#having read no longer a heroine I am a little worried about how the mother situation is going to be resolved but honestly

[travalerray]

girl.

[lettersfromthecatcave]

Whenever I read people's stories about the wisdom or the properties/business built by their parents, my heart hurts a little.

I have classmates who are sent to graduate school or further studies without having to worry about tuition or books or living expenses. I have work colleagues who talked about their choice to rest, work on the family business until they figure what they want to do. I have friends who were gifted with business capitals. I have friends who talked about treating their parents to a trip... and being able to do it because they only pay for their own living expenses.

Then here I am, always worrying about my parents' health and making the dependents' HMO a deciding factor when I choose job offers. Here I am, always needing to raise funds for bail or for an operation or for a family trip. Here I am, needing to put in a percentage of my earnings to make sure I share budget so my parents have enough to eat, to buy medicine.

Sometimes I wonder how it feels to have that security as a child... not needing to worry if your tuition loan would be paid on time, if you have baon for next week or to pay for projects. Not needing to consider applying into bars, just because your rakets are no longer making ends meet. Sometimes I wonder what life choices I might have made for my career, for my self, if I need not worry about keeping my parents secure.

Nakakapagod na din maging anak. I love them, but I hope they made better choices when they were young. I know they tried their best, but lately, my Father has been heavy to carry. My Mother has changed for the better, yet she is chained to this man who could not provide for his family, and even expects his children to pay for everything he wants. I am so tired of seeing my Dad and getting angry, irritated, sad, sorry for how his life turned out... when he does nothing to change.

I had the best laughters as a child because of my Father. I was a Daddy's girl. But, adulthood shows you who the toxic parent really was. It shows you that the villain was actually the heroine trying to pull the family together, making ends meet, yet serving as a wife.

I pray God helps me process these emotions. That, and maybe I need a session.

[songtoyou]

Epiphany - Part One

Paring: Luke Crain x Female Reader

Chapter Rating: PG-13 

Word Count: 2,204

Warnings: Talks of drug use and recovery, mention death of a family member. 

Description: Life has never been easy for Luke Crain. After the death of Nell, Luke realizes that he needs to make some changes. He decided to stay in Massachusetts and attend rehab. He was determined to remain on his path of sobriety. When you get assigned to be Luke’s sponsor, it opens a new door of possibilities that neither you nor Luke expected.  

A/N: I finally watched the Haunting of Hill House a while back. I found Luke to be very interesting. This is my take on how Luke would go on with life after Nell’s death and how his continued path to remain sober would look like.

I do not permit my work to be posted on any other site without my permission.

Updated: Cleaned up for grammar and punctuation errors.

An epiphany is when a sudden and intuitive perception of insight into reality. It can provide a great moment of revelation and present itself as symbolic insight. Some people experience it while others often search for it.

Life was not easy for Luke Crain or his siblings. After the recent events of Hill House, Luke was scared of a life without his twin sister, Nell. Despite Luke being ninety seconds older, he always felt that Nell was his big sister. She was his protector. The only person to believe in him when others constantly sowed doubt. Unfortunately, Hill House ended up taking Nell in the end, along with his father Hugh. Luke was scared. More scared than he had ever been now that Nell was gone.

However, Luke was determined to get clean. To remain clean. He had to do it, not only for Nell but for himself. Both Steve and Theo pitched in to help pay for a good rehab center for Luke to stay. At first, Luke told them, no, but it was Theo who adamantly expressed her desire to support him.

“Luke, you have made it to 90-days. I can tell you want to remain clean. We all see it. Nell still believes in you and so do we. I want to be supportive of you because you’re my little brother and I love you,” said Theo.

With the support and help of his siblings, Luke decided to stay in Massachusetts for treatment. He took up residence with Shirley in the guest house since Theo decided to move out to live on her own. Despite her worries, Shirley believed in her little brother and his determination to remain clean. One could say it was her way to make amends for the guilt she held by not allowing Luke to attend Nell’s wedding.

It was actually Shirley’s husband Kevin, who recommended Banyan Treatment Center in Wilmington, Massachusetts. “One of my sisters went there for her alcohol addiction. She responded well to the program and has continued to stay sober for two-years. Banyan has a good family counseling program, along with outpatient therapy. Pretty much will have everything you need to continue your path for sobriety,” said Kevin one night after dinner.

It did not take long for Steve and Theo to be on board with Luke deciding on Banyan. Both liked what they read of the place. The treatment center was not uber fancy, like the one Shirley paid for all those years ago but also was a tad upscale compared to the rehab center in Los Angeles Luke recently attended.

The therapists and case managers at Banyan were nice and friendly. Rob, Luke’s primary therapist, helped ease him into a routine. Even though Luke was now over 90 days sober, Rob recommended intensive outpatient therapy every day for an hour session. Luke admitted to Rob, along with his siblings, that he was worried about relapsing due to Nell and Hugh’s deaths. He did not want to fall back into old and dangerous habits.

For 30 days, Luke was committed to his intensive outpatient therapy. Talking over his childhood trauma at Hill House and the recent events helped, not only explain his phobias but also tackle his post-traumatic stress. Hill House had a long-lasting effect that damaged his entire family. So much so, that all he wanted to be was numb. To not have to deal with the images in his mind or how the loss of his mother disturbed him.

When Luke “graduated” from intensive outpatient therapy to regular outpatient therapy, Rob recommended a sponsor for him. The Center’s alumni recovery program allowed for past patients who have succeeded in their program to help mentor those currently in the early stages of detox, treatment, and recovery. Having a strong and influential network of sober peers can make all of the difference between an addict relapsing or staying strong through hard times.

That is how you came into Luke Crain’s life. Rob recommended you to Luke as a sponsor. You had just celebrated your third anniversary of recovery. It was not that you had a bad childhood as the reason you turned to drugs. You were not abused, both of your parents were still alive, nor had you experienced any other forms of childhood trauma. Similar to Luke, heroin was your choice of escapism; the way to ease the feeling of pain and suffering. Not your own, but other peoples’.

That was the downside of being an empath.

Of course, no one believed you about being an empath. Your mother had always referred to you as an overly sensitive child and that stress was not something you handled very well. When having to deal with the ability to sense what people are feeling, whether the emotions are happy, sad, scared, stressed, disturbed, or angry, can be a lot for a person to handle. There came a time when taking on the pain of others became too much. You no longer wanted that burden. You no longer wanted to feel anything.

It did not matter how many rehab facilities your parents sent you to or how many times they pleaded; you did not care. For once, you put yourself first. Heroin helped you stop feeling. Helped you feel numb and content. You were happy. Of course, when the high wore off, as it always does, you were back to reality. You hated reality.

The last hit you had made you end up in the hospital. The doctor explained how you overdosed but were able to resuscitate you in time. That was when you finally realized you needed to change. Needed to get clean once and for all. You knew it would take time and patience. That you would not magically become clean and sober overnight. It was a process. Setbacks were a possibility. However, there was always a little voice in the back of your head that helped pull you through the dark times, to motivate you to keep going.

Now here you were about to meet the new mentee that Rob assigned you to. He only gave a little backstory about Luke, but not many other details. You ended up texting Luke asking him to meet you on Sunday at your favorite coffee shop, the As Good As It Gets Café. He promptly replied that he would see you there around noon.

 When Sunday finally rolled around, you headed to the café and waited. It was a quarter past twelve and Luke still had not shown up. You were starting to get nervous and wondering if he would ever appear. You were on the verge of texting him when the bell on the entry door chimed, indicating that someone was entering the café. You looked up and saw a very tall, scruffy, and attractive looking man standing by the door. The way he was looking around with a lost kind of look helped pinpoint that this was Luke. You got up from your booth and walked over to him.

“Luke?” you politely asked.

“Yes,” he said.

You introduced yourself and held your hand out for him to shake, which he took. You immediately became overwhelmed with the emotions that permeated this man. There was a lot of pain and loss underneath. But there was also a sense of hope and happiness that felt nice.

“Are you okay?” Luke asked wondering why all of a sudden you had a weird look on your face.

“Hmm? I’m sorry. I’m fine. I didn’t mean to…daze off for a second,” you laughed and pointed over to the booth you previously occupied. You walked over with Luke following.

“I’m sorry that I’m late. I was finishing up some homework and didn’t track the time properly,” Luke shared.

“Oh, where do you go to school?”

“Uh…I take a creative writing course at Bunker Hill Community College,” he replied.

“Nice. How are you liking it so far?” you asked him.

Before Luke could respond, one of the waitresses came over asking if Luke wanted anything to drink. Indicating that he just wanted coffee, the two of you were soon left alone.

“I like it. The instructor is really nice. It is the only course I am taking, so it doesn’t take up too much of my time. My older brother, Steve, actually encouraged me to enroll after I shared some of my writing with him. He’s a writer himself. I don’t know if you ever heard of him, Steven Crain? He has written a lot of books, mostly ghost stories. His most famous one is, ‘The Haunting of Hill House’. Have you read that book?”

“I have not. I tend to stay away from horror genres,” you told Luke.

There was a moment of silence between the two of you. Luke was adverting his gaze to anywhere but you. It was easy to tell that he was nervous and unsure of himself.

“Luke,” you spoke up to get his attention and said, “You don’t have to be anxious or feel uneasy. Getting here, to this step, is a big freaking deal. I get it, trust me. I absolutely get it. I never thought I’d be here. To be completely frank, I always pictured myself dead somewhere in the streets. I’m sure you pictured the same for yourself. But it didn’t. You’re here today because you wanted more for yourself. That is something to be proud of.”

Letting out a sigh, Luke sat back in the booth and crossed his arms over his chest. Sometimes he did not feel proud. He missed Nell. He missed her all of the time. She always believed in him no matter how many times he broke her heart. Nell always forgave him. She was always there when he needed someone to bail him out of trouble.

“You okay, Luke? If you would rather do this another time, that is okay. We can reschedule,” you offered. You could sense a feeling of grief underneath the surface of the man sitting before you.

“No. No, I’m sorry. I…uh…I was thinking about Nellie. My twin sister. She…she died recently. Well, not recent, two months ago. So, it’s still…very…it’s still a lot to handle.”

“I’m sorry,” you told him earnestly. “What was it like having a twin? I don’t have any siblings, so I always like to hear other people’s sibling stories.”

“Having siblings has its pros and cons,” Luke laughed, but continued, “They can be much at times, but I’m glad to have them. Especially now that Nellie is gone. They have been incredibly supportive, which makes all the difference in the world.”

“I really appreciate you sharing this with me, Luke. I know it can’t be easy. I am a stranger after all. You’re actually my second mentee from the alumni recovery program. My previous one …well her story didn’t have a happy ending,” you shared with Luke.

He could relate. When he left the clinic in Los Angeles to find Joey and bring her back to get her clean again. She was nine-months clean at the time but ended up using while being back on the streets. Luke would be lying to himself if he did not say he was rather disappointed in Joey. To him, Joey was someone who he could look up to while trying to get clean. He should have known something was off with her during what would be their last night at the clinic. Joey reminded him of Nell, so he could not stand by and do nothing. Joey helped him during his first week at the clinic. So, Luke felt that he owed it to her to return the favor.

Unfortunately, Joey did not want his help in the end. To this day, Luke still does not know what really happened to her after she swiped the drugs off him and headed towards that alley. But deep inside, Luke knew she did not make it. That her body would either be discovered or continue to rot in that alley. Theo would tell him that Joey was not his responsibility. That he had to put himself first when it came to recovery.

Luke pushed his coffee cup to the side and leaned on the table. You were so focused on your own coffee cup that you did not notice him staring at you intently. He was taking you in and assessing you. So far, he could admit that he found you attractive. You had a nice built. Your clothing was not too flashy. He could tell that you were the type to choose comfortable clothing over fashionable attire. However, it was your eyes that stood out. There was a softness and warmness to them that he found quite soothing. There were no ulterior motives behind them or any sense of malice. Luke could see that your intentions with him were good and that you really wanted to help him in his recovery by being a supportive mentor.

“Hey,” he said to get your attention. “I promised that I’ll come to talk to you if I ever feel like I might…. Or if I just feel like I need someone to talk to.”

“I appreciate that, Luke,” you told him sincerely.

[xhanisai]

Only idiots try to woo those who are already in love with them

Read on AO3 / FFN

Summary: "So...Marinette Dupain-Cheng Noir, huh?"

