#“the name! unspoken in our home for twenty-three years!” was a week ago | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

adrenaline-roulette · 5 years

Text

I am flesh and I am bone

Pairing: Ahkmenrah x Read (female) Word count: 7.5k + Warnings: None for this chapter!

Chapter One: Do you walk in the valley of kings

- Hi everyone! I would like to welcome you all to my first Ahky fic! For those who know me, I normally write for Queen and BohRhap cast, now with added 6 Underground! However This idea came to me out of no where a few weeks ago. I’ve been sitting on it for a while now, and after posting to see if anyone would be interested in reading what I had, I decided that I may as well share it! There will either be 2 or 3 chapters, depending on how things go! Huge shout out to @polarcrystall @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @ryeosomnia @thenewnightguard @stfuchaase for letting me know that you wanted to read this! I hope it lives up to expectations! -

Exactly two weeks ago, you had brought home a permission slip for a class field trip your science and history teacher had organised, you had waved the form around in front of your mothers face, dancing around the kitchen as you begged her to sign it.

“Please Mom, you have to let me go! It’s the Museum of Natural History! Uncle Larry is always talking about how amazing the museum is!” You plead, eyes shining up at your grinning mother. Although you were still so young, everyone knew exactly where your interests lay, you had a gift for knowing everything there was to know about historical events. At only six, you could recite the exact date and time the Titanic both set sail, and ultimately sunk, and at seven you could name every British monarch in consecutive order. Those were considered your hobby histories though, as your parents had once said. Your one true historical love was that of Ancient Egypt. Perhaps it was due to the stunningly rich colours that were used to decorate the Pharaoh’s sarcophagus’, or maybe it was the sheer amounts of sparkling gold, you were young after all, and just like a bird, you were often attracted to shiny objects. No matter the reason, for close to two years of your life, you had learnt everything your little mind could fill itself with in relation to Ancient Egypt. Every book your tiny hands found in the library on the subject, you would check out for the week, if one of the librarians were to look through your borrowing history, they would find nothing but history books that were typically checked out by college students, and not by under ten year old’s.

As your Mom read through the form, she smiled wearily, before turning to face the kitchen counter, smoothing the paper over the flat surface. “Okay Y/N, of course you can go. But remember sweetheart, there are other exhibits to look at, and not just Ahkmenrah’s tomb.”

You nod your head obediently, though her words go in one ear, then out the other. Your uncle Larry had been the nightguard at the Museum of Natural History for close to three years now, and whenever you saw him, he would tell you stories of how amazing it was to work with all of those historical figures. You always loved it when he told you stories of the young Pharaoh, of course to the rest of your family, these were just that, stories, though to you they all sounded real, and to Larry, they were.

<<ooo>>

The night before your field trip you were beyond excited, finding yourself barely able to sleep, far too thrilled with the knowledge of where you would be the very next morning. Every ten minutes you would leap out of bed, turn on your bedside lamp, and start reading through one of your history books again, this one all about life of Ancient Egyptian slaves. Each time you would switch your light on, one of your parents would walk past your room, spot the small stream of light beneath the closed door, then storm in, taking the book from you before turning the light out once more. This happened all of thirteen times, until your father had warned that if you didn’t go to sleep, he wouldn’t let you go to the Museum. Soon enough, you found yourself slowly drifting off, and your parents found themselves no longer needing to stop you from reading.

When you woke the next morning, you got yourself dressed in record speed, throwing on your freshly washed uniform. The navy blue polo shirt was free from stains once again, though your Mom knew that it wouldn’t stay that way for long, and your pleated gray skirt had been crisply ironed. All that was left were your black school shoes, though you knew better than to put those on in the house, so instead you opted for skidding around the wooden floors in your white socks. As you sat on the sofa, eating a bowl of cereal and watching morning cartoons, your Dad bumbled out into the kitchen, yawning and stretching loudly. “Good morning sweetie.” He smiled, looking at you from over the back of the sofa. “You’re up very early!”

You turn around to look at him as he set about making breakfast for himself and your Mom. “I thought if I got ready early then you could take me to school earlier!”

“I can’t do that Y/N, no one will be at school this early. You’ll have to wait.” He smiled, watching as you slumped down on the sofa, sighing dramatically. With a chuckle, he finished making breakfast, leaving you to watch cartoons and grumble.

<<ooo>>

“Alright class, this is Mister Wright, he will be showing us around the museum today. Can we all say Good morning Mister Wright?” Your teacher, Miss Clarke called, gesturing to the tall, thin man who stood before your class of thirty. He wore wire framed classes, and a tweed jacket, from the eyes down he looked like your stereotypical scholar, however on top his head sat a flaming red mohawk, which added nearly an entire foot to his overall height.

“Good morning Mister Wright.” Chorused your class, smiling at the tall, funky looking man. He looked rather unsure of himself, it was likely that he wasn’t used to leading a tour group full of children. Gazing around the foyer where you stood you grinned to yourself, the spinning globe atop the main desk shone brightly in the large room, while the massive T-Rex skeleton served as a sneak peek for what you were all going to see further in the museum.

“Psst, Y/N, come on!” You friend Hailey giggled beside you, snapping you out of your trance. You just wanted to take as much in as possible, who knew when you would next be able to visit the museum? Quickly, the two of you ran to catch up with your class, who had moved on to taking a closer look at the T-Rex, Mister Wright going into detail about the life style, size, and speed of the dinosaur.

You listen intently the whole tour, finding your way to the front of your class, so to be as close to the exhibits as possible. Most of your class found the tour interesting, whilst some found it to be boring, how they found it boring you had no idea, you simply couldn’t fathom it! Here you were, standing amongst history! Nothing about this experience was boring in your opinion! “And here we conclude today’s tour, with Theodore, or Teddy Roosevelt, who served as our twenty-sixth president, and of course his horse Little Texas.”

Outrage flooded your senses, you knew who Teddy Roosevelt was, but that wasn’t what had you so worked up. “What do you mean this is the end?” You burst out, your hands balling into fists at your sides.

Mister Wright looks down at you in surprise, clearly not having expected any protests in today’s tour. “Miss Y/L/N! Where are your manners?” Miss Clarke admonishes, walking over to you with a stern look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be rude!” You sniff, your lower lip trembling as you try to fight off tears. “It’s just, do we not get to look at the Ancient Egyptian exhibits?” You mumble, staring down at your feet, not daring to look your teacher or the tour guide in the eye. For two weeks, all you had wanted to do was look through the Egyptian exhibitions, and here you were, being told that the tour was over without ever stepping foot near them?!

Your teacher and the tour guide pass a look between each other, no words are spoken, though an unspoken conversation takes place none the less. “It’s alright Y/N, I understand.” Miss Clarke smiles, causing you to look up at her. “We have plenty of time to look around ourselves now. Everyone, please find a buddy, and always stay together. We will meet back here in two hours, at two o’clock!”

Not needing to be told twice, your class quickly begins to pair off, giggling schoolgirls racing off in different directions of the Museum. A group of five of you remains stood in front of the model President. Yourself, Hailey, Claire, Amber and Belinda, all looking between each other with broad grins. The five of you all got along like peas in a pod, often spending weekends at each other’s homes, playing dress ups out in the garden. So of course, when faced with the option of either trying to break off into small groups, or sticking all together, you chose the latter.

The five of you ran off back the way you came, taking turns through different corridors and into rooms which had been missed entirely on the tour. “Hey Y/N, does your uncle move these little guys around when he’s at work?” Amber grins, beckoning you over to where she was stood, looking into the miniature Roman Empire diorama.

“I don’t think he would do that… Why?” You shrug, peering over the edge of the diorama, your eyes falling on what Amber was clearly talking about. In the mini Colosseum, up on one of the balconies, there stood a tiny Roman soldier, hands reaching out and planted firmly against the back of a blonde cowboy, who was clearly from the Wild West diorama next door. The cowboy was stood precariously on the ledge of the window, and it was obvious to anyone who saw, that the Roman was attempting to push the intruder off the building. “Uncle Larry wouldn’t have done! He loves history as much as I do!” You blanch, eyeing the odd scene one final time.

Shaking your head, you move on further through the museum, leaving your friends behind as you grow nearer a section of the museum which seemed uncharacteristically quiet. Looking down the long corridor, it was dimly lit, and oddly sparse, and unlike every other area you had visited so far, this hall seemed to not see many visitors, or at least not at the moment. As you walked further into the hall, you failed to notice the yellow caution tape which had fallen down from across the archway, making your way down the corridor, the smell of wet paint assaulted your nose as you grew closer to the end of the corridor, a large gate pulled across the floor to ceiling entrance, with only a small crack of an opening. Unaware to you, your friends hadn’t realised where you had gone, figuring as it was nearing the end of your free roam time, they assumed you must’ve left to return to your teacher. The four of them packing up their things, and leaving the miniatures exhibit, and in the process leaving you behind too.

As you grew nearer the massive room, a gasp escaped your lips realising what you had discovered, hidden away at the back of the museum. Just behind the gate stood two, twenty-foot Anubis statues one on the left and the other the right side of the room. You had read about Anubis, the jackal deity of the afterlife, a shrine to Anubis was placed in the tombs of Pharaoh’s to keep guard over them as they passed into the next world. In all your reading though, coming face to face with these enormous statues, nothing could have prepared you for the sheer height of them.

Crouching down, you crawl through the small gap in the gate, squeezing your tiny body through, until you were inside the tomb. Back at the other end of the corridor, a security guard takes note of the fallen caution tape, picking it up and reattaching it to the archway. The Tomb of Ahkmenrah was in the process of being renovated, and it wouldn’t do anyone any good to go down there at the moment. Of course you knew nothing about this, though even if you did, it likely wouldn’t have stopped you from entering either way.

<<ooo>>

Miss Clarke looked over the huddle of children before her, taking a head count to ensure all students were present and accounted for. As she moved her eyes from one end of the group to the other, a student who had been at the very front moved her way to the end. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, however this little girl stood with her back to Miss Clarke, and from the back she was sporting the exact same back pack as yours, it of course didn’t help that the two of you also had the same hair colour. To Miss Clarke, she had thirty students just as she had started with, if she had recounted her students however, she would quickly notice she was missing one. Though with the knowledge that the coach was waiting for them out the front of the museum, she thought better than to count a second time, and ushered the students outside.

<<ooo>>

Gazing around the tomb, you easily lost track of time, had you been there for five minutes or five hours? You really had no idea, but seeing as no one had come to find you yet, you assumed there was still time left to look around. After taking in every detail of the Anubis statues, you moved further inside to look over the ornate lid of the sarcophagus which sat front and centre of the tomb. Delicate navy blue lines mixed in with deep burgundy’s, before making way for vibrant turquois, all intermingled with the rich gold that covered the entire coffin. Hieroglyphs were carved down the body, from what you had read, they were designed to allow the Pharaoh safe passage into the afterlife, prayers were also commonly inscribed too.

You found yourself hypnotised by the craftsmanship of the sarcophagus, and paid no attention to the sound of the gate being dragged back across the tomb, closing it off from the entrance entirely. Slowly, you moved away to look around more, you wanted to see as much as possible, and commit it all to memory, just on the off chance that you wouldn’t be able to come back again for a while. On the wall behind the Pharaoh was a shining slab of gold, the tablet of Ahkmenrah. Your uncle Larry had told you that the tablet was magic, though when you had asked him what it did, he shook his head with a smile, promising to show you one day.

Carefully, you moved around, being sure to not touch anything, ‘Look with your eyes Y/N’, you recall your Mom telling you when she took you to an art gallery once. So you did just that, drinking in everything with your eyes. A small yawn escaped your lips, and you suddenly realise that perhaps it was time to leave the exhibit, and join your class. Stepping carefully, you stop in front of the gate, you heart beating rapidly in your chest. Where there had been a child sized gap on your way in, the gate was somehow now closed, and try as you might, you could not get it to budge. You were trapped! “Help me!” You shriek as loudly as your lungs would allow. “Somebody please help me!” Your screams mix with tears as you cry, fright settling into your bones. You paused your cries for a few moments, waiting with a bated breath on the off chance you heard someone coming your way to rescue you. No such luck, you had no other choice but to continue calling out, praying that someone was still in the museum, or perhaps that Uncle Larry would be starting work soon, then he could rescue you!

Your voice grows hoarse and your throat hurts, and you find yourself unable to call out any longer. Slumping down to the ground, you curl your knees up to your chest and rest your forehead against them, wrapping your arms around yourself to bring some comfort back to the situation. Someone would notice you missing soon, if they hadn’t already. Your parents would be expecting to see you at home when they arrived back from work tonight, of course they would look for you, and they would find you soon too. With your head buried down, you didn’t see the bright light sweep across Ahkmenrah’s tablet, a bright white shine glossing across every line in the golden tablet. You did however, feel it, a breeze seemingly coming from nowhere rushing all around you, picking your hair up before dumping it back down over your back and shoulders. For a few seconds, it was as if everything in the museum was holding its breath, before sighing deeply, allowing all the stress that had been built up, to be let go of.

At first you think nothing of the strange sensation, making it out to be your imagination, though that all changes rapidly, when you hear what sounds to be concrete grinding against itself, before you feel the room tremble, a loud rumbling moving throughout the tomb. Slowly you lift your head up, tears still streaming down your cheeks, your eyes red and puffy from your sobbing. Craning your neck, you look up and up, until you come face to face with one of the Anubis statues, though something had changed, whereas before both statues had been looking dead ahead, they now had their heads faced directly at you. You’re too scared to breathe, afraid of what may happen if you do, before you have the chance to take action, both statues take a step towards you lifting their spears. A blood curdling scream erupts from your lungs, as you leap to your feet, flinging yourself towards the back of the tomb, throwing yourself behind the sarcophagus, the ceiling was lower there you had noticed earlier, and you hoped it was low enough for the statues to not be able to reach you. You curl up into yourself once again, your back pressed against the golden coffin, your entire body trembling with both fear and sobs.

A similar sound as before echoes from behind you, though it sounds far smoother and more practiced, perhaps it was the statues again? You’re too scared to look, curling in further against yourself, trying in vain to make yourself invisible. Behind you, the lid of the sarcophagus slowly glides off, a figure sitting upright and looking around his tomb.

<<ooo>>

His guards were on edge, why was that? Had something occurred as he was waking up? Ahkemnrah slowly moved his arms out in front of him, his shoulder blades popping once, before the discomfort alleviated itself. Turning to his left, he looked at the two statues, calling out to them in his native tongue. “Put away your weapons, there is no danger here!”

The two statues did as told, though they remained positioned directly before him, rather than returning to their rightful place at the entrance of his tomb. Ahk shook his head softly, brunette curls swaying slightly against his forehead, there was an oddsound emanating from his tomb, one he was rather unfamiliar with. With great care, he lifted himself out and onto the floor, his bare feet permanently calloused, even in reanimation. The smell of chemicals assaulted he newly regained senses, he could not wait until his wing of the museum had been restored, at least then the smell of fresh paint would no longer cling to everything in his tomb. Crystal blue eyes gaze around the tomb, as his ears listen out for the odd sound he had awoken to, it seemed to have ceased, at least for the time being, perhaps it was something to do with the work that the builders had been doing in the area lately? Ahk moves over to collect his peschent from its display pedestal, fitting it to his head once again, he may no longer be in Egypt but he was still Pharaoh here at the museum.

There it was again, that noise! Ahk pivots on his heel, looking back at his empty sarcophagus, he knew for a fact that there was nothing in there that could be making any sound, however, there was a small gap between it and the wall. Surely there was nothing there that could be making such a noise? Despite his unsureness, he makes his way around the end of the sarcophagus, gazing down the side against the wall. There, curled up in on herself was a small child, trembling and crying softly. His heart ached for the child, all alone and frightened, how had she gotten in here? Larry had told him there would be no visitors this way for a few weeks, with the entrance blocked off… He pushes his questions to the back of his mind, instead, he crouches down, smiling gently across at the girl, leaving a decent amount of distance between them, to avoid startling her further. “You are safe young one, no harm shall come to you now. What has happened?”

Your head flies up, turning to look directly at the man who had spoken, coming face to face with someone you had only ever seen artist impressions of in your books. Surely this was impossible, you couldn’t possibly be talking to Ahkmenrah? “I – I was here with school… The gate, I crawled through it to look around, but someone closed it! I can’t get out.”

Ahk nods softly, standing up slowly from his crouched position, extending his hand to you. He watches you carefully, a look of fear and adoration flickering across your eyes as you seem to contemplate whether you should take his hand or not. Gently, you reach up, your small hand clasping around his larger warm one. With ease, he pulls you to your feet, your clothes covered in dust from where you had been resting on the ground. “I am Ahkmenrah, Fourth King of the Fourth King, what is your name young one?”

Your words catch in your throat as you listen to the man before you introduce himself, he truly was the Pharaoh you had read about all of these years, the fourth Pharaoh of Egypt was holding your hand, waiting for your reply. Stuttering with nerves, you bow your head. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I’m ah…. I’m a student at Rose Hill elementary.”

“Ah, you are a scholar then Y/N?” Ahk asks softly, leading you out from your hiding place, and out into the main entrance of his tomb.

You shake your head wildly, the tears slowly drying from your cheeks, with no more threatening to spill either. “No, I mean not yet. I’m only seven.” Ahkmenrah stops suddenly, and you worry you had said something wrong, though you realise quickly that that is not the case. In a language you have never heard before, his voice echoes up to the Anubis statues, who continued to watch you intently. “Open the gate immediately, I must find Larry so he may return the young one to her family.”

The statues bow before their King, the ground shaking as they march over to the gate, arriving in only four paces, where it had taken you far longer. The metal gate shrieks in protest as the Anubis’ peel it away from its hinges, a loud snap echoing around the tomb and hall when the metal is yanked free from the wall. The statues take a step backwards, one holding the gate at its side, as if it would attempt to replace it on its hinges. Ahk moves forwards, his cape billowing behind him as he moves at a fast pace, his mind racing, trying to think of where Larry would be this early in his shift. What Ahk failed to realise, was that he was perhaps walking too quickly, his long legs carrying him down the corridor with ease, it wasn’t however, until he looked back to ensure that you were following, that he recognised the quick jog you had adopted in order to keep up. “My apologies Y/N, I did not mean to cause you to rush. Please, forgive me.”

You catch up quickly, though you’re glad to no longer be running, walking a much more pleasant mode of transport in your opinion. “It’s alright, I have little legs, it happens.” You shrug lightly, following once again as Ahkmenrah leads, this time at a slower meandering walk. You couldn’t help but find it unusual, surely a Pharaoh would never normally apologise to someone beneath him, even if you were a child. And dead or no, Ahkmenrah was still a Pharaoh…

As you reach the end of the long, paint filled corridor, you come across caution tape which had certainly not been there when you had entered earlier in the day. “I do not mean to pass judgment young one, but did you not notice this? It seems to be a rather vibrant colour, surely it would be difficult to miss.”

“It wasn’t there when I came down here! If it had been, then I wouldn’t have entered! I’m not stupid you know.” You may be young, but you weren’t dumb, you knew what caution tape meant, and you would never normally do something so reckless.

Ahk can’t help but grin, turning away from you before you can see his expression, for someone so young, you sure were quick with your words. He found it rather refreshing, to have someone speak so candidly with him, not caring that he was King. In his time, when he ruled, no one would dare accuse him of thinking they were stupid. Yet here was this child, a meagre girl of seven, who had no issue with calling him out. “Of course you are not stupid, I am glad you were unharmed in your expedition down here however.” Ahk offered in a gentle tone, moving through the museum.

Your eyes grow wide as you enter the miniature diorama room you had looked through with your friends earlier, people shouting could be heard from inside each diorama, along with a train puffing along its track. “They – They’re alive?” You gasp, head swimming with what you had always considered to be impossible.

Ahk looks back at you once again, his head tilted to the side gently, he was unused to people being surprised by the exhibits coming to life at dusk. Larry was of course aware of the late-night happenings of the Museum, as were his son Nick, and the docent Rebecca, who despite having finished her latest piece on Sacajawea often found her way back to the museum to spend her evening’s with Larry. You however had never experienced this before, and your shock was understandable. “Yes young one, from dusk till dawn with the magic of my Tablet, everything in this museum comes alive. Despite most being made of wax, they all behave just as they would if they were the real thing.”

Something that would likely to have had you killed for back in Ahkmenrah’s time, you interrupt his explanation, instead opting to race over to the ancient Roman diorama. “My friends and I were looking at this one today. Up on the Colosseum there was a Roman Soldier trying to push a cowboy off. My friend thought someone had set it up as a joke. But, they did that themselves?” You gasp out, looking over the diorama where the Roman soldiers were busy, seemingly forming an attack plan.

“Yes, I imagine that would have been Jedediah and Octavius. Mostly the two are able to put aside their differences and are close friends, however I believe there had been a misunderstanding between the two last night, it must not have been resolved before dawn rose.” Ahk explains, watching you carefully as you peer down into the diorama, your eyes shining like stars in amazement. He had not expected you to take to this as well as you were, from what Larry had told him, he had spent days attempting to wrap his head around the situation. Yet here you were, drinking it all in. “Come along Y/N, we must get you home. It is late, and I am positive your family will be frightened for your welfare.”

<<ooo>>

As you round yet another corner, you are stopped by none other than President Roosevelt and his steed. Ahkmenrah stands in front of you, obscuring you partially from him. “Good evening Ahk, I hope all is well? Who have we here, surely she isn’t a new exhibit?” Teddy grins, waving at you softly.

Ahkmenrah steps to the side, allowing you to be seen fully by the President now. “This is Y/L Y/L/N, she was separated from her school group today, and found her way into my tomb, we are on our way to get her home.”

“Miss Y/L/N, it is a pleasure to meet you I’m Theodore Roosevelt, though most call me Teddy. It is wonderful to make your acquaintance.” Teddy smiles down at you, his eyes twinkling with mirth. Little Texas whinnies , stamping one leg impatiently. “I had best continue on my patrol. Have a wonderful evening both of you, I hope we will see you again Miss Y/L/N.” He tips his hat, before riding off, the clop of horse shoes could be heard for quite some time after wards, the tiled floor doing nothing to muffle the sound.

After one final corridor, you find yourself back in the foyer of the museum, where your day had started. It felt so long ago now, but it really was only a few hours ago that you had arrived. The platform where the T-Rex had stood in the morning was now vacant, despite all you had seen during your walk with Ahkmenrah, you hadn’t expected even the dinosaur skeleton to come alive! You wondered where it could’ve run off to? “No, I haven’t seen her. I’m looking don’t worry, I promise if I see any sign of her I’ll call you immediately.” A familiar voice says from the reception desk, his back is facing you, but you would recognise him anywhere.

Just as he hangs up the phone, your voice calls from across the foyer. “Uncle Larry!” You shout, sprinting away from the Pharaoh, and living him in the dust. Larry does a 180° on the spot, his eyes blown wide as he sees you racing toward him, followed closely by a surprised looking Ahk.

“Y/N? My God, everyone’s worried sick about you!” Larry exclaims, bending down to his knees and wrapping his arms around you tightly.

You throw your arms around his neck, grinning from ear to ear, releasing a sigh you hadn’t known you were holding. Despite how kind Ahkmenrah had been to you, along with all those you had met throughout the museum, there was a wave of relief that washed over you as you found someone you knew. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get lost, I’m sorry!” You whisper against his shoulder, feeling a shadow cast over the two of you now that Ahkmenrah had arrived.

Larry looks up, smiling at the Pharaoh. “How did you find her Ahk?”

“It seems as if the caution tape leading to my wing of the museum had fallen down. Y/N found the gate to my tomb slightly opened and entered. I would dare say while she was in there, one of the end of day guards came around to ensure everything was in its rightful place, and in doing so they closed the gate to my tomb, locking her in there with me until I awoke.” Ahk looked down at you, your check resting against Larry’s shoulder, the crease between your eyebrows disappearing as you once again felt safe. “How do you know Y/N, Larry?”

