea if Alyssa was sick with the flu or something worse, and she had no support system aside from herself. The last thing she wanted to do was call Alyssa’s father and even if she wanted to, there was no point. He and his girlfriend were in Aruba for the holidays.
She sighed softly, tucking her legs up under her and propped her head on her fist as CNN played softly on the television.
She didn't know she’d dozed off until she heard a soft, “Mrs. Madison?” and felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.
She jumped as if someone had shouted at her. “I’m up… I—I mean, I’m Mrs. Madison… yes…”
“Sorry. I tried to not to startle you.”
“No, it’s—it’s okay. I didn’t even know I fell asleep.” She rubbed her eyes slowly and squinted up to find herself looking at a rather tired-looking man in white lab coat with a hot pink stethoscope around his neck who moved to the box of latex exam gloves and tugged two free.
“I’m Dr. Durin. This is your daughter,” he glanced down at the chart in his hand, “Alyssa?”
“Yes. I think she might have the flu, but I’m not sure. She’s had a cold for the last two days, but tonight started running a fever and it shot up pretty quickly.”
“Okay. You’re probably right, but I’ll check her just the same.” He set the chart down on the counter and pulled on the gloves. “You’re welcome to stay in the room, or if you want to step out, I’ll have a nurse come in, instead.”
“I’ll ask Alyssa.”
“Fair enough.” He smiled. “Don’t look so worried, Mom. She’s in good hands.”
“I didn't realize it was my worry was showing.”
“I can see it.” He moved closer to the bed and gave Alyssa a gentle shake. “Alyssa? Can you open your eyes for me?”
“What… who… who are?”
“I’m Dr. Durin. Mom said you’re sick? You think you might have the flu?”
“Maybe. I thought it was just a cold, but now… I’m freezing and the nurse said my fever got higher.”
“One-oh-two-point-three. Yeah, I’d say you’re definitely sick.” He touched the top of her head. “Does that hurt?”
“Everything hurts.”
“That’s the fever. We’ll give you some Tylenol to help, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now,” he lifted the stethoscope from around his neck to fit the earpieces in place, “do you want Mom to stay or would you rather Carol stay while I examine you?”
“Mom can stay.” Alyssa managed a slight smile. “I like your stethoscope. Pink is my favorite color.”
“Oh, yeah? This isn’t mine. Mine went missing, so I borrowed it from one of the nurses. I think she has a purple one, too.”
“I didn't know they came in different colors.”
“They do, indeed. You name the color, you can find one in it.” He warmed the diaphragm part of the stethoscope between his palms, then slid it beneath her hospital gown, bringing his free hand up to hold a finger to his lips for minute. Then, he moved it, saying, “Take a deep breath for me?”
She did. He moved it again. “Another, please.”
She did and he slid the stethoscope free. “Can you sit forward for me, Alyssa?”
She nodded and did, then began coughing. He waited until she finished. “Do you need a drink?”
She shook her head. “I’m okay, Dr. Durin.”
“Okay.” He pressed the stethoscope to her back. “Again, a deep breath for me.”
She did and then he tugged the ear pieces from his ears and draped the stethoscope around his neck once more. “Okay. You can lie back,” before picking up her chart to make a notation. “Your lungs sound clear and that’s a good thing.”
She sighed softly as she sank into the pillow. “What color is yours?”
“My steth? I’m afraid it’s boring gray.”
“You should get a pink one.”
Elena pressed her lips together to hold back her smile as Dr. Durin said, “You think so? It wouldn’t make me look dorky?”
Alyssa shook her head. “I don't think so.”
“I’ll think about it.” He set her chart on the tray table and brought his hands to her neck, feeling around and under her jaw. “Glands are a little swollen. Do you have a sore throat?”
“It’s a little scratchy. It was worse yesterday.”
“How much worse?”
“It felt like razor blades.”
“How old are you, Alyssa?”
“I’ll be fourteen on the twenty-ninth.”
“Yeah? My daughter’s about your age. Are you a freshman?”
“Yeah.”
“So’s Maura. How do you like school?”
“I like everything but algebra.”
“I hated algebra myself. I like Chem and Bio. Anytime there was a chance I could blow something up, I was there.”
Alyssa chuckled. “I can’t wait to take Chem.”
“Mom, how is she doing in school?”
“Don’t let her fool you. She’s a straight-A student.”
“Really? Good for you, Alyssa. Keep those grades up and get into a good college.” He took a pencil flashlight from his pocket. “Do me a favor? Follow the light with just your eyes, okay? Don’t turn your head.”
“I won’t.”
Elena tucked her legs back under her as Dr. Durin then shined the light in first Alyssa’s left eye, then her right, and then straightened to tuck the flashlight back in his coat pocket. “Okay. I’d like to draw some blood, Mom, if I can, just to rule out a few things. I think it’s flu, and lord knows we’ve seen enough of it, but I want to be sure, because she’s a little sensitive to the light.”
He turned back to Elena. “It’s probably the fever, but we’ve also seen a few cases of meningitis, so I want to rule that out entirely.”
“That’ll show in a blood test?”
He nodded. “It can, so that’s where we’ll start.”
“Do I have to get a shot?”
He turned back to Alyssa. “No, I don't think so, but I do want to take some blood. I promise you, Carol has the lightest touch and you’ll barely even feel it, okay?”
Alyssa’s pale face went paler still. “I don't like needles.”
“It’s not really a needle, Alyssa. It’s smaller, and I promise, I’ll only take a little bit.” He patted her through the blanket then looked back at Elena, peeling the gloves off to toss in the trashcan. “Mom, can I have a word with you?”
Elena’s stomach curdled as she nodded and rose to follow him out of the exam room. “Is something wrong?”
“No. But, I’ll need your permission to draw the blood and if necessary, to do a lumbar puncture.”
“A what?”
“A spinal tap. But,” he held out a hand as she opened her mouth to protest, “that’s only if the bloodwork comes up inconclusive. So, it’s a last resort, I promise. I do think’s it’s the flu, but like I said, we’ve had a few cases of meningitis and I don't want to risk it.”
She sighed softly, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. “I suppose. I hate the idea of a spinal tap, though.”
“It’s only if I can’t rule it out through the bloodwork. And I’d give her plenty of local anesthetic so she wouldn’t feel much.”
Elena sighed again. She supposed at one time, she’d have wished Alyssa’s father was there, helping her make the tough decisions. But then she remembered that the reason she was there alone because he didn't care about making any decisions with her or being a team. He was far more interested if where he could stick his cock next.
So, slowly, and not at all certain she was making the right decision, she nodded. “Okay.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Madison,” he told her with a hint of a smile. “I’ve done more of these than I can count and she won’t feel it. I promise.”
“Do I look that worried?”
“A little.”
“I’m sorry… I just… I just thought it was a cold and then—”
“It’s been a rough flu season, and like I said, that’s probably what this is. I just want to be sure.”
“I know.” She peered around the doorway at Alyssa, who looked even younger now, her eyes closed, and she fought back a sigh. “But… that’s my kid.”
“I know.” He smiled. “I’ve got three of my own and I would react the same way if I was in your shoes. But, I promise you, Mrs. Madison, I won’t do it unless I have to.”
She looked back at him. “Okay. But, if you were me, would you agree to it?”
“I would. If it’s something like meningitis, you don't want to play around with it.”
“I know that. I do. I’m mostly a rational adult person, but—”
“It’s different when it’s your kid.”
Elena nodded, rubbing her forehead with one hand as she sighed softly for at least the third time. She couldn’t remember the last time she was so damn tired. “It’s different when it’s your kid. And I already hate being in the ER for something like this, but we don’t have a pediatrician yet and I don't even know if there’s a medimerge type place anywhere in town.”
“It’s okay that you brought her here.” He reached out to touch her shoulder. “It’s better to be safe than sorry. In all honesty, I do think it’s just the flu. I just prefer to err on the side of caution. So, I’ll have Carol come in and do the draw and when the results come in, I’ll come find you, okay? The cafeteria is closed, unfortunately, but there is a coffee machine just down the hallway if you could use a boost.”
She managed a slight laugh. “There isn’t enough caffeine in the world for a night like this.”
“I know. I’ve been there. Like I said, I’ve got three kids and they never get sick at good times. But, she’s in good hands. I promise.”
Elena nodded and rubbed her eyes this time. They stung with a fury and she really just wanted to curl up in a ball and let them close. But, since she couldn’t, she lowered her hand to look up at him “I know.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I have the results of her bloodwork. You can use your cell in here if you want to call your husband.”
“There is no husband. It’s just me and Alyssa.”
“Okay, well… if there’s anything you need, just let Carol know, okay?”
“I will. Thank you.”
“Of course.” He smiled and then started off down the hallway. She stood there for a moment, just watching, and then berated herself silently since it was not the time to be thinking about how beautiful his blue-gray eyes were. Not when she was waiting to find out if Alyssa had meningitis or not.
So with a sigh, she went back into the room and back to her chair, where Alyssa offered up a tired smile and said, “I like him, Mom. He’s nicer than Dr. Garrett was. Cuter, too.”
“Alyssa.”
“Oh, tell me he isn’t.”
“I thought you were sick?”
Alyssa tugged the blanket back up to her chin. “Mom, you could totally land a doctor. Dad would stew in envy if you did.”
“I’m not looking to land anyone, Alyssa. Especially not tonight.”
“I’m just saying. You could.”
“Alyssa?” Carol tapped softly on the door and came into the room. “Dr. Durin asked me to draw some blood.”
Alyssa went paler still as she nodded. “If you have to.”
“Mom, I just need you to sign the consent form and then we’ll get started.”
Elena looked over the form and sighed as Carol tugged on a pair of gloves and unwrapped the kit. Alyssa held out her left hand. “Mommy?”
Mommy. Elena couldn't remember the last time Alyssa called her that. Without hesitation, Elena caught Alyssa’s hand and whispered, “It’ll be fine, peanut,” as Carol tied the rubber tubing about Alyssa’s right arm. Alyssa sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers tightening about Elena’s, and Elena kept whispering, “It’s okay, sweetie.”
“All done,” Carol said, untying the tourniquet and pressing a small piece of gauze into the crook of Alyssa’s arm. She unwrapped a Band-Aid and pressed that over the gauze. “Try to get some sleep, Alyssa. Hopefully the results won’t take long, but you never know. We’re crazy busy tonight and I have no idea how backed up the lab might be.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course. Do you need anything?”
“No, we’re fine.” Elena looked over at Alyssa, who was already asleep. “I just need her to get better.”
“She will. And Dr. Durin will be in as soon as the results are in as well.”
“Thank you again.”
Carol smiled and left with the vials, and a few minutes later, despite her uncomfortable position, Elena managed to doze off as well.
#Gerard Butler#Frerin Durin#Frerin x OC#AU#Frerin Fic#Is it hot in here?#Romance#Modern AU#ER AU#Hospital AU#Richard Armitage#The Hobbit#Thorin Oakenshield#Hobbit Fin#Hobbit Fanfic#Fan fiction#The Hobbit fan fiction
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go on, claim my heart: chapter thirty-seven
see my masterpost for what came before this.
The guards posted outside the throne room open the doors slowly, and Vax follows Keyleth inside. They have both washed off the film of their past week, and Vax brushed her hair until it shone. He twisted it back into the traditional Ashari braids of royalty. It is how she will wear her hair on the day of her coronation, and Vax wanted her father to see her, to see the legacy he was leaving behind. She's dressed in a gown of deep gray gossamer—she'd said black was too sad, too bleak for a man as joyous as her father—and the circlet she so often forewent rests glittering on her brow. She is every inch a queen, and Vax's heart breaks to see it.
In his arms sleeps Vilya, who, as far as he can tell, has not been put down since her return home to Zephrah. He has not trusted anyone save Nel to be alone with her, and feels a nervous itch under his skin whenever she is not in his eyesight. He knows, of course, that this is not sustainable, that someday she will crawl and walk and run and he will be hopeless in any attempt to keep an eye on her at all times, but for now, while she is small, while he can hold her in his own two hands and feel the realness of her pattering heart, he will do so, if only calm the racing of his own.
Keyleth approaches her father, peaceful in a way Vax never saw him in life. Mistress Pike is there, and she dips her head in a bow. "I'm so sorry, Your Majesty." Her voice quavers, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. "I am sorry I couldn't bring him back."
And if Vax feels like a failure for his inability to bargain for Korrin's life with the goddess of death he serves, he cannot imagine how Pike must feel—Pike, who so recently ripped Percy's soul from the ether and refused to let him die, Pike, the voice of the divine for an entire nation, Pike, who serves the goddess of healing. Sovereign Korrin was not, by any means, a devout man, but Vax knows that he and Pike shared a special bond, almost playful in its intellectual combativeness. Like Vax, Pike is not from the Ashari Nation, but she has been able to build a life for herself here in no small part due to Korrin's generosity of spirit, and Vax wonders if she, too, feels adrift, unmoored in this loss.
Keyleth does not acknowledge Pike's apology. She stands beside her father's body, slides her hand into one of his atop his chest. Her other hand comes up to brush his already smooth hair back. Her spine is straight, almost preternaturally so, and Vax knows this posture all too well: she is moments from crumbling, from collapsing beneath the weight of her grief, and she is clinging onto what semblance of stability she can manage.
Vax stays back, just a few feet, to give her the space she needs, but it doesn't take long for him to realize that she cannot find the words. She just stares at his face, placid and distant, in dolorous silence. So he steps forward, balances Vilya in one arm to place his other hand in the center of Keyleth's back, which shudders under his palm.
"I thank you, Your Majesty, for a great many things. I thank you for the chance you took on me, a hungry, scrawny kid in need of work. I thank you for the home you gave me and my sister, when we were in such desperate need of one. I thank you for your daughter. In your too-short time as sovereign, you gave this nation and this world innumerable gifts, but none so precious as she." Keyleth's breaths are short, ragged. "A leader must not only think of the people he leads today, but the people to be led in the future, and you gifted the Ashari Nation a successor who is kind, empathetic, judicious, wise. You could not have left this nation in better hands.
"And of course..." He looks down to the sleeping babe in his arm. "...I speak selfishly, because the daughter you raised to be all of those wonderful things gave me a daughter, this little person I love the way a flower loves the sun. Keyleth has brought such light into my shadowed life, and though I wish nothing more than for you to be here to watch your granddaughter grow up, I can honestly say that I am filled with nothing but hope for the Ashari people, who will now experience that same light for themselves. Wherever the Matron takes you, go knowing that your nation is cared for, and that your family..." The words get caught in his throat. He swallows and tries again. "Your family will be loved until the last breath has left my body."
Keyleth is squeezing one of Korrin's hands in both of hers now, tears dripping steadily down her face. She brushes them away before leaning down to bring her lips to his ear. "You can rest now, Papa," she whispers, just loud enough for Vax to hear. "Tell her I love her."
Vax nearly falls to his knees, then, hearing the ache in her words. When she straightens up, she turns to him, her face a shattered mask of anguish, and he pulls her in close, always there to catch her when she falls.
.
Keyleth sits on the settee where she spent so many nights falling in love with Vax under the cover of darkness. There is a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and a fire flickers cheerfully in the hearth. There is no cheer, though, as Keyleth stares unblinking into it, mind numb to any thought or feeling. She has felt so much, these past few days, and she is tired of it.
She sits alone, here in her old chambers, Vax promising to return once Vilya has been delivered to Nel and Derrig for a bit. Keyleth is not ready to go back to the cottage, not ready to think about what comes next. For now, her mind cannot handle anything more complicated than the dancing tongues of flame in front of her.