Oooh, Adrien wasn't going to let her get away with that so easily. His lady seems to have a crush on him, Chat Noir him! And there's no way in hell he's going to let that go. However, he has a plan and he refuses to go off tangent.

"Personally, I think Marinette Agreste has a nicer ring to it, don't you think?"

~(x)~ . . . Doki Doki... Doki Doki... Whack! Ladybug let out a silent whimper and then rubbed the sore spot below her collarbones after smacking it so hard. She mumbled out silent curses in Mandarin, words that her mother would skin her alive for if she ever uttered them out loud in her presence and willed for the blood rushing to her cheeks to stop. This was the umpteenth time now and it was starting to drive her teeth towards the edge. The heroine scowled at her partner like a child would at a jar of cookies that was placed in a shelf far too high for them to reach. Not that Chat Noir was unreachable. Hell! If she wanted to, she could jump at him right now and permanently glue their lips together. The boy would swoon with indescribable joy! Shaking her head, Ladybug exhaled through her nose sharply as if to scold her brain for concocting up the millionth...LadyNoir...fantasy. The teen directed her attention back at the catboy who was busy consoling their latest akuma victim. The victim was a little girl, no older than four, maybe five. She was giggling at the funny faces that Chat pulled to cheer her up, clapping her hands with a cute blush as the boy followed suit. He was really kind and sweet...especially with the little ones... Chat Noir would make such a loving father in the future. No doubt about it. And perhaps... A loving husband- Ladybug's brain abruptly shut down on the spot and her legs immediately turned to jelly, causing her to trip over the roof tiles and fall off the building with as much beauty and grace a headless chicken would have. The befuddled girl awaited her fate as a soon to be splat on the pavement, too disorientated to even use her damn yoyo- "My Lady!" 

Oh. Forget about being a red and black polka dotted splat on the dirt crusted grimey floor. She's going to be a puddle of goop at this rate. Holding her bridal style, was none other than her one and only Chaton. Suddenly, Ladybug was hypersensitive to every sound, smell and touch. The way his strong, well toned arms flexed under her thighs and waist, transferring a delicious warmth through her body like skin on skin contact... The way his broad chest loomed over her entire being like a thick, fluffy blanket on a cold winter's night... The way the crisp scent of the outside lingered on him like a breath of fresh air, sending welcomed shivers down her spine... Ladybug felt herself heat up from head to toe much to her dismay and she wouldn't be surprised if her face mirrored a tomato right now. He's too close. Way too close. "Heh, I guess angels really do fall from the sky, hmm?" His voice came out as a dark, gravelly purr, causing the poor heroine's heart to go haywire and slam against her ribcage like a gymnast on twenty espresso shots. Why did he have to say it like that!? Not to mention the way his green eyes glinted under his long lashes in such an illegal way! Absolutely unfair! "Eh-erm-ugh- HMPH!" The word soup that spilled out of her lips as a response was the final nail to the coffin, forcing Ladybug to jump out of the confused boy's arms like his namesake. Her hands flailed around in odd gestures as Ladybug carried on trying to speak, only to fail with more stutters and awkward, fake laughs. Dammit. She's fallen for him. And she's fallen for him hard! When did this happen? How did this happen? Why did this happen? Ridiculously unfair. What's with her and stupidly kind blonde boys with sinfully, beautiful green eyes!? "AHAHA- I think I've left my pet crocodile unattended- Eek! Gottagobyehotstuff-" With a speed that could rival a racecar, Ladybug swung away without letting a bewildered Chat Noir utter as much as a word, screaming into the distance: "I can't believe it's happening aga-aaaaaaaaaaaa..."