Larry carefully stands, picking you up and placing you on the black leather desk chair, where you quickly make yourself comfortable. “She’s my niece.” He smiles fondly, to which Ahk nods. “Thank you for keeping her safe. I knew she’d find her way to your exhibit one way or another, she’s rather obsessed with Ancient Egypt.” Larry chuckles, lowering his voice so only Ahk could hear him.

“That would certainly explain all of the questions she asked me. Though she found questions to ask the others also.”

“Oh God, the others! She’ll need therapy after tonight! She’s too young to have to understand all of this!” Larry gasps, a coughing fit taking him over as he sucks in too much air.

Ahk places his hand on the night guards’ shoulder, comforting him until he can once again breathe properly. “I do not think that will be necessary. Y/N did not seem to be afraid at all, perhaps from the Anubis in my tomb there was some slight fear, but aside from that, she got along rather well with everyone, and they all seemed quite fond of her too.”

Larry lifts his eyebrows in surprise, turning to look back at you over his shoulder. You were sitting cross legged on the large chair, your hand gripping the desk in front of you, and using it to propel yourself around in circles. “Really? That’s – Well that’s rather surprising…. Are you sure, maybe she’s in shock? This is a lot to take in.”

“I do not know for sure Larry, though I do know that she promised at least twelve different people that she would be back soon.” Ahk smiles, watching as you spin yourself too fast, the chair finally coming to a stop as your face grows pale. Slowly you take your hand away from the desk, deciding to take a break from spinning.

“Thank you Ahk, I’ll talk to her after all of this is over, see if she’s as okay as she seems to be. Would you mind just keeping an eye on her for a little bit longer? I need to call her parents back, let them know that we’ve found her.” Ahk smiles as he makes his way back to you, lifting himself up onto the desk beside you, as you spin in your chair to face him, your entire face lighting up with joy as you look at him.

As Larry calls your parents, reassuring them that you’re safe, you pick up your conversation with the Pharaoh once more. “Can I ask how old you are?” You grin, causing him the chuckle. He had grown fond of you over his short time with you, the inquisitive mind of a child had often intrigued him, and he found himself answering questions he would never usually.

“At the time of my passing, I was nineteen. Though if you count my age by the years I have experienced, then I am a few thousand years old.” He offers, allowing you to take your pick of which age you would rather associate him with.

You squint your eyes, counting on your fingers for a few moments, before beaming up at him. “So that means in twelve years, I’ll be the same age as you!”

Ahk can’t help but laugh, noticing Larry send you both a curious glance as he continues to speak with your family. “Technically you are correct. There will come a day where we are both nineteen.”

<<ooo>>

It didn’t take long before your Mom and Dad had arrived at the museum, Larry ushering you outside when he saw their car pull up out the front on the street. You waved goodbye to those who had gathered in the foyer to meet you, before turning to grin at Ahk. “Thank you Ahkmenrah.” It was plain and simple, but it was enough to cause the Pharaoh to grin widely at you. Larry followed you outside, opening the back door of the car for you, where you were instantly met with your parents gushing over how happy they were to see you, and that you were safe.

Moving away from the car as it drove off, Larry made his way back into the museum, locking the door behind him once again. Teddy rides up beside him, peering down at the exhausted expression on the night guards face. “Lawrence my friend, what’s that matter? Miss Y/L/N is on her way home now, surely that is good news?”

Larry nods his head yes, before it turns into a shake of no. “I think it’s going to be very hard to keep her away from here from now on.”

<<ooo>>

Just as Larry had predicted, it had been near impossible to keep you away from the Museum of Natural History. Since your first night there, all you could think about was returning, day in and day out you begged your parents to let you go back, though after the way your last trip there had gone, they were concerned about allowing you to return. This however didn’t stop you from pleading with them, coming up with every reason you could think of as to why you should be allowed to go back. Although you spoke about your time in the museum at night, you always said that it was just you, looking around at all of the exhibits, until you had found Uncle Larry. No one would believe you if you told them the truth about the museum, and you worried that if you did say something about what truly happened that night, that your parents would forbid you from returning there, and perhaps from speaking with Uncle Larry, he was after all, the one who always encouraged your love of history and fantastical stories at family gatherings.

After months of begging, pleading and bargaining your parents finally relented, allowing you to spend the weekend with Uncle Larry, under the pretext that you would be visiting the Museum during the day with Rebecca, and not while Larry was at work in the evenings. That of course, was not the case, not that your parent’s ever need know.

It soon became tradition, that you would spend one weekend a month with Larry and Rebecca, sometimes with Nicky too, depending if it was Larry’s week on or off with him. And for two nights each month, you would spend dusk to dawn with the museum exhibits, learning as much as was humanly possible from them, swapping stories, though yours were never as interesting as theirs, at least in your opinion.

However there was always one exhibit you spent the most time with, you’re not sure when it had started, but at some stage during one of your weekends there, you had found yourself waiting patiently inside Ahkmenrah’s tomb, drumming your fingers against your thighs as you sat cross legged in the middle of the room, just waiting for dusk to fall, and for the tablet to work its magic. The thrill of magic filling the air and the breeze flowing around you, as the soft glow of light worked its tendrils into the fabric of every being in the museum, was incredible, and something you found utterly amazing. From that day on, that was where you would always be found in the minutes before dusk, you would then spend plenty of time speaking with the Pharaoh, mostly about his life, as you learned what you could about Ancient Egypt. After a while, you moved on to others, never playing favourites with who you spent your time with, it was someone different each visit. When Larry and Teddy would come around, giving the call that there was one hour left until dawn, you would return to Ahkmenrah, and spend that final hour together, this time however, it was him asking the questions.

Ahk would never admit this aloud, but he found joy in waking up each night to you eagerly awaiting him, you grinning face being the first he saw on the days you were visiting. There was something comforting in having a familiar face to greet him when he woke, each morning he returned to nothing, there was no afterlife for him, at least not one he could recall. Each morning, as he fell asleep, there were no dreams to be had, no memories, there was nothing but an endless void for him to float through, desperately awaiting the night so he could awake. Each night felt like an eternity, though on the days where he knew he would wake to see you, the void seemed just that bit shorter. He found it difficult to track how many months had passed of your visits, each time he spoke with you he had an enjoyable time. You asked in depth questions, even sometimes things that surprised him! He often forgot how young you were when you spoke, the amount of thought you put into each and every question, not just posed to him, but to others as well, they were all well researched, and it was clear for anyone to see, that you cared about what you were doing. Which made you seem far older than you were. Ahk also took pleasure in asking about your life, hearing about your time at school, your family, hobbies, and the fun things your friend got up to, he loved hearing it all! Knowing that you were living a full life, while doing what you loved made him exceptionally happy.

He had no need to keep track of time as the living do, though he noticed the passage of time in other ways, in watching Nicky and you grow up before his very eyes, and in watching Larry and Rebecca’s relationship change. It was obvious that time was getting away from him, as it almost felt as if when Larry had announced his engagement to Rebecca that only a week had passed before he was showing everyone photographs from the wedding. Ahk knew that you only visited two days per month, though with no other guests coming into the museum on the nights between, they all began to bleed together, into one long night. Which is why it came as such a shock when he awoke one night, to find yourself, Larry, Rebecca, Nicky, Teddy Sacajawea, Octavius, Jed, and a few Huns all gathered in his tomb.

“Sorry for the intrusion my boy, but Y/N suggested we do this here so that you would be involved. And also so we could keep it away from Rexy.” Teddy grinned, as Ahk climbed out of the Sarcophagus, padding over to the small congregation, the two Anubis statues keeping a close eye on everyone, ready to pounce if they felt there was any threat to their king.

“Happy birthday Y/N!” Your family called, the three of them wrapping you tightly in a hug. “Double digits, that’s exciting!”

Ahk frowned for a moment, taking in the scene before him, had he known it was your birthday? He could not recall you ever telling him when it was, and he was positive he would remember such important information. He watched as Nicky darted off to the side of the room, collecting a white box and carrying it over to you. Lifting the lid, his eyes darted between the cake and the grin on your lips. He was having a difficult time wrapping his head around what had been said, double digits Larry had said. That would mean you were ten years old today? Surely it had not been three years since he had met you. He felt as if he had found you locked in this very room only a few months ago, and not years. Though looking at you now, it was clear as day that you were older, there was no use trying to deny it. As napkins filled with cake were passed around, you walked over to him, a grin still pasted across your lips. “Happy birthday young one.” He smiled, causing you to laugh softly. He was unsure of how much longer he would be able to call you that, if things were still as they had been when he was alive, there came a point where one no longer liked to be referred to as young. Though you would always be young compared to him, he understood that to others, you were aging correctly, and that he himself was the anomaly here.

“Thank you Ahkmenrah, sorry for bringing everyone in here. Despite what teddy says, it wasn’t actually my idea.” Ahk cuts you off with a quirk of his eyebrow. “He asked where I was headed when he awoke, and I said that I was coming here. He took that as an invitation for everyone to join.”

Ahk can’t help but laugh, his eyes sparkling as they lock with yours. “You, and the others are always more than welcome in here Y/N. And please, you may call me Ahk, we have known each other long enough now for you to use my, how do you call it, nickname”

You nod your head yes, taking a bite of your slice of cake, savouring the flavour as the icing melted on your tongue. “Alright, Ahk it is then.”

So there we have it, chapter one of two or three! Fingers crossed you all liked this, I would love to hear what you think! And if you would like to be tagged in the future chapter(s) let me know! Also, the title of the story, and all chapters are from the song Glitter and Gold by Barns Courtney, I would recommend checking it out here!

And on the off chance you’re at all interested in my other writings, here is my MASTERLIST

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mymelodyheart · 4 years

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Starting Over Chapter 2 ~Sassenach~

"Weel, weel if it isn't my favourite sportsman, James Fraser."

Christ! What now?

He groaned inwardly and turned to find a petite blonde walking towards him. Jamie had just escaped a group of old family acquaintances, evaded some uncomfortable questions about his disappearance, and the last thing he needed now was some more awkward conversation with a person he vaguely recognised. Prior to that, he'd briefly spoken to his parents, Brian and Ellen and his brothers, William and Robert. Like Jenny, they hadn't mentioned anything about his long absence. Instead, they'd welcomed him with open arms as if he'd never ignored their calls during the past few weeks. Grateful for the breathing space and respite, he knew eventually he would have to talk.

The blonde girl waited for him to say something as she sipped her white wine. With so many things occupying his thoughts, he could only summon an absentminded nod in her direction.

She flipped her long hair back with a flick of a hand and laughed coquettishly. "Ye don't remember me, do ye?"

"Eh ...ye look sorta familiar," he replied without matching her smile, his gaze briefly drifting somewhere else. "Ye're at my nephew's party, so I guess ye're a friend of Jenny."

Her cool floundered for a split second, but she quickly recovered. "Our parents are friends, and we went to the same school together. Laoghaire ...Laoghaire MacKenzie. Our families sometimes attend the same parties. I'm here with my nephew."

"Ah, right," he said flatly. "That explains why."

There was an uncomfortable silence, but he made no effort to ease the strain. He was thinking about the girl with the crazy, big hair. And the mindblowing kiss.

Undeterred, Laoghaire stayed put. She looked like she was waiting for him to make some sort of move. Shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans, he dragged in an impatient breath. Here at Broch Mordha, the village was somewhat removed from the rest of the world. What happened outside its bubble only mattered when it indirectly affected its inhabitants. Looking at her expression, his image as a ladies' man had penetrated that bubble. It's true, he'd had a few casual affairs in the past, but nothing long term. He'd appreciated them for what it was, treated whoever he was with well and was always forthright about not wanting anything serious. His focus had always been on rugby and everything that entailed the sport.

Unfortunately, the media had made him out to be an unrepentant philanderer, thanks to the reputation of his uncle Dougal MacKenzie, a retired rugby union great and a former mentor when he'd first started out. Like Uncle, like nephew, so they'd whispered behind his back. Dougal had been a notorious womaniser back in his days, and his antics were often featured in the sports column. How many wives had he had? Jamie had lost count. So much for promoting a public persona that had nothing to do with his passion for rugby! Since when did hard work, glory and distinction in sports become synonymous with the shallow world of celebrities? In Jamie's case, ever since the camera had panned a close-up of his face during a televised game and the social media had erupted into a frenzy. Suddenly, Jamie's looks and his relation to his uncle had become as important as his rugby skills when it came to attracting the lucrative endorsements and sponsorship deals that made him wealthy. But at what cost? A reputation that refused to shift. Maybe there was a certain amount of truth to what was being said about him. After all, his uncle's womanising ways had soured the idea of him committing to a relationship.

"So, ye're back," the blonde girl continued, seemingly unfazed by his lack of interest. "Maybe we can meet up for coffee or maybe..." Face turning red, she squared her shoulders. "...ye'll probably need help refamiliarising yersel' with the village and surrounding area."

"Why? Has Broch Mordha changed much?" He knew he was behaving like a complete prick. Over a year ago, his charm would have turned on involuntary around people, especially with pretty girls like the one in front of him. Good old Jamie, the golden boy of British sports, always up for a picture or two or lay with some female celebrity or fan. Everyone had wanted a piece of him until he'd announced his retirement. Then his phone had stopped ringing. But his agent had wanted to milk whatever was left of his fame by suggesting to go on the popular British television dance contest for celebrities, Strictly Come Dancing . What the fuck did that have to do with rugby? Nowadays the only newsworthy thing about his name was his love life or some rehashed stories of his past. But here's a girl showing genuine interest so why couldn't he muster an ounce of enthusiasm? "Look, I'm so sorry. I haven't seen my family for a long while and ..."

"Ach, nae bother. Think nothing more about it," she interrupted with a wave of her hand. "But if ye change yer mind, call me." She rummaged through her handbag and extracted a card, handing it to him. "I've a boutique shop in the square. Sew in Style. I usually take a break between one and two in the afternoon."

Jamie forced a smile, shoving the card in his pocket without looking at it. "Aye, if I ever need a perfect wee black dress, I'll let ye know."

She laughed out loud as if he just uttered the joke of the decade instead of a sarcastic comment. "And, by the way, I'm home tonight so, if ye fancy a glass of wine or two after yer nephew's party...my private number is at the back of the card."

His forced laughter was toneless. "A wine."

"Jamie! A moment please." A voice behind him called out. Joe? Ach, thank fuck!

Jamie knew instantly his African-American friend was swooping in to save him from Laoghaire, and he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. They weren't close, but Joe was more than a professional acquaintance and team doctor. In and outside his training, it was their talks that had kept him grounded throughout his career. And it was he who had kept in touch with his family during his therapy. When the title Rookie of the Year had threatened to inflate his head, Joe had reminded him not to get too cocksure as rugby career tended to be very short. Quickly making an apologetic shrug at Laoghaire, Jamie turned to face Joe, this time a sincere smile, if not relieved, plastered on his face. "How are ye, mate? Good to see ye."

Realising she was being dismissed, Laoghaire's expression went flat; nevertheless, she smiled, and with a small nod, and a muttered, "see ye around," she turned and left. Part of him felt awful for being rude, but the other half felt good to not play the charming ladies' man as portrayed by the newspaper.

Joe let out a whistle. "Whoa! Who are you and what did you do to James Fraser?"

"He's still here somewhere." Jamie clapped him on the back as they made their way to the table where his brothers and brother-in-law were sat. The guests were already starting to leave, and his parents have retired to the house.

"Jenny said you might come. So I stopped by," Joe said, grabbing his drink from the table.

Ian, Jenny's husband, stood up and offered Jamie a beer, but he shook his head and zeroed in on the whisky instead. "I sent Joe to get ye. Ye looked like ye were suffering from a bout of gout talking to Laoghaire," he chuckled.

Jamie smiled pensively, pouring himself a healthy measure in the tumbler, and taking a seat between Rabbie and Willie. Despite his moodiness, he was glad to be around his brothers. Willie, the oldest of the Fraser siblings at age thirty-four, had his own construction company, W.Fraser while the youngest, Robert, better known as Rabbie, age twenty-three was studying Biochemistry at the University of Edinburgh. But Rabbie's passion was more into the woodwork, and in his spare time, he helped Willie create masterpieces out of wood or restored antiques. And so that left the Fraser Distillery to Jamie. Although unspoken, Jamie knew he was expected to take over the family business now that his rugby career was over. "Just a lot to take in at the moment. I didn't realise there would be plenty of guests."

The men nodded sympathetically as they supped their drinks.

"Here, ye wanted this," Rabbie said, breaking the silence and sliding a business card on the table "Got it from Jenny. Ye planning a party or something? Mind, it's a children's party company."

Sassenach! Jamie grabbed the colourful card, read it and flipped it twice between his fingers. Giggle Beans Children's Party Planner. "Geillis Duncan ...the name doesnae sound English to me," he said thoughtfully.

Joe took a swig of his beer and frowned. "Geillis Duncan? I know her. She's a good mate of mine. The party planning is a new business she just started."

"Aye? Brown-haired lass?"

"No. Geillis is ginger. Like you."

"Weel, I heard Jenny calling the entertainer Geillis. Maybe she dyed her hair?" Ian suggested. "I never saw her face. I thought it was bonkers she had that dog mask on the whole time in this heat. I guess she didnae want to disappoint the bairns."

"I can call her if you wish. Like what I said, she's a close friend," Joe offered, taking out his phone. "Is it for a party?"

"Ahh, no. I ..." Jamie didn't know what to say, so he took out his phone instead. "No. I'll call." Reading from the card, he tapped the number on his phone screen and glared at everyone in warning to shush. No answer. Just an answering machine. After a while, he placed his phone back on the table. "What kind of business that's just starting out takes a week off?"

"Ah! It's to do with the wedding," Joe explained. "Our friend is getting married this weekend. I'm the man of honour and Geillis is the bride's maid."

Everyone laughed, and Rabbie's eyebrow shot up. "Man of honour. Never heard of that before."

Jamie ignored his brother. "Mmm, doesn't she have the staff to answer phone calls? It would make perfect business sense if she wanted to succeed."

"Not yet, but she has a few close friends helping her out for now," Joe shrugged. "I have no idea which friends though. Want me to call Geillis' on her private number?"

Jamie shook his head. "No, it can wait."

"If it's not about children's party, what is it ye calling for?" Ian asked.

"Wait a minute," Willie interrupted as if something just dawned on him. "Has this something to do with wee Jamie telling me that ye snogged the dog? His words. Not mine."

"Fuck, he said that?" Jamie choked.

"Aye, my wee lad told me something along those lines," Ian piped in, suddenly perking up. "I thought he's making stories up."

"Ye snogged the children's entertainer? The one in Paw Patrol costume?" Rabbie asked. "How'd ye manage that?"

"Alright, Jamie. I'm all dog's ears. What happened?" Joe dead-panned.

Everyone at the table burst out laughing.

"Fuck off!" Jamie split a frustrated look between his friend, brothers and his brother-in-law over the rim of his whisky. His younger brother, Robert, looked like he had tons of follow-up questions which Jamie could really do without.

"He definitely snogged the dog," Rabbie confirmed with a smirk and a wink.

"Jesus, Jamie. Ye come out from yer cave for the first time in a long time, and ye snogged wee Jamie's party entertainer? Ye definitely need yer head looking at," Willie quipped, shifting on his seat. "What the hell happened?"

Although Jamie promised his mother to cut down on his alcohol consumption, suddenly, he wanted to straddle his hangover with a fresher one in an attempt to forget the kiss with the fiery English lass and to veer the conversation to something else. Feeling cornered and left with no choice, he complied and told them the whole story.

When Jamie was done, everyone shook their head like he'd just been crowned idiot of the year. "Ye actually bribed her with 30 quid?" Rabbie asked, slapping his forehead in disbelief. "Man, she must be a student like me, forever hard-up for dough. She must think ye're a self-entitled prick for that. Does she even know who ye are?"

"Aye, she does. She was actually nice. She's the first person since I retired from sports to mention the subject of rugby."

Actually, Jamie had liked her even before she had taken off the mask. She'd had this mixture of vulnerability and tenacity that had grabbed his attention the moment she'd started speaking. He could have talked to her all day and not been bored. And then she'd taken off the mask, and he'd known there, and then he was flummoxed.

He remembered her big amber eyes flecked with grey flashing in anger and thought of how her lips had felt moving with his. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned.

"So, tell me, how did she grab the hundred-pound note? With her furry paws?"

Willie threw a beer bottle cap at the younger Fraser. "Leave it to Rabbie to ask the mechanics of every minute detail. Jamie had a snogging session with a dog, so let's just appreciate it for what it is."

Jamie took no notice of the jest. "It wasn't even a proper snog. It was more like take-that, ye-prick kinda snog."

"Oh, man. This is bad. Look at ye. Ye really have it bad, Jamie lad. Ye're paying for yer past mistakes. Aye, that's it! That's karma. That's what happens when ye leave a trail of broken hearts in yer wake. A taste of yer own medicine." Willie shook his head at his brother in mock sympathy.

"What do ye plan to do then if ye manage to get hold of her? Ask her out? Do ye even want to have a girlfriend? " Ian asked, seriously this time.

So what's the plan? If for no other reason, he wanted to track the English lass down just to correct her misconception of him. And if he was downright honest with himself, he craved to kiss her again—a lot. "I have nae idea. Truly, nae idea. But one thing for sure, she and I aren't done," he muttered before downing the rest of his whisky.

..........

I can't do this. I have to get out of here.

The four walls of the room felt like they're closing in on her. Claire tried to regulate her breathing as panic slashed mercilessly at her guts. The bodice of her dress dug into her ribs, and the choker pearl necklace felt like a noose binding her. She started to hyperventilate, and she reached up and ripped off the pearl-encrusted lace veil. Bending at the waist, she placed her hands on her knees and gulped in air.

In fifteen minutes, she was getting married to Frank. She tried to picture him in his tuxedo, his chocolate brown hair neatly brushed back, flashing his perfect smile at their waiting guests, most of them his associates and friends. Earlier while she was getting dressed, a box of white orchids from her fiance arrived with a handwritten note. It read: I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you. Beautiful. So why did those mere words sent a shiver down her spine? Everything was perfect. Frank was perfect. So what was wrong?

She thought of the people in her life. There were not many of them. Sure, there were plenty of acquaintances and work colleagues at the hospital, and she was well-liked. But those she held dear and was closest to, she could count on the fingers of one hand. Orphaned at the age of five, she was raised by her only living relative, her father's brother, Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, also known as uncle Lamb. Having spent her childhood travelling the world with her guardian while working on archaeological sites, their nomadic lifestyle didn't allow much room for close friendships and ties. At least until she started her medical studies when her uncle finally settled down to teach history at the University of Edinburgh. Although a loner, she had bonded with Geillis Duncan and Joe Abernathy one night while watching a televised rugby game at the local pub. Scotland had just won. After hugging as strangers in celebration and debating about the man of the match over pints of Guinness, they became steadfast friends ever since.

And then Frank came along. He was a specialist surgeon at the time when they first met. He was her boss and her mentor when she started her internship. Their shared love for the intricacies of medical and surgical art of healing brought them closer together, first as friends and eventually as lovers. He was a patient teacher, and she was an eager student, lapping up his knowledge and experience. But that's where their common interest ended. Outside work, they had different interests and sets of friends. Claire loved sports, hanging out in a pub, reading books and night-ins watching movies. She was laidback whereas Frank loved attending formal charity events and socialising with the upper crust professionals of Edinburgh. More often than not, their differences made her feel she had to make a choice between him and her friends.

Claire closed her eyes and tried to calm her rioting nerves. Over the past year, almost every instant she attempted to meet up with Joe and Geillis, Frank gave her a difficult time. Her fiance pointed out how limited time they spent together with their hectic work schedules and her little get-togethers with her friends were causing a division in their relationship. Although Claire considered herself independent, gutsy and opinionated, her resolve turned into mush whenever Frank turned on his charm and wholehearted devotion in getting his point across. And so she'd started making excuses. She hated lying to her friends, but Frank soothed her guilt by being more attentive and generous with his gifts.