(There is, of course, the tiny voice in the back of her mind, hoarse and cruel, chastising her for pawning her daughter off on others when she only just got her back. What kind of mother is she, unable to care for the child she so nearly lost? Is she truly letting her grief overwhelm her duty to her daughter, who spent days in the wicked clutches of those who did not love her, did not care for her, did not hear her cries of distress and seek to ease her suffering? How is she to lead her people into some glorious future when she can barely keep her own head above the waters of her despair?)
The door to the chamber opens, and Keyleth doesn't turn to look, sure that it is Vax. It is why she is surprised when she hears, "Your Majesty?"
Right. Duke Vallen. The unexpected guest in this house of anguish. She half-turns her head toward him. "Yes?" She doesn't recognize her own voice.
"I was hoping I might express my condolences for your loss." There is the sound of the door closing, and then the duke comes into view. She knows she's met him before, some months earlier, but she can hardly gather the energy to remember. He leans against the mantle above the hearth. "The late sovereign was a good man. I wish I had gotten to spend more time in his company before..." He trails off, his face drawn and sorrowful.
Keyleth can scarcely process his words, and he seems to recognize the depths of her woe. "Of course, I cannot imagine your grief in a time like this. There must be much fanfare in the mourning to come, but I would think you would rather avoid such things."
What Keyleth would like to avoid is this entire conversation. "I am not sure what...proceedings there will be. I am sure plans are already in motion." And she hopes that they are, handled by someone who is not her.
"And then, of course, your upcoming coronation! On the heels of such tragedy, and yet a time for celebration." He is still talking. "My own ceremony will be soon, another somber occasion, given what must precede it."
Keyleth blinks. His own ceremony? Right, right, Duchess Uvenda's illness. When she, too, is gone, he will rise to the station of Archduke of Vesrah. Except... "What of your father?"
A distant, haunted look clouds Vallen's face. "You must remember, Your Majesty, how Vesrah suffered in the attack on Syngorn. My father, aunt, and two elder brothers all fell to those mercenaries' blades. I, who was never raised with the ideals of leadership, must now step up to the occasion, so to speak."
There is such haze, such heavy mist clouding Keyleth's mind, and yet something seeks to poke through, a stray sunbeam through the morning fog. In the course of a single afternoon, this minor duke went from fifth in line for the title of archduke to first, and now, less than two years later, with her father gone and Duchess Uvenda soon to follow, he finds himself improbably close to the sovereignty.
Only Keyleth and Vilya stand in his way.
She blinks, and the haze is gone.
She opens her mouth and draws in a deep breath, but before she can shout for the guards, Vallen snaps his fingers, and Keyleth's entire body seizes up, each and every muscle frozen in place. Eyes wide, she watches the haunted look in his eye twist into something menacing, threatening. "Oh, Your Majesty," he says slowly, his lip curling into a sneer. "You always were too smart for your own good."
#we in the shit now friends#critcal role#critical role fic#cr fic#vaxleth#vaxleth fic#vaxleth au#vox machina#vox machina fic#vox machina au#tlovm#tlovm fic#my fair lady#go on claim my heart#my fic
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How to Live on Like I Promised You I Would
When we finally allowed ourselves to be together after all those years I told you something almost immediately; “We can save each other’s lives or we can bring each other down until one of us or both of us are gone.”
I had lost before, you promised I would not lose again. Your trust had been broken before, and I promised I would love you completely.
Your mother pulled me aside one day and made me promise to leave you if things got too bad, but how could I ever keep that promise after the one I had made to you? Things were more complex than she understood.
I gasped for air at 7:03AM. I gasped like I had been breathed back to life by some mystical force we’d never believed in, you and I. I gasped for air at 7:03AM, almost like both of us had died and you had chosen to breath your life back into me to give me another chance.
And at first I looked around the room, impressed that we somehow, in our blackout, had managed to put away all the evidence of our use. All I’d remembered from the night before was putting my nose in the bag and waking up with you in my lap. I knew something was not right because your head was rolled off the side of the couch and when I picked you up black blood ran out of your ears and from your nose. I tried to drag you to the shower and put you under cold water like we’d done for each other so many times before. I knew you were gone but the heart doesn’t believe what the head tries to feed it in those moments. I tried for hours to bring you back to me, so hard that the EMT’s laughed when they arrived and stood back.
“Seems like you’ve got this,” the guy grinned, and I could have killed him.
When you left I was angry—I hated you for being the one who left me after you promised me you wouldn’t die. When you left I was afraid—how could I ever give myself again so completely to anyone? I had no faith.
When we buried you I had to be pulled away, I didn’t want to leave you and we weren’t done talking yet. I made promises I couldn’t keep and bargained for your life and begged for forgiveness. Mostly, I told you that I’d never love again, unless I knew that lover had been sent to me from the heavens by your hand, directly.
And as time went by, I realized I had lied to you about that, too. You must have seen me, and if not, you must have known that not to love for me was an impossible task because you must have known that all I had ever reached for in my whole entire life was love. I am a lover and I will do what lovers do, but trust me that promise never made it easy for me. Oh, I looked for you in everyone, in every step that they took, in the way they brushed the hair behind my ears, in the jokes they’d whisper to me. The love they made for me was never really mine because it was always tainted by remnants of feelings of the love you’d given me first. I promised you that I would live on, and I promised you love would be different, but the truth is, there is no way I can love without seeing you in every other man I try to pursue. And the fact of the matter is I need love in order to live on. I need it like air, and you know that because you know me. So how can I separate the love I will always have for you away from the love I seek in my pursuit of living on?
My grandmother grew up the youngest of 9 in Italy, so small that she doesn’t remember world war II. Her father left her mother which was unspeakable back then and she had to raise all those babies on her own. When tragedy struck, like my oldest great uncle dying in the war, the kids were sent out into the street to beg. They were called wailers because they would wail and cry and seek the attention of any passerby they could get to throw them a penny or a nickel. When my grandfather died, my grandma cried so hard and made such a scene that she tried to jump into the coffin with him. I was so embarrassed and angry at her for robbing the rest of the family of their right to grieve on a day that should have been focused on my grandpa.
When you died, all at once I understood the overwhelming hopelessness of it all. The things we would never get to write, the art we would never finish, the garden that wouldn’t grow, the children that wouldn’t live. My future was taken in one moment from me and for the first time in my entire life, I felt sympathy for my grandmother, and all her attention seeking exaltation. I did not try to be buried with you but I must have walked up to your casket 20 times to kiss you once more.
In the weeks that followed your passing I found it very difficult to leave my room. Guilt took hold of me every time I thought of myself, being greedy enough to get a cup of coffee while you were being eaten by worms, or when I allowed myself to smile or laugh in conversation with new friends.
For a long time I have swallowed the guilt of new love, holding it close in my stomach and bringing it everywhere with me and my new relationships. I know you do not want me alone, I have pushed the thought away all this time but I realize that you want someone to keep me safe in your absence, until we meet again. I need to let go of the guilt. I honor your soul every day, and it is not a betrayal of our love to need comfort, intimacy, and companionship while I am still on this earth.
I need to let go of the comparisons. I need to face the fact that there will not be another like you. I need to be grateful that I was one of the lucky ones, lucky enough to find great love in my lifetime where the two of us just understood each other completely without ever needing any explanation. That doesn’t mean that I am incapable of loving someone who is not you. I think it really comes down to openness, honesty, and constant communication. I cannot be afraid to bring you into my new relationship because you are a big part of what made me, “me.” However, at the same time, I mustn’t place you on a pedestal that no other man can live up to. There is so much to see in this world, and every person has some new gift to bring to it. I need to separate those parts from before from what is happening now. I think therapy will help, and support from the people who know me best. Mostly, I need things to go slow. I need time to transition in my mind to this new place, this new love that I am trying to create.
#lostlove#widowersoftumblr#letters#letterstoyou#losing my mind#poem#reading#writing#self care#positive mental attitude#self help#creative writing
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MCU Sentence Starters
Send one for my muse’s response!
“I don’t fly man, that’s your thing.”
"This is our home now, I want us to fit in."
"A father's first responsibility to their kids is to provide a beautiful lie for them to live in."
“She was literally one split end from cutting her own bangs.”
"He's a friend from work!"
"No prison can keep me, you know that"
“I’m Mary Poppins y’all!”
"If you want to do something right, you make a list."
"Why? Does he have bad breath?"
"You rely too much on technology."
“We’re in the endgame now.”
"You never know. You hope for the best and make do with what you get."
“You know, I keep telling everybody they should move on and grow. Some do. But not us.”
“I’ll get you all the cheeseburgers you want.”
"Do you not truly feel the gravity of your crimes? Wherever you go there is war, ruin and death!""
“Nothing goes over my head. My reflexes are too fast. I would catch it.”
"Compromise where you can. Where you can't, don't."
“I don't know if you've been in a fight before but there's usually not this much talking.”
“The hardest choices require the strongest wills.”
"The wheel constantly turns. We must adapt to its position, or be crushed beneath it."
"Trying to get you to stop has been one of the few failures of my entire life.”
“He may have been your father, but he wasn’t your daddy.”
“I am Inevitable.”
“Let me go. It’s okay.”
"At some point, we all have to choose, between what the world wants you to be, and who you are."
“I beat some guys up. Saved the dog. Some light B and E”
"That man is playing Galaga! Thought we wouldn't notice, but we did."
"You're ancestors called it magic, and you call it science."
“Well let me know if real power wants a magazine or something.”
"We all know the truth: But in times of crisis, the wise build bridges, while the foolish build barriers."
“You're the one who just kidnapped me. What's wrong with you people?“
"We are an unusual couple, you know?"
"People think that torture is pain. It's not pain, it's time."
“Everyone hates losing.”
"I love you 3000."
“If toast is cut diagonally, I can’t eat it.”
“I should not be left in charge of stuff like this. I don’t get paid enough. I don’t get paid, period.”
"Dumb men like little girls. Me? I ponder a woman."
“This is the fight of our lives, and we’re going to win. Whatever it takes.”
"The past is the past. And the only direction in life that matters is forward. Never backwards."
“Can’t have a revolution without somebody to overthrow, so you’re welcome, and uh, it’s a tie.”
"I like following the rules and doing what's expected of me. It makes me feel nice."
"If we can't accept limitations, then we're no better than the bad guys."
"Hands up. You're coming with us."
"I’m going to have to ask you to exit the donut.”
"It's a working theory."
"No man can win every battle, but no man should fall without a struggle."
“This drink, I like it. Another!”
“You’re in a relationship with me. Everything will never be okay.”
"Part of the journey is the end."
“I was already slipping when you happened to punch me in the face. The two events are not related.”
"I've come to bargain."
"The world has changed and none of us can go back. All we can do is our best, and sometimes the best that we can do is to start over."
"But a thing isn't beautiful because it lasts. It's a privilege to be among them."
"I love you in every universe."
"I can do this all day."
“Ah, she left me. And my mom died too. And my dad got deported. But I got the van!”
“You want a juice box and some string cheese?”
"On your left."
“Sacrifice is part of the job.”
"Darling, you have no idea."
“Pain is always a surprise. I try to avoid landmines. Avoid caring. I can even see it coming. But until it hits, you have no idea what pain is.”
"I had him on the ropes."
"The scarf looked better."
“I'm sorry, did I step on your moment?”
"In a real magic act, everything is fake."
“They say everyone’s born a hero. But if you let it, life will push you over the line until you’re the villain. Problem is, you don’t always know that you’ve crossed that line.”
"The point of these things is to remind us that... There is no going back, there's only moving forward. You feel different because you are different."
“One thing I've proven is that you can count on me to pleasure myself.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, officially. I sort of met you, I mean, I watched you while you were sleeping.”
"You wanna get to them? You gotta go through me."
“Funny how annoying a little prick can be, isn't it?”
“I’m gonna have to rain check that dance.”
"I could do with a hobby."
"I need a horse."
“Not to be rude, but it's been one of those days, so produce some credentials or I'm gonna put you in handcuffs. “
“Vengeance has consumed you. It’s consuming them. I’m done letting it consume me.”
“I’m a piece of shit, and shit stinks.”
“You haven’t changed a bit. And I’m aware that statement makes no sense.”
"If we can't protect the earth, you can be damn well sure we'll avenge it!"
“No amount of money ever bought a second of time.”
"Higher, further, faster, baby."
"I know you were only doing what you believe in, and that's all any of us can do, it's all any of us should."
"The city is flying. We're fighting an army of robots. And I have a bow and arrow. None of this makes sense."
“You’re gonna suffer for what you’ve done. And I I plan on being a very big part of that.”
“So…you got detention.”
"It's not about saving our world. It's about saving theirs."
"You really wanna go back in there? After everything she's put you through?"
“Time, Space, Reality. It’s more than a linear path. It’s a prism of endless possibility. Where one single choice can branch out into infinite realities, creating alternate worlds from the ones you know."
“I think we must learn from our mistakes and do better. You must not give up hope.”
“Where I come from, history has never looked kindly on those who lock men in cages.”
“Sorry, I tend to process traumatic events with dad jokes.”
"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"
“Can you believe they call us criminals when he's assaulting us with that haircut?”
“Love is a dagger. It’s a weapon to be wielded far away or up close. You can see yourself in it. It’s beautiful until it makes you bleed.”
“It’s not enough to be against something. You have to be for something better.”
"I think purple might be your color; it really matches your eyes."
"I once stood in your place. And I, too, was disrespectful. Might I offer you some advice? Forget Everything that you think you know."
"Don't do anything I would do, and definitely don't do anything I wouldn't do. There's a little gray area in there, and that's where you operate."
"I have a terrible idea!"
"Filthy? She has no idea. If we had a black light, it would look like a Jackson Pollock painting."
“Boom! You looking for this?”
"How we deal with disappointments is what decides the person we are."
"What is grief, if not love persevering?"
“I thought you were smaller.”
"I'm not hugging you."
"Don't waste it. Don't waste your life."
“I told you, I don't want to join your super-secret boy band.”
“The price of freedom is high, it always has been. And it’s a price I’m willing to pay. And if I’m the only one, then so be it. But I’m willing to bet I’m not.”
"Hope. It's all about hope."
“Yeah, the past won’t leave us alone.”
“You’re the head of security and your password is ‘password?'”
“Drop your socks and grab your crocs, we're about to get wet on this ride.”
"Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are, not a perfect soldier, but a good man."
"Being good isn't always enough to keep you alive."
"That's it? You murdered him because you could?"
"Oh, man, are we being mind-controlled to see that right now?"
"You will never be a god."
“When you said you would take me to California for the first time, I thought you meant Coachella or Disneyland.”
“Never let the enemy choose the battlefield. Always work from a position of strength.”
"Of course... We won the war."
“I’m not sure you understand the concept of a getaway car.”
"Does anybody have any orange slices?"
“You get hurt, hurt ‘em back. You get killed, walk it off.”
"Last time we saw you, you were trying to kill everyone. What are you up to these days?"
"Because that's what heroes do."
"Have you ever seen that before in a gift shop?"
“I can feel the righteousness surging!”
"There's chaos in you."
"You guys are breaking down walls, you're healing. It's important."
“Before we get started, does anyone want to get out?”
“‘Boh’ is my new superpower. It’s like the anti-Aloha. I was born to say this word.”
“Does he need CPR? Because I totally know CPR.”
"Every time something gets better for one group, it gets worse for another."
“You’re repeating yourself! You’re repeating yourself!”
"Are you always this rude to people trying to help you?"
“It’s alright, you could never hurt me. I just feel you.”
“The only decision I’m qualified to make is bourbon or more bourbon.”
“Today we don’t fight for one life, we fight for all of them.”
“Well, if you don’t have any nice words, I mean, anything nice to say, just, you know, lie.”
“I have nothing to prove to you.”
"Have fun in prison."
“Such a poser.”
"I don't flirt. I just say what I want."
“That's not a question I need answered.”