Noir stood still, gaping on the spot before bringing out his inner model and quickly composed himself, clutching his chin as a deep red blush barely peeked under his mask. One hand grasped his arm whilst the other cradled his chin as he bit down on a finger to see whether or not he was dreaming. The sharp pain that ricocheted through the digit when his sharpened fang pierced the flesh snapped him back into reality and Chat Noir was left muttering in awe. The awe then turned into a chuckle of endearment and a beautiful smile full of love took over as he shook his head and then faced the direction that his Lady vaulted off to. "Dammit Marinette...only you would give your identity away like that," His words came out as a soft whisper, unheard by anyone else. Relief lightened his shoulders of its burden from the months of dilemmas between loving two girls, only to find out they were one and the same. The relief was soon replaced with confusion and a touch of misery when he realised that she was treating him the way she treated his alter ego. Like he's some sort of cold king who would bite off her head. 'Not that I would mind biting if she's into that- BUT ANYWAYS.' Chat Noir brushed off his not-so-innocent thoughts and his trademark optimism shined through when he concluded that he will do anything to make his Lady feel good around him. Now, what to do of the supposed 'other boy' she likes... "I'm going to die fighting for her even if it's the last thing I do. Couffaine? Kurtzberg? I don't know which one of you is the other boy but no matter what, I'm marrying her..." ~(x)~ "Wanna tell me why you're starting to doodle that in the corner of your books now~?" A gleeful Alya held away the book from Dupain-Cheng as she nosely flickered through the pages with a smile wider than a Cheshire cat. Her free hand was preoccupied in pushing the flustered Asian's face away as she attempted to snatch her notebook back, whines and protests falling on deaf ears as the rest of the class made way out of the room to go home. Just another day to them all, much to their amusement. "Speak any louder and you lose your macaron privileges, Alya!" Mari reached for the book once more in a giant pounce, only for Césaire to duck and the former to end up in a pile of limbs against the wall. An adorable pout rested on her lips and her eyebrows furrowed when Alya's giggles turned into fully blown out laughter. "Don't worry Marinette, never have I told your secrets to anyone else, right?" The brunette's lips soon zipped shut guiltily as Marinette gestured her eyes towards Nino who helped her up along with Adrien. "That was one time girl~" Marinette's pout only deepened despite Adrien's chuckles. "I think that's enough teasing our class president for today, Alya," The blonde dusted off (the now blushing) Marinette, skimming his eyes down her body quickly to make sure she wasn't hurt. His Lady could be a tad bit too energetic sometimes. "What could possibly be written in there that provoked Mari into jumping on you like that?" He delivered a cheeky smirk, eating up the way Marinette gawked at him in betrayal and the way Alya's glasses glinted mischievously. "Why you! It's a secret! No one needs to know and certainly not you!" The raven haired teen scoffed, flipping her hair before gesturing to Alya for her notebook back. Her cheeks were turning rosier and rosier and Adrien was dying with curiousity to know what mystery laid in that book. "Oh? Now I really want to know," This time Nino snickered at Adrien's response, fully used to the boy's deviousness and curiousity that could rival a cat. A side of the usually sweet, reserved boy that was kept hidden. "S-So what? No one's allowed to know and Alya will sensibly hand me back my notebook. So hah!" "I don't know, it looks like she's more willing to hand it to me..." "That's because you're egging her on!" "Am I now?" "You can be so infuriating, Agreste." "Ouch. You wound me, Cupcake~"  Adrien flawlessly delivered a well timed wink, relishing the way that Marinette was left in a flustered stupor before speeding towards Alya and grabbing the notebook with the heroine in disguise hot at his heels. He jumped over a few desks, dodged the benches with practised agility yet it was nearly impossible to shake Marinette off his tail. Though, his wide grin that could counter his alter ego's never left his face. "Adrien! Give it back! Don't be such a brat- OOF!" Marinette found herself glomped by both Alya and Nino, the duo holding her down in a tight hug whilst the petite girl was left complaining and mustering all her strength to lift them both off of her. Turns out that all the parkour and part time hero-ing the boyfriend and girlfriend did occasionally gave them an advantage of extra vitality in their civilian sides. So, Marinette resorted to begging. "Adrien ple-eeeeeeease..." Her eyes shimmered like they belonged to a puppy, causing Adrien to falter on his steps and almost choke on his saliva. 'That's not fair, Princesse. You're too fucking cute and I won't be able to handle it any longer and the next thing you know, I'll be pushing you against the wall and kissing you like no tomorrow-' Blinking back out of his thoughts, Adrien cleared his throat and looked away dramatically to avoid the sparkling baby blues. "Open it dude! Quick before Marinette pushes us off! I can feel ourselves slipping!" Nino groaned out, completely put off guard by Marinette's sudden determined strength and he and Alya scrambled to keep her held down. The green eyed boy didn't hesitate and ignored the defeated "Nooooo..." Marinette let out. . A beat went past. Sweat accumulated on Marinette's forehead as Adrien's face went through a variety of motions whilst he skimmed through the book. First his eyebrows were raised and his lips parted in bafflement. Then he squinted his eyes as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Next, his face became unreadable and his lips were pursed.   The only thing Marinette could hear was her heart pounding and the blood rushing through her face and ears. She so was going to kill Alya once she's snapped out of her embarrassment. "So...Marinette Dupain-Cheng Noir, huh?" Adrien rested the tip of the book against his lips as he raised a brow, sighing as Marinette stumbled through a couple of excuses. The girl in question shot up, victoriously pushing her friends off her and immediately snatched the book away, hugging it against her chest with a tight lipped smile. "I'm just testing my calligraphy skills! Nothing more!" Oooh, Adrien wasn't going to let her get away with that so easily. His lady seems to have a crush on him, Chat Noir him! And there's no way in hell he's going to let that go. However, he has a plan and he refuses to go off tangent. "And the hearts? The doodles of you and Chat Noir holding hands? The names of your three future babies with him? Doesn't seem like calligraphy to me." The annoyed frown he purposely slipped out caused his three friends to let out silent gasps, taken aback by his serious expression. Was he...jealous? "A-Adrien...?" Marinette gulped as the boy was abruptly by her side, face lowered so that his cheek brushed hers. The girl couldn't help but enjoy the sensation of his soft, silky lips against the shell of her ear and almost jumped when he spoke again. "Personally, I think Marinette Agreste has a nicer ring to it, don't you think?" His words were nothing but a low whisper, a husky tone that sounded so scandalous and drove Marinette's hormones to the extreme, evident in the way her knees almost buckled beneath her. Totally unfair! How the heck was she supposed to react!? Adrien pulled away, frown still in place and then squeezed Mari's upper arms with a nod but then leaned in again, eyes narrowed and the strands of his hair mingling with her fringe as their foreheads shared a tender kiss. "I'm not losing you to some cat boy." His emerald orbs twinkled with strong emotions, lips only a breath away from hers that Adrien couldn't help but graze Marinette's lower lip with his thumb. He finally turned around and made way out of the door, beckoning his jaw-dropped best friend to come along. A pinch on her thigh- most likely from Tikki who for some reason was hiding in Marinette's trouser pocket, brought her back to the world and before anyone knew it, the girl held Adrien back by the wrist. It was rare for her to initiate physical contact so Adrien couldn't help but halt with surprise. Marinette brushed off all her embarrassment and muddled feelings, fixing a glare at the nonchalant looking model. "He's not just some cat boy. He's one of the most kindest, strongest person I know! He's saved my life more times than I can remember, saves Paris on a daily basis and without him...there would be no Ladybug! So don't...don't just dismiss Chat Noir like that." Adrien furrowed his brows, holding his burning stare against her stern eyes for a bit before leaning in once more, taking Marinette's grip off his wrist and then held her hand in his possessively. The tight squeeze he gave the appendage didn't go unnoticed to the girl and the rest of the audience. "Sorry...I'm just sick of other boys turning your head towards them...when I've been hoping for you to glance at me, just once...for a long time..." His voice wavered between vulnerable and melancholy before settling on determination. Without missing a beat, the boy swiftly kissed the corner of Marinette's lips, cherishing every groove and warmth that emitted from her and then promptly stalked out of the classroom before anyone else could see him turn redder than a strawberry. 'At this rate, she should figure out my civilian identity soon. She has to! With a declaration like that, I should be on her mind for a bit and maybe...she could develop feelings for my civilian side too...?' A hopeful grin took place on his lips whilst Nino ran after him and babbled about how shook he was by the blonde's actions. . Meanwhile, poor Marinette was left frozen in the classroom, wheezing like a kettle and cheeks brighter than a traffic light while Alya squealed with happiness, thanking dieu that she captured everything on her phone. "So, Marinette? Will it be Adrien or Chat Noir~?" Alya's question was met with a defeated wail and a slap against her shoulder. The brunette couldn't keep the devilish smirk off her face. "He's been waiting for me to glance at him!? Is he BLIND!? I have been drooling over his stupid self for like a YEAR! Ugh Alya! What am I gonna do-ooooo?" ~(x)~ She should be suited up right now in her signature spots. She should be battling the akuma right now who was preoccupied in setting fire on everything he saw like a madman. But no. "Princesse...just dump me somewhere in an alleyway and run! Please..." Chat Noir, who was terribly injured, grimaced as Marinette kept on running, fingers digging into the boy's legs as she held him piggyback style. She thanked the kwamis that she was familiar with the thirteenth arrondissement like the back of her hand. She merely huffed as a response and sped up before finally finding a decent hiding spot in the abandoned China town. Much to her delight, the pharmacy shop where her maman usually goes to was empty and open so Marinette didn't hesitate to storm inside. The groans and whimpers that the hero let out as Mari gently placed him against a chair shattered her heart and the teen couldn't help but wince at his injuries. "You stupid...stupid cat! Why did you take that hit for me? You should have dodged!" Marinette spat out, masking her pain with anger as she gathered the medical kit with a mission to alleviate her partner's wounds. The boy responded with a cocky smirk, as if his shoulder wasn't burnt to a crisp and his legs weren't shredded with gashes. This akuma was the first to pierce the magical suit and it was taking everything for Marinette to not fall into a panic attack. Not even the battle on heroes' day was this nerve wracking. "I like my women alive, not barbecued." Noir rasped but then yelped as Marinette knelt down to his level and applied ointment to the burns. This time, tears streamed down his eyes and his claws dug into the plush carpet below him. His faux ears plastered themselves against his hair and his tail whipped against the chair and wall beside him as if to emphasise how much pain he's in. "Stupid flirt...stupid cat...always have to be so self sacrificing...what if that hit killed you!? What would Ladybug have done then!?" Cheng sobbed, letting her forehead flop onto Chat's uninjured shoulder. Her arms wrapped around his middle, squeezing the blonde against her as tight as she could whilst Chat helplessly reciprocated her actions. He soothed her with hushes and encouraging whispers, combing his claws through her loose tendrils, pulling her flush against his body whilst his face remained in the crook of her neck so that the sweet scent that lingered on her body kept him grounded. The next words that he uttered momentarily stopped her heart. "If I didn't take that hit, there would be no Ladybug..." The duo stiffened, the younger of the two plagued with multitudes of questions. Marinette wanted to pinch herself, hope that she misheard what he said but the strong smell of antiseptic that filled the room, the atrocious scent of burnt flesh and blood and the warm, secure arms that kept her in an iron hold proved otherwise. "I...How...?" Marinette gasped, pulling back far enough so that she could see her partner's bashful face. "I was so careful and...and...dammit! Either I released my transformation in front of you by accident or you're one stupidly smart cat!" The ebony-haired teen was far too emotionally exhausted to delve into this and simply accepted her fate. He knew now. This time, there's no time or space to come up with another convoluted plan to knock him off the trail like when Mme. Mendeleiev got akumatised. "I'm a clever cat, your clever chaton, My Lady," Chat Noir couldn't help but gaze down at Marinette lovingly, eyes softened and heart racing. The raspberry hue that took place on her cheeks did wonders to him. "Maybe, if we were strangers, I wouldn't have found you as quick-" He wasn't able to finish his sentence as two fingers were pressed against his lips. "It's...it's dangerous enough that you know who I am...I can't know who you are, Minou. Master Fu-" "-is wrong. He's just as capable of making bad decisions as anyone else. That time he took Plagg and Tikki away from us is proof of that. I firmly believe that the idea of us not knowing who the other is for the sake of our safety is pretty much bullshit at this rate." He kissed her fingers, eyes never leaving hers in a gaze so intense that Marinette felt like her entire body was lit up in flames. "We've been partners for a long time, our trust in each other is beyond comprehensible and you know for a fact that I'd rather die than waver my loyalty to you, Marinette." He pulled her towards him in another embrace, burying his nose into the nape of her neck and let his lips trail on the soft, sweet skin with butterfly kisses. The kiss burned more than the fire that the akuma plagued on Paris. Each and every pucker took Marinette's breath away and the way he tugged her hair so that he could have access to her throat was downright sinful. When his teeth grazed the sensitive area below her ear, Marinette's eyes fluttered closed and a soft sigh escaped her lips. "Chat Noir..." Her voice would have been inaudible had it not been for the boy's heightened hearing. This of course encouraged a deep purr to rumble from the hero and his lips got closer and closer to hers... "My name...say my name, Marinette," Chaton's lips brushed against Dupain-Cheng's as he spoke, voice so hoarse and exposed. Familiarity filled Marinette from head to toe but she couldn't for the love of god figure out why. Instead, she frowned and bowed her head down in defeat. "I don't...I don't know..." She raised her head back up when Chat Noir tsked in response, squeezing her tighter. "Minou..." The familiarity was starting to weigh down on her like a boulder and it was driving Marinette crazy. "Find me. Please. I love you...all of you. If you're not going to let me tell you who I am then you have to find me. You're a smart girl, My Lady. So smart. I can see that you're close to figuring it out." He kissed her cheeks softly and then darted back to her neck, this time to distribute an open mouthed kiss and suck the skin hard. "Chat Noir!?" Mari gasped, face rouged and teeth biting down her bottom lip to avoid any shameful sounds from coming out of her throat. When he pulled away, Marinette bumped her forehead against his with irritation, scoffing at his pained yelp. "What was that for!? O-ooooooh if the cleansing light doesn't heal this, how am I going to explain this to my parents? Alya? AH- and Adrien!? He's going to be so annoyed..." It took everything for Chat Noir to hide his smirk, rubbing his fingers against Marinette's hips. "Then he'll know that this princess is off limits, no~?" "Stupid, possessive, blonde, idiots!" "Hey, I'm smart, not stupid like model boy," "UGH! Fuck you!" "Is that an offer?" "JUST SHUT UP AND LET ME BANDAGE YOU BACK UP SO THAT WE CAN KICK THE AKUMA'S ASS AND THEN I'LL KICK YOUR ASS YOU STUPID ALLEY CAT!" "That wasn't a no~" ~(x)~ Adrien gawked in horror from the doorway when the scarf that was wrapped around Marinette's neck unravelled and spilled onto the floor. The girl quickly slapped her hand against her neck to hide the hickey but she couldn't avert her eyes from his. It was just the two of them in the locker room. Probably the two few remaining students in the building since they had extra curricular activities. "OH- Erm...hi Adrien? I was not expecting to see you here hahah! Did you manage to beat Kagami this time or-" Marinette ended her default babbles with a squeak as the blonde haired teen stormed towards her, peeling her hand off her neck only for his eyes to widen at the 'gift' that the cat bestowed. "Marinette...you chose him?" The boy laid out the kitten eyes, internally cackling at the way his lady scrambled for words. Plagg may have warned him of the rage of a Ladybug but dieu, the shit eating cat inside him couldn't help but keep up the tease. Sure, acting jealous of his alter ego wasn't going to be much help in Marinette solving his identity but at the same time, he didn't want to make this too easy for her. It wasn't fair that he's fallen head over heels for both sides of her since the beginning and struggled with those feelings for such a long time while it's only recently that she began crushing on his vigilant half, right? To summarise, he was the equivalent of a naughty, bratty kitten trapping a bug under his paws and he loved every second of it. "I haven't chosen anyone- not yet...I...I don't know what to do." Now, a tiny bit of guilt was gnawing on Adrien's chest. Maybe he's gone a bit too far? "The two of you have thrown me in quite a loop, confessing left and right..." Her sweet blush wiped the guilt off his chest clean. Maybe...simple, ordinary Adrien Agreste has a chance? Just maybe...she's starting to have feelings for him too...? "Has he kissed you?" Adrien leaned closer, placing his hands against the locker that Marinette was backed up against, pinning her in place. Forward but not aggressive. With the way she eyed him beneath her lashes, his actions was more than happily received. "Not really..." "Can I kiss you?" His lips were barely brushing hers now. "...please," Immediately, their lips crashed into one another without any finesse. All pent up feelings, all raging emotions, all were expressed in this one, deep kiss like a ferocious fire. Adrien tangled his fingers with Marinette's, pressing his body tight against hers and tilted his head ever so slightly to deepen the kiss. Heat and hormones drove their bodies on autopilot. Marinette moved her arms around his neck, slipping her digits through Adrien's hair whilst the boy in question wrapped his arms around her waist, hands wondering dangerously low and cupping every part of her with desperation. The familiarity that laid low in Marinette's mind soon jumped back by ten folds as sharp teeth nipped the rim of her lips, parting the soft pair so that his tongue could slip in and bring her even closer. Her mind kept on rebooting at every touch, every nibble, every sound, every kiss until she forgot her own name. Suddenly, a small hiss of pain escaped Adrien's throat, causing Marinette to break the kiss, heaving and notice that he was edging his shoulder away from her fingers. "Adrien...?" "Ignore it." The boy grunted, slamming his lips back onto hers, this time cupping her cheek with one hand and pulling the bands of her hair so that he could comb his fingers through the smooth, silky locks. Familiarity stroke back to Marinette despite the distracting, excitable kiss. Adrien began to trail his lips south, parallel to the hickey that Chat Noir left till he reached the area below her collarbones. Unlike his roaring passion that started the kissing session, Adrien ended it with a sweet, subtle kiss on her skin. The way Marinette heaved and panted sent many thoughts and fantasies to the dishevelled boy's head, concluding that he indeed needed to take a cold shower as soon as he got home. "Adrien..." Marinette breathed out sweetly, cheeks flushed beyond compare and fingers tangled with the fabric of his shirt as she struggled to stay upright. "That's my name," Adrien cutely bumped his nose with hers and then backed off, smirk growing when she slid down the locker and onto the floor in a daze. "I'll see you around, Princesse," With a wink, the boy patted her cheek and then slinked off with that enviable model grace of his. A few minutes went past yet Marinette refused to move. Adrien's last few words kept circling in her mind. 'That's my name- that's what he said. But why did he say that? That's such a weird thing to say, right? And since when did he start calling me Princesse-' . . . Insert a record scratch. Tikki, the poor kwami who had to witness the entire endeavour simply shook her head with a sigh, praying that her holder didn't murder Plagg's kitten. "DAMMIT ADRIEN AGRESTE! FUCK YOU!!!!" "At least take me out to dinner first~!" The stupid boy's voice came from the window outside the locker room and Marinette didn't think twice before running towards it to see his shit eating grin plastered on his face from below. ~(x)~ "So all this time you were in love with civilian me, ever since I gave you my umbrella?" "Mmhm." "And you were suppressing your feelings for cat me for around the same time?" "Yep." "So basically I was being an absolute, obtuse idiot who's been cockblocking myself?" "Uh-huh." "Wow. Well fuck me!" "After the days of grief you've given me in choosing between you and you, you don't even deserve a kiss let alone getting laid." "Dammit...so...you gonna untie me now or are ya gonna leave me hanging upside down on the tower forever...?" "Heh~ you're gonna stay there and rot till eternity Chaton." "NoooOOooOOoOOooooo..." . . . ~(x)~

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Poetry for an Heiress, Chapter 4

Summary:  When a duchess and her children are abandoned far from home, they must rely on the kindness of one stranger to guide them home. 

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: None (For this chapter)

Three weeks or so after your arrival, as promised, you allowed Ezra to take the boys fishing if they were all well behaved. Aside from a week or so prior when Aiden had tormented Marie with a fat little grub, they had been absolute angels. They helped you whenever you asked, and helped Ezra sometimes even before he would ask. 

"Tomorrow, perhaps," Ezra said one evening after dinner. He rested his hand in his lap and looked across the table at the children. "I think tomorrow is a marvelous day for fishing."

Henry and Aiden gasped excitedly and looked at one another before they turned to Ezra. 

"Really!" Aiden cried, bouncing on his feet. "Do you mean it? We can go fishing!"

"Of course," Ezra said, his expression serious. "I did make a promise to you, did I not? And your mother did say if you were exceptionally well-behaved, you could go."

Two eager faces turned to you, as if for confirmation of this monumental declaration. 

"We shall all go," you said with a smile. "We can pack a picnic lunch and books to read for tomorrow."

Marie gasped and clapped her hands as the boys let out triumphant cries and hugged you tightly. 