He doesn't like your friends. He wants to change you.

The voice in her head got louder, and her breathing became more erratic.

Run now before it's too late.

Lightheadedness threatened, and she staggered to her feet, swaying a little. She needed air so badly. Maybe the wedding pressure was finally getting to her. With her demanding job and long hours at work, she was bone-tired from fretting about every final detail of their wedding. Frank was a perfectionist, and he disliked disorganisation and lack of care. Every aspect of their nuptials needed to be perfect. And with almost four hundred guests, including the local press and his high-society associates, it was an event too important to muck up. It was her job to make sure everything was flawless.

What matters more, Beauchamp? Pleasing a bunch of hoity-toity or your friends? Is this really the world you want to live in?

She knew Frank didn't approve of her friends. "They're a bit rough around the edges, darling. I hope they will not embarrass me at the wedding," he had said casually. But Claire had stood her ground and defended them. Besides uncle Lamb, Joe and Geillis were like family to her. They were her people.

The sound of violin music and the drone of voices drifting into the room alerted her. She knew Geillis, Joe and uncle Lamb were waiting outside, and soon the door would open. They left earlier when she told them she needed a moment alone. Any time now, they would come and fetch her. Feeling sick, she lurched toward the stained glass window and jiggled the knob. It budged a few inches, allowing hot air to flow through. Breathe! Why was she having second thoughts? Together they would be a power couple saving lives, attending charity events and helping change the world. So, what was the matter?

Nothing is the matter. I love Frank. He's great, and he makes me a better person.

Ya-dah, ya-dah. What do you know of love, Beauchamp? You kissed the Fraser lad. Maybe the hot Scot is not for you, but if you really love Frank, the kiss wouldn't have happened.

The hot weather and lack of sleep muddled my brains.

Yeah, right. Get a grip, Beauchamp.

What now?

Get the hell out of there and run!

Sunlight caught the sparkle of her diamond engagement ring, making her wince. Quickly, she took it off and placed it on the table. No time for weighing the consequences, the rights and wrongs, the cost. No time to draw up statistical or pie charts and mull over percentages.

Trust your gut, Beauchamp. It has never failed you on the operating table.

But I can't leave him waiting at the altar.

Listen, you fool. Once you walk down that aisle, it's over. So straighten those panties and worry about the consequences later.

Her head was spinning in a frenetic circle, making her dizzy. Claire looked at the closed door and swallowed hard. What she was about to do would change the course of her life and maybe, the career she had worked hard for. But there was no time.

Go, go, go, Beauchamp!

Bugger it! Heart pounding, Claire yanked the window with all her might, and to her astonishment, it opened like a shot nearly knocking her backwards. She didn't have time to analyse if it was her physical strength or the adrenaline increasing the blood flow into her muscles that made the window budge. Ignoring the judging eyes of the Blessed Virgin Mary statue, she squeezed her body through the opening and wriggled her way to freedom.

..........

"Thank you, Jamie. Sorry again to call you on such short notice. I owe you big time, mate," Joe said, saluting him as he opened the passenger door.

"Nae worries, Joe. Happy to help. Now, go before you miss the wedding," Jamie replied.

Joe smiled one last time and got out.

Jamie waited and watched his friend run and disappeared through the door of the church before easing his car from the curb. The church bell rang, letting him know the ceremony was about to commence. There were a few reporters with cameramen lingering outside and thought, whoever Joe's friend was marrying must be well-known and newsworthy.

Joe had called Jamie earlier after his car broke down. Apparently, the bride's uncle had forgotten to bring something important, and Geillis had sent him to retrieve it, by hook or by crook. Luckily for Joe, he caught him as he was about to leave for Lallybroch for the weekend.

Jamie was just turning right at the junction when a cloud of white material hanging out of a window on the far side of the church caught his attention. What the fuck? Not stopping to think, he slammed his foot on the brake and got out of the car, leaving it stranded in the middle of the road. He started to jog across the grassy area and over the bed of flowers, keeping his eye on the wriggling figure coming out of the window. Christ, is that the bride?

Then his heart stopped and faltered. The person in the white dress was falling. His perception of time became distorted, slowing everything down until there was nothing, only the figure in white that was about to hit the ground. No! No! Please, God! Pushing himself, he bolted like a sprinter at the start gun, covering the uneven ground with a precise speed of a disciplined athlete, knowing full well his thighs had enough power to make it in seconds, each of his strides at least worth two of an untrained person. Barely breaking a sweat, he made it in the nick of time and caught the body in his arms.

His heart knocking uncontrollably against his ribs, he let out a massive sigh of relief and looked down at the bride. Her porcelain skin was flushed, and her fancy hairdo lay lopsided to the side with pins sticking out, making the dark curls spring wildly around her face. His gaze briefly landed on her parted lips before settling on a pair of snapping amber eyes. He fought past his lack of speech and wondered if the weeks he'd spent in a drunken stupor was causing him to hallucinate. "Sassenach!?!"

#melodyheart #startingover #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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momentofmemory · 5 years

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fictober - day twelve

Prompt #10: “Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”

Fandom: Spider-Man (All Media Types/Tom Holland Films)

Warnings: Canon Character Death (mentioned)

Rating: PG

Characters: Peter Parker & May Parker, Ben Parker (mention)

Words: 3304

Author’s Note: part vi of a may & peter series, but could technically be read as a stand alone. so here we are at long last, folks: the +1 of this 5&1 series: “5 times May was there for Peter... + 1 time he was there for her.” enjoy <3

>>Forget Me Not

Depending on how it’s calculated, Peter is either sixteen or seventeen, or maybe even twenty-one, and May’s head hurts every time she thinks about it.

Everything is a lot more complicated post-Blip, actually, but May’s learned how to spin her experience to get exactly the kind of reaction she wants.

If she’s applying for a job, in between talking about her strengths and weaknesses she peppers in details of how she’s a single parent, and how her struggle to reunite with her own kid cemented her belief in the importance of keeping families together. It’s told in a way that’s personal and yet sanitized, and it’s so neatly packaged she’s quickly hired by the Region II branch of FEMA to run charity events in the Queens area.

Donors, meanwhile, need to feel satisfied and entertained, so for them she wraps her experience under a carefully crafted veil of humor. She tells of how she went from being mistaken for a ghost to a floozy to a burglar to an actual miracle in under the space of a minute, and they laugh, and the money pours in. It’s a double win, because she believed in free housing for the homeless even before the Blip, and now the job keeps her and Peter from being homeless, too.

When Peter asks about what the Blip was really like, all she says is that she just wanted to find him. Out of all the versions she tells, this one is probably closest to the truth.

Because the truth is that in the version she dreams about, what the neighbors thought of her is the least of her concerns. One second she’s sitting in Ben’s chair, frantically skimming the news for any mention of Spider-Man, and then suddenly she’s being accosted by a family she doesn’t know in an apartment that’s no longer hers. In this one, she still doesn’t know if Peter is even on earth any more, and in this one, she’s seeing a twelve-year-old girl that was seven just minutes ago. That’s how she discovers five years have passed, and all she can think is please, please tell me I didn’t leave him here alone.

She hadn’t, and every time she wakes up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, she thanks every deity she can think of for that.

She’s never told Peter, but another part of her Blip experience was that once she found out where Peter was and that she wouldn’t be able to go to him just yet, May had gone to Ben.

She hadn’t even bothered with the subway—which was probably wise, because her pass wouldn’t have worked anyway—and just ran all the way to the cemetery, because five years were gone and the fact that Ben was always, always fifty-one suddenly felt like a comfort instead of a curse.

Getting to the cemetery, however, made five years feel more real than even seeing the twelve-year-old had. What was normally so well kept had fallen into disrepair, overgrown and neglected, without even a single fake flower to decorate the tombstones. Worst of all had been Ben’s stone itself, which, in a particularly cruel act of vandalism, now had a large crack running down the middle.

May had dropped to her knees in a bed of clover, and cried—

and cried—

and cried.

_____________________

“What do you mean it’s gone?”

May’s phone is propped between her shoulder and her ear, and she’s working through her lunch break yet again, but she’s more than capable of taking a personal call and answering work emails at the same time.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the bored voice of an underpaid government agent intones. “We have no record of a vehicle matching that description under your name, and any item not found in our database was likely stolen before cataloging could occur. If you can provide proof of purchase from within six months of the Blip, we can provide financial restitution for—”

“No, no,” May begs, and she hates the way her voice cracks. “It was nearly twenty years old, it wouldn’t even be worth that much. I just want—I need my car.”

“I understand you’re upset, ma’am, but unfortunately there’s nothing I can do. If it’s not in the system and it wasn’t with the rest of the items you collected, it’s not here.”

After the snap, there had been a coordinated effort by local and state governments to collect all the possessions of the dusted, assuming there were no immediate next-of-kin to claim ownership. May and Peter had finally finished the process of filing for reclamation a week ago, and everything had been delivered to their new address—with the exception of Ben’s car.

May swallows and tells herself that she will not cry.

“Well—could I file a police report for it, maybe?” She clutches her phone tighter. “I still have the license plate numbers and I can prove it was mine, and I think I have some old photos of it?”

A long pause, and then the agent clears her throat. “Ma’am, would you like me to reroute your call to our restitution department, or will that be all?”

May closes her eyes and thinks no, no, no. But money is tight, and no matter how small of an amount it is, it’s better than nothing. So what she says is, yes, and she ignores the way the hole in her heart grows three sizes.

It’s been doing that a lot, actually, because the Blip feels like just another entry in a long list of crises in May’s life.

She wonders sometimes if she hadn’t already lost him, if the Blip would have taken Ben, too, or if he would have been left to move on without her.

She puts her headset on and stubbornly manages to avoid thinking about Ben for the rest of the day, and keeps it together even through the hours when Peter is out on patrol that night. When he comes back, whole and uninjured, she smiles and kisses him goodnight, and everything is fine.

Then she makes the tragic mistake of walking into the bedroom that still doesn’t feel like hers, and sees a single bed instead of a double. The digital alarm clock on the bedside table blinks a neon green 12:01, and she remembers:

Ben is dead.

May does not cry, because Peter is on the other side of the wall and Peter has super hearing.

She lies on the bed and doesn’t bother climbing under the covers. Instead, she stares at the ceiling and thinks three years, and then remembers three years is eight and she’s lost in a spiral of lost time and unspoken regrets.

When the clock strikes three, May is still awake, and Peter isn’t.

(May cries.)

_____________________

Some days are easier than others, and some are harder, but that’s just how grief works. It’s a little strange for May, in that she feels like she’s lost Ben all over again. Really, it’s the world that’s lost her this time around.

Peter’s… Peter’s dealing with a lot, after Tony. So May doesn’t bring up Ben, no matter how much she wants to, no matter if the anniversary is approaching or not.

It comes as a significant shock to her system, therefore, when Peter comes home from school and brings him up himself.

“So what time are we going to visit Ben tomorrow?”

The question startles May so much she loses her grip on the laundry container, and it crashes to the floor, splashing detergent liquid all over the cabinets and vinyl and the entire bottom half of May’s trousers. May swears impressively, and Peter scurries to grab the mop out of the closet.

“Where you not… planning on it?” Peter leverages the mop over the island to May, leary of stepping into the mess himself.

May takes the mop from him and a paper towel from the counter, and starts dabbing at a spot on her shirt before it can soak in. “It’s the middle of the week, Peter. You and I both have commitments.”

A frown settles into Peter’s face. “But we always go on the day—the day when—”

“No, we don’t,” May snaps, and Peter actually flinches at her tone. May immediately feels bad. “I mean—we missed five years. It’ll be fine if you miss another year.”

“…Why would I want to?”

“Listen, I can’t explain it.” May rubs at her temples in an attempt to stave off a headache. “You’ll just have to—”

“Trust me?”

May looks up at Peter in surprise.

“That’s what you’re always telling me, right? When I don’t want to do something?” Peter shrugs, running his hand through his hair a little self-consciously. “I just really think we should go.”

May crosses her arms, trying to ignore his hopeful expression. “Peter…”

There are a million and one reasons for her not to go. She doesn’t feel comfortable taking off work, but she doesn’t want to go after dark; the distance to the cemetery is twice as long as it used to be; it’s in a rough area and Peter might be a superhero but that still doesn’t mean it’s wise; she’s stressed out over a big gala they have next week; she knows Peter’s still avoiding dealing with his most recent loss, never mind past ones.

But May also knows that those are more excuses than reasons, and if she wanted to, she could definitely make it work. What’s really holding her back is the fact that she doesn’t think she can handle seeing Ben’s grave, abandoned and dilapidated—yet another reminder of how his physical presence was being erased—on the anniversary of his death, of all days.

She wonders if Peter even knows.

Peter must see something in her face that warns him he’s about to lose her, because suddenly he’s sticking to the wall and crawling over, careful to avoid the wet floor.

“Please, May?”

He’s pulled out his best puppy dog eyes, the ones he reserves for emergency situations. He knows she still hasn’t learned how to say no to them.

May sighs.

“I’ll call you when I get out of work.”

A look of sheer relief crashes over Peter, and May wonders if this wasn’t just about honoring an old tradition.

Then Peter snatches a banana from the fruit bowl with his webs, and holds it cheekily to his ear. “Lemme know when you’re ready to split!”

The tension in the room breaks, and May swats at him with the mop. “What did I tell you about using those things in the house?”

He’s Spider-Man, so she misses by a mile and he just laughs.

“I didn’t break anything this time!”

She glares at him, but can’t deny the accuracy of his statement. “Don’t you have homework to finish?”

Peter grins, knowing he’s won this battle, too, and then scuttles back to his room—banana clenched in his teeth and limbs affixed to the wall. May shakes her head and goes back to trying to mop up the spill, wondering how her nephew breaking the laws of physics had become one of the few things that still resembled her old life.

She makes it through the night without breaking down this time, and she even gets up early enough to go into work an hour early the next day.

In a frenzied state of productivity, powered by wanting to avoid thinking about anything else, she finishes everything she absolutely has to do a little before three. She’s not ready to face Peter (face Ben) yet, though, so she spends the rest of the time replying to days-old emails and rearranging the calls list until her manager all but throws her out around four.

She stands outside the building and thinks about hiding until it’s too late to go. It’d be easy enough to tell Peter she’d been held up at work—it’s certainly happened enough to be believable—but she’s spent so much time begging Peter to be honest with her, even the thought of lying feels like betrayal.

And, he’d asked her to trust him.

May takes a deep breath and calls Peter, and he picks up on the first ring.

“Is a meatball sub okay?”

It’s Peter’s voice, but the question is so unexpected May checks the number anyway.

“I mean, I could probably swing by Shahzada’s if you’d rather have a gyro or something, but Delmar’s is on the way and I’m a little late so—”

“A meatball sub is fine, Peter,” May interrupts, knowing how long the boy can monologue. “But why do I need one?”

“Because you probably skipped lunch working and I’m just always hungry.” Peter says this as simply as if he’s explaining that water is wet and the sky is blue.

He’s also right, so once again, May can’t argue. “Do you have enough to pay for them or do you need the card?”

“No, I got it. Mr. Delmar owes me a couple free ones for doing some favors. I’ll meet you at the train station on 71st in… half an hour and we can go from there?”

“Yeah,” May says, a little knot forming in her throat.

She’ll have to pass the 107th Precinct to get there—but Peter’s on the other end. She’ll always do anything to get to her boy.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Peter’s more subdued than he was last night when she finds him on the platform, but there’s a strange determination shining in his eyes. He hands her the sandwich, only a little bit squished from being in his backpack, and then they both ride the train to the stop on 69th and Metropolitan Ave.

The fence circling the cemetery is still as rusted and dilapidated looking as it was three months ago, and it doesn’t fill May with much hope.

Several of the top spikes have broken off, probably by bored teens or just the wear and tear of time, trash of every form litters the ground, and creeping ivy has wrapped its way around almost every iron post. When they reach the gate, however, May is surprised to see that its hinges have been oiled, and the weeds and garbage have been cleared away. Peter hurries in front of her to open the gate, and it swings open without a sound.

May stands frozen on the sidewalk, afraid of what she’ll find. Peter returns to her side and offers his hand.

“Just follow me,” he says, light sparkling in his eyes. “…I know the area.”

She smiles despite herself and takes his hand. As he leads her inside, she’s surprised to find that while the rest of the cemetery is still unkempt, the path that leads to the Parkers’ graves is clean, and the weeds have even been pulled up. Then Richard and Mary’s headstone and Ben’s come into view, and May can’t believe what she’s seeing.

The area around the two graves has been perfectly tended, and unlike the abandon graves around them, the flower vases have been washed of their five years of grime, and fresh flowers sit in each container.

And then there’s Ben’s headstone.

At first she thinks the crack’s been fixed completely, but when she brushes her fingertips over where it’d been, she feels the surface give just a little before springing back, and the texture is more porous than rock could ever be. She looks at Peter, and he carefully rolls up one of his sleeves, revealing the bracelet that carries his web-shooter.

“I had to tweak my normal formula to get it to stay hardened and not, you know, dissolve,” Peter says. Then he shrugs. “But I’m pretty sure it’ll hold at least until I can afford to fix it properly.”

“Peter, you—I don’t understand when you could’ve—” she cuts herself off, pure emotion threatening to take her over.

“I tested it on other stuff before putting it on Ben’s,” Peter says hurriedly, yanking his sleeve back down and suddenly looking incredibly anxious. “Unless… you don’t like it?”

She traces the scar that’d been left in her and Ben’s headstone, so painstakingly filled by her nephew. Tears spring unbidden to May’s eyes.

“It’s perfect.”

A tentative smile lights across Peter’s face, and he quietly excuses himself to go place a note in the metal box in front of his parents’ grave. It’s only then that May notices a similar chest tucked behind Ben’s, the flowers Peter had placed covering it nearly entirely. Peter notices her looking at it and carefully locks his parents’ box in place.

“I write letters to Ben sometimes, too,” Peter says, coming back over to her side.

He picks the box up and turns it over in his hands. He bites his lip, eyes not leaving the ground.

“I know you’re… worried. About Ben.”

May feels like she’s been sucker punched at Peter’s words, but tries to hide it. Judging by the way Peter’s mouth twitches, she doesn’t do it very well.

“What?”

“I mean about—about moving on without him,” Peter says.

(She’s not going to cry.)

“I know it’s not the same,” Peter continues, “but I’ve had a little experience living one life and suddenly finding yourself living another. Of having things that remind you of them disappearing, or even…” He sighs. “Even your memories of them.”

May’s heart breaks, and she places a hand on his shoulder. “Peter—”

“No, it’s okay, I’m okay.” Peter sniffs and tucks the chest under his arm. “I guess, like… Okay, so I call Mary ‘Mom,’ because she is, right? And…”

He stares down at his shoelaces. “…I call my mom ‘May,’ because she is, too.”

May swears the world stops turning.

Peter works up the courage to meet her eyes, and he smiles shyly. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, loving someone forever doesn’t mean that your part of the forever has to stop once theirs is gone—or that forever means only.”

“Oh, Peter.”

May pulls him into a hug, nose smashed into his curls and breathing in the smell of his shampoo.

(May cries, but May does not cry alone.)

She holds him tight and shakes her head in amazement, and wonders when her sixteen-seventeen-twenty-one-year-old became so wise.

Then she remembers the little boy who came into her life so many years ago, who turned soap bubbles into magical adventures, who built circuit boards out of scraps from dumpsters, who wrote letters and saved people’s cats and weeded public cemeteries, and who one time even saved the universe.

This is who he’s always been.

“Thank you, Peter.”

Peter returns the hug, and when he speaks, she hears the smile in his voice. “Love you too, May.”

After she feels like she can breathe again, Peter sits them down on the grass and, opening the chest in front of Ben’s grave, starts reading some of the goofier notes he’s written in the last few months. May laughs, and sometimes she cries, and when Peter runs out of letters he recounts some of his favourite memories of Ben instead.

They stay like that until the sun starts to set, casting a soft orange light through the trees and tinging the shadows red. May watches as Peter carefully packs everything up, adding one more note to the box from his pocket. Then he stands and offers her his hand, eyes crinkling from his smile.

“Ice cream?”

May smiles back and takes his hand, and he pulls her up with an air of ease that still amazes her. Hand in hand they walk to the gate, which Peter closes carefully, and then they leave the graveyard behind them.

She’d told him she’d always be there for him, and nothing would change that. But maybe—just maybe—she was finally starting to realize that meant he’d always be there for her, too.

Forever.

#fictober19 #tw: canon character death #peter parker #may parker #peter parker fic #mcu fic #fanfiction #listen #this is a bit of a mess #but im not gonna lie im REAL proud of that ending #may&peter #memsfic

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casiplescastle · 6 years

Text

FANFICTION MASTERPOST: “IRON MAN/AVENGERS”

So, to celebrate my love for FanFiction and the amazing authors who made them, I made this FanFiction Masterpost compiled of some of the best stories I’ve read to corresponding fandoms. Enjoy!

NOTE: I edited some of the synopsis. The bold and italicized ones are my faves and HIGHLY RECOMMENDED. (Also, the picture is not mine.)

TONY STARK-CENTRIC

1.) Promises by FriendLey

Summary: AU where Pepper and Tony are married pre Iron Man 1.

2.) Parental Guidance by FriendLey

Summary: What if Howard and Maria Stark never died but are bored, retired parents worrying over Tony and nagging him to finally marry that charming girl Virginia, bring home some friends who is not just composed of Rhodey, and for crying out loud when is he going to give them grandchildren?

3.) Fiesta De Los Muertos by ScarletMelodies92

Summary: The events which lead to Anthony Stark becoming Death's favourite Merchant. Leads all the way up to Infinity War.

4.) My Name Was Not Friend by HiMyNameIsNotSlimShady

Summary: "I told you amendments were more than possible, and, and I delivered! I told you Bucky would be transferred to an American psych ward for therapy, to get help! I offered to legalize everything you did to get Bucky, both you and Sam!" Sam takes a step back, a gruff noise escaping his throat. Steve won't look at him, he can't rip his gaze away from Tony.

5.) Breathe by ancalime8301

Summary: Tony catches the cold making the rounds of the compound, but for him it's not as simple as a common cold.

6.) His little project by EternalSheWolf

Summary: “The reason I’m telling you, Rogers, is I’m pretty sure that you won’t find it in that file. And if you’re trying to understand Stark? Don’t. Better minds than yours have failed in that endeavor. Just accept that he’s there, and that he rolls the way he does."

[ Part 2 of the Kidnapping is a Bad Thing, Tony series ]

7.) His Greatest Creation by puzzlingnerd57

Summary: Howard sighed as the camera turned off. His greatest creation? Why did he say that? Truth or not, what he just said was dangerous. If anyone other than his son would see this tape, it would put Tony at risk. Thinking about his son had him looking back at the table, where his city of the future was laid out. He was limited to the technology he had. His son wouldn’t be. And maybe, once Tony was older, he could tell him the truth.

8.) Irreplacable by allaire mikháil (allaire)

Summary: Tony Stark has always been larger than life. Maybe Steve forgot that the man underneath the armor was all too human.

9.) Forced Reflection by Kizmet

Summary: Interludes with the Anti-Accords Team while they try to figure out how things went so wrong.

[ Part 6 of the Chasing Ideal series ]

10.) From Dust by Haecceity

Summary: Maria Hill has opinions on a lot of things. It's part of her job description. After the events of Captain America: Civil War, she finally starts sharing a few.

[ Part 3 of the La Ronde series ]

11.) Amend by ancalime8301

Summary: The stress finally catches up with Tony in dramatic fashion. The team has to decide to step up and handle things while Tony can't. Tony has to decide if he'll let them.

12.) Brilliance by shadowlancer_95

Summary: Tony Stark has, beyond all odds, earned the respect of Thanos the Mad Titan. It isn't necessarily a good thing.