“Oh my God, that was really violent.”
“I made macaroni if you want some.”
"Just bury me in the ocean with my ancestors that jumped from the ships, because they knew death was better than bondage."
“I don’t like bullies. I don’t care where they’re from.”
“You think life takes more than it gives, but not today. Today it’s giving us something. It is giving us a chance.”
"There’s one thing in this world that makes me feel more alive. And that’s you."
“Let me tell you. That kid’s not even here yet and, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”
“Sometimes the best weapon in your arsenal is just a good argument.”
“What is this thing? Look how it thinks it’s so cool. It’s not cool to get help. Walk by yourself you little gargoyle.”
“I do what he does, just slower.”
“I can’t control your fear, I can only control mine.”
“If you try to escape, or play any sort of games with me, I will taze you and watch Supernanny while you drool into the carpet.”
“Everyone fails at who they are supposed to be. The measure of a person, of a hero…is how well they succeed at being who they are.”
“I would rather be a good man than a great king.”
“Sacrifice? That would imply I had something to lose.”
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What critical/pivotal moments have you read in books/fics that have stayed with you until now?
Interesting ask! I'll start with NaruHina fics and then books after.
....
omg. Fic spoiler alerts????? I guess I'll put things under the cut. All of the following scenes just really left a lasting impression on me.
“Love and Water” by nineetaaaillled - Rated E, Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. The hardest part isn’t acknowledging that he’s in love, it’s believing that he can be loved.
The part that has never left me is when Naruto realizes he's in love with Hinata. At the end of Chapter 19: The Dance. Naruto runs through Konoha, finally settles on the top of a tall post, and has his hand on his beating heart, crying, overwhelmed with the flood of emotion after she kisses him. It's just. 💯💯💯. Top Tier feelings realization. I've tried to recapture this sensation in so many of my fics, like, what a MOMENT. WHAT A MOMENT.
“Powerless” by @bunny-hoodlum - Rated E, Mystery/Crime Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. His family’s past can’t be taken at face-value, and it comes clawing back to hurt him in ways that are out of his control.
So, I think the scene that left the biggest impact on me (though honestly every scene is ...BLUNT IMPACT) is when Naruto has been chatting on that server with similar "lost" kids like him, and he gets the dare...I think it was to save a life. I was so, so, so scared for him. Like, he ran into a family's apartment to interfere in domestic abuse, save Karin, there was a baseball bat, and Naruto ends up in the hospital...and. just. The FEAR I had for Naruto's safety!!!! How he just dove into this without regard for his own life. I felt so much adrenaline, and I came out of the chapter DRAINED. I had lived a whole life that wasn't mine.
“A Place in the Sun” by ihaveastorminme - Rated E, Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete forever. Naruto realizes that he’s not enough to love her. He’s not enough to save her, either.
It's the smut and similarly named Chapter 18: "A place in the sun" that really stays with me. The Second Person POV is so masterfully done. It's such a beautiful chapter. The whole chapter feels warm, it's like...ahh. Naruto loves her. He really loves her so much, but amazingly, not once does that thought occur to him because he doesn't know it. Such a powerful characterization, the point of view is such an amazing choice, and the smut is just breathtaking.
“Komorebi” by CuriouslyCunning (Dizzydodo) - Rated E, Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. Hinata had always known she would marry a stranger, but she woke up married to the wrong one: a nine-tailed fox that claims they are destined for each other. Hinata proposes a bargain: If he can convince her of it by the first day of Autumn, then she will take her place as his bride. If not, he must return her to her family and release her from her vows. She didn’t expect him to be so persuasive.
The part that always stays with me is Chapter 2: The Fox's Wedding when Naruto and the marriage procession enter the Hyuuga grounds to spirit Hinata away. It's so...mystical? I'm always so amazed at how Dizzydodo concocted such a dreamy scene.
“Made in Heights” by @utsus - Rated E, Spy AU, Long One-Shot/Incomplete. Hinata is definitely skilled enough to infiltrate the highly secured Uchiha party and steal sensitive intel that will save lives. It’s just a matter of making it out alive.
So I know this is a NaruHina fic, and yes, the NaruHina moments are SOLID GOLD, but, BUT! Hinata's interactions with Izuna at the party!!! Her mysterious aura, her cool-under-pressure attitude, her calculated expressions of trustworthiness. The moment when Izuna approaches her from behind as she's thinking about the obsidian fountain sticks with me. Also the moment when it's just them in the garden, and she's gaining his trust. Such a COOL Hinata.
------------------------------------
In books, like novels and such...
The Latehomecomer: A Hmong Family Memoir by Kao Kalia Yang - When she was six years old, Yang’s family immigrated to America, and she evocatively captures the challenges of adapting to a new place and a new language. Through her words, the dreams, wisdom, and traditions passed down from her grandmother and shared by an entire community have finally found a voice.
There are various parts that stick out to me, but one of them is the very first chapter. She's describing her parents in the bamboo forest of Laos. Young, peeking at each other between the trees and falling in love. It's such a beautiful, imagined (?) moment that really contrasts the pain that follows. And simply communicating her parents' love story, almost commemorating such a gorgeous memory of a home that's now a war-torn place... That part really gets to me. She's describing a heaven that no longer exists.
Rich People Problems by Kevin Kwan (3rd book of Crazy Rich Asians) - When Nicholas Young hears that his grandmother, Su Yi, is on her deathbed, he rushes to be by her bedside—but he's not alone. The entire Shang-Young clan has convened from all corners of the globe to stake claim on their matriarch’s massive fortune. With each family member vying to inherit Tyersall Park—a trophy estate on 64 prime acres in the heart of Singapore—Nicholas’s childhood home turns into a hotbed of speculation and sabotage.
I just really love the ending. Let Kitty Pong win and do what she wants 💖
A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams - The story famously recounts how the faded and promiscuous Blanche DuBois is pushed over the edge by her sexy and brutal brother-in-law, Stanley Kowalski.
So I know this is like required American high school reading text, but I need to tell you. The scene that stuck with me is when Blanche always takes a bath. It's supposed to be symbolic of her wanting to cleanse herself and wash away her troubles and be "white" like her name entails, free of sin and regret. Idk but this idea of ritualizing a bath just stuck to me even years later.
Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky - Raskolnikov, an impoverished student tormented by his own nihilism, and the struggle between good and evil, believes he is above the law. Convinced that humanitarian ends justify vile means, he brutally murders an old woman—a pawnbroker whom he regards as "stupid, ailing, greedy…good for nothing." Overwhelmed afterward by feelings of guilt and terror, Raskolnikov confesses to the crime and goes to prison. There he realizes that happiness and redemption can only be achieved through suffering.
This is another high school required reading text, but the part that nags at me is when he keeps thinking about the body, keeps stressing over someone finding it, so incredibly paranoid. And when he's talking to the police officer. He's so...unhinged. Raskolnikov is just so nuts. He's cray-cray. This unreliable narration of events, memories, and beliefs stuck with me and opened my eyes to a new brand of storytelling. You cannot always trust the main character's point of view. The main character can be WRONG. The main character can be confused! The main character can misunderstand people and dig themselves into a hole. The main character can still be someone to root for. This novel probably influenced to some kind of background extent my development of "White Lilies."
Anywho, anon, please let me know if you're willing to share your "lasting scenes" from fics and books!
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Nine Days of Lancaster
[Day 6: Fake Dating AU]
Ruby: playing games
Ting!
Ruby: looks at scroll
Jaune: “Code Red”
Ruby immediately drops her controller. The girl bursts into petals around her home to make it spotless. Well, as spotless as it could be when your creating rose petals. Ruby goes as fast as she can when suddenly, she hear the doorbell. Ruby dashes quickly in her room and back out wearing a rose pink dress with dark red strawberries on it; a nice black clip held back her bang.
The huntress took a quick breath before opening the door to see Jaune with a woman with long blonde hair, an orange long sleeve and faded jeans. Her blue eyes were as welcoming as her smile, unlike Jaune’s nervous one.
Jaune:Hey Rubes, meet my mom.
Violet: Violet Arc, a pleasure to finally meet my little angel’s girlfriend!
Ruby:…Yep, that’s me-oop
The mother pulls Ruby into a hug. She laughs and hugs back. She wasn’t sure what should’ve expected, but his mom seemed nice enough. Ruby greeted them both in.
Violet:Ooo, smells nice in here. Sorry, but where’s your restroom? The trip was really long.
Ruby:Second door on the left.
Violet:Thank you. *walks off*
……door closes
Ruby:*whispers* What the fuck.
Jaune:I didn’t know she was coming. She surprised me and wanted to meet my girlfriend.
Ruby:I know code red for us is being a plus one and things of that nature, but I would’ve liked more of a five minute warning.
Jaune:I told you I lied to her about a girlfriend.
Ruby: *red* I know what I agreed to, it’s just…she seems so nice and understanding.
Jaune:Yeah my mom is great.
Ruby:Then why lie?
Jaune:She worries about me and if I tell her I’m single she’ll try to set me up with anyone.
Ruby:That doesn’t sound too bad.
Jaune:They’re always into live action drama and haven’t held a game controller before.
Ruby:Oh I’m so sorry.
The bathroom door opened and the two quickly tried to act natural, which in hindsight would be more suspicious than being weird.
Violet:You two flirting behind my back?
Jaune:Mom!
Violet:Haha I’m teasing sweetie. Not that I would mind.
Ruby:Umm you can help yourself to anything in the fridge. If I had known you were coming over I would’ve made cookies.
Violet:Oh it’s alright. I’m the one who is basically bargaining in. Though I bet your baking skills are pretty good if you’re dating my boy. He probably begs for sugar cookies.
Ruby:But…he told me he didn’t like sugar cookies. Jaune likes oatmeal.
Violet:What? No, I make sugar all the time and he lo-
Jaune:….
Violet:You don’t like my sugar cookies!?
Jaune:I didn’t say that. It’s just…sugar is boring.
Violet:What!? And oatmeal isn’t!?
Ruby:I know right? I still throw in chocolate chips so I don’t feel ashamed.
Jaune:Hey!
Ruby:Bleh 👅
Violet:Hehe. I see you’re into video games? I was never that good but fortunately he had many siblings who wanted to be player two. He might have my looks, but clearly we live in two different worlds.
Ruby:I just met you but I can tell he definitely got your heart too.
Violet:Aww, I like her!
Jaune:Thanks, me too.
The three of them eventually sat down and got to small talking. Maybe it was all awkward talks with Weiss in the past but Ruby was feeling pretty comfortable. Until…
Violet:So Ruby, ever think you want kids?
Ruby:*deep blush* Excuse me?
Jaune:*red* Mom! We’re still in school!
Violet:So? Life happens and if you’re anything like your father…
Jaune:Please don’t finish that.
Violet:All I’m saying is you two are young and rambunctious.
Ruby:Your son and I…we are taking things slowly. I think my father and sister would be pretty livid if I got a bun in the oven.
Violet:Oh I know a thing or two about father’s protecting their daughters. Saphron’s also pretty much a second mom to everyone. Jaune especially. I bet your mother though is hoping for some grandkids though?
Jaune:Uhh mom, Ruby’s mother passed away when she was young.
Violet:Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t-
Ruby:It’s fine. Happens all the time. Never really got to know her much but I’m told I’m a lot like her.
Violet:Then I know she was wonderful.
Ruby:Thanks. Heh, that means a lot.
Violet:So Jaune told me that you two met on the first day and quickly became friends.
Ruby:Yep. He was a lifesaver. I’m not best at meeting new people.
Jaune:I know. I was so surprised to see someone doing worse than me.
Ruby:Okay Vomit Boy.
Violet:You threw up!?
Jaune:Maybe! That’s not important!
Violet:Honestly, the things you do. It’s better than when you were 10 and threw up on the Ferris Wheel.
Ruby:*snickering* Those barely move.
Jaune:No. This one was fast, like really fast.
Violet:I really am glad he found someone. My son is a good man but a little strange and not the best at socializing. Tell me, what made you pick him?
Jaune:Geez, that’s a heavy question to throw out. Also a little loaded.
Violet:You know I love you sweetie but c’mon. You know you can be a little much at times. Especially when you were younger; always getting yourself into a situation and asking your sister’s for help. *pinches cheek* My little softie.
Jaune:….
Ruby:…You’re not giving him enough credit.
Violet:Huh?
Ruby:I mean sure, Jaune has stirred up a mess but so does everyone; at least he own it though. He’s always trying his best and because of his mistakes, Jaune is very understanding when others make one. I can get a one tracked mind or frustrated with myself. Every time I do, he’s always there to help ground me. Honestly I’d say I’ve learned a lot from him. Being a leader would be rough without him to bounce off of. Your son is sincere and intelligent. How could I not love him?
Violet and Jaune:*red*…..
Ruby:….!?!? Uh, sorry! I didn’t mean to ramble that much or sound rude! What meant was-
Jaune:You’re also always helping me improve; in more ways than I can count. I…love you too.
Three simple words. That’s all it took to make Ruby’s ears turn red. Unable to speak, she looked towards the floor and bring her hair up to her face. What was he thinking!? Sure she said it first accidentally, but he didn’t have to play along that well. Was he playing along!? His face was red too! A sniffle from Violet perked Ruby up.
Ruby:Mrs. Arc!?
Violet:I’m sorry, I’m just really happy right now. I can tell you two have a real connection. Between each other. Life doesn’t always guarantee such a thing. Especially in your line of work. I’m happy you found each other. Eugh, I’m a mess!
Ruby:Let me find you some tissue.
Violet:It’s fine. I have some in my purse. Though I think it’s high time I get out of your very pretty hair. There’s still so much I want to see and for him to show me. *stands up* Ruby Rose, I’m very happy I met you. Also please, call me Violet.
Ruby:It was nice meeting you too, Violet. Maybe we can share cookie recipes?
Violet:I’d like that very much.
Jaune: *stands up* Thanks for letting us stop by, seriously.
Ruby:Don’t mention it.
Violet:Hmmm *smiles* I’m gonna get the car ready. Sweetie, you can stay up here a little longer to give your Ruby a proper goodbye.
Jaune:Mom!
Violet:Oh don’t be like that. It’s written all over your face how much you wanna kiss her, but I get, I’m mom. So I’ll make myself scarce. Just don’t take too long. Bye~
With speed faster than Ruby’s, Violet left the two alone in awkward silence.
Jaune:Forgive her. She’s like that with everyone.
Ruby:She must’ve been fun at parent teacher conferences.
Jaune:It was the school plays that were rough. I…really can’t thank you enough.
Ruby:Seriously, anytime.
Jaune:Soooo I guess I’ll just wait a few minutes then-
Ruby:You should kiss me.
Jaune:Wh-What?
Ruby:It’s not okay to lie so much, especially to someone like your mom. If you actually kiss me… then you won’t have to lie about it.
Arguing with logic like that felt challenging, not to mention baffling. Then again, Jaune didn’t really want to counter it at all. Ruby stood before him with her flushed face and body that swayed side to side. He didn’t comment on it before, but she looked very beautiful in that dress. Slowly, he grabbed her shoulders. He felt her jolt a little before locking eyes with him.
Too nervous to move further, Ruby simply shut her eyes and tilted her head up a little, anxiously waiting for Jaune’s response. To her surprise, she didn’t wait long. A gentle, warm sensation pressed against her lips; making her body relax and even lean more into it before it ended. It couldn’t have been more than a three seconds yet by the time Ruby opened her eyes, Jaune was beat red and about to walk out.
Jaune:Text you later?
Ruby:S…Sure. Later.
Jaune closes the door and silence returned. Ruby walked over to the door to lock it before turning around. Her back pressed against it as her legs gave out, causing her to slide down against the door until she sat on the floor. Her fingers touched her lips while her heart began to pound; ears still burning from Jaune’s words.