"Easy, easy," Ezra warned gently. "Don't squeeze the life out of your poor mother. Come on, let's get these dishes cleaned and you boys can help me get things ready."

Marie climbed down from her chair and gathered up her plate and cup before placing both in the wash tub. She turned to you as you collected Ezra's silverware in your hands. "Mama," she said, trying to be as polite as she could be. "Can I go help Henry and Aiden and Mr. Ezra?"

"For a bit," you said, placing the dishes in the basin. "It's almost bedtime for little bugs."

Marie pouted and folded her arms over her chest. "I'm not sleepy, mama. Please? Can I please go help?"

You smiled and crouched down to her height. You gently took her hands in your own and kissed her palms. She looked so much like you, according to your mother. You were hard to convince, for you always saw your husband's eyes staring back at you with curiosity. It had always been hard to look at your children, to see him when he was no longer there. 

Now, it felt like you were healing. There was no longer an ache in your heart when you thought of him. Going into his study, exactly the way he had left it, no longer caused you to break down. Looking at your children didn't fill you with an overwhelming sense of  grief. 

Your children had never known their father. Not enough to remember him, anyway. Marie never even lived in the same world as he did. 

Was it time for you to finally move on? It would have been what he wanted for you - happiness. A life.

"My darling," you said, stroking your thumb along her rounded cheek. "I think that is a splendid idea."

"Perfectly splendid," Marie repeated with a smile. She wrapped her arms around your neck and kissed your cheek. After a moment she skipped off to join the boys outside.

For a moment, you stood by the small kitchen window and watched Marie run to where her brothers and Ezra were huddled together in the yard. Ezra was so patient with them. He never raised his voice or got frustrated. It was like he was meant for this.

And, oh, the children loved him. They didn't even need to tell you. You just knew. You could see it in their eyes. They did tell you though, quite often, as a matter of fact. Almost every day they told you how they wanted to stay on Muir forever and explore like Mr. Ezra.

Outside, Ezra picked up Marie and rested her on his hip, his arm wrapped around her as she clung to him. She squealed with laughter as he motioned with a jerk of the head for the boys to follow him to the barn.

*

"You'll want to be very quiet so as not to disturb the fish," Ezra explained, keeping his voice hushed for emphasis. He looked at the twins with their homemade fishing poles and grinned. 

You were watching from the shore, safe and dry on the picnic blanket you'd dug out early that morning. Marie was beside you as she read her picture book, sounding the words out loud as best she could. 

Warm sunlight filtered through the trees and a cool breeze lifted the lace sleeves of your dress from your shoulders. It was shaping up to be a beautiful day, just as Ezra had predicted. 

"Careful now, son," Ezra warned, reaching towards Aiden. "You go whipping that pole around and you're liken to catch your brother in the seat of his pants with the fishing hook."

You saw that mischievous glint in Aiden's eyes and he grinned. You just raised a brow and stared at him until he caught your eye. He looked away suddenly, the gleam disappearing as quickly as it arrived.

"Mama," Marie mumbled, tapping on your arm. "What's this word?" She pointed to a word in her book and looked up at you expectantly.

"Sound it out," you encouraged, looking at the book. You helped her follow along with your finger as she sounded the word out.

"A... art-eye-kick?" she stammered, uncertain and shaky in tone.

"Not bad," you said with a smile. "It's 'arctic,' you said. "Try it again."

"Arr-tic," she repeated, sliding her finger under the word. "Better?"

You chuckled. "Better. There's three sounds, not two. But you did a wonderful job, little bug."

Marie beamed and then looked down at her book again. "What about this word?"

"Penguin," you hummed, sparing a glance down at the word and accompanying illustration.

"What's that?"

"An animal that was around a very long time ago," you explained. "Some of them are probably still around a very long way from here."

"It's got funny hair, mama," she said with a giggle as she, pointed to the picture. "Like Mr. Ezra's!"

You laughed softly and ruffled her hair a bit as you glanced up at Ezra. He was watching you both out of the corner of his eye, a warm smile on his face. "Mr. Ezra doesn't look like a penguin!" 

"I am inclined to agree with you," Ezra called to you as he recast his net. "Though one can't argue with her solid logic, Princess."

You smiled and leaned back on your elbows to enjoy the sunlight. The morning dew was still cool enough to wet your skin as you dug your bare toes into the soft grass.

Henry and Aiden had figured out the basics of casting a line fairly easily, it seemed, and soon they were wading towards the slightly deeper water to cast their lines, despite your better judgement. With the two of them with their poles and Ezra with a small net, they were sure to catch something for dinner. 

You pulled your book out of the picnic basket and opened it up to where you had left off from the previous night. The gentle sound of the water made for a pleasant background noise to accompany your reading and it was easy to lose yourself in the story. It was a scandalous romance, your book. An eager young woman keeping a secret romance with a stone-hearted mercenary - wholly obscene and tender all at once. It was a story you would have stuffed under the mattress as a girl to keep your grandmother from finding out about it. You found yourself imagining it were you in that scenario. It had always happened when you read books like that. It used to be your husband as the object of the heroine's affections, but now, someone else was slowly taking the place of the brooding mercenary. 

As if he were sensing your thoughts, Ezra called for your attention, his hand gripping the net tightly as he stood knee deep in the water.

"Princess, I believe we have our first catch of the day!" Ezra exclaimed as he tugged the net out of the water. Trapped in the net was a shiny little fish, about the length of Ezra's forearm. It shone pink and green, sparkling in the sun as it flapped in its confines.

"You mean you didn't catch anything bigger?" Aiden asked as he recast his line. "That's so small!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, you'll have to forgive me, sir, I forgot you were a fishing expert," Ezra chided, walking towards the bank. He dropped the net to the ground and watched the fish as it flopped around for a bit.

You laughed and closed your book before standing. The grass gave way to gravel and mud as you approached the bank where Ezra stood over his catch.

"What do you think?" Ezra asked, nodding down at his net. 

"Oh yes," you replied. "Maybe a few dozen more of these and we can make something with it."

"Your words cut like a knife, Princess," he teased, putting his hand over his heart. "Bring that box over here, would you? I want to keep this little one fresh. One catch is better than none."

You brought the box over to him and pried open the lid. The smell coming out of it was horrific, but you didn't comment as Ezra tossed the fish inside. 

"Are you boys alright for a moment by yourselves?" Ezra asked. "I want to have a word with your mother."

"Yes, Mr. Ezra," Henry replied. He recast his line and tried his best to keep still, just as he was told so as not to disturb any fish. 

You looked at Ezra, confused by his request to speak in private. He led you by a gentle hand at your elbow over to a small cluster of trees, still well within view of the children, but far enough that you wouldn't be disturbed or overheard.

"What is this about, Ezra?" you asked, worry evident in your voice. "What's wrong?"

Ezra lifted his hand and shook his head. "No, no, nothing is wrong," he said quickly. He bit his lip and sighed for a moment before continuing. "It's just that... do you remember how I told you about that supply freighter that comes through about once a month or so? Well, it turns out that we won't be getting that freighter for quite some time. I found out from Jacinta down at the store yesterday morning. She's been---"

Ezra's words faded into a drone in the background, drowned out by a roar in your ears. You felt your heart sink to your stomach and you reached out to steady yourself against the tree. The air felt like it had been pushed from your lungs and you stared blankly at Ezra as you tried to comprehend what he had just told you.

He reached out to steady you, his hand firmly on your waist to keep you upright. "Woah, Princess. Stay with me now. It's gonna be alright, understand? I have a plan for how you and your flock are going to get home. It might take some time, but I can get you there."

"How?" you asked. Your voice cracked and Ezra winced at how afraid you sounded. You looked over at your children, carefree and happy, and then back at Ezra, who was watching you with a worried expression. "How are you going to get us home?"

"I haven't fully fleshed out all those fine details yet, Princess, but I am making a promise to you right here, right now, that you will safely get back home." Ezra rubbed a soothing circle with his thumb on your hip and you reached down to put your hand over his. Thinking you were going to push his hand away, he began to pull back, but you grabbed his hand and held it tight. He looked a little surprised, but then smiled softly. "I won't abandon you, I promise. I will do whatever it takes."

You took a deep, shaky breath and then nodded. "Alright. I trust you. What shall I do to help you?"

Ezra chuckled. "You're asking what you can do to help me, help you? That can get confusing if we aren't careful, so for now, let's just say the only thing I want you to do is not tell your flock. We don't want them to be worried too."

You brushed your fingers against Ezra's hand and sighed. He was right, you figured. If you told them, then there would be no chance in trying to calm the children down. Might as well not say anything in the first place.

Ezra smiled and then chuckled as he looked at you. "I would fly you home myself, Princess. It's just a little more complicated than that. But what's life without tests?"

"There's purpose to those tests," you replied. "Often there's rewards that come with them."

Ezra smiled, his eyes flicking across your face. He pulled his hand from your hip, your own fingers dragging against his.

You looked over at the boys as they stood like little sentries in the shallows and motioned for Ezra to walk with you back to the picnic blanket. He held out his arm for you to take and you looped your arm through his as you wandered back. His touch comforted the frantic racing of your heart. 

Marie was sound asleep, her book open to a page on people who used to live in houses made of ice, her thumb pulled between her lips. It was something she never fully kicked from infancy, one that your grandmother had often scolded you for as a mother and tried to force your daughter from continuing the habit. You didn't mind it though. If it was the only negative habit she ever developed, she would be far better off than half the population of the galaxy. You never thought it a glaring issue and therefore never corrected it. It infuriated your grandmother.

Both you and Ezra took a seat on the blanket on either side of Marie. He stretched his legs out and sighed happily as he looked around.

"You really did pick out a perfect spot for picnicking, Princess," he hummed contentedly. He looked down at Marie and chuckled softly. "Your little one here seems to be enjoying it too."

You sat in comfortable silence for a moment, enjoying the birdsong and the sound of the water.

"May I ask you a question, Ezra?" you inquired, looking over at him. When he nodded, you continued. "A while ago you mentioned med vacs come maybe once a month if you're lucky. What do you do if someone is in danger?"

"Field medicine, typically," he replied, watching the boys recast their lines. "Though sometimes your standard bullet is more merciful than any doctor. But when on a job, one must choose the best option given the situation."

"Is that what happened," you asked, gesturing at his missing arm. "That is, of course if you don't mind my asking? Forgive me if I don't believe the story that you told the children a few days ago. It's been eating away at my curiosity."

Ezra grinned and raised the stump of his arm, inspecting the neatly pinned shirt sleeve. "Not at all. This was the result of a rather unfortunate incident out on the Green - one of Bakhroma's moons, see? Had a run in with another prospector whose eyes were bigger than his brain. So I shot him and his daughter shot me in retaliation, thinking I was out to harm her."

You nodded and scooted a bit closer, waiting to hear more. This was the first time Ezra was sharing something with you about his past. Despite the fact that he rarely stopped talking, he often fell silent when you inquired about him. 

"We traveled together for a while, her and I, all the while my arm was festering in the dust. The Green kills, see? It gets inside and rots you from the inside out. Eats away at you. After a few agonizing cycles, I had no choice. It was life or limb. So the girl did the only thing that she could do, and I commend her for her steady hands and even steadier nerve."

"I'm sorry," you murmured. "I can't even imagine what that was like."

Ezra simply shrugged. He had a distant look in his eyes,  as if he were trying to distance himself from the whole story. "She saved my life, such as it is, but in doing so, she created a whole new ordeal. See, no one wants to hire a one-armed harvester. Major liability, apparently. So here I am."

"And what about the girl?"

Ezra chuckled and hummed as he reminisced. "Cee is much better off than when I first met her. Went back to Central for school. She drops by every now and then - makes sure I'm not getting into any trouble." 

He leaned back on his elbow and looked out across the creek to where the boys were fishing and smiled in spite of the story he just regaled you with.

"What is it?" you asked softly, not wanting to break his thought.

He shook his head and smiled slightly. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Not once had you ever heard Ezra not want to continue talking. It stunned you and you almost wondered if you'd done something to offend him. Perhaps asking him about what happened brought up too many bad memories for him to handle. 

But Ezra turned back to you then and rested his hand on the blanket between you, picking idly at a loose string. "What are you gonna do when you get home? Back to your old life?"

You hadn't expected him to ask that question, and quite frankly, you didn't really have an answer. 