[ Part 1 of the Infinity War AUs series ]

13.) All Dust Roads Lead Back To You by Hey_Diddle_Diddle25

Summary: Howard doesn't understand how he survived the accident that took his wife. He can't fathom what he's ever done to deserve that. Tony doesn't care what happened, just that he didn't lose both his parents, though most days it certainly felt like he did. Then Tony gets kidnapped and everything changes. Again.

[ Part 1 of the We Are Kings series ]

14.) Cut Your Teeth by karcheri

Summary: Tony erases the Avengers from his memory. They catch on.

15.) The Future of the World (and a Little Girl) by Kizmet

Summary: Incidents of unwanted excitement as Pepper tours to demonstrate SI’s Arc Shield technology.

[ Part 7 of the Chasing Ideal series ]

16.) The Head is too Wise (The Heart is all Fire) by karcheri

Summary: “But Maria…” He gives a small smile at this, “Maria had been a dream.” (Or, Hank Pym offers Steve some insight. It goes a long way.)

18.) The Merchant of Death by F-117 Nighthawk (F117_Nighthawk)

Summary: The Merchant of Death was a bit of a misnomer.

19.) Shook by sunbean72

Summary: Tony finds himself trapped in a collapsed building.

20.) Stark Dissonance by orphan_account

Summary: In which Howard and Tony have drastically different ideas of what love looks like.

21.) The Stark Family by CaraMia

Summary: The letter is short and to the point, written in an elegant hand on heavy stationery. Peggy is in awe. She never thought that Maria would ever do it. She's taken Tony and left Howard.

22.) Three Times Tony Took Care of Everyone and Once When They Took Care of Him by sunbean72

Summary: Post-Spider-Man and Post-CACW.

23.) Unspoken by Von

Summary: Captain America is the undisputed leader of the Avengers, but when he goes down? Iron Man steps up. Fury wants to know why nobody else thinks that's crazy.

24.) Of Cats and Tongues by Melethril

Summary: People firmly, almost stubbornly, believed that he was the more disciplined mind. That alone amused Bruce Banner.

25.) Make Do by Nikoru-chan

Summary: Captain America is used to challenges: Captain America led a top commando team in WWII, Captain America worked closely with Howard Stark, Captain America is now a greatly respected Avenger. Steve Rogers, on the other hand, has to deal with Tony Stark.

26.) Second Chances by Ana (Anafandom)

Summary: Several months after Civil War, Tony Stark has moved on with his life and is doing as all as can be expected. Then Howard and Maria Stark mysteriously appear back in his life, giving Tony and his parents a second chance of being a family and healing old wounds.

[ Part 1 of the Second Chances series ]

27.) Thank You Captain America by TheSourceOfAll

Summary: In hindsight, he probably should have had backup on standby. It was a HYDRA base after all, and assuming the place had been abandoned just because there was no one around at the time was kind of stupid.

[ Part 1 of the Thank You Series series ]

28.) Watermarks by SailorChibi

Summary: There was nothing I could do by then, though. I tried, but Howard had so much money and influence and I’d given up all my parental rights. Howard. Maria. Steve stared at Peggy's letter in growing horror. No.

29.) Trust and Betrayal by LadyCrimsonAndBlack

Summary: People who betray Tony Stark tend to end up dead. Steve Rogers gets off easy. Or Nick Fury deals with the aftermath of the Civil War. It involves lots of paperwork, media and Pepper Potts being scary enough to give even him a pause.

30.) The Right Thing in the Wrong Way by igrockspock

Summary: People don't ask why Pepper sticks by Tony as often as they should, and if they did, she probably wouldn't tell them the truth: that he's never left her alone on the one day she actually needs him.

31.) Sixth Sense by FriendLey

Summary: Tony has a bad feeling. Pepper tries to relieve him of it.

[ Part 3 of the Infinity War Speculation series ]

32.) Please Let Him Be Soft by DarkWolf

Summary: Pepper reflects on her relationship with Tony and what she wants post Civil War.

33.) Retirement by Pikapegasus

Summary: “I mean us, you and me, a former CEO and his successor, trying to make things work in the midst of their crazy busy lives. Plus the whole superhero thing, which is his night job, though he works overtime occasionally and has to deal with worldwide threats for several days at a time," Tony says. "Pretty romantic-sounding, huh?”

[ Part 4 of the Pepperony Week 2017 series ]

34.) What We Leave Behind by tobedecided

Summary: She sat in silence. It was eerie how familiar the scene was. How it echoed where they were six years ago.

35.) Yet Turning Stay by irnan

Summary: "Tony - you're all I've got too, you know."

36.) Walk in the Park by FriendLey

Summary: Pepper and Tony go jogging.

[ Part 1 of the Infinity War Speculation series ]

37.) Call Every Girl We Ever Met Maria by irnan

Summary: "You're telling me," Rhodey said, gleeful, "You're telling me that you've been shot, stabbed, sewn up, been riddled with shrapnel, had a magnet implanted in your chest, spent two years poisoning yourself with palladium, spent twenty years as a functioning alcoholic and had a vasectomy and you still managed to knock Pepper up?"

38.) Scenes From Our Mansion, After the War by jaegermighty

Summary: "Apologies, madam," says JARVIS, "but both you and Mr. Stark made me promise to prevent you from being one of 'those couples.’”

TO BE CONTINUED...

[ Spider-Man and Iron Man ] [ Star Wars ] [ Thor and Avengers ]

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whimsicalworldofme · 7 years

Text

You Swept Me Away

Poe steals Ava away for some much needed rest and relaxation.

Word Count: 2667

Content Warnings: None. It’s just lots and lots of fluffy cuteness.

Ava turned over the little holo device in the palm of her hand as she and Poe headed out of the medbay hand in hand. On that little device was a projection of their twins, looking more like babies than blobs now. They’d found out the sexes but agreed not to tell anyone, deciding they wanted to wait until they were born. Still, Ava couldn’t stop beaming and Poe had what seemed like a permanent grin on his lips, radiant light brightening his face as he glanced over at her. He laughed in excitement and pulled Ava closer to his side, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“We need to get serious about names now you know,” she said.

“There’s still time yet,” Poe shrugged it off. “I’m just too excited to think about anything serious right now.”

“Well we can’t call them one and two,” Ava countered, glancing at the little device again. That’s how the babies were labeled on the sonogram. Because she had been so stressed about taking care of Luke and getting him back to full health, helping him adjust to his bionic arm, and so on, they’d pushed back finding out the babies’ sexes. “Twenty more weeks to go,” she sighed, putting a hand on her stomach. “I’m already huge.”

“You’re adorable though,” he kissed her temple.

“Flatterer,” she blushed bright pink. She had heard of women doubting their husbands while they were pregnant, thinking that they were completely unattractive. She never had that worry with Poe. He looked at her like the light of the stars shone out of every inch of her. He talked about her like she was some life bringing goddess.

All in all, life was good. Luke had gotten the hang of his bionic and had been true to his word about simply enjoying life as a kid. Ava and Rey’s Jedi apprentices were almost ready to be turned loose on missions for the Resistance. In fact, they’d started going on little missions here and there already. The new X-Wings were set to be delivered in a few weeks. But best of all, the First Order was falling into disarray all on their own. No one knew what was going on, but reports were coming in that things continued to turn inward on themselves. High ranking officials were either walking away or going missing. Lots of people suspected General Hux of getting rid of anyone who might try to kill him and take his place. Whatever it was, Ava felt glad for it, because it meant fewer missions taking the people she loved into danger. It meant fewer instances of Poe having to break the worst news possible to loved ones still on base, having to tell them that their spouse, sibling, child, whoever, wasn’t coming home again. They could live and live well for the time being.

“Aren’t we going home?” Ava broke from her thoughts when she realized they’d taken a turn in the opposite direction from their quarters. A few people crossed their path and waved hello and Poe nodded and waved back while Ava just smiled kindly. “Poe, I’m so tired. I just want to get off my feet.”

“We have to make a quick stop at the hangar. I’m sorry,” he didn’t sound that sorry though. He sounded like he was up to something.

“What have you done?” She asked and watching him bite his lip, little joy lines radiating from the corners of his eyes. “Poe…”

“Just trust me,” he wouldn’t say anything else.

Ava feigned indignation and irritation, but he saw right through her, laughing merrily as he guided her along. She expected some sort of massive surprise party for the babies in the hangar and even braced herself for a bunch of people to pop out and yell surprise when they walked in the door. But no one shouted, there was no sign of a party, just a few pilots doing some work on their X-wings.

“Well now I’m just confused,” she stated.

Poe made no reply as he dropped his arm from around her waist and took her hand again, leading her up the gangway of the small ship that she had used for gathering her students. She sat down in the copilot’s seat and watched in silence as he went through all the necessary pre-flight checks. They rolled out of their spot in the hangar and out onto the launch pad. Ava liked watching the thrill Poe got when he was flying. This was his element, where he was free. He couldn’t have fun in this old hunk of a ship like he would in an X-Wing but just being up in the sky brought a vibrancy to him that never came for him while doing anything else. She felt a pang of guilt that he felt compelled to stop flying on missions because of her and the kids but it had been his decision. She had insisted that if he wanted to keep flying he should. They weren’t off the ground long, only about twenty minutes filled with silence and glancing smiles from him.

They landed on a stretch of open, grassy plain on a cliff overlooking one of the planet’s oceans. From the ship, Ava could see a large tent, more of a yurt really, had been set up there. Someone had started a fire in a pit just outside the yurt and there were solar powered twinkling lights, flower petals leading to the canvas door, and cushions around the firepit. Ava gaped at the extent of the setup from inside the cockpit, realizing that Poe must have been planning this for quite some time. When she finally pried her eyes away from it, she saw him watching her, teeth tugging on his bottom lip, waiting for her reaction, silently hoping she liked it.

“This is just for us?”

He nodded, clicking off switches and toggles.

“What about Luke?”

“Rey and Finn are staying at our quarters to help him out.”

“Oh, he can’t have been happy about that,” Ava mused. “He’s so desperate to prove he’s not a little kid.”

“He was ok,” Poe assured her. “I knew you wouldn’t want him alone for three days.”

“No,” she shook her head. “Definitely not.”

Poe got the ship fully powered down and popped up, bouncing with anticipation. He helped her up from her seat and pulled her eagerly down the gangway, their feet clanging on the metal before hitting the soft soil and grass. Ava took a deep breath, smelling the salty air and remembering all sorts of pleasant things from her past. Those memories while sweet, had been with Ben and were tainted with sorrow. But she never stopped loving the sea, the smell of it wafting on the breeze, the sound of waves crashing on the shore. The idea that she could make new memories here with Poe, that they’d be making them as a married couple made her happy.

“I forgot to grab the bag,” Poe halted on the edge of the campsite. “I’ll be right back.”

I knew there was something you were hiding from me.

Ava’s mood soured, and she scowled at the sound of the unwelcome voice. She’d been talking to Ben every now and then lately. It was strange. They had an unspoken agreement that he didn’t try to convince her to join him and she didn’t try to turn him back to the light. They talked about Luke and how he was adjusting to the arm. She told him about cooking. He occasionally opened up about how he missed his mother, how he regretted that he never got to say goodbye. They talked about their childhood adventures, carefully steering clear of the topic of Poe. She tried to avoid anything that would set him off in a fury.

Now is not the time Ben.

Apparently never was the time to tell me you’d married him.

�� Goodbye, Ben.

“That’s not a good face,” Poe frowned when he came back, a duffel slung over his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Is it the babies?” He placed a gentle hand on her stomach and Ava melted, seeing the love and concern in those doe eyes.

“Just an unwanted visitor,” she tapped a finger to her temple and Poe’s jaw set sternly when he understood who she meant. It didn’t last though, and he was soon smirking.

“Well you can tell him,” he moved his hand to run it through her hair, drawing her in closer to him and placing a tender kiss to her lips, “that he can kriff off.”

Ava giggled into the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him again. Poe guided her effortlessly into the tent without taking his eyes, hands or lips off of her.

~ ~ ~

The fire crackled and popped sending flurries of sparks dancing into the night sky. Ava hadn’t felt that at peace in so long, lying there with Poe’s arm around her, both of them staring up at the stars, Poe trying to get his bearing and pointing out familiar constellations and planets. They used to do this when they were younger, talking about all the places they were going to go and the big things they were going to do. It left her feeling a little wistful.

“I’ve missed doing this,” she sighed contently, nuzzling closer to him. “It’s like we’re kids again. Before everything got complicated. And obviously there are some definitive perks to being older,” she turned her head to look at him and saw he was grinning like an idiot. His hair was still tousled from the romp they’d had in the tent before coming out to enjoy the cool air and eat their dinner by the fire.

“Do you know what today is?” Poe asked, turning his face to hers, their noses almost brushing. Ava blinked, confused. She hadn’t realized that it was a day with any special significance to their relationship. A flash of panic raced through her. But Poe didn’t seem bothered that she didn’t know. He rolled onto his side and draped an arm over her waist. “Twenty-four years ago, a girl who usually kept to herself, who everyone thought was odd and quiet, brought me cookies and tried to cheer me up on one of the worst days of my life.”

“Oh,” Ava hadn’t realized. It wasn’t a day that she kept track of, mostly because she had thought it would only make him upset, since it was the day his mother was buried. “I didn’t know you’d remember that so fondly.”

“I knew that day that you were going to be an important part of my life,” he brushed some stray locks of hair away from face and tucked them behind her ear. “I didn’t think this would be the end result. I’m glad it is though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he beamed. “I still don’t know how I got so lucky, but I won’t tempt fate by asking why.”

“Because you ask why,” Ava replied. “You could’ve had your choice of any of the girls on base, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Poe joked, snickering. “I’m a total heartthrob. The curls alone are enough to lure them in by the dozens.”

“And yet,” she laughed, “you decided to spend all of your twenties chasing after me and raising a baby that wasn’t yours. Which really was very foolish of you,” she teased.

“Yeah, well, I got looks, not wisdom. Just ask Leia,” he carried on. “You can only have one, you know.”

“Mmm,” she nodded, broke into a laugh and gave him a soft kiss. “But really, you saw me at my worst and you didn’t run away. I pushed you away, told you to find an easier life, you kept coming back. You make me laugh. You make me feel safe. You will dance with me around the kitchen at three in the morning when you find me raiding the fridge for snacks because these children of yours are constantly starving,” she giggled and watched Poe’s eyes scrunch up as he let out a hearty belly laugh. “You’re my home, my family,” she sighed. “I know you don’t like me talking about him-”

Poe squinted, slightly, knowing she was about to mention Ben, which seemed like the worst thing to do in that moment.

“But,” she needed to get it out there, “when we were younger, when I was with Ben, all he could ever think about was how he had won, how I had chosen him and not you, how I was the one thing you wanted that he got.”

“How did he know?” Poe balked.

“You weren’t very good at hiding your disappointment,” Ava stroked her fingertips along the shorter hair at his temples, now completely gone grey. “We both knew.”

“Thanks for not mentioning it then,” he grew serious, a little embarrassed.

“But when I finally let you in, after everything I’d been through, all you could ever talk about was how you couldn’t believe I’d picked you. You still act like you can’t believe it.”

“That’s because I can’t,” Poe smiled. “You’re sure you want to be married to me?”

“Yes,” she laughed. “I’m sure.”

“And you’re really gonna stick with me when we’re old and my hair is completely grey and we’re all wrinkled and sagging?”

“Even when we’re grey and wrinkled and sagging,” Ava nodded.

Poe heaved a heavy, dramatic sigh, “It’s only fair that I warn you then…”

“Warn me of what?” She fought back another giggle.

“If we make it to old and grey, I plan on completely abusing my age,” he licked his lips before going for that trademark lip biting smirk that Ava loved so much. “I mean, I’m going to be completely obnoxious and belligerent and no one can tell me off because I’m old.”

“Oh yeah?” Ava laughed.

“Yep,” he nodded. “We’re going to be that obnoxious old couple that is just disgustingly handsy in public. I’m going to walk everywhere with my hand inappropriately low on your backside, preferably giving it a good squeeze,” he goosed her making her yelp in surprise.

“Poe!” She couldn’t stop laughing.

“And we’ll have obscenely inappropriate pet names for each other. Like sugar tits and hot lips.”

“Sugar tits?” Ava was nearly shrieking with laughter now.

“That’s you and I’m hot lips. Or maybe hot rod,” he waggled his eyebrow, making it harder for her to breathe through the laughter. “No, hot lips.”

“And if we go somewhere and want people to clear out we’ll just start belligerently hollering about “back in my day” and drive everyone crazy,” even he couldn’t stop laughing at that point and Ava was on the verge of wheezing, tears rolling down her cheeks. “And no one can tell us off because we’ll pull the “I fought in the wars for you” card and they’ll feel too guilty to do anything. And I plan on completely abandoning wearing clothes in the house once I’m, I don’t know, sixty? We’ll keep visitors away by answering the door completely in the nude.”

“Oh maker,” Ava covered her eyes with a hand and struggled to regain her breath, completely failing and laughing so hard she coughed.

“I have put a lot of thought into these plans,” he insisted with mocking seriousness. “So, if you want out, tell me now.”

“No way, hot lips,” she snickered, moving her hand off her face and laying it on his cheek, running her thumb along his cheekbone. “I’m in this for the long haul.”

“Good,” Poe grinned. “I love you,” he got a little more serious, the way that always made Ava’s heart flutter and hear head light. His eyes still danced and sparkled with that vibrant joy that always came so easily to him.

“I love you too,” she kissed him happily and pressed her forehead to his, shutting her eyes and blissfully wishing this moment could last much, much longer.

Last Chapter Master List Next Chapter

#fanfiction #fanfic #fic #Star Wars #Star Wars au #Poe Dameron #Poe Dameron fanfiction #Poe Dameron fanfic #Poe Dameron fic #Poe Dameron x oc #Ben Solo fanfiction #Ben Solo fanfic #Ben Solo x oc #kylo ren fanfictio #Kylo Ren x oc #fluff #multi chapter fanfiction #multi chapter fanfic #multi chapter fic

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wanderinguterus1 · 4 years

Text

Plan C

Three days after finishing the medication, I lay naked from the waist down on the paper sheet - legs in stirrups and cold, metal wand moving around in my uterus - looking at the ultrasound screen.

“Well, your body likes the Clomid. I see the eggs… see them, right there?”

I didn’t really need to see my eggs; I just wanted confirmation the medication worked. I would happily take the doctor’s word for it if he would take that wand out of me and let me put my pants back on. I nodded, and the nurse smiled at me.

“You could be getting knocked up today!” she laughed.

I attempted a chuckle. The cruel thing about Clomid is the side effects: it makes you more fertile by increasing the hormones needed to create a “mature egg,” but the side effects include irritation, aggression, and moodiness - all which make for great foreplay, naturally.

A few minutes later, I was standing, pants down again, while the same nurse stuck a needle in my right butt cheek.

“All done!” she exclaimed. She looked and sounded around twenty-five years old; she was about a foot shorter than me, but muscular – like she may have been a gymnast in the past. Compared to her, I felt huge and old, like a giant grandmother. “Now it’s time for the fun part! After this, I hope we will never see you again!”

“Thank you,” I said, smiling, her enthusiasm rubbing off on me a little.

The enthusiasm lasted six days, until I woke up one morning to a slight twinge in my abdomen: the same feeling I had been having once a month, for about twenty-six years.

“I’m starting my period,” I said to Luis.

“Really?” he said, rolling over to look me in the eyes.

At six years younger than me, Luis never seemed too devastated over a failed baby-making attempt. Rather, he would say things like, “I’m sorry,” and “Are you ok?” I hated this response. I wanted him to share my anger: to leave the room and slam the door, punch a wall, refuse to talk to me for the rest of the day. At least then I could feel justified in my own rage.

He tried to hug me, but I quickly got out of bed and started getting dressed for work.

The next week, I was back at the doctor’s office.

“I don’t know what’s wrong. I’ve been taking folic acid, I haven’t had coffee or alcohol in months, I do yoga, I’ve spent a fortune on acupuncture, and I even tried visualization exercises! Why isn’t anything working?”

I knew the answer, even though the doctor was nice enough not to say it. “You’re too old to have a baby” – the unspoken words hung in the air.

He passed me a tissue. “We can try Clomid again; sometimes it takes more than once,” he responded patiently. I didn’t tell him that I had already tried Clomid twice last year, with my first fertility doctor.

I noticed a picture of his family in a gold frame sitting on his desk. He and his wife stood in front of a sign for Yellowstone National Park, each with a blonde child on their hip. One boy and one girl. I tried to suppress my jealousy, but their family looked so perfect. I reminded myself that to a man sitting in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, my life looked perfect too. I often played these mind games, trying to convince myself to be happier. Hey, you could be addicted to drugs and living under a bridge. So you can’t have a kid, big deal.

“Let me prescribe another round of Clomid. First, I am going to need you to pee for me.”

While I waited for Dr. Edwards to return, I scrolled through Facebook. As usual, one of the posts was a picture of a newborn. It belonged to a former student, and the caption read: “The best thing I ever did.” I scrolled past quickly, without liking, remembering ten years ago when I was her English teacher. She used to eat lunch in my room and tell me about the drama in her friend group: “Katie’s mad at Olivia because Olivia’s boyfriend was rude to her. Olivia wouldn’t say anything to him about it, so now they’re not talking. It’s crazy.”

Soon, that same girl would be wrapping her newborn in one of those soft blue and white striped blankets, learning to change diapers, snapping the little buttons together at the bottom of a onesie, and figuring out how car seat straps work. I closed my phone and looked around the room. A poster about in vitro fertilization hung on the back of the door. Unsurprisingly, the poster neglected to advertise the cost. As if that wasn’t a factor.

Dr. Edwards walked through the door with a pregnancy test in his hand and a smirk on his face. “Shelly, you’re pregnant.”

“What?”

He showed me the two red lines. “Yeah, look for yourself. These are bold lines.”

“I can’t be. I’m on my period.”

“Sometimes women bleed in the beginning of a pregnancy. Come back on Monday and we’ll see if your hCG levels go up.”

At home, I told my husband tentatively, “I got a positive pregnancy test at the doctor’s office today, but I really don’t understand how. I’ve been bleeding for the past week.”

Luis enveloped me in a hug but knew better than to get excited. “Well, let’s hope for some kind of miracle.”

A miracle did not occur. On Monday, the test showed my hCG levels had decreased, proving that the pregnancy didn’t “stick.” I learned that this was called a chemical pregnancy – a “miscarriage” shortly after implantation - and I would go on to have two more.

After the emotional roller coaster ride of three very short-lived pregnancies, I finally convinced Luis to do foster care classes.

We had heard many pieces of advice about this: “Just adopt through the foster system; it’s free.”

“My sister got a baby as soon as she signed up to be a foster mom.”

“As soon as you adopt and stop trying, that’s when you’ll get pregnant naturally.”

Although Luis was hesitant, he agreed to try - after I promised him we would only accept babies who were up for adoption (I had formerly convinced myself that was an actual think you could do).

Our classes require us to log into Zoom on Tuesday and Thursday nights for six weeks to listen to lectures from health care providers, social workers, and criminal investigators. Our teacher is an animated, African-American lesbian named Clensy who calls us her babies and reminds us every step of the way that she would “tell it like it is” - no sugarcoating in her classes.

The first lecture starts with this admonition: “Do not go into this if your plan is to adopt. Our number one goal is reunification with the biological family. This is not an adoption agency. To foster means to care for temporarily! Say it with me, babies! Tem- por- ar- y!”

I nod at the computer screen, as if this is no surprise, but feel Luis exhale.

After class, his first question is, “Why are we doing this if the goal is reunification?”

“Well, they say that, of course, but lots of people have adopted this way,” I close my laptop and start walking towards our bedroom. It’s late and I have school the next day. Besides, I’m not interested in this conversation.

Luis follows me, “This seems like a lot of work - meetings with biological parents, meetings with social workers, therapy appointments - do we even have time for this?”

I retrieve pajamas from my dresser and make my way towards the bathroom. “I am tired of waiting, Luis. I’m 42. I want to feel like we are getting somewhere. Even if we never foster, at least we are doing something. I’m tired of waiting around for a pregnancy that will probably never happen.”