Ruby:Oh no~
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Hello fellow nashuri moots hru hope your having an good end of the month. I have received so much likes and comments on this story. I’m so grateful for the your continued support and sharing. Without further ado chapter five.
Chapter 5: Bubastis
~Shuri~
I felt for the first time an urge to not be right yet we are. I was right Bubastis was all old tombs and desert.
“Griot, can you scan any other life or town around here?” I asked walking around.
“Scanning Princess” he replied.
I leaned against a pillar tired and frustrated we’d been here only five minutes and I was ready to go home. The emotional and mental weight on my shoulders added more additional pressure to my stress.
I’ve been scammed and bamboozled.
Before I could start going on a rant about how Bast would have to catch these hands and how I wanted to throw her in a vat of hair remover so she could look like that cat from cats and dogs the revenge of kitty galore.
“Princess in one of the tombs there is an sign of an oasis.” Griot cut into my sacrilege plans and revenge.
“Which direction?”
“Behind this temple”. I turned and entered the temple with statues of intact and eroded depictions of cats.
I delved deeper and found a crypt with a gold mask of a cat in the middle of the room a doorway in the middle of it open. I felt the humidity and a bright light ebbing from its cracks.
I carefully stepped through the room wary of traps and such. I slipped through the crack in the door and shielded my eyes from the light.
-------------
The door quickly slammed closed behind me and before I could panic I came to the sight of a giant oasis. The water is clear and the air is similar to Wakanda’s. the trees and crops outlining the banks of the river.
I readied my black panther suit ready for whatever came next to tear away this serene scene and stepped more into the mysterious oasis. I turned to my left and couldn’t believe my eyes. There lay a big city with beautiful architecture and signs of vibranium in the buildings.
I stumbled as two kids ran past me giggling.
It motivated me to move to enter the vibrant area. A bustling marketplace hummed in the familiar tune of bargaining, calls of sales, and orders being given.
I looked around in awe at the place and its liveliness. There was a thrum that brushed over me in care. No doubt Bastet was here, her followers had her depicted in their architecture and clothing a sign of her ingrained in every person.
But who out of all of them is really her? She said she could be a man, woman, or child and appear at any age but what makes her distinct?
“Griot any supernaturalness in anyone here other than me?” I asked reaching the square of the city and looking around.
“There is a faint trace calculating” I let out a frustrated moan and plopped down on a step.
‘So much for coming to me’ I rolled my eyes.
I took out my flask of water gulped down the cool drink and took a moment to observe and cool down. I smiled at the kind people who had started to approach and started to strike up a conversation. Some tried to get me to buy something or just gave me items and food for free.
A few hours later
The children took a shine to me as well urging me to play some soccer games and other games with them. The time slipped with each interaction until I was caught up in a conversation with a musician.
“How do you like Bubastis so far?” she said handing me some juices to try as we continued marveling and talking about the beautiful city and people.
“It’s beautiful I haven't seen a place like this anywhere else other than home(and talokan)” I replied sipping and humming at the sweet taste of the coconut and melon juice.
“Oh, and where is home?” she asked.
“It is like here the air is crisp, the water is clear and clean and the people are lively, and even when we fight we still forgive and grow and love each other.” I reminisced.
“Sounds wonderful I wish I could see it someday” She replied and before I could say something in response the children swarmed her and I.
“ ‘basti, ‘basti please do music for us please” they begged and we both laughed fondly at their eager pleas.
“Alright, alright my cubs I’ll make music for you what would you like me to play.” She asked turning to her guitar case and bringing out a guitar. And other musicians surrounded us ready to play.
“Sing a song from Nigeria”
“No no, sing a song from south africa”
“No, do an international piece we loved your singing from other continents they sound so beautiful coming from you ‘basti”
“Okay, little cubs how about I perform a song from India hmm” They vibrated with energy and nodded excitedly.
She said something in Coptic and the musicians started playing a serene tone. The singer started vocalizing, moving around and serenading the crowd.
I quickly glanced at Griot's report and saw she was nearby. I scanned the crowd but saw no one resembling the goddess from my dreams.
Drums rang in the air catching my attention again as dancers started to appear out of nowhere in time with the beat and ‘Basti stood in the middle. What.
The video of dheera dheera from magdheera
She sang and danced with the mystery people and looked like a moving work of art her movement was flexible and graceful almost like a cat.
No way ‘basti, Ubasti, Bast.
She started changing forms she grew a bit taller and her skin formed a galaxy pattern. She formed ears and a tail and her irises slit to that of a cat the man who performed the duet with her was mystified and put even more effort into their performance.
“First time seeing Ubasti perform” a voice cut in and I turned to see an older woman sitting beside me.
“Yes is she…”
“The goddess yes”
“How did I not notice,” I asked turning part of my attention back to the goddess.
“She only exposes herself when she performs for the kids, they are the only ones who don’t fear her form and make it more comfortable seeking her.” exactly as she instructed someone will lead me to her, and then she would find me.
“It’s been a tradition since her birth that she performs for the people she sings, dances, and plays with us. Our days never result in anything but joy.”
The performance ended in cheers and joy like the woman said she hugged and playfully chased the children. She finally turned to me and all the people appeared behind her in a bow.
“Welcome princess Shuri to Bubastis sorry for the long wait my panther,” The woman said her voice a bit deep, mature, and smoothed like caramel and honey. Her eyes were a galaxy purple sparkling in excitement.
“You are really real, this is really real.” I breathed out taking everything once again.
“Yes, Princess Shuri and thank you for being patient with me and my people. They haven’t seen anyone in the outside world before and begged me to let them entertain you a bit before I sought you out.” She apologized with a sheepish smile.
“I-It’s okay I enjoyed their company” I stuttered standing up with an incline of my head in thanks.
“Ready?” She asked placing her palms out in time for our ritual. I nodded and placed my own a bit hesitantly in hers. The tattoo on my arm tingled and glowed a similar one appeared on her arm.
My mind was engulfed in magic as an image of an infinity sign and ankh formed and sealed together an even deeper mind link forming between us.
“I am you and you are me,” She said in finality. It was finally official.
The oasis immediately started to change time went faster and the door appeared opening revealing the tomb and the sleeping form of Bast’s body holding an ankh and sistrum.
The bast with me let go of my hands and went over to her people and did the signature wakandan greeting.
From what I now observe and found to be how the Egyptians buried their dead. They returned it with a few tears. A sign that her leave from this world a big affect on them.
“I love you my cubs” she said in Coptic love and care in her tone.
After the tearful goodbye with a couple hugs from the children she went I’ve to her body.
“My people want to say goodbye to you princess you’ve made a great first impression” she threw over her shoulders as she past me, climbing into her body.
I turned to the city people who were greatly cherished by her. To see them waiting to address me and once again bowed in farewell.
The crowd got up from their second bow with a smile, some calling out goodbyes, and others mostly waving to me and giving the wakandan greeting in respect to me.
They all slowly started to disappear with sand and wind. The shadows of cats run away into the changing scenery. One of the kids who played with me named Ife called out.
“Please come visit again princess” her smiling form whisked away with the wind and a tiny kitty running to follow the others.
I went through the portal door the warmth of the oasis leaving me. Now that I’m back in the tombs I am faced with a graveyard with gold statures in my wake.
“They were…”
“Dead”
I turned to see her now awake the ankh and sistrum tattooed to her arm along with our matching mark. She looked almost human.
Her eyes and tattooed face were an indignation of her otherworldly powers.
“Yeah, they were my first-ever followers since my creation they have allows held a special spot in my heart. After their death thousands of years ago they used to care and love for me living. I wanted to return the favor. Creating this part of the duat for them to spend eternity”
she continued coming out of her crypt.
The goddess brushed sand and dust out of her hair and body accepting my hand up.
I sighed resigned that I would be returning back to Wakanda and in turn seeing Namor once again.
We got out of the tomb to my aircraft an air of silence mutually settled between us in a break from all the magic and supernatural events. I really needed ten bottles of palm wine now that my fate has been set in stone.
“Griot set the air craft course for home” I ordered.
“Setting course for wakanda princess”
#talokanil#attuma x okoye#bastet#black panther fanfiction#namor x shuri#nashuri#talokan trio#bast black panther#wakanda forever#Spotify
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Just scheduled a therapy appointment.
I grew up in a pretty dysfunctional home. My dad was likely undiagnosed ASD, my mom was (at the time) undiagnosed bipolar which left her unable to work at times, my brothers both have ADHD and anger issues, and the youngest brother is an abusive narcissist with likely ODD. And then you have me, with my double depression and anxiety.
But my youngest brother was my abuser most of his life. If he didn’t get what he wanted, including the ability to steal from us without repercussions, he would wage a campaign to make the family miserable as payback. Eventually the family way of coping was to appease him at our expense simply to keep the peace.
Ugly details beyond this point that may be triggering to abuse victims.
One memorable time when I was about 12 and he was 9, I had a friend over and was asked to hold down the fort as my mom went to drop my other brother off at a friend’s and meet the parents. That ended with my brother trying to light my hair on fire, and the butcher block was right there so it was a standoff. In front of my friend because he didn’t want me to have friends. We had to have babysitters after that.
Around the age of 10, he was introduced to South Park, and decided the character he identified with and would take as a role model was Cartman. (Prior to that it was Bart Simpson.) He also came to believe he knew the right way to do everything and it was cool for him to rudely critique your entire existence.
As you can imagine, things got worse from there. He would hit me, as he was larger than me, and I would be asked what I did to upset him if I said anything. So I grew my nails out and used that strengthening nail polish, and so I’d claw his arm when he hit me, leaving bloody gashes, hoping that would deter him, but it didn’t. Ultimately, I told him the day I turned 18 that if he ever hit me again I would press charges and make sure he went to jail, and he switched entirely to emotional abuse.
I had to live with him until I was 18, and then again for a few years after grad school, and it was psychological warfare, with him doing everything he could to make life miserable, including depriving me of sleep purposefully and stealing from me (which was not a new behavior; anything I had that he wanted was his). Over half my life was spent constantly on edge, and more of that was spent trying to protect my parents.
He stole from our father’s estate (in front of our mother) days after his death, berated our mother for saying she couldn’t pay for his and his wife’s cell phones anymore (he was employed full time and had been bought a house and his student loans paid off by our parents), and when confronted demanded an apology for being called a thief.
His idea of apology is you physically sit there and allow him to berate you for an hour and parade all your perceived offenses out, starting at the age of 3. I refused, and ultimately he tried to use his kids as bargaining chips and I went no contact because it was all I could do to protect the kids from the confusion. At that point I had to lock myself in a room while he screamed through the door that no one would ever love me and I would die alone (not the first time he’s said that, nor even the worst thing he’s said).
In November he tried to have our mom involuntarily committed while she was sick with Influenza A in the ICU and very much cognitively impacted by nearly dying. He tried to convince the ER she was a drug addict, even. He lives right down the street and decided to insert himself into the situation, and I had to hop in a car and drive 4 hours to protect her.
As I struggle with my illnesses, I’m also struggling with a lot of trauma from his physical and emotional abuse. When my trauma is triggered, I’m less able to cope because I’m in so much pain and suffering brain fog.
It’s led to blowups as I’m just put back in survival mode and I lash out to protect myself.
I’m not doing well psychologically, and it tells me I have some major trauma to process so it no longer hangs over me. It’s going to take a lot and be difficult.
I’d like both my autoimmune disorders and my trauma to stop ruling my life.
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Did you know that the stages of grief (denial, anger, depression, bargaining, and acceptance) are also the stages of finding out you are going to die? Actually, this was what they were initially intended to be after Elizabeth Kubler-Ross did an extended study of people with terminal illnesses. It just so happens to be an incredibly similar process for the bereaved. Sometimes, you begin these phases of grief while your loved one is still alive.
Yesterday marks the 10 year anniversary of finding out my dad was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. He was given five months to live, and that was after he decided to extend his life for a few months with chemo treatments because he wanted one last anniversary with my mom.
Today, I had coffee and waffles with my mom in one of my favorite places in the world after my nephew’s birthday party. She commented that if we could have seen ourselves in 10 years into the future to see that we made it, and that things would eventually be okay it may have made things slightly easier. I told her that it may have made things easier on dad too, knowing we would be okay. He was the sole breadwinner of the house, the rock of our family, and an all around fantastic human being. Aside from that worry, it turns out the thing he carried the most guilt about was leaving me without a dad when I was a teen. I didn’t know this until this afternoon. I would love to inform him that it’s absurd to feel guilty about something he has very little control over but I digress.
I had a lot of friends and neighbors without dads or horrid dads growing up, and he saw what it could do it a kid. I think, during his depression stage, the reality of things he never taught me, the important events in my life he’d miss, and the reality of leaving me fatherless at 15 really started to sink in. Of course, he wouldn’t let me know these things. I found out from my mom after the fact. Thankfully my mom was there to reassure him that he did a fantastic job, and because of that I would be okay.
And she was right
Every life lesson, every ounce of love, every hug, every trip taken and rule broken is something I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life. Nothing can take that from me. And if you’re reading this, thinking about a loved one you lost: nothing can take that from you either. I would be lying to say it still hurts like hell some days that he’s not here. I wish he could have been there for some of the biggest moments in my life. But he was here just long enough to instill some foundations in core beliefs in me. And what could be more precious than that?
When my dad finally got close to the acceptance phase, he decided to go on a small adventure with me with what little energy he had left. Unfortunately for him, I did the all the driving with the learners permit I had obtained 2 months ago (maybe he was trying to speed up the process, idk). This lead to the core memory of stumbling across a berry farm in the fall and getting the largest pumpkin they had at the time. My dad loved Halloween, and him returning home with the biggest shit eating grin was something my mom was later thankful for once we figured out wtf to do with the pumpkin.
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20/4/24
I was like a black dog scruffy, messy, yet you didn't want to come to my residence anymore, you came out with someone new.
The pub we use to come to now is now reclaimed to a new owner, I wanted to torch where we lived, let all those demons haunt you, I just invited the priests to get rid of it while I'm still here. let the black dog run around till you have to leave, ashamed and embarrassed you got caught.
Do I love or hate you it all tastes all the same, if your leaving anyway, picking off petals deciding if its useful to be mad or am I still in love? Wishing it go back, hit the reset button, earse everything that I did to hate you.
Maybe I'm just numb from rehasing all my old heart attacks, until they're not worth the ink on the paper.
If I'm the dead weight, if your being cancelled that your unwanted, uninvited blacklisted, I told you if you hurt me karma will get you back, you would wish that you've never met me. Who are you if I'm not hanging around, you've never get anywhere if it wasn't for me, when they throw you out, dont say I didn't warn you.
If you want to break me down, even when we first met you liked me however you liked the idealised version of me, the one you had created. When you found out who I was, all you wanted was alcohol and drugs like the rockstar that you are, you pestered my friends, is that what you think of me?
If you got with someone else I'm no longer invested, I sold my shares of what I thought of you, I would never belive that we were once in the same orbit, even if you grow up, the ghosts of should been buried in past. Through the cold stilness you would do anything to make your reality come true, if it wasn't for you I wouldn't be dead inside.
My soul is now departed we learnt all the ways of romance, till they were left. we said we're glad we're not related, to our parents who had their own skeltons, they had their own ways of knowing how to do everything right. Except be with your wife. They woukd ring their family, till their walking round shopping going nowhere, to just think, drive away that their life is an illusion.
I hate it here no one knows what goes in my brain, I'm running away from when I was sixteen being given away to society. I'm creating puzzles in my mind which only I can solve, I want to go back to a simpler time, wheres there no bigotry and hatred. Nostalgia is just a curse, there's no comfort in the past, it should be felt with shame.