"I'm not sure," you said, drawing your knees to your chest. "I suppose I'll go back to my duties as duchess. The children will go back to their lessons and I will simply pick up where I left off, I suppose..." You trailed off, suddenly realizing how boring it all seemed compared to the last few weeks on the farm. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you turned your head and brushed them away, not wanting him to see. 

"Do you want that?" he asked softly.

"O-of course I do," you stammered, your hand still raised to try and hide your tears. You found yourself caught off guard by his question. "Why wouldn't I? The children, they--"

"Hey now," Ezra soothed, reaching for your hand. "It's alright. I didn't mean to upset you. I understand you need to go back. I do."

You looked at him and sighed. There had been a weight on your chest for some time that you couldn't place the source of. Perhaps it was years of expectations and unreasonable standards you had been held to since you were Marie's age. Perhaps it was the constant pressure for you to raise your children like your husband hadn't died, that he was only away for a while. Whatever that weight was, it vanished as soon as Ezra squeezed your hand. 

"You don't need to let anyone tell you what to do," he said, turning on the blanket to look at you. "Or where to go, how to raise your own children, anything like that. You are free to make your own choices, Princess."

"How is it you always know just what to say?" you murmured, your voice thick with held back tears. "I am finding that to be true, though. These last few weeks have shown that to me. I am trying to be a good mother to my children."

"You are," he said softly. Ezra smiled and brushed his thumb against your knuckles. He looked down at your hands and then up at your face. It looked like he wanted to say something else, but he was interrupted by a triumphant cheer from the river. You both looked over at the boys, who were rushing back towards the bank, one fish dangling from Aiden's hook. 

"Mama! Mama!" he cried excitedly as he dashed towards you. "Look, mama! I caught a fish!"

Both you and Ezra stood up to meet him as he rushed over to show you his catch. The fish was a little longer than the one Ezra had caught, still with those shiny pink and green scales. 

"Oh, that's wonderful, darling!" you said, bending down to admire the fish. "He's beautiful, isn't he? We will have a feast, won't we?"

Aiden grinned and held the fish aloft for you and Ezra to look at. He looked incredibly pleased with himself.

"You mean you didn't catch anything bigger?" Ezra teased, parroting Aiden's earlier exclamation. He flashed you a wink and then laughed at the flabbergasted expression on Aiden's face. "I'm just pulling your leg, son, don't worry. You did an excellent job. Go ahead and throw it in this here cooler so we can take it home later."

Aiden carefully removed the hook like Ezra had taught him and placed it gently in the cooler beside Ezra's. He grabbed his fishing pole and looked up at you expectantly. "I'm gonna go see if I can catch more!"

"Be careful, my darling," you called after him. "Don't slip!"

As the day wore on, the cooler slowly filled with fish. Most were a standard size, according to Ezra, and some were smaller, about the size of your hand. Both were exceptional in taste as far as river fish went, or so Ezra claimed. You figured you could make just about anything palatable with the dried herbs from the garden. 

Late in the afternoon, long after lunch had been eaten and the children had exhausted themselves from playing in the river, it was getting ready to go back to the farm. You had to stop yourself from calling it home when collecting the children. No need to get their hopes up, you figured. Later tonight after the children were put to bed, you and Ezra would need to have a long conversation about getting you all home.

Henry patiently helped you fold up the picnic blanket and gently placed back into the basket for you. He even made sure everything had been picked up from the surrounding area so you wouldn't have to. Earlier, he had caught a few fish himself, but quickly abandoned his fishing for exploring the surrounding area. 

"Maybe I could find a lost civilization!" he had said before running off. He returned a while later, his pockets stuffed with rocks and flowers. Clutched in his fist were several puffy white flowers and he handed them to you with a dramatic sweeping bow that had made you laugh. You made sure to promise him that you would be careful with them until you reached the house.

You picked up the picnic basket and gently took hold of Marie's hand as you guided her to walk in front of you towards the little path you'd traveled earlier that morning. It wasn't a far walk from the farm, but you still didn't want to risk her getting lost.

Ezra dragged the cooler behind you two, the boys hanging back with him. They loved talking to Ezra as they walked - he often pointed out animal burrows or old gem deposits from back when Muir was a mining planet. There was a little rope bridge that was suspended over a rather high gully as the river wound its way through the forest. 

"Go on, little bug," you urged, nudging Marie to cross. She whined and hesitated for a moment before she crossed, the bridge shaking and swaying as she ran. You looked back to make sure Ezra and the boys were behind you before you crossed, not wanting to leave them too far behind.

As you spotted them coming around the small turn in the path, you began to cross the bridge yourself. The wood creaked and groaned under your weight as you neared the halfway point. 

You stepped forward, wanting to get off the bridge as quickly as you could. The wood suddenly splintered and cracked and fell apart under you.

For an instant, you were weightless, suspended in midair. You saw Marie's horrified expression as she watched you from the far side. Then you were falling, falling... falling. You couldn't even scream, your breath caught in your throat and unable to escape. 

You heard the children scream in terror as you plunged into the river. Above their cries, you heard Ezra shouting your name. Not your title, not your nickname. Your name. He sounded terrified, unable to do anything but watch you fall into the water. You couldn't swim, you'd never learned how. You didn't know how this was going to end. 

You hit the water with a violent crash and as you fell deeper into the water, you frantically thrashed your arms and legs, hoping you would be able to propel yourself to the surface. After an eternity, you touched down on the muddy river bottom. You felt something grab your leg and you quickly tried to pull it free. A sharp pain shot up from your ankle and you thrashed in the grip of whatever held you there. The water was cold and murky, hindering any attempts to try and free yourself. The icy water filled your lungs as you screamed for help, the bubbles the only indication of any sound leaving you. 

As darkness closed in on you, your only thoughts were of who was going to look after your children? Would your mother ever find out what happened? Will Ezra be alright?

Ezra...

********

TAGLIST: If you want to be added, please let me know!  @phoenixhalliwell @the-feckless-wonder @lestrange2703 @huliabitch @miscellaneous-mando @gallowsjoker

[theladyofdeath]

Rags & Riches {2}

Summary: An A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction. 19th century AU. Based on the prompt sent in by @cat5313 All characters belong to SJM, I am just a fan with a plot.

Warning: Mature content strung throughout.

A/N: and so it begins.

Leave a comment to be tagged & tell me what you think! :)

“I may have lost my heart, but not my self-control. ” ― Jane Austen, Emma

By the time morning came, Nesta was alone, and Tomas neglected to show up for the rest of the week. Friday quickly approached, and she knew Tomas would be showing up at the ball being held at their manor in a matter of hours.

She crawled out of bed, groaning all the while. The night before, she’d snuck a bottle of whiskey out of the cabinet and helped herself to the entirety of it.

It was how she ended up missing breakfast and, instead, spending the morning with her face over the toilet. 

Of all days, even she had to admit that it was not the best day to be hungover. 

She stumbled out onto her balcony for a breath of fresh air. The servants would be eating breakfast downstairs while her family ate in the dining room. She should be alone. At least, she certainly hoped so as she dwelled in the fresh air in her nightgown and robe. 

It was a cool morning, but she didn’t mind that. The rainy week had cleared as the sun was beginning to peek through the clouds. 

She looked down at the stables.

The stableboy had seen her the other night, she knew he had, even if he pretended like he hadn’t. She should confront him, but confronting him would only lead to more suspicion if they were to be caught.

Nesta knew she shouldn’t allow Tomas into her bed, but she felt no shame. She had lost the ability to feel shame over sexual matters long ago.

She should not have to defend her actions, just because she was a woman. Often, Nesta thought she had been born in the wrong world. She read beautiful stories of heroes and heroines on exciting adventures and longed to be them instead of waiting like a prize to be taken away the instant a man worthy enough laid eyes on her. 

The thought alone infuriated her to no end. 

A soft knock came to her chamber door.

“Come in!”

Alis swept inside, a bright smile on her lips, as there was every time a ball occurred. It meant guests, and guests meant a night of fun.

“Goodmorning, Miss Nesta,” she said. “Shall we get you dressed?”

Nesta sighed. “Can’t I just stay in here until it’s time for the ball to begin?”

Alis clicked her tongue. “Oh, no, my dear. There’s too much to do. You must help your sisters with the set up. Your father is expecting you downstairs within the hour.”

“Oh, good,” Nesta said, walking back to her bed. “Then I can sleep for another thirty minutes.”

“No, no, dear,” Alis began, opening her wardrobe. “We would all sleep into the late hours of the morning if we could, but there’s simply no time.”

Nesta didn’t protest any further. It would be of no use. She could already see Elain, ordering around the help. She was a natural planner, though. Nesta? Not so much. The idea of planning gatherings annoyed her. Feyre did it, bright-eyed and with a smile on her face, so no one would ask any questions. Nesta did it only to please Elain, who would be the next one to come knocking if Nesta wasn’t downstairs soon.

“Very well,” she said. “I have to run into town this morning to pick up my dress, so find something comfortable, please.”

She was soon dressed in a deep, lavender day dress. Her hair was braided back and her boots were well-worn in - perfect for walking. 

Nesta looked at herself in the mirror after Alis had curtsied and left. 

She looked like a zombie. Dark shadows rested beneath her eyes, her cheekbones had grown sharper. Perhaps it was a lack of sleep. She couldn’t get a good night’s sleep unless alcohol was involved, and being a young woman held high in society, it was difficult for her to drink when she pleased.

Which was always. 

Before she could talk herself out of it, Nesta was out in the hallway and strutting down the main staircase.

As predicted, Elain was telling servants where tables and chairs should be, where the strings quartet should be set up, and where every piece of decor should be strategically placed.

Feyre was holding a plate of cheese, popping the little cubes into her mouth. “Ah, about time you joined us.”

Nesta raised a brow before nodding down at the plate. “Did you not just eat breakfast?”

Feyre shrugged. “Decorating makes me hungry.”

Nesta snorted. “Let us not pretend that you have done anything.”

They both looked at Elain, who was floating on air.

“Azriel!” she called.

A tall, broad-shouldered man instantly came to her aid. 

“I would like all butlers in this room thirty minutes before we open our doors,” she began. “They each need to be carrying a tray, either of champagne or hors d’oroeuvres.” 

He bowed his head. “Of course, my Lady.”

She watched him leave.

“He is a lovely one, isn’t he?” Feyre asked, mouthful. “Very mysterious looking.”

“Speaking of mystery,” Nesta mumbled. “I went by your room last night-”

“Ah, I need more cheese,” she interrupted, scurrying out of the room and taking the tray with her. 

Feyre would never spill her secret, but Nesta would be lying if she said the thought didn’t intrigue her. 

“I’m going into town to get my dress,” Nesta announced, but everyone was too busy to notice. 

Bodies were fluttering all over the place cleaning and setting up. The Archerons held a ball annually, but this would be the first year that their father truly wished to have them become engaged since the passing of their mother. He hadn’t wanted to lose them just yet.

Now, he was ready. 

Nesta retrieved her satchel and her white gloves before ordering a carriage to be prepared. As she waited, she pulled a book of poetry out of her bag and began to read as she sat on the front steps.

Her mother had always scolded her for sitting in public places with a book. It was unladylike, or something of that nature. Her father, however, always smiled when he found Nesta plopped down somewhere, a book open on her lap. 

“Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep?”

Nesta froze, staring up from the book laying open on her skirts. The stableboy had come, seated at the head of the carriage, the horses’ reins in his hands.

He was watching her, grinning.

Nesta blinked. “Did the stableboy just quote Keats to me?”

He nodded down at her book. “I read his work from time to time.”

Nesta blinked, again, longer and slower. “I’m...sorry, but where is Edward? He’s typically the one to take me into town.”

“He’s not feeling well,” the stableboy replied. “But, don’t worry, Miss. I know what I’m doing.” 

Nesta lifted her chin. “Very well. However, I am on a tight schedule today so we must make haste.” 

The stableboy inclined his head before jumping down from his seat and opening the carriage door. He held out his hand to help her inside, which Nesta completely ignored as she pulled herself inside of the carriage. The door was soon closed behind her and they were strolling down the pathway.

Nesta loved open carriages, which is why she often volunteered to go places alone. Especially in the warmer weather, when the wind felt good against her skin, blowing her hair.

Nesta put her book bag into her bag and looked up at the back of the stableboy. His shoulders were broad. It was clear through the thin, ivory fabric of his shirt that he was quite fit. Tall. Tanned. His hair was tied at the nape of his neck. He was slouching, but not in a way that was disrespectful. Only in a way that showed he was in his natural habitat. 