Before getting married, if I decided I wanted to change my life in some big way, the only person I had to consult was myself (and my bank account). When I got sick of a job, I quit. When I was offered a new position, I weighed the pros and cons. When I decided to move abroad, I had to be brave enough to get on the plane, but I didn’t have to ask anyone’s permission. Marriage, however, means no more autonomy; even if it’s something I have desperately wanted for a long time, I have to consult Luis. And sometimes, there is no compromise. We can’t foster half of a child.

Despite many similar-sounding arguments, Luis agrees to finish the course. His decision has everything to do with how much he loves me and nothing to do with actually wanting to foster. I realize that his reluctance poses a real problem, but the idea that we are moving in the direction of becoming a family of three is enough for now. Future Me could deal with the ramifications of dragging Luis - kicking and screaming - through this process.

The next night, we learn how to detect child abuse.

Clensy warns us, “Ok, tonight’s going to be hard. You are going to have to look at some pictures of kids who have been hurt by adults.

She shares her screen with us, and the first picture that pops up is of a baby - a baby - with three dark blue lines across his little face.

“This child has been slapped. Hard. The lines you are seeing is from an adult hand.”

I looked away, feeling that familiar anger towards God creeping in again. This is why I don’t believe that “everything happens for a reason.”

The next picture is of a child who has been burned with a cigarette. I put myself on mute and ask Luis, “Why do we need to see these?”

He shrugs, as if he doesn’t know why we are doing any of this.

A social worker named Nora sat across from me and Luis in our living room. After 40 hours of foster care classes, she had come to inspect our house – to make sure we had a fire extinguisher and smoke alarms, that all alcohol and medications were locked up, that we owned a first aid kit, and that we didn’t live within a certain radius of an ungated body of water.

“Ok, we just need to go through some of this paperwork now,” she said, after taking pictures of every room in the house. She looked about 40 and was dressed surprisingly unprofessional, in sweatpants, a hoodie, and sneakers. “First, I will ask you about possible placements. You have to answer ‘yes, no, or will consider.’”

She opened her spiral notebook, licked her pointer finger and located the right page.

“Fire starter?”

I looked at Luis, trying to make this situation as normal as possible. His eyes, however, said, “Why would anyone say yes to housing a fire starter?”

I answered gently, “Probably not.” Besides, we had asked for a child under the age of two. The image of a two-year-old fire starter frightened me.

“What about an opioid addict?” Nora inquired, as if she were asking us what kind of haircut we preferred.

Luis said nothing.

“Um, does that mean a baby who is born addicted?” I asked, trying to appear unfazed.

“Yes, usually. There are some situations where the parent has been injecting the child even after birth, but that’s not as common.”

I looked at Luis, who again, said nothing.

“No?” I asked.

He shrugged, as if to say, “This was your idea, not mine.” I hoped Nora couldn’t read his thoughts.

I shook my head, and Nora continued. “Ok, what about a child who is destructive to property?”

I wanted to say no to all of these, but I sensed that every “no” lessened our chances of getting a call. As if wanting a “normal” kid precluded us from being good people.

“Destructive to animals?” Nora didn’t even look up from the paper, as if this was something we could answer quickly, without contemplation.

I felt the need to say yes to something. “Well, we don’t have any pets,” I offered.

“You have to think about your neighbors’ pets,” Nora warned.

“Oh, so… no.”

Luis still hadn’t spoken. I wanted to shake him and say, “Please, at least pretend like you want to do this.” I wasn’t even considering if this was something I could do – what in the world would I say to a kid who went around the neighborhood looking for animals to hurt?

After finishing the list of possible placements, Nora passed us a business card which read: Thompson and Gaines, Family Attorneys. “Keep this in case you need legal representation.”

The confused look on my face prompted further explanation: “Just in case a child accuses you of anything. Sometimes a child might be upset about being taken from their home, and they might make allegations of abuse against you. Sometimes the bio parent might see a bruise on their child and make an allegation. We often deal with desperate people. The best thing to do is just take a picture if your child gets injured. Send the picture to us, so we’re aware of the situation.”

After Nora’s departure, I retreat to our room and collapse into bed. Staring at the ceiling, I wonder what it would be like to take care of a severely traumatized kid. To actually have to defend myself in court - prove I’m not a child abuser.

Luis joins me, neither of us speaking for a few minutes.“Are we trying to hard to make something happen that just isn’t in the cards for us?” I ask.

He took my hand; we stare at the ceiling fan as it moves in circles.“I don’t know,” he finally says. “Life is just so strange. There are people getting exactly what we want so badly, but railing at God over it. I bet right now, there’s probably a teenager crying over a positive pregnancy test.”

“Someone’s probably dropping off a baby at the fire department as we speak.”

“And some woman’s losing her mind because she just found out she’s having twins.”

“Some guy’s getting snipped because he hates his children and doesn’t want to risk having more.”

Somehow, thinking of these scenarios bring us comfort, and we laugh together, for the first time in weeks.

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sending-the-message · 7 years

Text

The creatures of Mammoth Cave by KyBlu_I_s

Its recently been brought to my attention what Gunney has started to tell a few of our stories from when we ran the Kentucky Office of Paranomalies[sic]. That's actually the name of our branch. Each state has an office that's a perfect counterpart to ours. Well they did. Until a few months ago. Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. My name is Keith. I'm a Chief Petty Officer, and these are MY versions of the stories. Gunney did a decent job of telling the Gluttony story. Although the first half was better than the second, but that's because he told it exactly like it happened. A little personal background;

I grew up in a broke ass family. My dad wasn't home because he worked two jobs to keep a roof on our heads. Mom was a drunken whore that was in and out of our lives. I couldn't play sports in school, because where I'm from that type of thing costs money. So, I read. And I read everything I could. I really loved to read about the macabre and the paranormal. By the time I was thirteen, I had read the local libraries entire section on paranormal and supernatural beings, rituals, magic, and ghosts. A little over four hundred books. But I started when I was seven. I would walk the eight blocks from my home to the library once a week with dad on Saturday morning, because he only had one job on the weekends. I would check out my limit, and usually find a way back to the library before Saturday for my next limit of books.

I graduated High school at the age of sixteen, having skipped sophomore and junior years. I waited for two years and joined the Navy. I knew Gunney from school, and we would hangout after school sometimes and play stupid kid video games til we passed out. So, when he told me he was enlisting, I figured that I would as well. Hell, they pay for college, train you for a career, and pay you while your active. Why not? Well, if not for Gunney I would have died. Several times over. So when he found a way for me to get off of that fucking ship, I was hella happy. I had wanted to study demonology in college anyway, and this way the government would actually pay for it!

Our first case was bad. Real bad. But you already know about that. See, what you don't know, is that even after Gunney left a year ago, I stayed. I'm here now. Alone. A single smartass against the evils of the wilderness. Let me tell ya, there's some freaky shit in Kentucky. Especially in the caves.

It was a crisp April morning when Gunney ordered us to assemble in the wretched bullpen. The overhead monitor displayed a torn and broken corpse. The head lay face down, the body chest up. The head had been twisted all the way around. Left arm ripped off and , and this is sick, shoved down the throat. The right arm lay broken, twisted and bloody barely attached. The legs were shredded and mangled so badly they no longer remotely resembled legs. The shredded remains if the legs looked more like a bad plate of chipped beef and raw burger meat.

" This was young miss Christa Jonas. She was seventeen years old. She was part of a six person group that took a discount tour of the Mammoth Caves. During the tour four of the six members were lost. Christa was the only one found. Her remains are on the way here so that Jerry here can perform an autopsy." Gunney paused, to point at our lone medical officer. He continued " Keith, do you recognize the injuries? Maybe have any idea what the hell got to thus poor girl?"

I shook my head as I wracked my brain for information, " No sir, I don't Gunney" I answered. I felt bad for leaving him in the lurch like that, but I really didn't have a clue what would have mutilated that girl so badly. Well, I didn't know what would multilateral her, and not eat more of her. Maybe we were looking at some type of previously unknown creature. My heart rate increased at the thought of being responsible for cataloging and naming a previously undiscovered animal, or being if another type...

As Gunney talked about the cave system, and ordered the others to get packed and armed, I went to the library of our new compound. We had more books on my favorite subjects than I had ever believed were printed. I quickly looked for anything that lived in caves, mines, or subterranean passageways. I found the book I was looking for, and carried it to a table. Taking a deep breath, I began to speed read, until I stopped on a description that chilled my bones. The creature was named a Cave Dwelling Ghoul. According to the book, the last one was thought to have been exterminated in the year 1909. However the way it kills is quite unique. Its known to take pleasure in the torture of young girls, often making them choke on pieces of their own bodies. It would then chew, but not eat a large portion of the body while the person choked to death, at witch point it would twist the head around twice. I quickly stood up and almost ran back to the bull pen. Gunney stood there waiting, and reading the case file.

" Gunney, I think I know what we have here. His many times was thus girls head turned? " I stammered, excited and full of dread.

" Uhm...It looks like twice. Yeah..twice. Why? What's that got to do with anything?" He looked at me like he expected some big speech, but I didn't have one.

" Its a CDG. A type of Ghoul that solely lives in caves. They were thought to be dead for over a hundred years. They can be killed, but its not easy. Iron bullets and thermite. Shoot them with iron, and then burn em. They'll be alive when the fire starts, just frozen. Iron to those fucks is like a massive dose of sucks to a human. It will paralyze them. However it won't wear off, til their bodies heal and the bullet is pushed out. Thermite is about the only thing that burns hot enough to kill them. They have poison glands in the base of their claws and in that mouths. A bite or scratch will knock a full grown man out for hours. When he wakes up he will be sick as a fucking dog for a few days. Nasty little bastards. Never even rumoured to be in Kentucky. Kinda weird that a species that's not indigenous and thought to be extinct suddenly shows up. So soon after...ya know."

He knew. We tried not to talk about what happened to our group, but it was an unspoken book mark in time. Like a piece of corn in a turd, just there, rather you want it to be or not. We knew that what we fought that day wasn't human. Even the civilians weren't human anymore, but it was still a tough loss.

Gunney told me to go get the thermite and try to find a source of iron ammunition while he briefed the rest of the men on what we were going to be fighting this time. I went to the armory and found the thermite. Iron ammo was another story. See, the last thing to use iron projectiles were civil war cannons. Well, a few other large bore weapons after that, but very few. I had an idea that maybe salting the lead with iron powder might work, but I couldn't risk our remaining troops on a might. So, needles to say I was fucking through the roof thrilled when I found a local black smith. I called and gave him the measurements of the projectiles that we needed and he agreed to make them. On barter no less. He wanted a hundred grams of thermite to speed his forge up and that's all. Well, it still took the man twenty eight hours to make four hundred rounds. Then I had to load them into shells. So, It was thirty three hours after the debriefing before we were actually ready to go. Since it was late, we decided to get up at 0430 and head out. We all went to bed at a little before 2300.

At 0445 the next morning we were up,loaded and heading out. It was a four hour drive from base to the Mammoth Caves state park. We arrived as the police that had closed the property off to tourists were changing shifts, so getting in was a fucking chore.

Almost an hour after arriving, we were unloading the black Humvees and heading for the main entrance. The cave we entered was honestly...Mammoth! No shit, right? The ceiling was almost thirty feet up, stalagmites and stalactites reaching up and down like crooked teeth in a rotten maw. The silence of the caves was deafening. I could hear the others hearts beating. Well, maybe it was in my head.

We walked to the coordinates that the tour guides provided as the last place the entire group was together. We set our GPS lock to those coordinates, and split up with our night vision activated. We decided to walk in a single direction for five minutes before returning to the point we marked. We did this four times before the first blur of movement was seen. Johnson saw a small man shaped thing run just out if his field of view.

" Report to my position. I have movement. I think its a single entity, but I can't be sure." He called out through the com unit. We all looked to our phones to see where he was on the map. He was less than fifty feet from me, so I was the first to arrive. When I got to his position, he was visibly shaken. His pants leg ripped in three slices torn horizontally across his right calf. Thankfully the thing hadn't touched skin, because Johnson was big ass dude, and I didn't want to be the one to evacuate his ass from the caves.

Gunney was next arrive, and quickly spotted the torn leg. After asking if Johnson had been scratched, he decided to call the tour guide on the radio to turn off the tourist lights. The cave went dark as Gunney told the others to remain in NV. The rest if our crew arrives one at a time a minute or two apart.

When we were all in the same spot, I whispered " Listen guys, these things are fast as lightening on crack. They're venomous and vicious. They want to torture us and then chew our flesh. That's how they feed. They chew, but only drink the blood and liquefied fat that they spill from our mangled bodies. Shoot them anywhere. It doesn't matter. The rounds shouldn't pass through them, they're low power and heavy bullets. Once the iron is in the skin, they're frozen solid. Then we have about eleven hours to burn them. The bodies won't burn unless we can powder them with the thermite and use the magnesium strips to start that on fire." I summed up as " Be careful, aim true. We don't have a lot of ammo. "

The men all nodded in agreement and left off across the caves. The next time I would see any of them, three would be unconscious, and badly beaten. But that's for tomorrows post.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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dadvans · 7 years

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don’t look back in anger (otayuri, 2.5k, teen) ::

[life lesson: if some dumb-dumb actually tags you in a callout post on tumblr and says shitty, baseless things about you, don’t engage them. write petty fic about otabek and yuri as grandpas who live on mars instead!! you’re welcome.]

At age 54, Victor Nikiforov-Katsuki became one of the first successful test subjects for a series of anti-aging surgeries. At 37, he had a knee surgery and received hair plugs, but the first in a series of operations at 54 gave him joints and muscle and organs of someone forever young.

Yuri had grimaced at the holoscreen when the news broke, having seen too much of Victor’s face to last several lifetimes. “I bet he has a robodick too.”

“Yura,” Otabek had said, both fond and resigned from across the dining room table where he was dissecting a grapefruit half.

At age 87, Victor Nikiforov-Katsuki went out in a blaze of glory deep-dicking his husband (“robodick,” confirmed BuzzfeedMars) on a solo flight to their summer home on Venus, when his elbow slipped and he managed to undo the ship’s airlock. Neither he nor Yuuri had looked a day over 40.

Yuri’s let his body age. He’s still in good shape for 82; he does water aerobics with a group of old ladies every Tuesday and Thursday, and the atmosphere on Mars has naturally benefited his bones for the past three decades. But he and Otabek have always been purists otherwise, letting nature take its course with their bodies and never giving into the temptation or philosophy of synthetic body maintenance. There’s a small, petty part of him from his youth that remains, the purest part of himself that celebrates his body as the ultimate defeat of Victor Nikiforov. He revels in his own skin, and in Otabek’s, and the thought that when death comes to them in old age they won’t have cheated it, but earned it somehow. Victor and Yuuri’s parts were supposed to last them until 2089, and by then, who knows. The idea of them fucking their ancient asses all over the goddamn galaxy still stirs something ugly in Yuri.

Until Otabek gets sick. Like, really, really sick. And he keeps getting sick. Bladder infections and kidney infections and pissing blood and choked up catheters and too many nights in the hospital instead of their estate, and suddenly there’s a question that goes unspoken between them.

“You’re killing yourself,” Yuri says finally after their third trip to the ER that month. Otabek had a temperature of 40 degrees and collapsed in their greenhouse.

“Or I’m just dying,” Otabek says. “I’m old.”

“Bullshit,” Yuri says. Otabek still skates sometimes on weekdays when the rink is empty, because he was blessed with superhuman cartilage in his knees and the back of a titan. He just does simple laps to relieve stress while Yuri watches from the stands, long since given up the ice out of self preservation. But Otabek has never had to, because Otabek has always been healthy and strong. There’s nothing else to be said or done, because, “bullshit, you’re not allowed to die.”

“I don’t think that’s how dying works,” Otabek replies. He’s smiling and there’s acceptance in the smile that feels damning.

“Fuck you,” Yuri says. “The doctors have given you dozens of options. There’s-- technology, there’s--there’s--”

“I thought you didn’t believe in that,” Otabek says.

“Don’t let my pride kill you, Christ, Beka,” Yuri says, feeling impossibly young even with his knobbed knuckles and crooked fingers wrapped around Otabek’s own, mindful of the saline drip and hiding the biggest of his liver spots. “If you don’t live through this, I’ll kill you.”

The kidneys have to go. The bladder has to go.

Otabek’s dick has to go.

“It’s fine,” Otabek says after the doctor leaves the room. Their intimacy has suffered recently. Until Otabek’s body started failing him for good, they were still going at it an admirable two to three times a week. It was bragging rights at Yuri’s water aerobics class; Janice and Marta and Ahimsa are all twenty years younger than he is, but still delight in his gossip.

“Your hips can still handle fucking on the stairs?” Marta would ask, and Yuri would preen, his long gone grey hair curling with the heat of the pool around his ears.

Yuri has always deeply loved Otabek’s body, even in old age. He’s loved Otabek’s full chest of hair, the grey curly-cues that gather down his shoulders like shrubbery. He’s loved the wrinkles of Otabek’s ass when Otabek fucks him sideways in the mornings and Yuri reaches behind him for something soft and familiar to hold onto. He’s loved the deep growing cut of Otabek’s philtrum, he’s loved the soft ocean of Otabek’s stomach and the way it curves perfectly against his spine at night. He’s loved Otabek’s cataracts, Otabek’s thick fingernails, Otabek’s shitty liver and bladder, Otabek’s dick that has its own groove inside him.

But Otabek will still be Otabek. It’s always been Otabek’s character and strength that have made Yuri feel strong just standing beside him.

“It’s fine,” Yuri agrees. Otabek will carve new grooves into him. Otabek will not be in pain. Otabek will be ninety and still skating past Yuri in the stands of the skating club while Yuri drinks hot cider and pretends to ignore Otabek in favor of a book he’s read six pages of in the past ten years. Otabek will be alive. Yuri will still get to wrap himself around Otabek at night and press his nose to the wire-stiff hairs at the base of Otabek’s neck and listen to the sharp way Otabek negotiates the prices of fresh fruit and farmed fish at the market on Tuesdays. Yuri will still be able to occupy a comfortable silence where the room feels full and alive just because his feet are resting in Otabek’s lap. Yuri would do anything to keep that selfishly for himself as long as possible. “It’s fine.”

It’s not fine.

The organ transplants--the kidney, the bladder anyway--are all farmed sustainably and are available for Otabek at any time.

The dick however, is not.

“Please, do not say the word--”

“Robodick,” the doctor says anyway. “That’s the direction the market has deemed most profitable in perfecting, so the best technology currently available is the Nikiforov model. At Mr. Altin-Plisetsky’s age, I would be too worried that an organic transplant might not take, as we haven’t perfected the procedure. Going with a Nikiforov model would ensure a much higher success rate. This means his body wouldn’t reject the transplant, and the likelihood of--worst case scenario, death would be much, much lower.”

“Say that name again,” Yuri says. It’s a challenge, not a request. The doctor looks between Otabek in a gown on the table, and Yuri, hands curled over the handle of his cane.

“Would you like me to leave you with literature?” the doctor says, not taking the bait. He hands a thick magazine to Otabek and nods at Yuri. “I can leave you two alone if you need time to discuss the options available.”

As soon as the doctor is out of the room, Yuri snarls, “is that a dick catalogue?”

“That is,” Otabek says, flipping it open to a random page before leaning away from it and fumbling for his reading glasses, “that is exactly what it appears to be.”

“Did he say ‘Nikiforov?’” Yuri asks, lifting his cane to poke gently at Otabek’s hand. Otabek smiles, entertained. It’s the same kind of smile that he used to direct at Yuuri decades and decades ago when they were young, at some banquet or fancy party hosted by Victor and Yuuri, where Otabek would turn to Yuri and mouth, you jealous? against the long curve of Yuri’s neck

Otabek flips a couple dozen pages back in the magazine and adjusts his glasses. He’s trying not to smile too much. “‘Nikiforov -- or N1-kiforov is the prototype model still used today in all of our synthetic penis transplants,’” he reads out loud. “The design and shape of the model are based off of the organic penis belonging to Victor Nikiforov, who--”

“I am not,” Yuri spits out, “not having Victor Nikiforov’s dick inside of me.”

Otabek lets the magazine close around his thumb, bookmarking the page.

“They have to have other models,” Yuri continues.

Otabek frowns, his cheeks cutting deep curves against his mouth like a bulldog, and flips the catalogue back open to read quietly to himself. Yuri can feel the years peel off his own lifetime watching Otabek read.

Eventually, Otabek continues, “‘The N1-kiforov model was eventually chosen as the base model for all synthetic penile transplants, as the feedback regarding use, size, as well as shape concerning the girth and slight curve was favorable for both recipients, as well as sexual partners of all genders.’”

“Are you fucking with me?” Yuri asks, completely serious. “Beka, I need to know: are you fucking with me.”

“I am one-hundred percent not fucking with you,” Otabek replies. “But look-- there are different versions, a lot of luxury attachments--”

“Like what, Beka? A pasta maker? This is your dick, not a fucking KitchenAid,” Yuri does not scream.

Otabek looks at him. Really looks at him. Takes his glasses off and rubs at his temple slowly, and Yuri instantly wishes he could take every word that’s stumbled out of his mouth in the past minute and shove them back in.

They take the dick catalogue home.

They bathe together, quietly. Yuri sits between Otabek’s legs and lets the back of his head rest between where Otabek’s chest has gone soft and droopy and he closes his eyes and tries to forget the day. Otabek won’t let him.

“I need to get a transplant,” he says.

“I know,” Yuri says. “I’m being petulant. I’m in mourning.”

“You’re going to be mourning more than my dick soon if I don’t actually go in for the operation,” Otabek says. He still sounds so kind.

“Shut up,” Yuri says. He hates this. “I know.”

“Is it really so awful, me having Victor’s dick?” Otabek says. “I mean, you never wondered--”

He’s teasing, and Yuri wants to now sink underwater but also drag Otabek with him. “I hate you!”

“You love me,” Otabek says. He says it with such command in his voice that Yuri can do nothing but agree, weak for him with it.

“Yeah,” Yuri says. “I do.”

The series of operations starts less than a month later. Organ transplants are done with such frequency and ease these days that they’re the kind of operation that the lead surgeons will step out of the room during, send their interns in with their rivals to poach new techniques. Yuri pretends that he isn’t nervous, wearing his comfiest pair of sweats and one of Otabek’s winter sweaters in the waiting room. In his decades and decades and decades alive, humanity has still not found a way to make a comfortable hospital chair.

Every time Otabek wakes up, Yuri feels like he’s been suffocating. The slow blink awake makes Yuri’s heart catch in his throat every time.

Each surgery requires additional physical therapy. Otabek is so strong, Yuri thinks for the thirty-thousandth time in his life. He makes it through each one with such ease, it reminds Yuri of the first time he saw Otabek land a quad axel in competition. Invincible, he thinks.

The doctors tell them they can engage in sexual intercourse in a month. Yuri doesn’t know what he’s going to do when that month is up. He doesn’t expect to die before then. Yuri eats a piece of candy a day, does low-impact cardio three times a week, drinks a glass of red wine with dinner, and even if that weren’t enough to ensure some kind of longevity, Yuri is sure to live to 112 out of sheer spite alone.

(Even on their honeymoon in Rome fifty-five years ago, Otabek called him, “my grumpy old man.”)

It’s not like they have to have sex to have a meaningful relationship. It’s not like their relationship has only lasted nearly seven decades because the sex. But Yuri likes the sex. Yuri likes sex with Otabek; the noises he makes, the reminder of him solid and sure at the beginning of the day, the end of it.

Yuri hasn’t been so afraid of something or unsure of anything in a very long time. It sits in his stomach like a stone, and it grows heavier as Otabek gets better. He hates it. It makes him feel nauseous and it makes him feel tired; it makes him feel old.

Finally, Otabek turns to him and says, “we don’t have to, you know.”

And Yuri knows exactly what he’s talking about.