Tell me a tale of sorrow that only a tortured artist would know, that has to act like they are a high baller, when in fact they have never seen the light of day.
I would say thank you not for my success, it made me stronger knowing that you bullied me, until I had to rebuild my reputation. I've got a whole crowd of supporters that seemed to finance you, when your kid looks at you, hears this song which is disturbing and rude.
I said that it was you, I'd never said that I'm grateful for your spite. Just like high school that was where you belonged, I don't think you ever got off how your not in control of someone else success. I'm not expecting an apology, I just hope you change, I don't care if someone pisses on your grave.
My mum thought you crossed the line, she only says when the devil comes out, you don't belong with the living. I can't even speak your name, who cares I'm the one with the comeback, you just belong in the grave, you bulit to save your name.
What if I saw your face, I'm not a stalker, I'm just intrigued by the endless possibilities by seeing someone new, who wants something that is undeclared.
If I'm trying to bargain with the truth I don't porphecy for how my relationships will turn out , how they should be all ranked in a pyramid, when all I want is someone patient, caring, that is good company.
The prophets they told of this girl who spoke the truth in her visions, when they killed her for it, it went as quiet as the dead, when her visions came true. You sent snakes so she would be afraid, she knew that even if you burnt a witch for practising socery, doesn't mean that their talents were wasted, or that they weren't gifted, they were just never belived.
When we were kids, you said you would come up and find me, you never did, if time is like sand, slipping away, I was looking through windows trying to find that the boat got lost over seas.
Her life flashed like a taxi cab running away from being a trophy wife, when the foundations weren't laid down. She hailed it with the money she stole from her investment, all the greatest stories came from the bolter.
They called her underseving names, just because they couldn't make her stay, she was high on the adrenaline. She felt freedom for the first time where she claimed her agency and power.
Do ever want to go back to innocence, curoisty, where your dreams are like the sky, let your passion soar. As you grow older you bounce back from the vindictive haters, just remember how you felt, everything you wanted was at your creation, with talent that you harness, it became clarity or reality.
I read what we created, why I was told to write about everything you know, how I'm to scared to be alone, how I used to hate answering the phone. Everyone was doing everything on point, I wondered what was the point, nobody was going to know.
How was your show? did you hit your lines? did you ad lib on the flie. I'm watching your talent which was written on those pages. You couldn't act the story, it wasn't you, you were so distant, I only just realised that it had to be rewritten.
This story of us it was never about me and you with a group chat of broken men who are single, I'm the one that was hung out on the ringer, its been shared to people who know us the best .
We were both held with praying hands on the fire, that encompasses our demise, if the fans knew where the easter eggs were found, its because they were my personal supply, getting me through those barren days.
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23. Beauty Like the Knight
Simon learned to read pretty early on in life, recognizing all letters of the alphabet and plenty of words. He would have visits with his dad, that the man would never show up for and fortunately, Simon was none the wiser. His mom would hand him a chunky book and let him entertain himself until she gave up waiting. This happened a lot during the early stages of his memory. How did he remember these events? As he and his mom, having a reading day in the park, or at a restaurant with a playground, or in a coffee shop. He and his mom had a lot of reading days when he was little. He missed those whenever she stopped bringing him.
She was trying to get her business started, working in a diner nearly nonstop, pulling double shifts and having Simon sitting in a booth that was pretty much his, with a camouflage blankie, a cup of chocolate milk and whatever books and magazines that had been left behind or hastily bought by his mother, since they were cheap. He was in pre-k during the day and the bus dropped him off at the diner, where somebody working there would always collect him. The bus driver would allow it, so long as they had on one of the diner uniforms, as Miss Laurent had already let them know that she would always be right inside, but sometimes, couldn’t manage to get to the bus to get Simon off of it. No matter who got him off of the bus, Simon was very good with directions and rules.
His mom had told him to go to the booth and sit down and read and that she would check on him when she could. He couldn’t remember this fact about himself, but when he was a child, he thought in words. It was how he remembered things. He would take one word and it would unleash the other thoughts. Booth: Go to the booth. Sit: Sit down at the booth and read. Check: Mommy’s gonna check on you whenever she gets a chance. And he was good with that. His mom wasn’t too far away. Sometimes, he’d look up from his reading and see her laughing and talking with a guest she was waiting on. Sometimes, she would be at the counter, looking at the messed up orders to see if there was anything that Simon might eat (he was a picky eater, even back then). Sometimes, she would be making him a milkshake, because she had pretty good tips that day and he’d been sitting and behaving so well.
When Simon was 4, she bought him this bargain My First Dictionary, which was a huge book of words with both definitions and pictures. He LOVED it. He would ask her, “Mom, do you know what this is?” And then he would tell her. “Do you know how to spell it?” And then he would spell it for her. At that point in his life, they didn’t have much else to talk to each other about. She often felt guilty for not being able to spend a proper amount of time with him, so any time he told her things about all of the new words he knew, she feigned the deepest interest in his knowledge. Once he finished with that book, he wondered if there was another one. He knew that he had heard many words before that he couldn’t remember seeing in his beloved dictionary, but she wasn’t really in the position to get him whatever the next level was just yet. She made a mental note to try to look for one, but it was never such a priority that she rushed to action.
Simon entered elementary school where he found out that there was a “school library.”
His class went to it and there were so many books! More books than he thought he would ever be able to read in his life! He grabbed some to do what the teacher said. Choose: Choose two books that you think you will really like. Librarian: Take the books to the school librarian and tell her that you would like to check them out. Card: Show the librarian the library card that I gave you and she will do the rest.
Whenever Simon got to the counter, the librarian looked at his book selections and tried to explain to him that these were books for older kids and that he might not like them. “I already scanned them. Please, give me the books. Here is my library card.” He could hardly reach the counter, but she reached to meet his hands and simply checked the books out for him, even though she expected that he would bring them back after realizing that they were not on his level.
Simon spent the next few days reading his first fantasy adventure book in the diner, and then his second, and that was such a great escape from simply sitting in a diner, even though he did learn a lot from his reading. Between books, he’d sometimes just look at people in the diner and wonder what stories they had inside of them. “Mom, can I have some writing supplies?” He asked when they were on their way home one night. “I keep finish reading my books too quickly and then I can’t exchange them at the school library until the next day.”
“Yeah. Sure, Simon. Mom’ll get you some things..” She promised. Simon knew that sometimes, his mom wanted to get things, but she had a lot of work and didn’t get many chances. However, this time, she was able to. There was a little stationary display at the gas station near their house and she picked up several notepads, a composition book, and some cheap pens. She wasn’t sure if Simon could write with them. They used those fat ones in school, but there was none of that here and she didn’t know when she’d get to a proper store.
The woman set all of the things on the table at the booth that she generally saved for him, and met him at his bus outside. Whenever he got to the table, he was so excited! It was motivation for her. She had made him so happy with just these small things that she could hardly wait until she could afford to get him things that he loved that were actually good quality. She worked harder towards trying to get her bistro open, and Simon worked on people’s stories.
When he was in between his fantasy books from the library, he would watch people in the diner, make notes of how they looked and try to guess what kind of day they probably had. It was such a fun hobby that he began to notice regulars and he could build upon their stories each day.
“You’ve gotta take that kid out somewhere, sometime,” he heard somebody say one day. He wasn’t paying it any attention until he heard his mom respond, speaking quieter than the man was.
“I can’t take him anywhere. Most of my money is tied up in trying to open my place and most of my time, I have to be here to make ends meet. Cyril wouldn’t even get him a new picture dictionary. Says that ‘they already took what he owed’ and he’s got another one on the way…” Simon looked up and his mom and the man stopped talking. He could tell from his mom’s face that she was worried. Probably worried that he had heard what she said, so he pretended to know nothing, smiled and returned to his writing.
He could still hear the man’s whispered response, “It’s just not really good for a little kid to not have any friends or ever go out and be able to just experience life. Find one of those mommy groups or something and they’ll probably have ideas.”
“Mommy groups?”
“Like, online? They’re a pretty big thing, I think…”
Simon tuned them out. He was writing a story about a boy with no father and no friends… until one day, he wrote a book and whenever people read it, they became his friend, because they knew his story. The boy wondered if he could fashion himself a father, in the same way that he had fashioned these friends. So, he wrote another book, but it did not give him a father. It gave him more friends. So, he wrote another book, and another, and another. He got so many friends, but never a father. He asked his mother why a father doesn’t appear. For every book he wrote, he gained so many friends, but when he wrote books about having a father, he still didn’t have one. The mom in the book told her son that every time he wrote a book, she begged his father to read it, that she told him to come, that she wanted him to love him, but that he didn’t want to, and that no words could change that. Instead, you have a mother who loves you more than anything, and if she isn’t enough, you now have all these friends. The boy hugged his mother and told her that he only had friends so it wouldn’t be so hard for her to love him by herself. But she told him, “It isn’t hard to love you.”
Simon put the pages together with a cover he drew and gave it to his mother. It was the first time he could remember making her cry and he was scared that he had done something wrong. “I didn’t realize you were so observant,” she said and touched his cheek, “Simon, you shouldn’t have to worry about these things.” But, she was worried about them. He knew that she was. She signed him up for some programs at school and spoke with the guidance counselor about his reading and writing. He was pretty advanced for his age and loved to do both, so she wondered if there was something he might be able to get involved in (and hopefully meet some other kids through).
Within the year, he was becoming involved in spelling bees, which he was very good at, and the counselor always let him know whenever a children’s writing contest came across her desk.
He didn’t meet new children, but he did have events and activities that he enjoyed doing that he didn’t have to always sit inside of the diner to do, and whenever his mom opened her bistro a few years later, he had won several writing competitions, gotten a few small children’s books published with small, independent publishers, and was on his way to becoming a national spelling bee champion. Sometimes, he wasn’t able to be in competitions, but in the upcoming one, he had his mother set aside all of the money from his book sales around town (and she had them for sale at the bistro, as well), and her mom group collected some for him to be able to make the trips.
He trained and studied as much as he could over the year, but he didn’t win. His mom telling him that he got pretty far wasn’t that comforting, and she was still a new business owner, so she didn’t have as much time to try to comfort him as she would have liked. And he had never told her that this was the most important thing in his world. He figured she knew, but bothering her with it gave him anxiety. Plus, he still didn’t really have any friends. The only kids he knew around his age outside of the ones at school were the ones he competed against at the bees.
“What about a pet? He could use it as an emotional support companion and having something to take care of might make him feel both better and build up his responsibility skills,” one of the moms had suggested when his mom reported that he had been crying for days but saying that he was fine.
She brought him to a shelter, where he met Samantha… and they were right. Simon carried Samantha with him everywhere. He hated leaving her behind when he went to school and he wrote stories about her living many lifetimes, talking and being a beacon of answers and wisdom. He had a friend, now. Not like whenever his mom met up with her online friend after her divorce to have “family vacations” with her and her daughter. In fact, he had been irritated with those plans whenever they initially started. The divorcee was having a hard time with the divorce and wanted to keep things as normal for her daughter as possible, but things like family vacation could no longer happen, because she was too financially stressed to afford it.
Well, Simon’s mother had never been able to give him a vacation before, and whenever kids at school talked about there’s, Simon would always have a report about how he wrote stories in the diner, or later the bistro, and no adventures. So, they thought they could pull their money together and alternate trips to see each other. It would be like a vacation for Tulip to go to Washington, and like one for Simon to go to Minnesota. It became their thing as friends and they were the closest thing that the Laurents had to family.
The best part was that the children, despite their age difference got along just fine, and even eventually loved each other. Simon was very protective of Tulip, as a smaller person than him, despite the fact that she seemed pretty independent for her age. She didn’t get along with the cat, but Simon would explain that Samantha was not used to sharing him and could be selfish. He set up a huge portion of his room with DIY cat things he’d found online. Tulip thought that was weird, because she was “just a cat,” and Simon had not liked that at all.
He didn’t like trips to Minnesota. He didn’t like having to leave Samantha with a sitter or having to shut her away in animal storage for a flight, or having her uncomfortable in somebody else’s house.
Fortunately, for him, by the time he was 12, his mother left it up to him and he would simply stay home for her visits and work on writing. That was when he began writing the story that would finally give him the life that he would come to know and love.
A lot of people thought that Esmoroth was about Simon living out a fantasy. After all, he had written stories when he was younger about having friends and a father, and things like that. Esmoroth revolved around a society that was built up around a boy. A boy who was nothing special in his own world, but could become a king in another. People thought that was Simon. It wasn’t. Simon built the world of Esmoroth for years before he found its king, and when he did… it wasn’t him. The king was just a boy he adored.
Simon wasn’t used to adoring anybody. He loved his mother all his life. He loved his cat from the moment he met her. He loved Ms. Megan and Tulip for as much as he could love people that he didn’t get to see a lot. He loved books, and fantasy, and people watching. He didn’t love people. Not like that. Not like this.
Simon was 13, slightly younger than this boy. He was beautiful. He had a face that just made Simon think of elvish princes in storybooks, and long blond hair that always looked exceptional in a single braid that hung down his back. His name isn’t important. Simon wished he never knew it, now. But, he mattered back then. His beautiful prince. A boy who deserved to be a king. The boy who would be the king of Esmoroth.
“Is that (redacted)?” a kid asked, and every student turned around to see Simon working on a sketch of the king of Esmoroth.
“This is a fictional character,” Simon said. But, the sketch pad was snatched and held up in front of everyone.
“Doesn’t this look like him?” He placed the drawing right next to his face and the boy blushed. Simon grabbed his sketch book and put it away, trying not to look at anyone as he collected himself. He could hear them whispering about him. He was gay. Made sense. He was never with a girl. But, maybe not. He was never with anybody. He didn’t have any friends. He was a loser… etc. He was trying not to cry, but it wasn’t sadness. He didn’t care what these people thought. He didn’t care if they called him names or whispered or even if they made fun of him relentlessly. But. It wasn’t right. To try to force somebody’s feelings in front of others! Just because you notice something didn’t mean that you had to say something! He noticed things all the time and he kept his mouth shut. Maybe that was the problem. He was being considerate to people who didn’t deserve such consideration. His gray eyes went dark, he caught his breath and looked right at the boy who took his sketch pad. The boy smiled at him, wondering what type of spectacle Simon might be able to provide. Simon leaned close to him and softly said in his ear, “Yeah. I do have a crush on a boy, but your opinions don’t matter to me any more than they do at your house. Nobody gives a shit about you, and that’s why you constantly act out and try to make other people feel bad. You think it’ll take the attention off of you. Off of how much of a loser your family thinks you are.” He got abruptly punched in the stomach. The kids scattered as Simon held himself with one hand and held his other arm up. The kid was relentless. Other boys tried to pull him off, some laughed, a few checked on Simon.
“That’s not because you’re gay, it’s because you’re an asshole!” the boy said.
“What are you talking about? Simon is like, the nicest boy in the world and you were bullying him for maybe liking a boy. I like boys too, and I dare you to try that shit with me!” The future king said. Simon smiled. He was in a lot of pain, but that was the best day ever.
He helped Simon up by the hands and studied his face, with his hands gently brushing by some of the impacts that would be bruised. “Are you okay?” He asked. Simon nodded, finally able to let out the cry he had held in earlier. “Okay, okay…” He gathered Simon into a hug. “I’ll walk him to the nurse.”
They were together for a while. Simon was always sharing his writing ideas and his art and his updates. Simon loved him. Whenever Simon began trying to find a publisher, he wanted to know what he think would be fair for using his likeness. “Just seems like you should get some type of something for being the face of Esmoroth.” He just shook his head and smiled. He said it didn’t matter. He didn’t want to. Simon wanted him to be a part of it all though. It was probably a conversation better suited for adults, so he got his mother to speak with (redacted)’s parents… and that was the end of things.