They were halfway to town before Nesta cleared her throat. “Now that we are alone, we must speak about...something.”

He didn’t look back at her when he said, “What is that, my Lady?”

Nesta hesitated. Perhaps she had been mistaken. Perhaps he hadn’t seen Tomas’ hands roaming her body, his lips pressed against her neck. Perhaps it had all been in her imagination. Just as she was about to tell him to forget about it, he asked, “Is this about your lover? The one that sneaks onto your balcony at night?”

“Shhh!” Nesta hissed.

The stableboy looked at her over his shoulder. “Why are you shushing me? With all due respect, my Lady, there’s no one around.” 

“I could get you dismissed for being so blunt with me,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

She couldn’t see his face, but she could tell from the gentle shake of his shoulders that he was laughing, quietly. “Forgive me, my Lady.”

Nesta closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Look. Keep what you saw to yourself. Please. If you told anyone, I will have you-”

“I told no one,” he promised, and she could tell by his tone that he was being honest. “And I will tell no one. Your secret is safe, my Lady.”

“Thank you…” she began, trailing off.

“Cassian,” he supplied for her.

“Thank you, Cassian,” she said, words crisp. “Now, pick up the pace. As I said, it is a busy day.”

“Of course, my Lady,” he said, and that was the end of their conversation.

They rode the rest of the way into town in silence, the sound of the horses’ hooves clumping against the dirt the only sound that carried them. Every now and then, she’d glance at his back, admiring the muscles and the dark scars beneath the thin fabric. She found herself wondering where they came from but accepting the fact that she would never know. 

Ten minutes later, Nesta was walking into the finest dress shop in town. The owner, upon seeing her, was thrilled.

“Ah, Miss Archeron,” Helion beamed. “Welcome back. Your dress is finished, as I assume that is why you have come.”

Nesta liked Helion, although she wasn’t sure why. Their personalities were complete opposites. He was far too cheery, far too pleasant. Yet, he never seemed to mind Nesta’s pessimism. In fact, he seemed to thrive on it.

“Shall we try it on, my dear?” he asked.

Nesta shook her head. “No, I trust your work. Besides, as you know, it’s a busy day.”

“Indeed,” Helion said, before disappearing into the back and appearing with a giant box. “Very well. Here it is. And, I must say, I cannot wait to see it on you at the ball tonight.”

Nesta fiddled through her satchel, collecting his payment. “Will you be bringing a guest?”

“That is for me to know,” Helion began, before snatching his payment away from one of his favorite customers, “and for you to later find out.”

Nesta snorted, shaking her head. “Well, then I will see you tonight.”

“Of course, my Lady,” Helion smiled, brightly and wonderfully, before bowing. “I look forward to it.”

“Good day,” she said, before taking her box outside. 

Cassian was waiting by the carriage and when he saw her with the box, he humbly took it from her before setting it inside. “Is there anywhere else you need to visit, my Lady?”

Nesta looked at the pub across the street and longed for an ale. “No. Take me home.”

Cassian, once again, held out his hand to help her into the carriage.

Nesta, once again, ignored it. 

~~~~~

Elain’s anxiety was through the ceiling.

Not because of the setup.

No, Elain loved planning. The time of year when the Archerons held their annual ball was her favorite time of the year. It meant guests would come and she would spend the evening laughing and dancing among her friends and neighbors.

But this year was different.

Lucien.

His name had consumed her for days. It was all she could think about, and yet, it was not exactly because she was excited. No, she feared meeting him.

She feared she would hate him.

She feared she would love him.

Since the night she found out of their courtship, Elain had rarely seen Azriel. There had been no flirting, no secret kisses. She longed to feel his lips against hers, but she knew how much she was asking in longing for such. 

Instead, she would be presented tonight to another, as a precious jewel. It didn’t matter what she felt, their fathers would make arrangements for their betrothal if they saw fit.

And Elain could only pray that they found her and Lucien to be unfit.

And yet, what would be the point of that? She could never marry Azriel. It was impossible. He was a lowly butler, and she was a beautiful Lady. 

Ladies and butlers did not wed. 

Yet, she couldn’t help but dream. Every time Elain needed something done, she would call for Azriel. Even when it was an unnecessary task, she would call for him, just to see him, to speak to him, for a moment’s time. 

Now, she was standing in her room looking at herself in the floor-length mirror, admiring her gown that Helion had made for her in town. It was lovely. Plum, with a full skirt and beaded designs along the silk fabric. He had truly outdone himself. And Alis, who had perfected her hair in neat curls, had pleased Elain immensely.

Yet, there was a hole in her chest. 

She used to thrive on the idea of marriage, used to long for a husband. Before she met Azriel, she couldn’t wait to find a man that found her wonderful enough to court. Then she met Azriel, then she fell in love with Azriel, and his adoration for her was true. 

Elain used to think that love and marriage were the same thing.

She no longer believed as much.

Marriage was a contract, while love was the connection between two souls.

Elain admired herself one more time before exiting into the halls, then walking alone to the ballroom. She hadn’t seen her sisters in hours. Feyre, since she dismissed herself for a plate of cheese; and Nesta since she went to pick up her fitted gown.

She and her sisters had once been so close. They still had a bond, but as they grew, and after their mother had passed, nothing had been the same. 

Elain had no idea where Feyre spent her nights, and Nesta always seemed to have an emptiness in her gaze. 

She could hear the humming of a crowd the closer she walked to the ballroom. At this time, most everyone should have arrived. Of course, there would always be a few latecomers, but Elain figured it was time to make her own appearance. 

She straightened her back and took a deep breath as she turned the corner. The doors were open, the music was playing, and it was everything she imagined it would be. Couples were dancing, groups were laughing, and Elain found herself scanning the walls for a certain butler. 

But it was her father that met her at the door. “You look beautiful, darling.”

“Thank you,” Elain smiled, gently. 

“The Vanserras have arrived,” he said, as Elain looped her arm through his. “Shall I introduce you?”

Elain nodded, although no words came once she opened her mouth.

Isaac chuckled. “It’s okay to be nervous. You should have seen me the night I met your mother.”

Elain nodded, still unable to spot Azriel. 

They walked through the crowd, and Elain should have been pleased. The ballroom was beautiful, the band played wonderfully, and everyone seemed to be having a joyous time. 

Where is he? She kept thinking to herself as her father led the way.

It wasn’t until they stopped that she snapped back to reality. And when she did snap back to reality, she was met with a pair of russet eyes.

“Elain, this is Lucien Vanserra,” Isaac beamed. “Mr. Vanserra, my daughter, Elain.”

Lucien bowed and Elain curtsied.

He was handsome, in the most obvious sense. He was lean, tall, and his auburn hair flowed beautifully around his shoulders. His eyes were kind, his smile gentle.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said. His voice was soft and lovely. 

“The pleasure is mine,” Elain assured him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Isaac smiled, before kissing his daughter’s cheek and moving onto his guests. 

Elain felt her cheeks reddened as she debated on following her father, but just as she was about to take a step, Lucien spoke up. “I hear we’re a good match.”

Elain huffed a laugh. “I hear the same.”

“Well,” he began, “I must confess that I was a bit nervous to meet you. However, you are beautiful, my Lady.”

Elain’s smile was genuine. “Thank you, my Lord.”

It was then that she spotted him, on the far wall. He should have been observing the other butlers, making sure everyone was doing what they were supposed to be doing.

But his eyes were on her.

Lucien was speaking, but Elain couldn’t hear him. Guilt flooded her senses. Lucien seemed kind enough and was most handsome. 

But her eyes had connected with Azriel’s, and she couldn’t look away. 

“What do you think, Lady Elain?”

Elain blinked, bringing herself back to their conversation. “Forgive me, I suddenly feel lightheaded. I must find a place to set.”

“Allow me,” Lucien offered, and held out his hand.

As Elain took it, she swore she could feel Azriel’s gaze fall from across the room.

~~~~~

Feyre loved to dance. 

There was something freeing about not giving a damn as a series of men twirled her around on the dance floor. 

As the youngest, she had a few more years of freedom. Unless someone came to claim her hand, which she doubted would happen anytime soon. She had never had a man come to court her, and she loved it.

A courtship among the rich and stuck up sounded horrible. 

But dancing with them?

Splendid. 

It wasn’t until she’d had one too many glasses of wine that she fell into the arms of a young man with lavender eyes.

“Well,” he crooned, “I must say, you look much different in women’s clothing.”

Feyre, as if just realizing whose arms she was in, grinned. “Ah, Lord Rhysand. And how have you been after our adventure the other night?”

Rhysand lifted his brow. “How many glasses of champagne have you consumed, Feyre, darling?” 

“Not nearly enough,” she laughed, her hand tightening in his. 

“Hmm,” Rhysand mumbled, contemplating. “You’re worrying me.”

“Why is that?”

Rhysand pulled her closer as he said, “You’re much more pleasant than you were the other night. Dare I say, you’re being nice to me.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Feyre asked.

Rhysand weighed the question. “I must admit, I rather enjoyed our banter.”

It was true, their banter had been surprisingly pleasant the night he had brought her home after saving her from Tamlin in the alley. She rode on the back of his horse, her arms around his waist as they left the town and slowly made their way to the Archeron Manor. 

She hadn’t seen him since, nor had she sought to. But now, in his arms, the wine flowing warmly throughout her body, she remembered the way his eyes lit up when he laughed, remembered the amused tone in his voice when he told her how horribly ridiculous she looked dressed as a man. 

The song ended and the couple stepped apart, bowing to one another. 

“Walk with me?” Rhysand asked.

Feyre hesitated, but nodded, nonetheless, before looping her arm through his. They made their way out onto the balcony, into the cool night air. The stars shone brightly above them as the doors were shut behind them. The celebration inside became muffled background noise.

“I am to go back to Velaris tomorrow,” Rhysand said.

Feyre lifted a brow. “Am I meant to care?”

Rhysand grinned, facing her. “I do not expect you to, although I wish you would.”

Feyre leaned back against the banister, crossing her arms. “Well, you expect correctly.”

Rhysand looked for her arms, then met her eyes once more. “You know, ladies shouldn’t cross their arms and slouch.”

“I am the youngest of three daughters,” Feyre explained. “I am the one being looked at the least. No one in this town cares about the youngest Archeron.”

“Is that why you gamble?” 

"There are many reasons why I gamble, none of which I will share with you,” she assured him.

Rhysand laughed, deep and heartily. “Ah, there’s the Feyre I have dreamt about for the past three nights.”

Feyre laughed, quietly, as she broke his gaze, begging her cheeks not to redden. “It has been a pleasure knowing you, my Lord. I wish you safe travels.”

Feyre took a step to move around him, but he followed her lead, blocking her path. 

“There is one more thing.”

Feyre blinked, amused. “Yes?”

“I would like to court you,” he said. 

Feyre barked a laugh. “Court me? Why, so that I may become your wife?”

Rhysand did not look bothered whatsoever by her outburst. His grin simply widened. “Would that be so awful?”

“I..” Feyre hesitated, before laughing once more. “I have not even thought of marriage.”

“Perhaps not,” Rhysand said. “Just think about it. Okay?” He picked up her hand and pressed his lips softly to the back of her hand. “Until next time, Feyre, Darling.”