And in that moment, Yuri knows he wants to. As soon as the choice is taken away from him, Yuri knows exactly the decision he would make, and that would be to let Otabek fuck him, even if it were with a synthetic model of Victor Nikiforov’s dick.

“How dare you,” Yuri says. He’s making tea on the stove, slicing up a lemon for Otabek’s while Otabek scrolls through the news on his tablet. How dare Otabek bring it up so casually in the morning, not even daring to look him in the eye. “You don’t get to make this decision for me. You coward.”

Otabek looks up from his tablet and pushes his glasses up his nose, smiling. “Coward?” he asks. “You always tell me I’m the brave one. Even in our wedding vows, you said--”

“I know what I said!” Yuri says, angrily scooping too many spoonfuls of ceylon into loose tea bags. It’s going to come out too strong, bitter, and Yuri will put too much milk in his to hide it and then be sick for the rest of the day. Otabek knows this. “Look, if you want to fuck me, you can go ahead and fuck me. In fact, I would love it if you fucked me. The girls at the gym have been giving me pitying looks and I would love to shut them up.”

The kettle whistles on the stove, and Yuri grabs it huffily. He’s blushing. He’s halfway to 85 and he’s blushing.

“Maybe I was saying we didn’t have to because I don’t want to,” Otabek says. If possible, Yuri’s blush deepens. He turns his back to Otabek and pours the water over the overstuffed tea bags with a steady hand.

“Fine,” he says. He’s sure Otabek is just teasing him now.

“Fine?” Otabek repeats.

“Fine!” Yuri grabs the cool milk pitcher from the counter and, as expected, pours more milk than water into his tea. “Beka, we’ve always-- we knew we weren’t going to be two kids on the back of a motorbike forever. We knew that would end, like we knew competitive skating would end, like we knew music would change and clothes would change and we would change. I’m not going to stop loving you now because something else changed. We’ve always changed together. I don’t care if you have Victor Nikiforov’s dick, or if you don’t want to fuck me anymore, as long as I get to be with you.”

Yuri hears Otabek exhale shaky, the sound of the table creaking as Otabek grips it to help push himself up. Otabek shuffles toward him slow, and then Yuri feels Otabek’s arms circle around his middle; he’s stayed lanky all this time, and Otabek’s stayed robust, and the way he embraces Yuri has stayed so tight, grounding like an anchor.

“Fifteen-year-old Yuri would have never said that,” Otabek says in his ear. His voice is like honey.

“That’s not true. Fifteen-year-old Yuri would have said anything to get you to like him,” Yuri replies, and he feels Otabek press a smile into the crown of his head. “Fifteen-year-old Yuri would have said it, he just wouldn’t have meant it.”

“Do you mean it?” Otabek asks, dry, thin-lipped kisses down the back of his neck.

“Of course, old man,” Yuri replies, turning around. He grabs Otabek’s soft cheeks in his hands, fingers curling into Otabek’s sideburns. When he kisses Otabek, softly, Otabek tastes like the same awful chalky dry toothpaste tabs he’s used for the past thirty years, and a little like sleep. He licks a little into Otabek’s mouth just to be a shit, and Otabek laughs, grabbing at his collar as Yuri pulls back with his tongue out. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not okay with people shipping Otayuri … because I wanna know what made them look at yurio in canon and think ‘i wanna see him older and sexy’”

[REJECTED PROVERB, SOME DIPSHIT ON TUMBLR]

#otayuri #otabek altin #yuri plisetsky #yuri on ice #delaney writes

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mahouproject-one · 5 years

Text

bye-bye, see ya later, we won’t meet again | Miyu | ATTN: MAHOU

There was fear in those long seconds of suspense.

But Outa spoke, and for a second Miyu could swear his expression was alight in gold, and there was no longer any doubt. It was done. The worst of the storm had finally ended.

All that was left was sifting through the wreckage and salvaging what they could.

Zoya preemptively stuck her neck out for Outa, telling the class not to attack him. But her voice wavered, and for a moment it was as if Miyu had once again walked into the twenty-fifth room in the Ouryuu Dorm and found a golden-eyed child cowering under a blanket.

Miyu chuckled, uneven and uneasy. It was the mournful sound one made when they were so afraid of what other cry might bubble from their lungs that they crush it down with a laugh.

“Yeah. What is it with this place giving us such stupid brothers? Idiots that break their promises. Why are they such… Why is it that…”

Miyu trailed off, having never had a question to begin with.

She simply shook her head at… whatever Outa was doing, and she silently input her vote. Was he just goading them into striking him down? He was going to be rather disappointed. Instead, Miyu chose to address someone else that she had interrogated in the trial.

“Holy… No. Isoda-san. I suspected you, as many of the observations fit you. And I needed to question you to get a better idea; in fact, had neither you nor Shiraishi-san offered some information yourselves, I would’ve grilled harder. I apologize, and… now, it’s done, and now you can Shiraishi-san can…”

Can go free and move on with their lives. And, conversely, they could move on and leave her behind. And given how rocky their relationship had been the past several weeks, Miyu assumed this was what Holy wanted.

“Just remember your promise to me.”

The moment was interrupted by Airi being dragged by her glowing obi across the room and into the Genbu section. Seemed like someone hadn’t heeded Zoya’s warning and tried to hit Mitsuo. Miyu’s mouth quirked with mixed emotion, but ultimately she couldn’t think of what to actually say to Airi, and ultimately she chose nothing. In the end, she hadn’t forgiven her. But instead of the vengeful anger that simmered for weeks, all Miyu felt now was something numb and heavy and bitter.

There were more visitors to Genbu. Miyu returned the nod to Clove, offering the same to Reiko. The unspoken deal had been honored. They would never be friends or even like each other, but there would at least be mutual respect.

Miyu touched her forehead to Shizuka’s when he embraced her, holding him for a long time. She whispered back to him – apologized for calling him an idiot again and assuring him that he was, first and foremost, her brother. Told him they’d probably have to leave their codewords with more people than just Reiko and Clove. Called him Apollyon, and told him to in turn call her Harumi. Told him the significance of this name she didn’t choose all those years ago.

She let go so he could go to Mi-ke; Miyu would join the two (or the three, perhaps, if Mi-ke tried to cling to Shiba and Shiba didn’t try to suplex Shizuka) later once she sorted out her affairs here.

But before she could, Otohiko revealed the final danger, the waves after the earthquake.

She wasn’t surprised at the mention that the dead mahounashi would fade; Miyu had been preparing herself for that for a long time. Even with the hope the Time-Turner offered, Miyu still accepted that the her of now would likely still fade.

What did sent ice frosting her over from the inside out was the reveal that the survivors would be left to their own fates at the hands of wizards. That if they fought, they would either die or have their memories erased. That if they ran, their families back home would pay the price.

The ice cracked apart from the fury that boiled beneath it.

“That is bullshit.

If we are fading, then does that mean you’re fading away too? I anticipated that as a likely outcome. Akiyama implied that he’s walking out of here with great power, but maybe he was just grandstanding to make us kill him.

But what about the founders? What about your children, and your child’s descendant? Are you saying they are powerless to help us? Where are they going? Don’t they have duties bound to this school?”

She pointed to the west, glaring straight at Ushiro, and turned her anger on her next.

“The magic of the school is Otohiko herself. If something really does happen to her, then it isn’t just us that will fade – the magic of the island itself will die, too. If you cannot save the magic of the school, you can at least defend its legacy from intruders who seek to destroy the truth.”

Then, behind her in the south, to Mikage.

“And you told me to trust you. You said that we could call on you for help. Are you going back on that now, Mikage? Was I wrong to believe in you?

You and your siblings created this school to atone for the war your family caused. You covered up Otohiko’s existence. And now the Ministry of Magic is about to cover up our existence, just like they’ve covered up the existences of so many other people who’ve died here.”

With a wide gesture, Miyu tried to call attention from the entire family. Three founders of Mahoutokoro, a founder’s great-times-six grandchild, and the mother whose machinations set everything in motion all those years ago.

“This school was created to restore peace after that war, correct? To stop magic from falling into the hands of those who would abuse it and those who would create strife between magical and non-magical worlds? Well, those people are coming here right now. Will you let them?”

“…And that goes for the rest of us, too. Because the way I’m seeing it, our paths are about to diverge. I can’t… tell you what you should do to deal with the Ministry, because I won’t be there. But I am saying that from my perspective, the Time-Turner holds no risk to someone like me that has no other options.”

Miyu glanced above herself and realized that all of the memories she had been projecting had faded out. When did that happen? She didn’t recall taking them down herself… She looked into her basin, and while there were still memories floating within, they seemed… fainter. She seemed fainter. Was the magic already waning?

Furiously, Miyu yanked out one last memory, throwing it out as far away from her pensieve as she could, suspending it in the air for everyone to see.

Miyu, Shizuka, and Mi-ke, all together in the Genbu Labyrinth. Staring up at a glass display arranged like a Jeopardy game board. A question picked from the most valuable tier: Mahoutokoro for 1000.

A question that left all three of them staring in shock.

'Which item located within Mahoutokoro may lead to a potential ending where all the students are alive?'

And the answer, bought with every last point they had banked.

'You have used up 2000 points. The answer is a Time-Turner.'

Without further comment, the Miyu of the present time grabbed her sketchbook and began writing. There was much more she could say, but right now she needed to write as much as she could while she was still able.

#mahouichi #chrono #chapter six #mm trial #miyu #submission

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radne-le-roman-blog · 7 years

Text

Is there such thing as a May onward resolution?

No clue. Not in the slightest. It now exists, because this probably should’ve been a New Year’s one, over on Randythewriter. But, I created this one because it’s a joke that @poppyredrose560 made (my name - Radne), so I could let some shit out without dude getting in the way, until I fucked up and reblogged something using this account. So now I need to think of a new username. (Cough, cough) Poppy, you come up with genius names and even Death ROW that I would’ve never gotten, make me a new nickname please. (cough cough).

Only joking, Pop. I’ma sorry I pissed you off last night, I won’t pretend I was in the right, I only thought you meant it be me included with ‘men, positions’, so I left because I identify as a male cyborg. I’m sorry. I just wanted to be a guard. And fight Ironforge.

Is there such thing as a male cyborg, or is it just a cyborg? I’m off topic.

Like I said seventy tribillion years ago or something, I don’t delete things like this and just type without editing, minus spelling mistakes.

So, hi.

Hi, if you don’t know me, you’re about to either click off, or scroll down to some depressing shit about Death Row, and myself, with the lil eld Riley O. Warren, n Oscar, n Belina, n Andrew all having some dark few moments. Riley and I especially.

And if you do know me, whether that be from years ago, or you don’t like me anymore, or anything, unless you’re Pop or another unnamed person, don’t knot your knickers - I do actually have friends, and don’t wear knickers, or really care anymore, you won’t know me. Probably.

I don’t know how long the onward part of this will be, maybe three weeks until I come back on Radne, maybe a few months, maybe six odd years, or never. But, Randythewriter is dead, and he ain’t coming back. I feel like, deactivating the account is disrespectful, so I just cut all things unrelated on Randy, and then left it. I’m not cutting things here.

So, Radne will join him, and Idk, Ra the Kettle Roman will join the world fresh and new. (shrug) Not happening.

I know it’d be easy to find me. But this isn’t for you, whoever reads this. It’s for me.

-The-random-writer- died months ago, and now my current tumblrs are too, and while I’m not giving up the site, or the internet, which to be honest, I probably should have considering everything - guess the word strong somewhat applies to me, I’m giving up the things known.

Writing, eh, maybe in June, Pop.

SV was nice while it lasted in my mind, and yeah, I guess I’m beginning to structure it for myself, I guess it all changes when there’s no mate for Kettle-Kurt to lean on. But no, Aaron won’t go. But a lot will.

PG, Toby, dude, you’re dead as fuck, go back to your grave and do not try this hologram shit. And do not kill me, when I have a piece of paper in my hand saying ‘traitor’, I’ll get that on my wrist at some point, give me a break, I’ll get tattoos for your and Aarurt later on.. at some point. (Gravestone: Randy Roman, ‘97-2047, never kept his promises on tattoos. Because. Asshole.).

But, I’m dropping this account, if it wasn’t obvious. Oh, wait. I want another.

Death Row, or DR if we go with the trends of others, you mark my new, Riley, my man, you stick in there, and Andrew (apparently my actual name could be Randy, Randy is short for Andrew, weird fact from Randy), you keep investigating, you utter nutter. And Belina, have a heart, here, take mine, it was kinda stabbed in the front though.

What am I doing? Jake, you corrupted my fucking soul.

I’ve only said fuck twice - three times now, I’m doing good.

This is what three day weekends do to me, thank you bank holidays.

Oscar, be there for Riley, he’s a mess, just like yerself, quit parrot teaching, quit the repartes that break both yer hearts, and cuddle, ffs.

I’m the creator and telling them what to do instead of fixing them... Right...

JD, die. You little shit, die.

That’s over now.

So, I thought I’d do that, because I haven’t used wattpad in over a month, and even then, all I did was chat with an old friend, with no notifications for months.

I’ll probably still occasionally drop in on it.

WoW, bitch, you’ve been with me for two years, I think, I cannot quit you, my level 64 bastard who gets stupid tasks~. Randyroman, you have such a creative name and I love you. You’re just on a dead server. And Louis hates me for that one.

To the point. I’m done with this account, and being battered from both sides, mine and yours for feelings. *cough* yes, fucking hypocritical, yes, no caring in the world right now. Your biggest fighting method is something that happened once or twice, that I actually do not really remember, nor care, because in my eyes, I’m fairly glad it was sent to you, even if I hate myself so much for everything I’ve done, at least I finally came out of the ‘toxic’ arms that everyone told me you have. And that may be so, but I’m uncaring for opinions.

I smiled. Today, I’ve smiled and laughed and had a lot of fun. I haven’t felt it that much, to be honest. Poppy is a great laugh, but I’ve not really done too much of it until today. And that’s what’s opened my eyes a lot. From scribbling lyrics with Jake, or swinging on swings with Ellisha sitting on me, Adam and Jake either side of me, and an empty seat she could easily fucking sit on, to just eating breakfast and cheering when we found out Jake has his entire GCSEs correct and will begin them in a month or so, I’ve laughed and smiled.

I was happy. Actually happy. Even with HU in the background, the occasional stab in the front, and then MatPat raging, Caitlin crying in delight (we got cat today, lil kitten kute, or as Poppy will get - yes we actually did this, because, for some reason, I was allowed to choose the name - Kore le Kute, I’m spending so much more time here just for lil Kore, every weekend I want to be here), to just taking a nap, and not dreaming about terror, death, or you. I was happy.

Recently, I’ve had some lyrics coming left right and centre, so, I thought, I’d add some in the end.

But, this is probably goodbye from me today. And maybe awhile. Maybe, I’ll come back in June. I don’t know. There will probably be a tag with ‘q’ if I find anything I want to post for after this. And when there’s not, I’m probably back, from Ra the kettle Roman.

So, I want to be dehumanized, yes, and I’m not consuming enough food, seeking the help I need, or doing things I should be, but I’m doing this. Because maybe I want this pain, but maybe I want independence.

So, take your Randy shit, and seize this opportunity to post anything. I’m not crying tonight. I haven’t been crying for awhile. But my May onward resolution, is to not cry from you. For as long as possible.

I have about twenty thousand songs, but let’s try this.

“ I don't believe in all your demons anymore

It's hard to see with any reason from before

I lie awake and face these shadows in the night

I see the truth through crimson eyes”

“ Got my cards lined up in a row

Up in flames and away we go

Lost my name but it's etched in stone

Take me home when the cold wind blows.

Ain't no grave gonna hold me down

Wide awake so don't make a sound

Ain't no way you can break me down

No one sings, no escaping now”

“ Let go, oh

Love isn't good enough

Let go, oh

Love isn't good enough

And the waves in the sea

They slip away just like me

So let go, oh

You weren't good enough”

“Dark hearts don’t break, they bruise.”

“Cause I, I think of you now and then, the memories never end, when gravity pulls you in”

“ I am a lion and I want to be free

Do you see the lion when you look inside of me

Outside the window just to watch you as you sleep

'Cause I am a lion born from things you can not be”

“ Beneath the covers while I hide behind the pain

After all only so much we can say

Words can lose their meaning once you walk away

Promise me that you'll love me, watch me as I fade

I'll give you all the things that these lions never gave

The hands on the clock and the things we cannot change

Tearin' out the pieces and take back what I made

If there's one thing I'd keep, it's you that I would save”

“ I don't know why I cut myself.

God give me a sign or help, I won't cry.

It'll be fine I'll take my last breath.

Push it out my chest till there's nothing left.”

“Have you ever met a living legend,

Just a real friend who planned his end?

And where do I begin?

You said it was pretend.

And when the bullet went through,

It took more than just you.

It took two, it was you,

It was me, and suddenly.

How can someone say they're helpless,

And then they act so selfish?

You put me through hell with this,

So fuck you let's just end this.

And what about our friendship?

What you did was senseless.

You thought you found an exit?

Like I said, let's end this!”

“ Someone left the door open

Who left me outside

I'm bent, I'm not broken

Come live in my life

All the words left unspoken

Are the pages I write

On my knees and I'm hoping

That someone holds me tonight

Hold me tonight”

“ 'Cause I

I think of you now and then

The memories never end when

Gravity pulls you in

(You in, you in, you in, you in)”

All HU, nice songs, these are some I thought you’d like. Take me home, let go, gravity, lion, circles, the loss, outside.

And then just the entirety of True Friends, which I quite enjoy.

So, goodbye.

( Now I can see your pain, I'm sorry!

GOODBYE!

I cry so hard.

Now I can see your pain, I'm sorry!

GOODBYE!

I cry tonight!) (Pain - HU)

Goodbye for now,

Hasta luego.

Good day.

And I love you.

And if you decide to delete some of our memories, that’s okay. Danny and Da kurlzz have a little something to say to you.

And so do I.

But, I’d prefer you not to, maybe you’d like to look back at times. I don’t care if there are any pending messages from me, but the ones that exist, once they get deleted, maybe they’re gone forever. And I know you’re petty enough to now go delete them and make a few more telling me to piss off.

Maybe one day you’d want to look back. Maybe if you delete them from you, it deletes from mine too. So delete them all, if you delete any. You can keep the one that says that you wouldn’t care about my status as a human, alive or dead, for all I care, that’s what begun my thoughts and nightmares of you killing me. And yet you’ve said before that… that you don’t want me to die. Shock, horror, even I was surprised to have that quoted. I won’t call bullshit, only the truth of my thoughts.

Delete the happy moments, Hunter, if that is what you wish, don’t do it out of petty spite. Delete the happy and the sad, until there is no trace of us, until there are ten posts on Randythewriter, where you cannot visit, where there is only the evil on Radne, the truth and what you did to me. If that’s what you wish.

I know you saw last nights thing. So, fly to Andromeda, and take your posts with you.

Will.

Not.

Cry.

Over.

You.

I fucking loved you.

And finally,

I’m using the right word.

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secretschuylersister · 8 years

Text

Had to Give You Away: Part 2B (Lin/Reader)

Summary: Lin was the foundation on which you built your life, until he wasn’t anymore. The two of you decide to rebuild.

You can find the first part here. You can find Part 2A here.

Note: This is the happy ending! A huge thank you to @thatoneimaginesblog and @fragmentofmymind for reading this as it progressed.

Word Count: 3172

Not for the first time in your life, you were running late. You could hear your family milling around downstairs waiting on you, and you winced as you sat down to slip on your shoes and finish getting dressed.

Today was big, and like on every important day before it, you reached into your jewelry box for your old locket. You held the necklace in your hand and allowed yourself a moment to gaze at the family photos littering your vanity. Birthdays, Christmases, anniversaries. Almost twenty years later, and the thought of how different your life could have been still rattled you.

It had been nearly a week since you told Lin you couldn't come home to him. You were still hiding out in your old apartment and every day was more agonizing than the last. The pain was physical and you were doing little more than sleepwalking through your life. He would be going back to London tomorrow, and you prayed that the distance was what you needed to feel at least semi-human again.

You heard a knock on your door, and you recognized it as the rhythm Lin always tapped on the bathroom door to hurry you up when you were getting ready for a night out. That felt like another life now.

Your heart was in your throat as you flipped the lock and came face to face with Lin. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, but there was a glint in his eyes.

"Hey," he said with a small smile.

"Hi, Lin," you said in return, wanting so badly to reach out and touch him.

You had no idea what he had come over to say, and your stomach was in knots as he took a deep breath and began to speak.

"I've been turning our conversation over and over in my head. You said you can't be my life. I reject that. I get to decide what I want my life to be, and I choose you. So, I've made a decision. We're not getting divorced." He said it so matter-of-factly that he might as well have been telling you the weather.

You let out a small laugh of disbelief at his statement.

"Lin-"

"Not without at least trying to save this," he cut you off. "I love you and you love me. We have to at least try."

You were silent. God, you wanted to try, but what was really going to change?

"We'll talk every single day," he promised, somehow reading your mind and answering your unspoken question. "We'll eat dinner together on Skype. I don't care about the time difference, I'll eat every day at one in the morning if that's what it takes. I'll fly home every chance I get. We'll date all over again until I convince you this can work, and then we'll keep dating for the rest of our lives."

As he spoke, you could feel your heart start to lighten. So much of this last year had felt like you were losing your best friend one piece at a time. Here he was, standing in front of you and offering a plan to get him back. It took every speck of your willpower not to throw yourself at him and beg him to forget everything you had said.

"This has never been about not loving you, Lin. You know that. Those things might make it better, but it doesn't really solve any of our problems. You'll still be on another continent," you reasoned, trying to keep your voice level.

"Not forever. None of what you're talking about is forever. There are plenty of things I can do in New York. And if I had to travel, we could make it work. We could...I don't know, take turns with our careers and stick together wherever they take us. I'll never be happy no matter what I'm working on if it costs me you. Could you be? Really?"

You looked down at your feet, and he gently touched your cheek. What would a lifetime without ever feeling his hands on you again be like?

"If it doesn't work, at least we’ll know we did everything we could,” he continued. “I'm not…I'm not ready to say goodbye to you. That was never in my plan. Please.”

"Okay," you nodded, deciding in that moment to go against your better judgment and take a leap of faith. "Okay. Let's try. I want to try."

He looked so relieved that you could have cried. You reached out to take his hand and he pulled you into his arms instead. You spent his last night in New York together. Maybe it was naive to think so, but this time it felt like a beginning instead of a goodbye.

"Hey babe, are you about ready?"

Lin's voice shook you out of your memories and you smiled at him.

"Yup, just one last thing," you said, holding up the locket.

He walked behind you and gently moved your hair to one shoulder, securing the locket around your neck. He rested his hands on your arms and kissed the top of your head.

"Graduation day. Can you believe we're already here?" he asked.

You leaned against his chest and shook your head. "I really can't. Do you remember the day I told you she was coming?"

He raised an eyebrow at you, making you laugh. "How could I forget?"

It still wasn't easy having an ocean between you and your husband, but Lin had been keeping his word. You were both trying, and it was better.

You woke up to good morning texts, you coordinated your schedules to make sure you always had time to talk on the phone (even if it was only for a few minutes), and you both shared updates about all the little things you did during the day that never used to make your e-mails.

You were so wrapped up in finding your way back to Lin that you didn't notice how differently you were feeling. Not at first. It took less to tire you out, but you wrote that off as getting older and being so busy. You were a little bloated, too, and smells that usually didn't bother you at all suddenly seemed incredibly strong.

It wasn't until your period pulled a no-show that you put it all together.

You went straight to the drugstore and grabbed as many pregnancy tests as your arms could carry. You must have looked like a madwoman, hair wild and shoving money at a baffled looking cashier.

You took a test. It was positive. You chugged water and took two more. Positive, both of them.

You started laughing and crying simultaneously, not knowing whether to be elated or to roll your eyes at the timing of it all. You had begun to accept that a pregnancy just wasn't in the cards for you, and for it to finally be happening now? When your future still felt so up in the air?