“Why did you tell them?” He had asked Simon. “I never told you that was okay!”
Simon… didn’t have friends. He didn’t have a community. He didn’t even keep up with trends and things. He was observant, but he sometimes became hyper focused. He spent so much time fawning over his boyfriend, he never paid attention to the fact that he ever really mentioned his parents feelings about his identity, or the fact that he never introduced them.
In Simon’s defense, he didn’t tell them that the king was his boyfriend. Only that he had been the inspiration for his main character, and they saw some of Simon’s art. While he didn’t tell them, they had problems with their son’s identity before they knew Simon existed. Simon was simply their fuel. He was sent away, to a camp, and his parents said that if Simon tried to attach their son to this project that they would speak to lawyers. So, most people thought that Simon was the king, that the king was a character made in Simon’s image. The King was not Simon. Esmoroth was Simon, and even though he went on to have a lot of success with the story about a boy who had been mistreated and underestimated in the real world but found a land in need of conquering, something he was perfectly capable of doing.
Simon had written the books with the image of (redacted), how he saw him, how he wanted to see him, how he hoped he could see himself, if he ever got free of those parents.. Sometimes, he looked him up on social media. He didn’t look well for a long time. He’d cut his hair (or Simon feared, been forced to cut it), and he usually looked tired. There was a time when he struggled with keeping jobs and abusing substances. Simon wanted to reach out and ask if he needed help, but never did. The last time he checked his page, it was a memorial. He had gotten into a car accident with his girlfriend and didn’t make it. She made it. Simon sent his condolences.
“You’re Simon… Like… Simon from middle school?”
“And high school,” Simon typed. He didn’t harp on the relationship like he once did, but most of the emotional parts had been freshman year.
“He would be happy to know you said something. He thought you hated him. I feel like I can tell you this. I can’t tell other people. He wasn’t really my boyfriend. We were friends, but his parents were… well… you probably remember. They were hard on him.”
“You were his beard.”
“He was still haunted by camp. He told me about you, though. He never forgot you. He had other boyfriends, but he was in the closet, and his parents want me to honor his memory. I told them the truth..”
Simon didn’t continue the conversation, but he wrote his last Esmoroth book and when the king died, he became the heart of Esmoroth. He thought that was a nice send off.
He’d had other loves since then… or other relationships. He didn’t think he would have another one like that, and whenever he met Grace, whenever he saw her, he saw a queen. She could be the queen of Esmoroth. The books were done, but Simon had always had a relationship with stories, outside of those books, and even though Esmoroth had been his life at one time, it had been a while. And the king was gone from his world long before he was gone from the world, and perhaps Esmoroth was dead too now.
He was a new world for a new ruler to find their home. He was her home now. His king had died years ago, and the world had tried to kill his queen and failed. He had even made sure that it failed. He would always make sure it failed.
.
She healed physically a lot better than she had mentally. The first several days after she woke up, Simon was working. He managed to get all of his cameras installed into all of her spaces, began his contingency plans for the future of the Apex and finally crunched out long awaited pages from his new book, which he was calling Beauty Like the Knight.
The books that Grace had gotten him to buy whenever he initially started trying to write it had several reimaginings of fairy tales, but with an urban twist… or a Black twist. He still didn’t know if it was appropriate for him to say it that way, and he really didn’t want to market it that way either, considering who he was. But, he did have a Black female protagonist, even if he couldn’t quite pin down the fairy tale he might reimagine. Hubris told him to reimagine Esmoroth in a more real world setting.
Whenever they first came to the guest house, he tried to help her settle in, taking over Hazel’s care because Grace was too susceptible to infection and he really just wanted her to be as comfortable as possible in her condition. He set up the layout of the place to stay out of her way as she tried to do things on her own, but not so much that he couldn’t assist any time she needed (but was too proud to ask).
He took over her Apex business dealings, though they talked through everything first. The situation on Todd’s day, the thing at the bungalow - those were small humps to him. He knew that by the end ofApex would be much more difficult than healing from the gsw, but he would be there for all of it.
Chloe, his literary agent called him while he was still trying not to bother Grace too much.
“BLTK is genius! I don’t know why I doubted you. Mercy is a great character and even though she’s doing horrible things, I can’t help but to root for her! A few notes… we don’t know enough about the other characters. If you can elaborate on some of their personalities, like maybe a couple of the other girls and at least one of her victims.”
“I was planning on it.” (He wasn’t planning on it, but) “I think I want to give her…” he glanced at his notes, “Three allies, and maybe have an ultimate boss she has to face eventually.” He frowned at a green folder with a few papers in it. “I have more notes than I do story right now.”
“As long as you get back to meeting deadlines, we can always tweak the work afterwards. Congrats, Simon. You seem to be back.” After she hung up, he took the green folder, slid it into the drawer and locked it.
Xander wanted to come by for St. Patrick’s Day. They had a ritual. They would watch Boondock Saints and wax poetic about true justice… She didn’t want to do it this year, but Simon told her that it might be good for her to give Xander some face time, so he could see that she wasn’t being puppeted around.
The truth was that Grace hadn’t loved The Boondock Saints as much as Xander had. For one thing, it was full of gunfire and even though she ultimately realized why he initially wanted her to see it, and she had absolutely agreed and they fed off of each other’s energy about the spirit of the film… She didn’t know if she could handle gunfire now. So, Xander came over and they simply hung out with Simon nearby. Xander kept an eye on him, curious about his situation.
Simon was posted in a workspace in the living room. The desk had papers and files and notes all over it… and he knew from breaking into his home and also being in his creepy storage building that Simon was a neat person. Maybe this was how he was whenever he was working out details. Grace had mentioned that he was working on a book. Xander didn’t really read books, but Sunny had told him that she read the first one before, but she either didn’t finish it or she just enjoyed it so little that she didn’t remember it.
“Are you working?” Xander asked, as if the two of them made small talk about themselves. Simon simply looked at him. Grace caught his attention when she shifted on the couch to adjust herself. Simon’s face softened and he nodded his head. Xander wondered, “What are you working on? Did you bring back that storybook thing?”
“It’s an urban fiction,” Grace said, trying not to laugh, but Xander’s expression made that hard.
“The… the same one he was working on when you met?”
“Yeah. He hasn’t exactly had an easy year,” she said, still seeming like she wanted to laugh.
“What is it about?”
Simon tilted his head and said, “It’s… kind of like The Boondock Saints meets a fairy tale.” Grace raised an eyebrow at this. Xander raised both.
“What fairy tale?” he wondered, arms folded.
“I don’t know yet. Maybe just the concept of fairy tales, of royalty and magic and curses and battles.”
Xander whispered, “By now, shouldn’t he like… have the whole thing figured out?”
“I don’t write books,” she said, with a shrug, getting a little bit defensive now. Xander noticed the shift and Simon definitely did.
“You could. You read enough. You’re super smart,” Simon offered.
She shook her head, “I don’t have the endurance. There’s no way that I’d be able to stick with a story long enough to complete creating an entire book.”
“What about a foreword?” He asked.
“Sure, probably.”
“I’d love it if you wrote mine.”
“Wouldn’t that be like… I don’t know? A waste of a page. I’m not a writer or anything, and you’re established.”
“No. I want you.” Her face warmed and she fought a smile, even though she simply shrugged her shoulders again. Simon smiled and looked right at Xander. It was important to keep driving home where she stood. “To better answer your question, the story revolves around two lifelong friends, entering adulthood after years of using their skills to face off with enemies, but coming to a crossroad, where they don’t seem like they can go in the same direction.”
Grace gasped, “Are they gonna lose their friendship?”
Simon squinted his face, “You have to read the book!”
“Well, give it to me. You’ve never shown me anything that you wrote.”
“You hate my books!”
“I hated your Esmoroth books. I might like this one. You said Boondock Saints and fairy tales. Wait. Are there guns?” She asked.
He shook his head, “I would never ask you to partake in something with guns,” he said, throwing a look at Xander. He reached for some notes and got up to hand her a brown folder with “Beauty Like the Knight: Beauty & the Beast?” She looked at him and he could tell from her face that she was already unimpressed. But, she opened it and began reading the notes - his handwriting really was ridiculously neat. She didn’t know it was because he had been physically writing for most of his life, making notes since elementary school, to the point where it was now part of his nature.
Beauty: There once was an episode of Once Upon a Time where they gave us a Black Rapunzel. It wasn’t a surprise that the same prince, the one that they called Charming was trying to rescue her from the tower. Well, we find out that her enemy, the dark entity who was keeping her locked in there… it was just another version of herself… OUAT can kiss my Black ass…
“Um… this sounds relatable, and that’s funny to me, but Idk if you can get away with having a character say “kiss my Black ass…” Xander made a face, but Grace kept reading to herself.
I’ve got enough of that in real life. Why can’t we simply be the Beauty? We must we also be the Beast?...
“Simon, is… is this character based on somebody you know?” she asked.
“Did I draw inspiration for a Black female character from the main Black female person I know in real life? Yes.”
“Yeah but…”
Beast: I think that to other beasts, the beast is also a beauty. So, you can be both without it being a bad thing. Face and embrace the parts of yourself that you think are beastly. Maybe that will help you love you deeper.
I’m not trying to love me deeper. I’m trying to settle down with a Prince, but if one comes up to my tower, I’d rather attack him with all of my darkness than to let him rescue me from myself. Why am I like that?
He shrugs: But, if he was worthy of you, your darkness couldn’t deter him. It wouldn’t deter me. Maybe it's not a prince that needs to approach your tower. Maybe it’s a beast…
Grace stared at Simon and he stared back, memorizing every single moment of her expression, because he would have to write it down. Whatever it was she was feeling, that’s exactly what this character was feeling. She cleared her throat and returned to the page.
I just realized that I jumped from Rapunzel to Beauty and the Beast, and you just went along with it.
The show did stuff like that all the time, that’s why I gave up on it. It got silly. How did you even watch it for so long?
Now, she shrugged, “It was one of the few things they let us do at the compound…”
Grace shut the folder and swung it in his direction, almost swatting him with it. “I don’t like it,” She said.
He caught the folder and nodded his head, “I’ll work on it.”
She folded her arms and sighed.
“Can I see it?” Xander wondered.
“No,” they both said. Simon added, “Buy the book.”
All Grace could think was about how he was writing a book about her and… she didn’t like what little of it she saw. She was frustrated. It made her more moody with him than she had even been. But, when she couldn’t stand it, she asked him, “How do you feel okay writing me this way?” He looked shocked, but he took both of her hands into his and pulled her to himself. She softened, just from that gesture. She hated how weak he made her, somehow.
“Do you think I would ever do you any injustice? I’m writing a queen’s journey…” He shook his head, “I’m writing my queen’s journey. You don’t deserve to be caged, Grace. But, we obviously can never tell your story as it is…” He lowered his head, looking at their hands for more strength, “I wish I could have told the King of Esmoroth’s story. I did my best, and I knew I couldn’t add more to it. But, I had to move on from it.” He looked at her again and she looked confused. “One time, you told me something about yourself, something that I knew already, but I wanted you to tell me in your own time and in your own words. Is it… okay if I tell you something too?” She nodded her head. He gave her a soft smile and pulled her to his lap. He wanted to tell her about a little boy, with no friends and no father, and his first love, and his hope to have found his last love.
24. The First Year
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One
I know you don't like to think of it, but I like remembering the day we first met. I like remembering because that had been the first time I'd ever spoken to someone and not gotten a frightened scream in reply. I think a lot of people were intimidated by the girl the size of a baby elephant who never left the swing in the park. It wasn't my fault they couldn't stand being around someone better than them.
Anyway, we were eleven, you and I. It was a year before your older sisters sent you off for that audition for that stupid music clip that changed the rest of your life. It was a Thursday afternoon, one of those days that bordered between summer warm and autumn cold and you had come to the park to wait for Chun Hei and play with your glass marbles. You were wearing bundles upon bundles of warm clothes, because your mum didn't want you catching a cold, and sat on the smooth concrete, throwing your marbles into the air.
I was watching you from my seat on the swing, munching aimlessly on my last bar of Kit Kat, when I saw it. There was a plastic bowl of fried Kimchi rice beside you and I could tell by the way your mouth was moving, that it was delicious. The chocolate bar in my hand disappeared pretty quickly after that. I mean, really, I swore destiny was having it's way with me that day.
Hey, the Fates would have said, why don't we put the boy with the Kimchi rice in front of the girl who would kill her own brother for a taste? We're bored, aren't we? Why don't we make a show out of this.
After what happened, I guess it'd be pretty safe to say that they got a good show. More than they bargained for, in fact.
I remember getting up from my swing then. A hard job if you had to consider my connection to that swing. We had been through a lot of things, that swing and I. Broken promises. My parents fighting. My brothers bullying me. My parents separating. Closest thing I had to a friend, that swing was. Until you, of course.
The sound of the leaves beneath my shoes carried me to you - the skinny kid with the hair, and the bowl of rice. It wasn't until I was standing right above you that you looked up though, a little breathless.
"Yeah?" you asked me. I sneered down at you.
"Can I have some?" I pointed at the bowl. Obviously, I wasn't a beat around the bush type of girl. I was there for the rice and nothing more.
You looked at the bowl, then back up at me, swallowed once and nodded slowly. In hindsight, it was probably safe to conclude that you were more scared of me than anything else, but at that exact moment, it seemed as if you'd genuinely wanted me to have it.
So I did. Have it, I mean.
Plopping down next to you, I grabbed the bowl, took a sniff and shoveled the food into my mouth at a speed that my older brother would have envied. And after eating with the guy, you know now what I mean when I say that.
After I'd finished the bowl, I looked up and saw that the most of the other kids in the park had stopped playing. They were all standing, staring at me. At us. Puzzled, I glanced at you and noticed the same confusion play across your face. Then it clicked.
You were about the only person I'd ever approached in the park who I hadn't thrown a punch at. And for the first time, in a very long time, I actually thought twice before hitting out.
You had given me food - Kimchi rice to be exact, and you had marbles that glittered in the light if you held them up right. I've always liked marbles but could never afford to keep my own because of my brothers. There was a kindness in the way you were dressed, an aura of being loved that I found unnerving and yet felt incredibly nostalgic for. I couldn't just hit you. Not without reason.
I stared at you for what must have seemed like an eternity, contemplating my next decision when suddenly, you turned to me and unceremoniously made it for me.
"Why are you so fat?"
When I got up to leave, the bowl was stuck on your head - upside down, and your marbles scattered across the concrete slab you'd been sitting on.
You swore at me, and called me an ugly name but with my back turned, I had already tuned you out. It was just too bad that the tears streaming down my face told me, and everyone who was looking, that I was failing.
My reputation as a playground bully, I think, died that day.
Two
The next time we met was almost a whole year later. My Dad's new wife was your Mama's best friend so it seemed only natural that our paths would eventually cross again.
It was a particularly tough winter that year, and Oppa Bae Jun had insisted that I spend Christmas with Father. He said that it was about time I made peace with Papa's new wife. I was eleven, moody and still very resentful towards my father.
The first day I spent there was, honestly, one of the worst days of my life and also the best. Know why? It was the day I met you again, although I didn't really know it then.
Umma Eun Jin had sent me on an errand to the bedroom when I noticed the closed room - a purple painted wooden door right next to theirs. Curious, I opened it to discover a nursery. It was beautiful, to be honest, but the sight of it broke my heart. I knew then that Father was never going to come back to us, not with a new baby on the way and so, with a heavy heart, I trudged back downstairs with tears in my eyes.
Sitting at the kitchen table, head in my hands, I was mourning the loss of my family as I'd known it. The possibilities of my parents ever reconciling were now dead and their divorce was as real as my name was Iseul. I was never going to be my Father's little dove anymore, and I was never going to see my Mother happy again.