Before she could gather a response, he was gone. 

~~~~~

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @mariamuses @a-happybird @amusicalbookworm @manoncrochanblackbeak @alifletcher2012 @candid-confetti @fandoms-everywhere-united @mis-lil-red @littlehoneyybee @abillionlittlepieces @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @awesomelena555 @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @tswaney17 @jemma-nessian-and-elriel @rhysandsrightknee @gendryaforthemasses @dayanna-hatter @thebluemartini @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @julemmaes @christiashadows @sleeping-and-books @itsme-malin @agnez312 @cat5313 @amren-courtofdreams @chemica @empress-ofbloodshed @islamonna @illyrianbeauty  @sleeping-and-books @queenofxhearts @sleeping-and-books​ @aedionashryver-wolfofthenorth​ @queenofillea1​ @mynewdreamwasyou​ @levivlio​ @hellolenas​ @burritowithfeels​ @that-other-pineapple​ @girl-who-reads-the-books​ @raghad-50725​ 

[hournites]

If You’re Lost (1/2)

Hournite family fic 

~.~

“I want the hourglass.” 

Rick ran his hand through his hair as he filed out their taxes. It was harder than he’d imagined. Chuck would usually assist them with their budget and family finances and the due date had snuck upon him in the midst of everything else going on. It was hard to concentrate on numbers.

“We already talked about this,” Rick told her distractedly, flipping through the rest of the pages to figure out how much longer he’d have to stay here to get this done. 

“It’s not really talking,” his daughter replied bitterly. “It’s just me listening to your bullshit and I’m sick of it.”

Rick looked up from his work. His daughter’s attitude was becoming a problem. 

He rubbed at his eyes underneath his reading glasses and put his pencil down on the granite kitchen island. Maybe working in the silence was what made it so hard. The ache in his heart tugged when he thought about how the day would be different if their lives hadn’t taken such a sweep turn. Rick put his faith and trust in the JSA risking everything to help his family, but a part of him was worried about the state of it when his wife returned. 

“Mom would let me have it. She wouldn’t tell me I’m not good enough.”

“That’s not what I said,” Rick snapped. “And Mom isn’t here. Don’t guilt-trip me about what your mother would say, I know what my wife would say. She’d want you to be safe.” 

Lauren flinched, hugging her arms around her body like it was the only way to keep herself together. Her face quivered at his volume. Rick never used to yell. But Lauren never used to be rude and disrespectful. The rapid change in personality often gave him whiplash, and Rick was at a loss for how to handle her anger without having every discussion with Lauren end in a fight. 

She’s bull-headed like you, Beth would say. Rick could hear it even, her voice exasperated but fond, leaning an elbow against the counter as she watched them, sharing a smile that gleamed from the spark of her beautiful eyes. 

Don’t you mean persistent, like you? Rick would tease back, and Lauren would roll her eyes at her parents.

But Beth was not here. She was not here. They didn’t know where she was. 

And Beth would not want Lauren anywhere near the hourglass, whether or not she went missing, not now at barely fifteen. Not when Lauren had the world in her hands, the freedom to be the child they weren’t. She could busy herself with trying makeup and making the track team. Hanging out with friends and having sleepovers. A childhood where the most responsibility was babysitting a neighbour, or studying for a geo test. Not wearing the weight of a glass timer around her neck, protecting and failing teammates from falls of grace or brushing deaths. 

And she grew up hearing the fantastical stories of the JSA. She knew her aunt Yolanda and Courtney, adored her Uncle Mike and Pat. She knew all the legacies. Heard all their triumphs and defeats as her bedtime stories at night. 

But it was real now. Real now that her mother was gone. And she wanted to be a heroine and wear a mask and hood. She wanted to swoop in and save everyone, thinks it her right, knows that she could. And she asks her father, her hero, to take his place and step up to help them save her mother. 

And Rick has to tell her no. 

“How am I safe without the hourglass?” she argued. “You don’t even use it anymore.”

Rick stood up from the table to approach his daughter, taking in the ripped black jeans and dark plum lipstick, the choker necklaces tight at her throat. Dark eyeshadow caked over her eyelids with the eyeliner dark enough to scare a small baby. And her hair, her beautiful curly hair, tied up in the back just like he used to do it for her when she was little. When Lauren was still only their baby. 

“Laur,” he said, with a tentative hand on her arm. “I know you don’t understand it, but this is how it has to be.” She turned her head as he continued. “The hourglass is not yours. You’re not joining the JSA.”

“I hate you,” she spat, not even meeting his eyes. “You don’t give a fuck about me!” 

He recoiled and she used his stunned, loosened grip to slip away, storming up the stairs of the Tyler house. 

Rick hadn’t cried since the night they took Beth away, but hearing those words from his daughter without Beth’s guidance or solace to soothe the pain made him want to. 

“I can’t lose you too!” he shouted over the slam of Lauren’s bedroom door.

Rick swore under his breath. He wanted to follow her upstairs but knew she needed to cool off. He returned to the table and stared blankly at the unfinished taxes until the wave of helplessness drowned his senses and he knocked over his coffee mug, sending it shattering on the floor. 

Crouched on the ground to pick up the pieces, his sharp inhale went ragged on its way out. Rick let the ceramic handle fall out of his grasp, pressing one of his palms to his eyes. He took another shuddering breath, but couldn’t help the inevitable blur of tears.

The clock ticked on the kitchen wall as it always did, oblivious to everything that had gone wrong in this house.

Even if she hadn’t meant it, even if Rick knew deep down that what she said, she knew wasn’t true, it did little to forgive the fact she blamed him. 

She blamed him for not saving her mother. 

Rick blames himself too.

[gia2o]

(Part 1.)Trigger and grotesque warning. Proceed reading with caution, although I recommend you do. This post is unlike any other I’ve posted. The story of what happened shows the dark side of addiction. The truth. Not the glamour.

Fuck opiates. I’m done. Something happened two days ago that changed my life forever. Lately, my living conditions have been unstable. From my apartment, from mainly staying with my grandparents, from staying at my parents house 2-3 nights out of the week. For new followers to be caught up, I have been a heroin addict from when I was 20 years old. I am 25 now. This last year, I stopped injecting black tar and I began smoking fentanyl. I don’t want to go more into my addiction on this post because that’s not what this is about. I just had to mention that so that I can proceed writing about what happened in a way that makes sense. Whenever I visit my parents, I always buy enough fentanyl to last me for two to three days. However, tomorrow is my moms birthday and she wanted me to come a few days early, stay for her birthday and stay a couple of days after. I had run out of fentanyl two days ago and had to have my dealer bring me something at my parents house. My brother has just gotten back from Vegas that morning from visiting his new girlfriend. As soon as he got back, my grandpa picked him up to take him to meet his business partner for a lunch and so that my brother can get officially hired as the regional manager for that business. My dad had left earlier that morning to help his friend with an errand. It was just my mom and I at the house. My dealer comes by at around 3PM to drop off a gram and a half of fentanyl. Now, just a reminder, my mom is no stranger to opiates. She had been addicted to norcos and morphine for a long time in the past. And two summers ago we had snorted “china white” together quite a few times. When I came back in the house after running outside to meet my dealer, my mom was complaining of back pain. I know, ok? I am a fucking idiot. I’m a piece of shit for what I’m about to say next but I am going to be honest with you guys as ashamed as I am. I offer her to smoke the tiniest little hit of fentanyl so that she wouldn’t be in pain. And she was down. I held the foil for her and I lit it for like two seconds. She took the babiest hit and missed almost all the smoke that went in. She immediately told me how amazed she was. She was no longer in pain. And I told her this is the only time I’m ever letting her do this. She was telling me not to worry because she has an opiate tolerance that she considered high... and I believed her. Especially since the “china white” we had snorted together before was practically just fentanyl because I’m on the west coast and there’s not really any china white here that’s actually china white. We were talking and sitting up. She was staring right at me and her fists clenched. I asked her if she was ok. No response. I shake her. No response. She’s just staring at me. I slap her. No response. I tell her I’m going to call 911 and to quit playing. She’s staring at me blankly, her eyes widened, but not response. She hasn’t blinked once. I pick up the phone and dial 911, she leaned back, fists still clenched and she turns BLUE and stops breathing. My dad walks in as I’m screaming at 911 calling in a fentanyl overdose and my dad, who has never done a drug in his life and adores my mother sees her blue and not breathing while I’m on the phone with 911. He runs to her and gives her cpr. I tell 911 the address. I was panicked and they couldn’t understand me. I had to breathe and tell the address. I had to be coherent. This was life or death. We live right next to the fire department. The paramedics came within 30 seconds of me hanging up. In the meanwhile I am searching the house for narcan. I ran downstairs and got ice and salt and tried putting it under her tongue. I start giving her CPR. I hear the ambulances right away. It all happened so fast. I run downstairs screaming as my dad takes over giving her CPR. I told my dad she’s dead, but please don’t stop trying. She’s fucking dead. We can’t lose her. We have to revive her. I open the door for the paramedics and I was getting frustrated for how long they were taking. Because of covid they had to put on (to be continued)

[screamingatanemptyroom]

I Can’t Eat Love pt 21

Sorry for the long break guys, but here’s part 21!

Master post linked here

Enjoy!

__________________________

After I finished sewing, I said goodbye to Marile and walked towards the shop exit. I was preoccupied with my thoughts, and wasn’t focused on where i was stepping. Which led to me almost running into the young woman who was waiting  right outside the door.

I stopped just before slamming into her, taking in her appearance with a forced smile. “Hello, Edith.”

How had she found me? After a few moments of thought I quickly realized the answer to my question was easily found in my own home. 

I’m going to have to deal with Angela sooner rather than later.

Edith stepped forward, interrupting my thoughts. Her face was delicately pale, her smile complicated as if happy to see me but worried at the same time. It was very pitiful, and she looked more like a wronged heroine confronting her betrayer, rather than the villain that she was. “I missed you, Lenora! I wanted to visit sooner but I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see me… after…”

Her voice broke, and she lightly dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, actual tears forming in her eyes. 

What a marvelous performance. I really felt like I should be applauding.

“After you ran around with my fiancé behind my back?” I tried unsuccessfully to hide the amusement in my voice. “Why wouldn’t I want to see you?”

She was now sobbing loudly, catching attention from those walking past. “Can you not forgive me? I never meant to hurt you! I just… fell in love! I cannot help loving him!” Even in tears her face remained pretty, her expressions showing mild sadness while maintaining a noble look. I wondered idly how many times one would have to practice crying to be able to look attractive while convincing at the same time.

I sighed quietly. “I wish the two of you can be always together.” As long as you stay far away from me!

“Are we still friends?” She stopped crying her gaze hopeful. A few people had stopped to watch the scene, the mood clearly siding with the girl who was crying. I felt many angry stares in my direction and wanted to laugh out loud. How many of these strangers would realize that the girl who they thought was being bullied was the one who had done the betraying?

Feeling tired, I forced a kind expression on my face. “Of course.” I felt no unease agreeing to this. After all, “friend” was only a meaningless term. There was no reason to hesitate applying it to such a person.

I invited her into my carriage and with a cheerful laugh she agreed. All signs of her previous tears were gone and she once again was pretending to be the gentle supportive friend. I was honestly shocked at how quickly she had switched roles. If I had honestly been in love with the prince still, did she think I would be over it so fast? She was being even more shameless than she had acted in my previous life.

There must be something else she wants.

Hiding my curiosity, I smiled blandly at her, pretending to listen as she chattered on about the latest dance she had learned. Edith at least had enough tact not to bring up the Prince… or so I thought.

“So, I am holding a party next week.” She started fidgeting in her seat.

“I see.” I nodded, my mind wandering to tomorrow’s schedule.

“There… I will be announcing that the Prince and I intend to be married. “

Calmly, I looked up at her fake-timid smile and couldn’t help but ask. “So it’s official then? You are engaged?”

Obviously the stupid prince hadn’t told her he had proposed to me again. I felt a brief flash of optimism. Perhaps my rejection had been enough for him to disregard the King’s order completely?

“Well, not officially, yet.” Her lower lip stuck out as she pouted, whether at her words or at my lack of reaction I was unsure. “Ronan has told me to keep quiet about it for a little while to protect your reputation, but by then I’m sure it will be fine!”

Protect my reputation? I barely held in my laughter. Since when has he cared at all about that? I forced myself to nod seriously.

Edith reached out, grabbing my hands, not noticing my discomfort at the contact. “I want you to be there, to support me.”

__________________________

“Please be there.” Edith begged, her hands holding mine.

“I don’t know…” I trailed off, hesitant. It had been over a month since the engagement was broken. Mother had grown angrier by the day, Father had become increasingly withdrawn, anxiety etched on his features as debtors came to call day after day. I was still hurt over what Edith and Ronan had done, unsure if I wanted to subject myself to a party where I would show my support for the girl who had replaced me…