Well, timing had never been your strong suit.

Still, a baby. A whole new person, part of you and part of Lin. You only noticed that you had been beaming when your cheeks started to hurt.

You fought with yourself about whether to tell Lin immediately or wait until your doctor's appointment to confirm it. You eventually settled on waiting. You knew how much Lin wanted children, and you didn't want to get his hopes up. It was only a few days. It could wait.

That plan immediately went out the window during that night's Skype call.

Lin's smiling face lit up your computer screen and before he could even say hello, you blurted it out.

"I'm pregnant!"

His smile morphed into a look of shock.

"I mean, I think I am. I'm late, and I took a bunch of tests. I have a doctor's appointment, and I was going to wait to tell you but-"

"No, I'm glad you didn't!" he rushed to assure you. "I'm going to be a dad?"

You bit your lip and nodded. "I think so."

He clapped his hands and barked out a cheer, jumping out of his chair. He sat down and stood up several more times, making you laugh at his reaction. It seemed like the excitement had hit him all at once and his body didn't know what to do with it.

"I love you," he said, looking at you through the screen. "I wish I was there with you so badly."

"I wish you were here, too. But it won't be much longer until you're home, and we have our whole lives together after that."

You could see something light up behind his eyes at the certainty in your voice. He looked like the kid you met in the library all those years ago, and you felt a little like the girl you were back then, too. You both fell asleep with your Skype call running and your laptops on the bed next to you.

After finding out about the pregnancy, Lin doubled his efforts to make sure you felt he was connected and available to you. He was flying between New York and London so frequently that the poor guy barely knew what day it was most of the time.

You were well into your sixth month when Lin surprised you at the apartment.

“You didn't say you were coming home this week!” you exclaimed, dropping your jacket and pulling him in for a kiss.

“I didn't want to promise until I knew for sure, and then I thought I'd just tell you in person. I’m done with London. I wasn't going to let you go through these last months alone, so I worked a deal to get me home sooner. I might have to pop back for a few days if there are reshoots, but really, I'm all yours now.”

You celebrated with dinner and as you cuddled up with your husband in bed that night, you were overcome with gratitude for all life had given you.

Lin had propped his head up on his arm and was speaking softly to your bump. Your whole body felt warm at the sight.

"You know, we really need to nail down some names," you said, running your hand through his short hair.

"If you'd just agree to find out the sex, our job would be cut in half."

"I already know it's a girl, Lin. We've discussed this."

"Right," he said, playfully rolling his eyes at you. "I forgot I married a psychic."

"Well, that was very foolish of you," you teased back.

"Your mama's a crazy lady, baby," he whispered to your stomach. You flicked his ear and laughed.

"Stop turning her against me!"

He dragged himself up and wrapped an arm around you.

"What do you think about the name Lorena?" he asked quietly.

You looked at him. "Lorena. That's pretty. Maybe...Lorena Grace?"

He repeated the name and it sounded like a song.

Three months later, you and Lin left the hospital with Lorena Grace bundled in your arms.

Lin took your hand and helped you up.

"Come on, we don't want to make her late," he said.

You walked down the stairs and saw Lorena in her cap and gown for the first time, leaving you momentarily breathless. She looked so grown up these days, barely a hint of the baby she used to be was left behind. She rolled her eyes when she saw you getting choked up but didn't object to you taking her hand.

"Okay, family of mine, everyone in the cab. We have a graduation to get to!"

Lin hustled everyone into the waiting cab and you managed to make it to the school on time.

Lorena gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before running backstage to meet her friends and to line up for the ceremony.

You found your parents and in-laws in the crowd and your entire clan found seats front and center.

All through the speeches, you couldn't tear your eyes away from your daughter. You felt so proud and so excited and so nostalgic. The familiar weight of Lin's hand on your leg felt like it was all that was anchoring you to the chair.

You allowed yourself a moment of pure joy when they called Lorena's name and she walked across the stage to receive her diploma. Your entire family burst into cheers despite the instructions to wait until every student had their name called ("They know the Mirandas aren't a quiet people, right?") and you were grateful that your mother was there to snap a photo just as Lorena shot you a smile, so similar to her father's.

As soon as the ceremony was over, your sons both took off to find their sister.

"Soon it'll be their graduation," remarked Lin.

"How dare you say that to me?" you asked, playfully widening your eyes and clutching your chest. "They'll be my babies forever."

It was a morning not long after Lorena's third birthday, and Lin was cooking breakfast. The smell of bacon wafted into your bedroom all the way from downstairs, and your stomach turned.

That was unusual. The last time bacon had bothered your stomach was when...oh.

You heard little feet running down the hallway and grunted as Lorena launched herself at you.

"Daddy cook breakfast," she informed you, using her ever-growing vocabulary.

"Do you think it's safe to eat?" you asked her, wrinkling your nose and making her giggle. "Come on, kid. You can test it for me."

You scooped her up and carried her into the kitchen.

"It's my two favorite girls," Lin said, looking up from the stove and smiling. "Bacon's almost done."

"I'm actually just going to grab a banana this morning. More bacon for you."

He looked at you oddly but nodded.

The three of you ate breakfast and Lin helped Lorena get dressed as you washed the dishes.

"Babe, have you seen her raincoat? It's a little cloudy out, and I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"Mhm, it's in the laundry room. Hey, Lin? Can you do me a favor on your way back from taking her to your mom's?"

"Absolutely, what do you need?"

"A pregnancy test."

The tiny pink backpack he had in his hands dropped straight to the floor.

There was so much excitement that followed: Another positive test. Another doctor's appointment that confirmed the pregnancy. Telling your families. Telling Lorena.

But nothing matched the feeling of finding out that you weren't having one baby, but two.

"Two babies? Two of them at the same time? Both in there? Now?" Lin sputtered, astonished.

"Yes, you have accurately described twins, Lin."

Lin handled you like you were made of glass throughout the entire pregnancy. It was equal parts infuriating and endearing, but it would be dishonest to say you didn't milk the situation a little bit.

You found out you were having two boys (twins were enough of a surprise, according to your husband) and directed the decorating of their nursery from your rocking chair. Lin painted and repainted walls, moved the furniture around until it looked exactly how you imagined it, and spent hours cuddled up with you and Lorena as you folded freshly washed baby clothes.

You luckily made it all the way to 38 weeks before you went into labor, and Julian and Mateo Miranda were both born healthy and happy.

Two weeks after returning home from the hospital, you found yourself curled up in bed with Lin, each of you with a baby on your lap.

You gazed at your husband as he ran a finger over Julian's tiny face. You laid your head on his shoulder and he tilted his head to rest on top of yours.

"Do you ever think about it?" he questioned.

"Think about what?" you asked, still caught up in the peace of the moment.

"How close we came to missing all of this."

Your throat felt thick. You didn't often let your mind go there.

"Sometimes," you confessed. "I almost robbed us of so much."

His head jerked up and he looked at you in surprise. "I wasn't trying to blame you! I'm the one who was gone all the time."

"Yeah, but I’m the one who decided that the only way to fix our problems was by leaving. I'm just grateful you didn't let me walk away," you exhaled.

"I'm grateful you gave a schlub like me another shot," he said teasingly and looked at the sleeping twins. "I can't imagine doing this with anybody else."

You smiled at the old joke. "I always did have a thing for schlubs."

"Mom! Dad!"

You heard Lorena's voice and turned to see her running over to you, her gown folded over her arm. She ran straight into Lin's arms before being bombarded with hugs and congratulations from the entire family.

The grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins all made their way to their cars to try and beat the parking lot insanity. You said goodbye and reminded everyone of the family party in Lorena's honor set for the following Saturday.

"So, where do you want to go for dinner, kid?" Lin asked.

"Actually, I was going to go out to eat with Owen and some of our friends. Is that okay?"

Owen was Lorena's first serious boyfriend. He was smart, handsome, and respectful. Lin detested him.

"Absolutely, baby," you cut in before your husband could object. "It's your day. Have fun and be safe!"

"Well, she's officially outgrown us," pouted Lin as he watched Lorena sprint away before he could try to argue. "Soon the twins will abandon us and we'll be obsolete."

You held back a snort at his theatrics and asked, "Would having the house to ourselves really be all that terrible?"

"You make an interesting point, Mrs. Miranda," he said, wagging his eyebrows and pulling you in for a kiss.

"Gross. Some of us still have to show our faces here," whined Mateo. “Sam invited us to go swimming. Can we?”

“Yes, turn your back on the mother and father who raised you,” Lin cried in his most over-the-top stage voice.

“Okay, cool,” Julian replied flatly, smacking his brother on the arm and leading him over to their friend and his parents.

“That was a bit much, no?” you remarked, arching your brow.

"Maybe, but I didn't want to give away how much I was looking forward to getting their mother alone in an empty house.”

You laughed as he slid an arm around your waist and led you out of the building.

“It's lucky we're so good at fresh starts. I'm thinking empty nesters might be our best phase yet. Should we start looking into retirement homes?” you quipped.

“Wherever you go, I go, my dear,” he answered with a grin as he opened the door to the cab he hailed.

Wherever you went, Lin would be right there with you. You liked the sound of that.

#lin x reader #hamilton rpf #hamilcast imagine #hamilcast x reader

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lavenderprose · 8 years

Text

Fic: Those Bright-Eyed Boys

Title: Those Bright-Eyed Boys Author(s): Lavenderprose Rating: T Summary: Yuuri has no idea how he came to be surrounded by so many different kinds of love.

Notes: Written for Victuuri week Day #1, with the Yuuri prompt: Confessions. Will be cross-posted to AO3 at some point, but not right now because I’m barely getting this in before the day is over and mama needs to slEEP.

Just so y’all know, there’s some past Chuchuyuu (Yuuri/Phichit) in this, but it’s mostly just them being incredibly loving and supporting friends and Yuuri being very deeply an happily in love with his fiance, Viktor Nikiforov.

So, Yuuri's alcohol tolerance is…pretty good. Like, there are several Russians in this club right now and he's keeping up with them pretty well. Is that a stereotype? He isn't sure, but they aren't so different—these people learned to drink on spirits, same as Yuuri did. He and Phichit ran bad, bad vodka through a Brita filter and put it in water bottles and carried them in coat pockets to parties where they mixed it with punch, orange juice, coconut Margarita mix—anything cloyingly sweet that would mask the taste. Something that wouldn't taste horrible if it came back out the same way it went in. It took a lot of trial and error to figure out where their limits laid, and sometimes Yuuri still fucks up. Getting wine drunk at the 2015 banquet is still at the tippy top of his list of Worst things I've ever done, literally, ever. He was hungover for three days and spent most of the flight home wrapped around the airplane toilet to the point where a man who Yuuri is pretty sure was an air marshal asked him where his parents were.

Because Yuuri didn't and still doesn't look twenty-four. The same ageless quality is the reason Phichit started wearing eyeliner.

But yeah. Yuuri Katsuki? Pretty accomplished drinker. Not exactly something he'd tell his parents or the Japanese press, but not exactly something he's ashamed of either.

So when he shouts, "I'm not drunk!" in Viktor's ear as they're dancing, Viktor laughs and probably doesn't believe him, but Yuuri is telling the truth.

"Look, okay—so, okay—my twenty-first birthday, Phichit and I got, like…oh boy, tequila? And there was a worm in it. I'm not even kidding, it was a real worm—"

"Mexican Town is a wild fucking place," Phichit says, appearing suddenly at Yuuri's back. This club is playing mostly American pop music for some reason, so with Phichit there it feels almost exactly like old times. The song is periodically telling everyone to make their hands clap.

"Phichit, tell Viktor I'm not drunk," Yuuri says to his friend, leaning back against him and turning his head to yell against Phichit's face. Phichit is familiar and soft and smells like the apartment Yuuri moved out of over a year ago. Viktor is kind and laughing and there is a look on his face like the first time he saw Yuuri do Eros.

"Yuuri still has his shirt on," Phichit tells Viktor, now essentially wrapped about Yuuri like some sort of large and friendly snake. "So he's not drunk. You don't know what drunk looks like until you've seen Yuuri after eating a tequila worm."

"We split it," Yuuri insists, tugging on Viktor's shirt until he's pressing against his front, still laughing. Yuuri laughs with him because he's so happy. He just won silver at the Grand Prix Final, he's engaged to Viktor Nikiforov (Who's beautiful and amazingly kind and very good to him and also: the love of Yuuri's life) and his very best friend in the whole wide world was here to see all of it happen. "I only had half. I was drunk for two days."

"I saw God," Phichit adds, and then screams because the song has changed and it's one of those songs that Yuuri will forever associate with half-remembered nights in the basement of a club on Michigan Avenue, riding home slumped across Phichit's lap with slim fingers combing his hair back and giggling, the smell of forty degrees in Michigan in February. "Yuuri! This is our song! Viktor, this is mine and Yuuri's song! This was the first American song I heard!"

"I'll let you have him for it, then," Viktor says. "I'm going to get some water." He looks so happy. Yuuri can't deal with it. He kisses him, his fiancé, and then twirls around into Phichit, who laughs and wraps his arms around him and swings him around. Their hair is still slicked back from the free skate earlier. Phichit is sort of unbearably handsome with his hair combed back that way, his kind and expressive eyes with a fine outline of his usual black liner.

"I'm so happy for you," Phichit gushes, tilting him backwards. "You're engaged! You're going to be married, Yuuri!" He says something in Thai that is probably congratulatory.

"I know," Yuuri laughs. Phichit straightens him back up and they spin. Dancing with Phichit feels familiar, and good, and nice after all of the (Wonderful, frightening, sublime) excitement and strangeness of the last few weeks. If Viktor's fresh perspective and new love is the compass Yuuri needs to find within himself a better and happier person, then Phichit's comfort and reassurance is the path that Yuuri will follow towards it.

As the song ends, Yuuri kisses Phichit, smiling against his lips. It's something he's done hundreds of times. Phichit smiles back at him when he pulls away.

"I love you," Yuuri tells him, wondering if a simple three words can convey the depth of feeling he has for his best friend.

"I love you too," Phichit tells him, eyes kind and soft. "And I'm…so glad that you finally found someone who can love you the way you want to be loved. I want you to be so happy, Yuuri."

The sting of happy tears builds up behind Yuuri's eyes and in his throat. Thickly, he says, "I am happy. I don't think I've ever been this happy."

"Good," Phichit says, wrapping his arms tight around Yuuri's shoulders.

They pull away when the jostling of the crowd grows too violent, and by unspoken agreement Yuuri trips his way towards where Viktor disappeared to while Phichit spins back into the crowd, engulfed in moments. Yuuri finds Viktor on a barstool slightly removed from the dancefloor and somehow, probably because the floors of this place are their own special hazard, crashes between his spread knees. Viktor bursts out laughing and catches him by the fabric over his shoulder.

"Here, darling, drink this," Viktor says, handing him a large and full glass of water. There is another glass, half-full, by his elbow.

Yuuri takes the glass and downs half of it in one go, not realizing how parched he was until the cool water hit the back of his throat. Viktor stops him from drinking too much of it at once, taking his wrist in hand and gently maneuvering the glass back onto the bar and Yuuri to lean against his chest.

"Really, I swear, I'm not drunk," Yuuri mumbles against his shoulder. Viktor's hand is big and warm on his back, reassuring. "The universe is just conspiring to make you think I am." He turns his face into Viktor's neck, inhales the smell of his cologne and feels happiness trickle up and down his spine. Tomorrow is the gala, when they will debut their partner skate and Yuuri will fulfill a lifelong fantasy in front of hundreds of people. Skating on the same ice as Viktor Nikiforov. Skating with Viktor Nikiforov, dancing beside each other.

Viktor kisses the top of his head. "I believe you."

Yuuri grumbles and turns around, leaning back between Viktor's thighs with the edge of the seat digging into his back. Viktor wraps his arms around his waist, chin hooked over his shoulder, and Yuuri has never felt so warm and loved as he does in that moment. He feels wanton with it, like a slut—but only for affection, and only from Viktor Nikiforov.

"I haven't seen you dance like that since the Gala," Viktor murmurs in his ear.

"Hm," Yuuri hums, tilting his head to the side. "Phichit's the person I learned all of that from." That and a pole dancing teacher named Moxie whose class Phichit had dragged him to half a dozen times his last year in Detroit, but it'll be a cold day in Hell (Or a warm day in Siberia) before Viktor learns that particular tidbit.

Viktor presses a long, hot kiss to Yuuri's cheek. "I think you must have had a love affair with our friend Mr. Chulanont."

Yuuri stiffens immediately, spinning back around in the circle of Viktor's arms. "I—Viktor, I would never—"

"Oh, Yuuri, no," Viktor presses a hand to his face, shaking his head. "I didn't mean it that way, love. I meant—I don't know what I meant, sometimes I speak without thinking." He presses a kiss to Yuuri's forehead, gentler than the one previous.

Yuuri closes his eyes and bites his lip, drops his hands to Viktor's lap. This is his fiancé, the man he's going to marry. Doesn't he deserve to have full disclosure? Even though the idea of telling him some of these things makes Yuuri's anxiety spike, his blood pressure double, his palms sweat? How will Viktor feel, knowing that Yuuri is routinely alone with a man whose bed he frequented for longer than he and Viktor have known each other?

"I wouldn't really call it a love affair," Yuuri mumbles, playing with the buttons on Viktor's shirt.

"You don't have to tell me," Viktor says. His hand goes to Yuuri's chin, tilting it up. "It's okay, darling."

Goddamn it. What is it about this man and making him cry? Yuuri is beginning to think that he's cursing himself to a life of weepiness, marrying Viktor. He'll be buried under pillows daily, just fucking sobbing, and Viktor will have people over and be forced to say Oh, that's just my husband, he's a bit emotional—don't slip in the puddles.

"Phichit isn't like that," Yuuri says quickly, just to get it out before he thinks better of it. "We—you should probably know that we…before I met you, before I moved back to Japan, we were—having sex. A lot. And we didn't really, um, break up. I just—I moved back to Japan and that was, um, now things ended. But we were never—we didn't date. Phichit doesn't, um, do romance, I guess? He's the friendliest person I know, the best friend I have, and he's—I know he loves me, but not…not like that." He reaches up and straightens out Viktor's collar for the utter lack of anything else to do with his hands. "I didn't know how to tell you. I'm sorry I didn't before."

Viktor's hand trails up his back, fingers against the dip of his spine. When Yuuri chances an upward glance, Viktor's eyes are soft, the line of his mouth gentle. He asks, "Did you love him?" in a way that says he might be, in an odd way, commiserating with Yuuri. Like he is speaking not as Yuuri's fiancé, but as a person who understands what it is to have felt for someone something that they couldn't return. Yuuri doesn't know how he got in this situation. He has gone from admiring Viktor Nikiforov from afar, knowing all the while that he would probably never even hold a full conversation with the man, to standing between his knees in a crowded bar, Viktor's promise on his finger and blue eyes boring into him, asking to be his confidant.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Yuuri whispers.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't." Viktor's forehead touches his, their eyes now too close together to focus. An elephant could run through the room, and Yuuri would have been none the wiser. If he looked up in a moment and realized that the world had come to a calamitous end around them, he might not even be concerned. Viktor's breath is on his lips, telling him, "I want to know everything about you. Even the parts you don't like to think about. That way, I can think about them for you—and love them, even though you can't."

There go the tears. The first one drops down his cheek. The second sneaks into the crease of his nose and stays there, gross and wet and uncomfortable.

"I did," Yuuri whispers. He licks a third tear off of his lips, tasting salt. "There was a while where I thought…maybe I could be happy. Just being around him, being affected by his presence, his…happiness. Because I didn't think that I would ever get anything better than that—someone who made me feel happy, and took me to bed, and felt about me the same way I felt about them. Two out of three wasn't bad, you know?"

"Did you tell him this?"

"No," Yuuri snorts. "I knew how he was. One of the first things he told me was that he didn't understand people getting married and only being with one person their entire lives. Phichit wants to meet people and make them his friends and have a big group of people that he loves and supports, not just one person. He wants to…roll around in bed with handsome men and not feel obligated to call the next morning. He loves people. He's kind, and someday he'll probably settle down in an apartment with a few friends and he'll be happy like that. But I don't see him ever devoting himself to one person. Not in the way I've always seen myself doing. Not the way I want to do with you."

Viktor kisses him then, not to interrupt but to agree—to tell Yuuri that yes, that's what he wants too, that he isn't alone. Yuuri loves him, God he loves him.

"Don’t think less of him," Yuuri implores.

"How could I?" Viktor murmurs. Their hands lace together; Viktor brings his mouth to Yuuri's ring. He's only had that ring for three days and already, he thinks he might die if he lost it. "He loved you until I could."

Yuuri wraps his arms around Viktor's shoulders and presses his hot face into his neck, weeping. "I love you." There's a woman behind Viktor who probably can't speak English and looks pretty alarmed at this red-faced crying man hanging off her seat neighbor, but she seems disinclined to comment. Yuuri closes his eyes and breathes.

"I love you too," Viktor says, kissing his neck, cheek, ear, hair. "My Yuuri. My darling."

He eventually pulls away and drinks the other half of that glass of water. The music is still pounding, and the tears gave him a headache and he's starving, but he thinks this might be one of the best nights of his life.

"Heeey!" Phichit crashes through the crowd, dragging along an unfamiliar man by the hand. The unfamiliar man is taller than even Viktor, Mediterranean with a slightly homely face but piercing blue eyes that make him strangely beautiful, and a friendly, uninhibited expression. Phichit gestures to him, somehow using the same hand he's holding onto him with. "I found you guys! This is Thomas."

"Tomás," corrects the man in a kind tone, obviously unconcerned. He probably wouldn't be able to pronounce Phichit's name either; Yuuri couldn't his first hundred or so tries.

"Right! Sorry." Phichit points to Yuuri. "This is Yuuri, my best friend."

"Hi," Yuuri says, falling back in shyness now that he has more water in his belly than vodka, still feeling the residual tear trails on his cheeks.

"And this is his fiancé, Viktor." Viktor and Tomás shake hands, both exchanging accented greetings. "Yuuri's the silver medalist, and Viktor's his coach. They just got engaged the other day." To Viktor and Yuuri, he says, "Tomás was telling me that his friend runs a tapas bar not far from here, and that she'll give us half off our food if we show her Yuuri's medal."

"You could show her your engagement ring instead," Tomás says, gesturing to the ring on Yuuri's finger. "A medal, an engagement, both are to be celebrated. Congratulations!"

"Thank you," Yuuri says. To Viktor, he says, "I'm starved, what about you?"

"Always in the mood for tapas," Vikor says, nudging Yuuri the barest minimum of distance away to stand up. He waves a hand towards Tomás. "Lead the way."

They gather Mila and Otabek on the way out, and Viktor ends up at the front of the group, probably telling his life story to Tomás as they walk because that's just what he does. In about ten minutes, Tomás' friend the bar owner is going to recognize Viktor from one of his international ads and he's going to spend twenty minutes signing autographs and taking pictures, but for right now he's just being the friendly person he naturally is.

"Are you okay?" Phichit asks, walking beside him at the back of the group. He hand goes to Yuuri's elbow. "You look like you've been crying?"

"I'm fine," Yuuri says, and means it for once. He lets a smile break across his face. "I'm…the best I've ever been, I think."

Phichit's eyes dart over his face, examining, then breaks out in a smile of his own. "Same. I fucking love Spain."

"Well, it beats Downriver," Yuuri says.

They laugh. Yuuri doesn't know how he got so lucky, to be surrounded by so many different types of love.