But my self-pity wasn't meant to last because suddenly, you walked in. You were wearing a pressed dinner suit, and your hair was combed to the side like it had been that day at the park. Your Mother had sent you to look for me, mostly because she wanted to talk to Umma Eun Jin alone.
"Are you Iseul?" You asked me, dark eyes critical. I just stared at you, despondent. I was in no mood to make new friends, or speak. All I wanted to do was go back to my room, in my home, far far away from my Father and his vile new wife.
"You are Iseul, aren't you? Emo Eun Jin says that her new daughter has short hair. You have short hair." Pointing at my crop cut, you came and sat next to me.
I touched my hair and frowned at you. "She is not my mother, and I am not her daughter."
You looked puzzled. "Huh? Are you talking about Emo Eun Jin?"
Silently, I nodded. I was so angry at my Father, at this woman, that I couldn't even make myself say her name.
"What will you call her then, if she is not your Umma ? Isn't she married to your Father?"
I turned to the patterned tablecloth beneath my arms. "That doesn't make her my mother."
A long moment passed before you spoke again. This time, when you did, your tone had changed. "A friend of mine has two mothers and fathers too, you know."
"What do you mean?" I queried, a little curious. Whoever had heard of two mothers and fathers?
Patiently, you explained. "Her father married again after her mother left him. Now, she has two houses, and two sets of parents. Her real father has two children - both boys, and her real mother has three other children."
I thought about this for a moment and imagined myself in this strange girl's shoes. I know that you were trying to make me feel better but the idea only hurt me even more.
"Does she like them, her other siblings?"
Your hand covered mine and you tried to look reassuring. "She says that she loves them with all her heart."
When I met your gaze, I couldn't help but smile. You weren't done talking though.
"Are you really Iseul?"
When I nodded, you grinned. "Do you want to play a game?"
In a manner so characteristic of childhood, I agreed and not ten minutes later, we were playing knights and dragons in my room.
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BnHA Chapter 306: the beginning of the WHAT
Previously on BnHA: Nana and the Gang were all, “hey Deku, we can read your thoughts and feelings so we should already know the answer to this, but for some reason we want to quiz you on whether or not you’d be down to kill Shigaraki Tomura.” Deku was all, “um okay, well tbh, probably not seeing as Saving People has been my entire thing since literally the start of the series.” The Vestiges were all, “yes that makes perfect sense and again we already knew that, but well, good for you buddy and I’m glad we had this talk. Anyway I guess we should ask these two cryptic fuckers in the corner to finally turn around now before we run out of -- ” and then the chapter ended. Because OF COURSE IT DID.
Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “YOU DON’T NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT, WOULDN’T IT BE SO MUCH BETTER IF I GAVE YOU A CONFUSING CHAPTER WHERE EVERYONE FINALLY LEARNS ABOUT OFA, AND GOES BACK TO THE DORMS, AND THEN THE CHAPTER ENDS WITH DEPRESSED NOMAD DEKU STANDING ON A PRECIPICE WITH GRAN TORINO’S TATTERED CAPE FLOWING IN THE WIND.” Everyone is all, “???????????” Horikoshi is all, “also the parents are moving to the U.A. campus, and Jeanist’s neck is two and a half feet long, for everyone that was wondering.” Everyone is all, “WHERE ARE KACCHAN AND TODOROKI AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHO ARE THE SECOND AND THIRD USERS”, and Horikoshi is all, “:)” and fades away into nothingness like the fucking fae he is. Like a fucking imp who’s kept his end of the cursed bargain. What, the, fuck.
okay guys, so after the longest Thursday of my fucking life, during which I was secretly hoping that my spoiler containment net would be somehow be breached, inadvertently exposing me to theta spoiler radiation, so that I could be all “oh no... spoilers... there’s nothing I can do... I have no choice but to look” (which sadly did not happen), it is finally Friday and the chapter is finally out. so I’ve got my clown kit at the ready and other self-deprecating memes on standby, and I’m ready to go. and I should note that I’m also ready for Horikoshi to pull some absolute bullshit and be like, “oh you know what, we haven’t checked in with Rat Principal in a while have we” and spend the entire chapter on nonsense like that. I’M READY FOR FUCKING ANYTHING so bring it
(ETA: it would be nice if this man wouldn’t call my bluff every now and again.)
oh, right, we were due a color page! wow look at this
isn’t this supposed to be the future?? what’s with all of these staticky CRT TVs
anyway, so! is this the first time we’ve seen Tomura’s stylish finger prosthetic glove thingy in color?? because I didn’t expect it to be red. also, at some point you just have to give in and change your pants into cutoffs or something, Tomura. start a new trend of stylish villain capris
meanwhile Deku is dressed like he’s going on a journey into the desert to find a mystical oasis. actually this cape looks a lot like Gran Torino’s. I have to go back and see if Gran’s is all raggedy like this
(ETA: it wasn’t before but APPARENTLY IT IS NOW. I also forgot that Horikoshi had showed it sitting on a side table in the hospital a few chapters ago.)
lastly, AFO looks like someone’s thumb after they’ve been washing dishes for twenty minutes. you are just the ugliest dude in history, and as always, fuck you
HAHAHA SOB I KNEW IT
oh, Twowy McTwoface is finally starting to turn around? better CUT BACK TO DEKU’S HOSPITAL ROOM THEN. wouldn’t want to accidentally ANSWER ANY QUESTIONS or SOLVE ANY MYSTERIES, god forbid
well, whatever. whatever!! anyway so now someone’s knocking at the door. I say “someone” but we all know it’s Hawks
yep
they were actually standing outside the door for a while hoping they’d overhear another juicy plot conversation, but no such luck this time
lmaooo Jeanist wtf
acting all embarrassed, but you’re really just as curious as Hawks is. making him do all the dirty work for you huh
ARE YOU SERIOUS THIS IS AN INJUSTICE
so like two seconds after Katsuki gets dragged away you open the door for the rest of them!! well, fine!! I really want it to be a more private/personal moment between the two of them anyway so let the other kids check in on Deku first then
and in the meantime, time to see Hawks put the thumbscrews to All Might’s resolve lol
I wonder how much of it Hawks has already put together in the last five minutes. One for All is something connected to All for One that Tomura seems to want. Tomura was apparently targeting Deku. that’s more than enough to make a few deductions right there. I wonder how much Hawks knows about Deku’s quirk. he did watch the sports festival, and he ran into the kids interning under Endeavor that one time
okay well maybe he hasn’t put the rest of it together just yet, but Hawks is making a pretty reasonable pitch here to All Might
also this is a pretty spectacular view. is this a hospital or a hotel??
AHLKJLKJLKJ ARE YOU SERIOUSLY GOING TO TELL THEM
OH MY GOD HE IS?!?!
JUST LIKE WE ALL EXPECTED, THE NEXT TWO PEOPLE TO LEARN THE TRUTH ABOUT OFA ARE GOING TO BE HAWKS, AND BEST FUCKING JEANIST
-- LFKLKKLDK ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS. ARE YOU --
( •̀_•́ )
[sitting cross-legged on the ground pulling up little clumps of grass and letting them fall from my fingers one by one] yeah. sure. okay. fine. sure
-- OKAY, NO. NUH-UH. NO
everybody better hold tight cuz I’m about to pick up this whole chapter and yeet it into the ocean like a fucking frisbee lol
HORIKOSHI I DON’T CARE ABOUT THESE PEOPLE SITTING HERE WATCHING TV WTF
-- OH
well okay then. proceed. though lord help me if they’re about to reveal the secret of OFA to the whole fucking world skdkj
oh snap
well, there it is. pretty much what I expected, but it’s good to actually get to see this moment with him taking responsibility
though at the same time, thank you Horikoshi for not forcing us to sit through the rest of that
their fucking faces omg. okay but seriously, what nation doesn’t secretly love a good scandal
the Endeavor Pamphlets, part two. thank you for giving the country something to opine about on twitter in these trying times, Enji
so now they’re asking about Hawks and Jeanist but I cannot even focus on anything all of a sudden because what?!
is Jeanist even a real actual human being you guys?! are we sure he’s not three kids sitting on each other’s shoulders?? are you related to that one guy with the really long neck from the Jedi Council?? are you Orochimaru, bro??
so now Hawks is apologizing for the murder of Twice, and for hiding the connection with his dad
the fact that he has to give this serious formal apology and beg forgiveness for the shameful crime of Having An Abusive Father is really something else, though. just. it’s realistic, but I still hate it
moving on now to the one thing he actually does owe the public an explanation for
not to go all “Hawks did nothing wrong” on you guys yet again, but seriously. 100% facts. fandom can (and no doubt will) debate this until the end of time, but if Twice had gotten away they wouldn’t be having this press conference right now because there wouldn’t be any heroes left to give one. anyways though, I’ve already said more than enough about that in previous posts
so now some severe-looking lady with the weirdest fingers I’ve ever seen is saying that her mother was injured during Machia’s rampage
and she’s basically all “a fuck lot of good ‘I’m sorry’ does us all about now.” true true
wow she’s really getting fired up
and now Enji is basically saying that he understands that an apology isn’t enough, and what they really need now are solutions. okay, well! SO THEN WHAT IS THE PLAN THEN
hmmfsdgh
this eloquent PEZ dispenser makes a good point you guys
wait, hold up
CERTAIN citizens?? um excuse me, what??
ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh shit
holy shit. well, this will go over well
okay! so this tells me a number of things, though
basically the minute that Hawks learned about One for All, he realized that anyone connected to Deku (e.g. Inko) would be a target for AFO. AFO wants OFA, meaning AFO wants Deku, and one of the easiest ways to get to Deku would be to target his family
Hawks therefore realized that Inko needed to be placed into protective custody
but the fact that ALL of the hero course students’ families (and is it only the U.A. hero course, or all of the hero course students across the country?) are being given protection tells me that Hawks and co. don’t want to single Deku out as being important. so then it looks like they’re not going to tell everyone about OFA (or at least not the public. which, good). so rather than drawing suspicion by saying “we’ve got to protect everyone connected with this one kid”, they’re making it seem like all the U.A. kids’ families are getting this treatment
but since the heroes are now spread so thin, they can’t just send a protective detail to each and every family, so they’re bringing all of the families to the same place instead to better keep an eye on them
so that’s all well and good, and a very smart move. except that idk how all of this is going to go over with the general public, all of whom are probably feeling unsafe at the moment, and who will probably see this as preferential treatment -- basically just the heroes looking after their own and leaving everyone else to fend for themselves
(ETA: okay so @hanashimas’ translation clarifies that U.A. is offering their services as an evacuation shelter for everyone who wants it, not just the families of the U.A. students. that’s much more appropriate so I withdraw my previous “wtf” reaction lol.)
anyway though here’s Mitsuki and Inko
can we take this as confirmation that the two of them really are friends? that’s one piece of fanon that I’ve always hoped was true, so I’m gonna go ahead and say it’s confirmed
(ETA: also this means that Hagakure’s parents (or maybe “parents” in quotation marks) will supposedly be moving in as well. sure am curious as to how that’s going to go.)
now someone in the press crowd is asking whether U.A. can provide adequate security, which is honestly the LAST thing I expected these people would be outraged about lol. shows what I know I guess
(ETA: again though, this makes sense if the “certain civilians” thing was just a translation error.)
LMAO DAMMIT ENJI
YOU CAN’T JUST ALWAYS PULL THE “JUST WATCH ME” TRICK AND EXPECT IT TO SHUT DOWN THE CONVERSATION EVERY DAMN TIME YOU ASSHOLE
-- OH MY GOD RED ALERT
TIME TO ANALYZE THIS BECAUSE OMG
WASH CAN’T BELIEVE HIS FAMILY GROUP CHAT IS STILL SENDING HIM FUCKING MEMES AT A TIME LIKE THIS. HE DOESN’T GIVE A FUCK IF THE DABI DANCE IS TRENDING ON TIKTOK, MOM!!
FOR A MINUTE I THOUGHT MT. LADY WAS HOLDING MIDNIGHT’S TORN-UP MASK, AND BY THE TIME I REALIZED THAT’S ACTUALLY HER MASK AND NOT MIDNIGHT’S, I HAD ALREADY CONSTRUCTED AN ELABORATE HEADCANON IN WHICH MT. LADY AND MIDNIGHT WERE SECRETLY DATING BUT HADN’T COME OUT TO ANYONE YET, AND THEN TRAGEDY STRUCK, AND NOW MT. LADY IS GETTING READY TO SET OUT TO SEEK VENGEANCE. AND WELL, NOW THAT THIS HEADCANON EXISTS IN THE WORLD, I’M NOT SURE IF I’M READY TO GET RID OF IT
MIRKO HAS GOTTEN HERSELF A PROSTHETIC (ROBOT??!) ARM, NOTHING ELSE THAT’S HAPPENING IN THIS CHAPTER IS EVEN SLIGHTLY IMPORTANT!!! HELLO!!!!!
AIZAWA WITH THE EYEPATCH GOOD LORD. THE WORLD ISN’T READY. HE LOOKS LIKE HE HASN’T SLEPT IN NINETY-EIGHT YEARS, BUT SOMEHOW HE MAKES IT INTO THE HOTTEST THING EVER AS PER USUAL
WHO THE FUCK IS THIS FUCKING GUY. ARE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW HIM? IS THIS KAMUI?? WAS THAT THING WHICH I ALWAYS ASSUMED WAS HIS HAIR ACTUALLY A HELMET OR SOMETHING WHAT
LOL AND MEANWHILE
you tell me, Dabi! weren’t you the one who said that wouldn’t be enough to kill him? what even is your endgame here. I’m starting to worry about the villain brain cell supply you guys. I feel like Compress took most of them with him when he left
OH??
“when asked about One for All, Endeavor fucking lied through his teeth.” well, well, well
SLKDFJLSKGDJLKLKGJL THE DORMS
( ⁰ ⌂ ⁰ )
SLDKJFLKJWLKJLK
WLKDJSLKJFWKELKSDJLKHGLK
HDSMFLKGKL:GDSELK
OCHAKO’S HAND IS SHAKING OH MY GOD
THERE’S YOUR KAMINARI, EVERYONE!!
RHA’S SCANLATION TEAM REALLY THREW DEKU’S HANDWRITING UNDER THE BUS HERE HUH
HE TOLD EVERYONE!?
WHY THE FUCK IS HE WRITING IT AS A LETTER
(ETA: 9. also if he really wrote every kid in his class then that means the U.A. traitor -- or Hagakure as we like to call her around these parts -- also knows about OFA, and knows that Deku has run the fuck off and isn’t at U.A. anymore. so that’s just great!)
OH HELL NO
the hell does that mean, you must leave. leave to go where. son you are not up and leaving to go power up and lead us all into a timeskip. and I swear to GOD, if you left Kacchan too...!!
MY GOD I CAN’T PROPERLY ABSORB ALL OF THESE OCHAKO FEELS RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I’M TOO TERRIFIED TO SCROLL TO THE LAST FUCKING PAGE, FUCK
I JUST GOTTA DO IT. I JUST GOTTA SUCK IT UP AND DO IT. FUCK
FUCK
WHAT. THE. FUCK
y’all I’m not even gonna waste your time with more keysmashing, JUST ASSUME THAT I AM DOING IT NONSTOP, FOREVER. and let’s just jump RIGHT IN HERE
okay so here I thought that All Might and co. had taken him away somewhere to train, but that is CLEARLY not what’s going on here. this kid is standing here in his Apocalypse Aesthetic hero costume which has CLEARLY seen better days, with Gran Torino’s cloak (GUESS THAT EXPLAINS THAT, THEN?? SO DID GRAN FUCKING DIE EXCUSE ME WTF), and a fucking backpack. this little green idiot has RUN AWAY FROM HOME. this is the absolute LAST THING ON EARTH I ever expected to happen so PARDON ME WHILE I SCREAM CONFUSEDLY INTO THE VOID
he does not look okay. you guys he doesn’t look okay at ALL. he has NEVER looked like this. this isn’t just a “I’m sad because I’m leaving all my friends behind” kind of look on his face, or even just a “Gran Torino died maybe and I’m still having emotions over it” look. this is an EXHAUSTED, dead look in his eyes. something terrible has happened
WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR ARMS DEKU. THE PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING DOWN WITH YOUR ARMS GODDAMMIT
love how this random building is just straight up collapsing, like that’s just a normal thing that happens every day now. lovely
APRIL MEANS IT’S NOW FULL ON SCHEDULED ALL-MIGHT-DYING-HOURS, BUT LET’S COMPLETELY IGNORE THAT THOUGH BECAUSE FUCK THAT NOISE
“THE SECOND USER? WHO KNOWS? CERTAINLY NOT ME” HORIKOSHI I SWEAR TO GOD
“BAKUGOU? NEVER HEARD OF HIM!” HORIKOSHI PLEASE
WHERE. IS. KACCHAN
did he go with Deku?? did he get a chance to talk to him before he left?? did he get his own private letter which he read and then promptly blew up in a fit of panicked rage?? is he going to go after him?? DOES HORIKOSHI KNOW WHAT HE’S DOING TO ME RIGHT NOW?? OF COURSE HE DOES, DON’T BOTHER ANSWERING THAT
omg. though actually the fact that we’ve already jumped a few weeks forward makes me hopeful that there won’t actually be another timeskip, or at least not much of one. I’m sure that’ll be the big debate of the week, but I don’t think we can jump too far forward here. for starters because of that All Might prophecy I mentioned. and also because TomurAFO isn’t just going to wait around for months. and also because I’m 100% sure that Deku’s running-away backpack is just filled ENTIRELY WITH NOTEBOOKS and this asshole cannot possibly survive more than 3 days on his own. UNLESS SOMEONE COMES TO HELP HIM THAT IS. OR SOMEONES, EVEN. OMG. omg omg omg. fuck this chapter lmao
#bnha 306#midoriya izuku#hawks (bnha)#takami keigo#endeavor#todoroki enji#best jeanist#all might#uraraka ochako#bnha#boku no hero academia#bnha spoilers#mha spoilers#bnha manga spoilers#makeste reads bnha
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Remus image - angst & fluff
*mostly angst with a tinsy bit of fluff
*forced marriage trope
summary: you're a Slytherin pure blood dating Remus Lupin, but your family has other plans
TW: none
A/N: any thoughts and opinions are welcomed. I'd love your reviews. Requests are open, too, if any of you are interested in that
masterlist
°•▪︎~▪︎•°
You're staring at the high ceiling, wide awake and way past the middle of the night. In your hands, an envelope is twitching with every move of your fingers, twisting its corners anxiously. You received it at dinner that night, the letter from your family. And wisely waited until the privacy of your room to open it. Around you, pure bloods Slytherins were sound asleep. You made sure not to let any emotion show, on your face or voice. Something everyone in between the walls of the Slytherin residence could most likely do.
You read it once. Then again and again until each word, each letter carved its mark in your brain. Carefully, you folded it back, wrapping it in the thick layer of the envelope. Despite having stopped reading it, the news your family dropped on you kept on repeat in your mind. Over and over and over. Marriage. They found you a perfect, pure blood spouse to marry. No matter that you were still in school. And only sixteen. And already having a boyfriend.
But of course, that last part might be exactly why your blood supremacist family decided to take your love life in their hands at last. For you were dating Remus Lupin, head boy of Griffindor. Involuntarily your lips moved upward at the mere thought of him. The way his soft brown hair feels under your palms when he lays his head in your lap in the afternoon – that is when you convince him to take a break from learning for a change. Your smiled deepened. The way his scarred hands stroke your face right before he leans in to kiss you. You blushed in the dark. The way his eyes sparkle after one of the Marauders notorious pranks. The way he rolls his eyes and leave a snarky comments to any Slytherin who mock your relationship and how it only masks his own fears and self doubts.
Now you were crying. You'll have to break up with him. You'll have to break up with him without bringing the marriage up. You didn't want him to think back on what could have been years after. It's better if he thinks there is no chance anymore to be with you. And you had to do it quick. News spread in the pure blood community and risking lying about your parents intention only to fool yourself a bit longer with stolen happy times was as self destructive as it can get at this point.
You slipped your body on one side. And tossed. The envelope fell off your bed. You didn't bother to pick it up. But someone did. You felt it rather than hear it, someone picking it up and placing it on your nightstand.
" 'Morning," that sweet voice you loved so much whispered. And you snapped your head towards it in shock. Only to find a very uncomfortable Remus Lupin, switching from leg to leg, smiling awkwardly at you.
"It's five in the morning." He stated before you could find your words through the foggy veil of your thoughts. "And the sunrise is about to start..." Remus went on, looking anywhere but at you.
More tears sting your eyes, threatening to slide down your cheeks and getting completely out of your control. Here he was, your perfect boyfriend, sneaking in your bedroom to take you to see the sunrise. For you, this boy defined romance and no amount of scars, secret disappearances on the full moon and mysteries surrounding it could change that. You were more than willing to give him time, let him open up to you when he feels like it. After all, he has great friends to share secrets with and you wouldn't get in between them.
Biting your lips, you closed the distance and hugged him tight. After less than a second of hesitation, Remus put his hands around you as well. You needed it, the proximity, the safety, the warmth and love. When you were sure your voice won't break, you breathed a question to him. "And how are you planning to sneak me out?"
Remus saw right through your attempt. He pulled back a little, enough to brush his fingers over your swollen face. "Have you been crying?" Worry clouded those beautiful brown eyes. You shook your head, snatching yourself from him and desperately wiping your tears. You should do it now. Tell him it's over. Spare him – and yourself – for the pain and torture of stretching it longer. It was time to face it: your relationship was doomed from the start.
But you couldn't. Not yet. Just a little more time, you bargained with yourself. Just that sunrise together. One last date. You promised to no one. So you made yourself swallow and said instead "My family," dismissing any further remarks.
Remus pulled you back into his lean body, long arms the only thing holding you together. He needed no other explanation. Thanks to that friend of his, Sirius, Remus knew exactly what those two words meant coming from a pure blood kid. He pressed a kiss on top of your head, caressing your back in soothing large circles. Voice dipped with concern, he asked "Do you want to talk about it or do you want me to distract you?"
"What about taking me to see that sunrise you mentioned and we'll figure it out from there?"
He nodded, led you to the now slightly opened window and motioned for his broom flying within reach.
°•▪︎~▪︎•°
The sun beamed from between rare clouds, spread amongst a royal blue sky. Orange light crowned the ascending golden disc, fading into a soft purple and light pink at its edges. The curtain of morning mist broke the rays in matt bliss, wrapping around your entangled figures.
A wet coldness flew on with the tentative mist, but Remus planned everything ahead, it seemed. He had a wool blanket at ready, different bits and pieces of clothing, threads and patches sewed together.
"Don't tell me you picked up knotting, Moony." You didn't know when it happened, but you had taken on calling him by the silly nickname his friends did.
"No. My mother made it, actually." The scar on his lip pulled up as he patted the spot next to him. He had laid a blanket on the freshly cut grass near the Black Lake and held his mother's gift in a silent invitation.
You snuggled in, circling his waist with your arms and nuzzled your nose in the crook of his neck. "Y/n!" he exclaimed, a shiver running through him at the contact with your cold skin. You sent him a grin that had nothing to do with apologies and you both snickered before turning awe filled eyes to the sunrise.
Remus let his own head lean down on your own, brown hair slightly brushing your forehead. His hand found its way to yours and as your fingers laced together he rubbed his thumb on top of your palm.
Content silence settled in. Only birds dared sing a sharp note once in a while. Your boyfriend knew how to choose a date spot, you were more than happy to give him that. The marvelous sight the sky presented doubled in the lake's still waters. Calmness washed over you. Here and now, with Remus' hand in yours, your head resting on his shoulder, everything pieced into place.
You turned your face, meeting the warn off material of his shirt and placed a kiss there. Lifting your lips upward, you kissed his exposed neck as well. Then his cheek, lingering close to his lips before stopping to murmur "I love you, Remus Lupin! So, so much."
He met your lips with his own and you were thankful he said nothing about the pang in your voice. "And I you, my darling." His glittering eyes, filled with adoration and care, were too much for your heart to bear. It was all you could do to close your eyelids tight and press into his side even more.
"Is something wrong, y/n?" Remus asked, shifting his arm to welcome your new position.
"No. Nothing. Just overwhelmed by everything I feel for you." And in a way, it was true. Not the whole truth, but as you couldn't give him that...
An unsure smiled played on your lips. He brought your face to his again, laying a kiss on your nose. You scrunch it up and made a face at him. He tried to bit back his laugh, but failed as a bundle of it escaped in a soft breath, tingling your flushed cheeks.
Remus kissed you again, this time on the bridge of your nose. Which earned him a giggle and a wide smile. Bringing your hands to his face, you cupped his cheeks and touched your noses together.
"We're missing the sunrise. And you put so much effort in this."
"Hmmm," he mused, leaning in your touch. "The sun does much of the work, to be fair." You burst in laughing at that, shaking your forehead against his.
You two traded more kisses – and then some more, bathed in the dawn light of a new day.
°•▪︎~▪︎•°
"Where have you been?" You heard James Potter asked your boyfriend when you bumped in him and the rest of the Marauders in the hall.
Peter waved at you, while Sirius gave you a knowing smirk at which you rolled your eyes. Truth be told, their demand wasn't misplaced. You and Remus didn't show up at breakfast, and run late for the first class.
"Down at the lake, Prongs. I should know better than to ask for notes, right?"
"Not to worry, Moony, you didn't miss much."
You left Remus to his friends, brushing your lips to his as a form of good-bye. You headed to your room. Thoughts swirled in your mind, flying by so fast you barely registered them. You passed Narcissa and Lucius on your way. They have been married since year four, something you found very unsettling. At that time, you belittled Narcissa for not fighting off her families wishes, like her sister and cousin. But now, that you found yourself in her place? You started to understand. To understand that courage is not so easy to haul up from whatever pit it lays dormant in one's being.
So lost in thoughts, you haven't noticed the guy sitting on your bed until he spoke, voice laced with disgust. "You better kick that sorry excuse of a wizard away before we make our engagement public, honey."
You startled. "Who...?"
"Why, your new husband, of course."
"Future husband. And Remus is a fine wizard, greater than you could ever hope to be."
The stranger only rolled his eyes and huffed. "Whatever you say, honey. Just make him gone by noon. I have plans for us before the ceremony."
A ceremony that would take place in a few months, once summer blooms, you realized, dread chilling your blood in your veins. The tight line of your lips followed your betrothed until he left and swiped the door close.
Noon. Break up with Remus by noon. Make it look like it's over because there is no love anymore. Let him think you choose this smug, full of himself, brainless, boorish brute over him. It's the right course of action. So you told yourself. And so you did. Any hope for standing up against your family gone.
°•▪︎~▪︎•°
Wind howling outside, rain pouring, you thought the weather mocked you. It just happened to turn gloomy and morbid all of a sudden, when you were about to break the heart of the most precious boy in the whole school. And yours too in the progress.
"Remus, can we talk for a second?"
"Sure, what is it?" He turned his whole focus on you, dropping mid conversation with his mates about whatever prank they were up to next.
"Moony!" three offended sighs followed you as you dragged Remus to a more private spot. The way he no more than waved at his friends, giving all up for you, knowing you had a bad day, strung a painful chord in your soul. You did not deserve this boy. Maybe the wedding was a good thing after all.
"Hey, y/n, talk to me," Remus whispered when you came to a halt. His fingers searched for yours, trying to turn you around to face him. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm here for you. We'll fix it."
"No." You said, and cursed your weak voice. You still didn't face him. "No we won't fix this." You spoke again, this time with more surety, allowing a sharp edge to it.
Bless his too kind soul, he didn't balk away. Instead, he took one stop forward, resting his head on your spine and bringing his long arms around you. "Everything's gonna be fine, y/n. I promise."
It took a superhuman effort to break free of his embrace. And you finally swirled to meet his soft brown eyes. Tears rolled down, dripping from your chin, but you didn't let him comfort you. Shacking your head, you took another step back, building distance between you, as if the following words would hurt less that way.
"Everything's not gonna be fine, Remus. Not with us. Not anymore."
For a couple seconds, he stared at you, confusion painting his beautiful features. Then, realization sunk in. And in that moment, you were sure nothing could ever hurt you as badly as his pain struck expression. His parted lips, moving in vain to form words that doesn't exist. His frenzy eyes, looking all over yourself, searching for any sign of a cruel joke. For a trace that you weren't being serious. Eyes that begin to water when he found none.
But he refuse to let the tears flow. Remus led his stare to a dark, far away corner of the empty hall. Heat colored his face, a light shade of pink that not even the cool from the open window couldn't beat down. "So that's why you were distant this morning?" Your boyfriend asked, bitterly even as his voice was small, lost. "That's why you avoided me all day and didn't look me in the eye once, more than a passing moment?"
You knew better than answer. You had nothing to say anyway. "I'm sorry, Remus. I've been meaning to tell you earlier..."
A razor sharp laugh bit your words off. "But you took pity on the poor half-blood."
No, no it wasn't like that, you wanted to say. Those remained only thoughts as you wiped your face and crossed your arms to keep them from reaching out. Reaching out to him, reassure him, hug him. Whatever he believed, you'd roll with it. If he thought you an evil pure blood, then fine! You'll be that.
An image of your mother's face, lips curled in disgust at the last Quidditch match when Slytherin lost again in favor of Gryffindor, served as model for the expression you forced your own face into.
"I didn't want it to be like this. Goodbye, Remus Lupin."
You turned. And left. Just left. You kept your back straight as you walked away from the boy who tickled your heart. Who placed feather light kissed on your cheeks, and nose and forehead for days into your relationship, too shy to initiate something more without your worded agreement. The wizard who helped you with assignments, not thinking anything less of you when you weren't perfect. Who let you fall asleep in his lap at Hogwarts' few parties that you couldn't stand due to your family. This guy who gave you everything you were too afraid to dream of. And you just walked away, as if couldn't be bothered to care.
His fist thrumming once on the hallway's wall filled your ears, a sound forever carved in your brain. The thud that followed, of him sliding down on the floor you guessed, printed an image in your mind you'll pray to forget. Remus' silent sobs, though, almost made you turn around and run towards him.
You didn't so much as cast a glance back, knowing what you'll see and too much of a coward to bear it. His body shaking with crying, knees cradled to up to his chest where his chin digged in, covered by lean arms with palms crossed over his head.
His friends would find him. They'd help him. Remus will move over and forget you. Each sentence was another step. Each step, another crack in your heart. By the time you reached your room, collapsed in your bed and twisted in a similar position to your boyfriend's – ex boyfriend. It made you understand, showed you far too clearly why he'd sit like that. The pure devastation and despair, the attempt to contain a hollowness within, to replace a part where a whole, happy heart used to beat.
You broke Remus Lupin's heart. And yours was just as shattered. And there was no going back from it now.
PART 2
#young remus lupin#young remus x y/n#young remus imagine#young remus x reader#the marauders#marauders era#the marauders era#hp marauders#marauders#hp fanfic#image#images#my fic#oneshots#marauders oneshot#remus x you#remus lupin#marauders fic#remus lupin one shot#original writing#my writing#reader insert#angst#fluff#remus fluff#remus angst#marauders angst#marauders fluff#spilled ink#spilled writing
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