#Victuuri #Victuuriweek #Viktuuri #viktor nikiforov #Katsuki Yuuri #phichit chulanont #Yuuri Prompt #Day one #fanfiction #Maggie's fic

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undermycitadel · 8 years

Text

Evangelina//Request//Part 1

...So take me to the airport And put me on a plane I've got no expectations To pass through here again…

“What’s her problem?” I asked myself halfway through another episode of I Love Lucy, unbelieving that the middle-aged woman’s actions were genuinely scripted. My forehead puckered with thought after Lucy managed to yet again screw up a perfectly sane situation. I supposed that my disdain for the woman was a prime part of my watching experience- as it was for others, I assumed. She was likely to be the most annoying person on the planet but it was that annoying personality that drew me to the color TV screen that sit across from my bed, atop the dresser that sit across my bedroom. Blaming this particular disgust for Lucille Ball on the pressure cooker that engulfed me at that period in time felt like the right thing to do since it was enough to make the dogs go mad. I laid on my twin sized mattress, supporting my head with my two hands, and elbows rested on the cream colored sheets that were getting too warm even with the windows open. The heat was aggravating, maddening, making the sweat spilling from my brow force my tall stray hairs stick to my face as if they were a second skin. I considered asking my Father to install a ceiling fan in my room but I doubted it would make any difference. The summer of sixty would be blasting three months away from the cool classrooms of tiled floors and empty halls, and it would be a rowdy one at that.

I never looked forward to summer vacations. It was never fun for me, just plain boring. I didn't have any friends to spend afternoons with, no relatives in the area to kill time with, nor were there many things to do first for a sixteen-year-old girl in suburban Soho in the first place. The last day of school was also a drag because it was the transition into the three months of Summer in which I had absolutely nothing to occupy myself. My mother, since the beginning of June, talked of how she would ask her boss for time off in order to spend time with me over the break. I doubted it over and over, but soon enough she’d convinced me otherwise.

Both of my parents are lawyers, working for what is considerably the “most prestigious” law firm in the world, Latham & Watkins. They were responsible for advising and representing the company’s VIP status client's, presenting the claims and cases to the judges and before government representatives, evaluating the data, and other important lawyerly duties that would make a person bow down to their work ethic. Oh, and answering phone calls about partnership inquiries. Excessively, would they parade around the house talking amongst each other about how difficult their job was and or complaining to me about how complicated getting through the work day was each and every time we all would sit down for dinner and I would attempt to talk about whatever good event happened in my day. I made the dinner most times because there was no time for either of them to make the meal when they would arrive home from work. My theory for this being; they would purposefully conversate about the trials and tribulations of their jobs every possible second to make me less of a bother. Make me pity them because god forbid our precious daughter- our only daughter gets in the way of our demanding job. If that was the case, then it worked because it became once in a blue moon when I would ask them for much because I would fear them being too busy and getting mad. Some time later, it was my own new unspoken vow to be as scarce as possible in my parent’s routine. The occasional dynamic in behavior out of either of them would always surprise me, with them being so stern it was hard to even dream of a foreseeable future where they would make time to chill out for once.

We'd never taken an actual vacation. Unless you would consider spending a weekend in Pittsburgh with my mother sitting in a hotel room while my Father confirmed his admissions and attended a meeting to discuss the direction of his company a vacation. Not fun at all for my standards, nor was it in comparison to what the girls at school talked about. My parents weren't too fond the idea “vacation” because that meant taking time off of work and their jobs were much too valued for that. Mom and Dad were too busy to relax, I knew that for a fact, and so when my mother asked if I wanted to go to Uncle Howard's for the summer my first reaction was where have I heard that name before, as opposed to what have they planned for me?

She cracked my bedroom door just enough to peek her head through, then her body, then more until she was fully emerged standing in and front of the television screen with her hands folded behind her back. She stood tall and figured at a five foot nine inches wearing a beautiful blood red velvet dress with stockings, topped off with her bare feet. Her glossy, toffee-colored hair cascaded down her back and spilled over her chest. Her pink face was pure porcelain, makeup was clean cut, with a red lip and mascara. The aroma of her Chanel number five was She was beautiful today, and that forced the thought of how she wasn’t sweating in the slightest and not ruining her makeup. I didn’t think I would understand it even if there were any logic behind it.

My mother, Marceline De Kloet-Abel, was a beautiful Dutch woman. Born in nineteen twenty-five, she, at thirty-six, could be a supermodel if she desired, and when she wasn’t working she could rival even Jean Shrimpton. During the work week she wore mostly suits and her hair tamed in a beehive. My Mother didn’t fancy makeup when in a business environment because she claimed it would “distract from her tasks convince her peers that she lacked the intelligence to succeed in the workplace”. Marceline was far from stupid, I can defend her on that one. She graduated her high school at the top of her class also in college with honors and a 4.0 GPA average. Knowing that, it would be an outgoing statement to label her “a dumb broad”, as she was the brightest woman in our family, the breadwinner out of her six older sisters and two older brothers. She was as pretty as she was smart as she was headstrong as headstrong as she was a Dutch woman. Maybe it was her roots but nothing could get in her way if she was determined to do something and she was willing to argue her point if you were against what she was all for. Classy too. Always managing to have a put-together outfit and a nice fragrance within arms reach of her purse. She made sure that the house was never out of order and that I did my chores at least twice a day and was particularly stern about that. My room was never a mess thanks to her and I always knew where my knick-knacks were. Maybe she had OCD. I can’t say that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but I can say that it was enough to make my love and hatred for her about equal. She’s my Mother, so I guess I have to tolerate her stubborn personality but her physical appearance was something that somewhat made up for it.

“Evangelina? Sorry to bother you at this time, but do you have a minute?”

“Yes, okay”, I hurriedly sat up from my rather uncomfortable position on the sticky bed and was quick to fold my legs like a lady as I was taught to do so many years ago.

“Your Uncle Howard is inviting you to spend the Summer with him and his family. He just called, and I told him that I would call him back with your answer”.

“Howard?”, I asked torn on whether or not that name existed anywhere in my mind. My brows drew together.

“You don't remember Uncle Howard?”.

Obviously not.

“I’m sorry”.

I shook my head- and Mom tried to jog my memory with describing him as the lanky man with a checkerboard suit at my second birthday celebration but it was no use. The man was nonexistent. He had to be.

Finally she said, “Your cousin Brigitte. That's his daughter”. That was a name that I did remember and a face that I adored whenever I’d get the opportunity to see it.

“Sure. Uncle Howard, yeah”, I tried to sound familiar with the name even though I still had no recollection. It sounded convincing enough.

“Would you want to go to his town for the summer?” she brought her hands to her abdomen and proceeded to fold then over and over.

“Sure”, I agreed, only because I was already sold that wherever he lived would be more interesting that sitting in a crockpot for three months with the taunting dreams of your eighteenth birthday to keep you company. Part of me was genuinely excited for the change in setting however for me, mostly because I wanted to leave Soho for a while.

Mother explained to me how she and Dad would be working for the majority of the next three months with the law firm’s branch expansion and that Uncle Howard and his wife Debra offered to take care of me while they took care of business. That hasn't surprised me yet. However, she used him living all the way in Dartford as a way to excite me. And it did. I didn't mind the fact that my parents worked twenty-four-seven much anymore. I totally understood it by now and felt that I had no place in telling them what's good for them and to spend more time with me. After all, I came into their lives, not the other way around. At the very least, they wanted me out of the way so that I wouldn’t feel neglected while they took care of business. It didn't bother me at all. Not one bit. Occupying my time with chores and scribbling my experiences of the days were enough for me, replacing the conversation with my parents and the friends that I had yet to meet. Cousins of mine such as Brigitte were who I felt the most faultless around because they were family and near my age. We're more relatable than the adults in my life.

My expectations for this trip were low. I doubted that I would come out of my shell and venture on into new territory, whether with my parents or not things wouldn’t change. Actually, them not being there would make it even better. If I could sneak away and get time to explore the uncharted territory I would have such a free, enjoyable summer. I knew that Brigitte would cover for me if I chose to slip away and wouldn’t tell a soul about what would happen.

“Okay then. I suppose you should begin to gather your things now. He’ll be over here sooner than you might think. I’ll call him back- tell him that you said yes”, and with the swing of her hip, Mother started for the door.

“I beg your pardon?”, I stopped her as she turned the doorknob. She looked at me with her eyebrows raised, understanding written in her eyes.

“ ...But do you know when he will be here, exactly?”

A line appeared between her brows as she looked to the ceiling for her recollection. She clicked her tongue a few times, then said oddly in her accent, “June twenty-fifth, nineteen sixty, nine- fifteen a.m.”.

“That’s tomorrow”.

"Yes! Hij komt in de ochtend. Haast!." She continued to her destination, leaving me with hours left to prepare.

Get ready, he’ll be here in the morning. Okay.

The second after the door closed, I wasn’t quick to attend to what was needed. I had regrets, I didn’t want to go anymore, and I only wanted to finish my show and go to bed. After realizing that I was potentially missing an opportunity to do something other than live in NYC, I picked myself up and scratched the particular spot atop my honey glazed brown hair that had been bugging me. I only didn’t tend to it because the sweat acted as a glue, sticking me to myself. And I was lazy and wanted to watch the television. My mirror showed a picture of a girl who didn’t know what to feel about what was to come. She danced to the mirror and combed her fingers through the tangled strands of hair, dreaming about the second where she would finally meet the tall, dark, and handsome man of her dreams. The girl is looking back at me with her amber eyes, glowing in the hot light shining in from the blinds. Her skin is a light shade of fawn, freckles on her chest were subtle but dark enough to spark a conversation. Her plush lips as red as a budding rose wetted after being grazed by her tongue for the sake of preventing dryness before applying a generous coat of lip balm. She takes her hand from her hair to replace it on her hip. She lets out a defeated sigh. The girl in the mirror, now toying with her large lips wishes that she could look more like her Mother. She didn’t like her brown hair as much as her Mom’s candied colored locks. She wanted her mother’s eyes and not her Dad’s ugly apple eyes.

Another sigh left the reflected girl’s mouth. She turned away from the mirror and there I was, hands pressed to the drawer to support myself as I scanned my bedroom with the intentions of finding what I would bring with me on the trip. I would have spent a day’s time preparing, freshening up my wardrobe for the sake of a new place but there was no time. I strained my neck back to have a last glance at the girl in the mirror. “C’mon. We’ve gotta get started”, I told her. She turned back, ready to leave my world for the venue of an alienated land.

I must have been up til the wee hours of the morning preparing and packing. I always manage to forget something when I pack for school and I wanted to be sure in this case that I would have everything I needed with me. Add that up with the amount of time that it took for me to shower, brush my teeth, get dressed and brush my hair, by the time I finished, my Mother was calling from the bottom of the staircase to let me know that my mystery Uncle was outside, all set to deport me to the airport. I felt butterflies in the pit of my stomach and struggled to hold back my signature youthful grin that would make an appearance on occasion. I looked forward to this vacation after all. I was looking forward to seeing new sights, trying new things, to meet new people. This could be my chance to do all of the things that I normally wouldn’t because of my parents and the rules they had are against anything cool in the slightest. I didn’t bother much and so I saw no point in them placing the rules at all. I’m a well behaved sixteen-year-old girl and I don’t think that they acknowledge that whatsoever. So It’s fine.

The tossing of the four wheels on the suitcase scattering around the floor filled the empty air of the house and butterflies filtered my stomach as I came closer and closer to the minivan that had been double-parked on the street. Mother held open the door for me and I soon found myself face to face with the vehicle that would take me to my fate. My face was gradually turning hot, I could feel it. I could recall a time where I would get embarrassed or scared for my life, and every since one of those times along with my face growing hot it paired nicely with the wrenching feeling in my gut of what was to come in the foreseeable future. A man suddenly emerged from the driver’s side of the minivan. His was indeed a lanky man in which Mother had described him to be when attempting to get me to remember the guy. It still didn’t work. But anyway, the alabaster man was lanky and wore a gray straight suit, shoes of mocha and socks of what I imagined would be polka-dotted. His butterscotch hair was slicked back with stringy stray hairs laying on his forehead. He approached me and Mother who stood as poised as usual and nodded at the both of us. His lips were thin but managed to execute a subtle smile to greet us properly. My eyes glazed over his bifocals that were snug on the bridge of his nose and covered his copper eyes and crow’s feet. He looked good for an older man.

Mother’s arms extended to invite him in for a squeeze. “Howie, hello, how are you?” she greeted with a laugh.

That is the happiest that I have ever seen her. That’s her brother.

“Oh you know how the stock market is, Marceline”, he pulled away whilst holding onto her fingertips. “Instead of a degree in business, I should have invested a degree in buy-low-logy”, he said, and the both of them erupted in laughter.

His accent is less Dutch than it is British, and stronger than I’d imagined.

I could only smile at the risk of looking out of place amongst the two adults who were having a sort of sophisticated break for humor. The internal awkwardness was able to be dealt with, so that took the edge off. Seeing my mother smile was quite the sight for me any day. It was rare and so I didn’t want to interrupt.

“Hello Evangelina, it’s good to see you after all of this time”, he turned to face me. Before I knew it, his arms were out and I was being brought into his chest for a hug that I had no choice but to accept. I didn’t want to be rude, just smile and hug back as I had been taught to do my dear mother. He smelt strongly of cologne. I had to hold my breath to contain myself from coughing up a lung.

“Hi Uncle Howard, how are you?” I asked once he let me go to be polite.

“I’m well as long as you are! How are you?”, he laughed. “Do you remember who I am, dear? I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t. I mean, it was how many years ago the last time I flew to New York for your birthday? How old are you?”

“Sixteen. Sixteen years old as of Monday”, Mother interrupted just as I opened my mouth to speak. She planted her feet in back of me and rested her hands on my shoulders. My exterior looked okay with it, however, on the inside I wanted to stomp my feet and shatter the concrete to smithereens.

Uncle Howard didn’t notice my annoyance, he only went by my Mother’s word to dive further into the subject. “Sixteen, is that right? My, my, have you grown since then. You see I remember back when you were a wee little baby on your Mother’s lap, crying for her to hold you”.

“Yeah, that was me then. I’m sorry that I don’t remember much of you...but I’m sure you’re a gentleman”. My eyes were looking for direction because I didn’t want to make eye contact with him for some shy reason. A stranger would get this same treatment

“Did you do anything for your birthday? Have a party? Cake and such?” His rheumy eyes traced back to the woman before me. Mom paused, didn’t say a word for a few seconds. I didn’t want her to lie but I certainly didn't want her to tell the truth and look bad in front of her brother. I knew how she could get when she felt ashamed. Marceline was a woman who took great pride in the way that she raised her kids. Not only that but she took great pride in her achievements as well. In her eyes, she believed that the way you raise your young reflects how you are as a person. In her case, as you were as a wife and a Mother. We always looked put together and in line with how she wanted things to be for the sake of acceptance, me and my Father. I shouldn’t care about how she looks at the spectrum but I do because it involves me and I somehow become affected by what affects her.

“We threw her a party...yeah. And she had a nice time, didn’t you Evangelina?” she awkwardly chuckled.

Lies.

“Yeah”, I smiled whilst looking up at my Mother. She was fibbing but I would rather that over telling the truth and never letting me hear the end of it for weeks on end.

“...Well, Brigitte’s about your age. She’ll be rather pleased that you’ll be joining us for the summer. Why don’t you take your bags to the van- the trunk is open. I’ll be over in a few minutes”, said Uncle Howard after reading my Mother like a book.

I dragged my multiple suitcases to the minivan and proceeded to wrestle with the back door handle. It was not left unlocked and so I spent the majority of my Uncle’s conversation grappling and gripping. In the corner of my eye I could see Mother with her arms crossed and head bobbing low, Uncle Howard stroking her arm almost like in condolence. ��It’s getting bad”, I barely heard her utter. As I put my final suitcase inside of the trunk, my Uncle was ready to leave and my heart was pounding in my throat. My excitement was peaking although I didn’t dare admit to it.

I heard the fair voice of my Mother as she waved us goodbye with her extended arm and hollered “Have a nice trip, my love”. No kiss goodbye. Suddenly I felt a strong hand on my shoulder. I didn’t bother looking up because I knew that it was my Uncle. He directed me to the mustard yellow side door that he then slide open to allow me easy access to slide in and make myself comfortable. The interior was a drastic difference from what I imagined it would look like just by looking at the van’s exterior. The leather seats were a brilliant blue and the carpet on the floor was an array of colors ranging from magenta to gold. A phone station sat in between the two front seats and close to the green steering wheel. A far cry from the sophisticated man who owned the vehicle. With his Sunday’s best on, I would have assumed his van would match his style rather than his alleged personality. The wonders that this man’s brought me already and I haven’t known him for more than fifteen minutes.

“Ready to go love?” he asks me once he’s strapped into his seat and looking back at me from the driver’s side.

“Mhm”, I nod, giving him the reassurance that he needs to go forth with starting the ignition and speeding off airport bound.

My eyes wandered to the window and shaded over the trees and red cars that we would pass. What would come once we landed in the United Kingdom? I didn’t know much about London or even Dartford for that matter and I was going to spend the next few month living there? Mother told me once that the people over there use euros and shillings instead of American dollars and it made it harder to do business with British people with problems that needed to be solved in court. Father wanted me to learn up so that I wouldn’t be so ignorant to the world and only think of myself in situations. How stupid did he think I was? I know some. The idea sounded quite absurd as I took the time to analyze it. Westbury High School didn’t cover much of British history in my World History class but what they did cover was useless for visits. And I couldn’t hear much of that we learned anyway because of the other teenagers whom my Father would call ignorant because they figured because we didn’t live in the United Kingdom it wasn't important to pay attention in class and not throw paper spitballs at each other like ignorant teenagers. I wouldn’t be learning much about every architectural detail of the region, only enjoying the smaller less complex things that Dartford had to offer. If I did then the experience would be the equivalent of a school trip to the museum.

Thinking positively was as difficult as choking down my Aunt’s beef stroganoff and then telling her that you enjoyed it afterward when she’d fold her hands and watch you eat what you could. I wanted to turn back the clocks and go back to the time when Mother asked me if I wanted to go so that I could say no instead of yes but before I knew it Uncle Howard was in the airport parking lot, heading for my new home for the summer. “It’s a rental”, he said and explained without words why his car matched not his style, but his budget.

I was on fire. My face felt white hot. Uncle Howard popped the trunk of the Van to take out our luggage. I walked his way to help him somewhat and take my things to stroll into the airport wait lounge. Surrounding us were overweight Italian men with half buttoned Hawaiian shirts and tons of chest hair, the dock’s salty ocean air as the fishermen reeled in the catch of the day, beams of warm biscuits and gravy from the diner down the drive. Early bird special. Quite the comfort as I didn’t eat breakfast before leaving and my stomach had favored the scent. I turned my head away from the sweaty men approaching the airport to glance back to my Uncle. He wiped the sweat from his brow, gently picked up one of the many suitcases, and sat it on the gravel where I grasped it in my hand and to my side. My nails dug into the vinyl handle of my suitcase while keeping quiet to keep my calm at the thought of stepping inside of an airplane.

Not to say that I was scared. Just that whenever you are involved in a new experience you get a little nervous. Nervous enough, even, to gather the gall to say “I want to go back home, you won’t take me alive”. But I wouldn’t dare stoop to that level of desperation and waste a fortnight at home, virtually alone whilst my parents ventured a quest for the gold status of certified workaholics.

“Evangelina, dear, excuse me”, Uncle huffed, out of breath from removing the heaviest of bags from the trunk of the car. My eyes shot back to his. “Are you ready to go?”

No.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go. I’ll help you with some of these bags. You look a bit worn”.

My Uncle smiled a proud smirk. He rubbed my shoulder and said, “You know, It’s good to see you handling all of this with a positive outlook”. My brows drooped. I didn’t understand where he was getting at. “I’m sorry?” I asked as politely as I could. “I know that your parents are having problems with their marriage, and this summer they’re gonna do all they can to patch things up so it won’t hurt you. I feel bad for you that you had to witness the deterioration of their relationship over the last few years but I want you to know that it’s not your fault. But you’re a strong girl. I know it. And we’re going to have a nice vacation away from all of the negativity”. I stood still and stared at him aimlessly. That’s some food for thought to take with me on the plane. He must have known something I didn’t, just didn’t know that I didn’t but I didn’t want him to be in trouble for spilling any beans. Sure I was devastated. It felt like a pipe bomb. I played along because I value others more than I value myself and I hate myself because of it.

“Thank you. You are a kind sir for your concerns Uncle Howard...I’m sure the events over the course of this summer will take my mind off of things, surely”, I faked a sure smile. That last part was a bonafide lie. How could I forget about something that bazaar? That Ludacris? I thought about it on the walk through the airport doors. I thought about it on the wait for the plane to arrive. I thought about it during the wait for the flight to take off while sitting on heated seats and padded chairs in first-class. “Would you care for some boiled chicken and a side of assorted vegetables? A glass of milk?” the flight attendant asks me once it hits one in the afternoon and I’m still thinking about it. Oh, no thank you to the peanuts. I’ve got a piece of shock that I’m still working on. I say “I say yes please, but can I have an unsweetened hot tea instead” because I haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours and I wouldn’t care for milk.

After I ate until the taste of dry chicken brought the desire for a gun to shoot the taste out of my mouth. I was no longer hungry, rather, my hunger after a few bites of poorly steamed carrots and wet cabbage turned to hurt and depressed feelings in my chest. That feeling gradually grew stronger and then some until I had no choice but to think about “it”. I thought about it and thought about it some more. Uncle Howard didn’t notice my depression, and I didn’t want him to because “this” is not what my first vacation would revolve around. It’s forbidden and I won’t allow it to, so it was a good thing that I was being ignored. I thought about it until I decided to stop thinking about it for the sake of staying away from the point of no return and ruining my first vacation and pissing myself off any more by my mood, or anyone else at that matter. Sitting closest to the window provided an opportunity to scan the horizon and clear my mind or at the very least try to forget for the rest of the flight. Being over a vast, soothing body of water was okay I suppose. At least if I died I would be swimming with the fish and that’s all that I really wanted to do this summer anyways. So much for cooling off. I could feel my face steam from my pores and now all I want to do is die and I don’t quite know why.

No more moping internally. I’ll save that for later. Now, I’ll drown in drowsy and deal with someone else’s problems afterward.

______________________________________________________________

The world was shaking, shaking me from my sleep and even after I awoke, groggy due to the uncomfortable first class luxury padded seat. I suppose it was meant to feel like a cloud of careless living but for some reason, that of which I did not understand, the chair was the opposite. Oh yeah, my parents are divorcing. And I wasn’t supposed to think about it. I forgot.

As I wiped the sleep from my eyes as the high pitched beep arose from the speakers littered on the ceilings of the plane. The pilot. The man whom I wish would make one false move and seal my fate. Sounding like a robot, he announced “Attention passengers; this is your captain speaking. We’re just about ready to land this grand ol’ plane down in the United Kingdom. The British Kingdom. London, to be exact, where you can let your hair down and enjoy the sights and bring back beautiful pictures in your polaroids. Estimated time of landing: five minutes. Buckle up and get ready for the time of your life”. A small eruption of applause followed, as did another flight attendant who started the speak about seatbelt safety. “Can anyone tell me what a seatbelt is?”

At baggage claim I sport a solemn look in my eyes. I know that I shouldn’t be so involved in this, whatever it is but I don’t know what has gotten over me. I’m not menstruating or anything. Uncle Howard sat next to me on the long, circular, leather waiting chair at baggage claim tapping away at the tiles on the floor with his studded shoe. It won’t be long before our luggage would be here and we would be in Dartford finally, I would practically smell the divorce papers being signed. No, I could practically smell the sweet Dartford grass! Our luggage came around the conveyer belt, my Uncle took care of unloading our things while I was only given the job of taking what was mine. After nothing was left behind he told me that his car was parked outside of the airport and that it would ride us home to his castle, he was the king. If I wanted to think about “it” it was no use. I was going back to my old ways of anxiousness and curiosity of what would be waiting for me in the land of mystery and that was, as far as I knew, was foreign. People from there must be aliens like Canadians. The soothing trees and the hush from the cascading winds blowing winds about made we want to think optimistically about my visit to this uncharted territory, disregard my parents’ marriage for the first time in forever and live. Actually live, as someone other than myself because myself would never let me live as another.

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