“Oh, but you must be there! We’re friends!” She cried bitterly, her tears making me feel guilty for causing her distress.

I was still afraid to lose her approval, even after everything that had happened. She was the only one who seemed to care about me. I hadn’t seen or heard from the Queen since, all my letters had gone unanswered. She obviously had lost interest in me now that I was no longer going to be her daughter in law. Edith was my only friend left.

And it was only a party.

“I’ll go.”

__________________________

 “I’ll go.” My simple words seemed to shock Edith, who was obviously prepared to argue longer. Shaking herself, she smiled happily, clapping her hands with excitement.

“That’s wonderful! It wouldn’t have been a proper party without you there!” She reached out and hugged me, “I’m so glad we’re still friends!”

“I’m glad too.” I smiled as I pulled back, glad that the slightly shadowy interior of the carriage prevented her from seeing my face too clearly. If she had, she might have taken back the invitation. She might have canceled the party and fled the city.

It would have been the smart thing to do. 

But instead she took my expression for genuine, and continued to talk happily about plans for the party as the carriage moved forward.

I kept silent, nodding occasionally, pretending to listen as my brain quickly began drawing up plans.

This party could be useful.

__________________________

 “The Prince’s staff have been trying to spread rumors all throughout the nobility.”

Rig paced back and forth, his expression showing his displeasure. Hallers watched silently from the sidelines, his face unreadable. “How idiotic is this man?!” 

I raised an eyebrow. “The prince? He’s an idiot, but this plan is fairly well thought out… at least for him.”

“But how is the prince lashing out like this supposed to convince you to marry him?” Throwing up his hands, the man slumped in a chair, shaking his head. “I can’t see this accomplishing anything but convincing you to stay far away from him.” 

“That’s because you think like a normal, decent human being.” I smiled, tapping my temple. “In the world of nobility, marriage is more of a business deal. As a Duke’s daughter, my worth is determined by my ability to tie my family to another.” Leaning back, I sighed. “Normally, I would have been completely taken out of consideration for a match after having an engagement broken with royalty.”

 Rig thought about that. “But your reputation was actually not too bad after…”

“Exactly. The Queen’s actions, my own reputation, and my wealth might have been enough to convince some of the braver families to try to ally through marriage. But now?” I shrugged. “With rumors that I was unfaithful, any man who tried to marry me would be thought to be the one I was cheating on the Prince with. Even if they avoided that, I would still be considered a loose woman, a stain on their reputation.”

 I laughed, a bitter sound. “No man would want his name tied to mine now. The Prince has ensured through this move that my only option to marry is to crawl back to him.” 

Rig and Hallers stared at each other. “I don’t think it completely dissuaded everyone…” Rig started to talk, a small smile on his face. “After all there’s…”

Hallers interrupted. “He’s not approved... yet.”

“I thought you liked him now?” Rig glanced over at me and then back to the butler.

“Liking him is not the same as approval for this role.” Hallers face hadn’t changed, but all of a sudden I found myself shivering from the coldness in his eyes, even as I struggled to follow their conversation.

Rig’s smile widened. “Of course, anyone trying to step up to the task would have to prove their worth. We can’t just give her up to anyone.”

Hallers chuckled, an evil sound.

I interrupted their plotting, trying to bring the conversation back to one I understood. “Not that any of the Prince’s plans matter.” I shrugged. “I have no plans to marry. So he can destroy my reputation all he likes.”

“Actually it’s not spreading well.” Rig looked at his own notes, confused. “For some reason, especially among the female nobility, the rumor tends to die out quickly, like they’re too afraid to talk.”

I smiled at that, repeating the threat that Marile had made a week past, and the other men smiled too.

“Simple, but effective.” Rig praised. “I like her methods.”

 “Well, it will really be put to the test at Edith’s party tonight.” I stood up at my desk, stretching. “We’ll see if they continue to hold off on then.” 

“Why are you even going to that? You realize she’s trying to use you to legitimize her relationship to the prince, right?” Rig rolled his eyes. “If you are publically seen supporting her, how can anyone else blame HER for her actions?”

I grinned. “Actually I’m going for two very different reasons.” I held up one finger. “First, as the Prince is currently under His Majesty’s orders to marry me, I truly am curious to see if Ronan will allow a public declaration of their relationship to happen. I’m actually hoping that she manages to do it.”

Rig laughed at that. “That would piss the King off, something awful!”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Then what’s the second reason?”

I grinned. “I have a plan to carry out.” Handing him a note with instructions, I watched his eyebrows slowly raise as he read through it. “Can you have it arranged before the end of the party?”

“I- I can, but why…?”

I smiled wickedly. “I was going to cause trouble anyways… might as well blame it on somebody else while I’m at it.”

__________________________

 The party was beautiful. The Countess of Erand was never one to hold back from extravagance, especially on behalf of her daughter. I took in the glittering ballroom with an appreciative glance, smiling as I noticed how many of the noblewoman were wearing gowns from “Prosperity” tonight. Edith’s party had granted my business a small fortune in orders. I wished I could thank her.

As I entered with Henry by my side, I heard a small amount of whispering, caught a few sidelong glances, but that was all. It seemed that even the men were restrained, likely by the hands of their wives who were terrified that Marile would hold a husband’s gossiping tongue against them.

“Terrible.” Henry muttered, looking around. At first I thought he as referencing the few gossiping nobles, but of course he hadn’t even noticed. “How could they treat the poor geraniums like this?!” He stared mournfully at the flower decorations, which admittedly looked slightly bruised and wilted. 

“Shameful.” I whispered, playing along. “Should we steal the decorations?”

“No, it’s too late for these poor dears… but I’m taking their bush with me.” His eyes were fierce.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

 “Nope. I’m saving it.” He spoke, his voice filled with righteousness and clear conviction. “I have no choice.”

I sighed, rubbing my forehead. “Just make sure no one sees you, please?”

He chuckled grimly, rubbing his hands together. “Of course.”

“What’s Henry planning?” Nate walked up, dressed up in a beautiful waistcoat, looking at my cousin’s face with suspicion.

“He’s planning to liberate their geraniums.” I muttered, grabbing the young man’s arm and studying it closely. 

“L-lenora.” He stuttered. “I - ..”

“What is this coat made of? This weave…”I pulled slightly on the sleeve, nodding with approval the softness of the fabric.

He sighed. “Should have realized.” Grumbling under his breath, he added. “Please, Lenora, release my arm before you cause a scandal, I promise to send my coat to you so you can study it.”

I looked around, realizing that this action would likely not have helped my shifting reputation, fortunately around the same time the prince had arrived, and it appeared that no one had been paying attention to me. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, I looked around for the food, my eyes lighting up at the sight of the table. It was filled with different pastries and other delicious treats, reminding me of the prince’s birthday party.

But I had a job to do. I felt my the corners of my mouth turn downward as I cursed my scheming ways. What if all the food was taken by the time I finished my plot?

 Nate, noticing my longing glances and sad sighs, chuckled. “I’ll get you a plate, Lenora. Go do whatever plots that need done.”

Startled, I looked up at him, taking in his complacent smile with confusion. “How did you…?”

“I pay attention.” He bowed politely, his hand on his heart and a smile in his eyes, before he turned towards the table, walking away.

I watched him move further away, my thoughts chaotic.

“Nate would be a good choice.” Henry spoke quietly, again causing me to jump. 

“W-what do you mean?” I felt a moment of panic, my stomach hurting briefly. “A good choice for what?”

Henry stared at me. “I’m going to recruit him to help me steal the geranium. What were you thinking?”

I shook my head, “Nothing. I wasn’t thinking of anything.” And with that, I escaped

__________________________

I walked towards Edith, a smile on my face. She saw me, and threw her hands out, delighted.

“LENORA!” Many heads turned towards us as we crossed the room to meet up.

As I moved closer, I bumped into a young lady, nearly losing my balance. I had to reach out and grab her, to stabilize myself. We smiled briefly at each other, before I moved on, apologizing with a single word and then continuing my course towards Edith. 

She and I embraced, and the whispers from the crowd around us increased slightly.

I realized the source as a single figure stepped out though the crowd towards us 

Ronan.

The three of us stood there, smiling at each other, each of us wearing a false expression.

What an interesting party. All of us plotting behind the scenes, none of us truly knowing the moves of the  others.

Edith, who was trying to use my good reputation to legitimize her actions and her relationship with the prince.

Ronan who was trying to destroy my reputation to force me to agree to an engagement with him.

And me. Who came for a reason that didn’t involve either of them.

Smiling brightly at the two, I hugged Edith once more, whispering. “Good Luck.” Before she could ask me what I meant, I stepped away.

 “I wish you both every happiness.” My voice was pleasantly neutral.

 Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t think that you can…”

“Thank you.” Edith grinned, interrupting. “Your blessing means the world to us!”

“Does it?” I grinned, seeing Ronan fuming, and walked away.

“Done with your plots?” A plate was held out in front of me by Nate, and I took it, looking it over with appreciation.

“Good choices, thank you. 

He shrugged. “I asked Hallers, and was given very specific and detailed instructions.” Wincing, he added. “I have a feeling I’m in for a very long lecture regarding your preferences in the near future.”

“I’m sorry, I can tell him to hold off.”

“No need.” He held up a hand, smiling. “I told you I like cooking right? Might as well cook something I know you’ll like.”

I took a bite of the first pastry, savoring it. “This is amazing.”

Nate laughed. “Who knew that a pastry was all it took to impress you.” Pausing, he leaned closer, whispering. “So what was it you passed on to the young lady? 

I paused in my eating, trying to hide my shock. “To Edith? I didn’t…”

“No, not her.” He grinned. “The young lady you pretended to bump into on your way over.” 

“Was it too obvious?” I worried for a moment that my skills from my previous life had gotten rusty. 

“Only because I was watching closely. No one else would have caught it.” 

Breathing a short sigh of relief, I grinned. “Good. Otherwise there would be no point to coming to this party.”

“Food’s not bad.” Nate shrugged, picking a pastry off my plate and eating it, “Company could be better.” He pointed in the direction of the other half of the room, and I followed his gaze, sighing.

Edith and Ronan were standing closely together, flirting, smiling, toughing each other frequently. There were a few odd stares in their direction, but the pair didn’t notice, too wrapped up in their own world.

“Does it bother you?” Nate asked quietly

“Not the actions, just the indecisiveness.” I shrugged. “He wants me to marry him to appease his father, but he wants to pretend nothing has changed with Edith. He obviously has forbidden her from announcing the relationship, which was the entire point of this party for her.”

“Selfishness is a powerful motivator.” He watched me for a few moments. “Do you feel sorry for her?”

“Not really. They both value the position, the crown over the person they proclaim to love. It’s hard to claim one is the injured party when each other them is using the other.” I turned to Nate with a smile. “Let’s stay out of it.”

“Sounds good to me.” With that, Nate asked me to dance, and the party moved on.

I danced several times with Henry, ignoring his muttered plant related plots, and with a few other noblemen who had obviously not heard the rumors yet. The party was drawing to a close, when…

 “WHERE IS SHE?!” The Earl of Beral shouted, his face bright red with rage as he searched around the party.

I looked around the room slowly, and sure enough, Lady Erica, who had been dancing and socializing at the party, was nowhere to be found.

The Countess of Erand and Edith stepped forward in the sudden hush, the crowd parting to let them through.

“Perhaps she is taking a rest.” Edith’s mother tried to calm the man. “I’ll ask the servants to check…” 

“I’VE ALREADY CHECKED, SHE’S GONE! I BET YOU SHE RAN OFF WITH THAT TRAITOR FROM THE EASTERN GUARD!” He glared at Edith, his words laced with suspicion. “She spoke with you quite a few times tonight, what did she say to you?” 

Edith looked confused. “Nothing important, just fashion, the weather…”

“She couldn’t have done this alone, you helped my fiancé to run off!” He glared at the two women. 

Edith looked frustrated. “Why would I do that?”  

“Perhaps she paid you! I don’t know!” The older man threw up his hands. “But she just so happens to disappear from your party…. I know you had a hand in this!” 

Edith shot a pleading look over to Prince Ronan, who was watching from the sidelines, but he simply shook his head, refusing to speak. The Earl was extremely wealthy and well connected. He was also one of the Prince’s greatest supporters. Ronan wouldn’t risk alienating him. Not even for a woman he loved. 

“Coward.” Nate whispered under his breath. 

“I swear I had nothing to do with your fiance’s disappearance!” Edith then began to cry, her tears drawing sympathy from the crowd.

 The earl stepped back, his face bleak. “Very well. But I won’t forget what you’ve done tonight.” 

With that, he was gone.

The room collectively let out a sigh of relief with his retreat, but the mood of the party was definitely broken. As people prepared to leave, Nate grinned at me. “Strong work, rescuing a damsel in distress.”

 I kept an innocent expression. “I don’t know what you mean, I was just here to enjoy a party.”

“So I assume that’s where the travel papers I had made went to?”

I nodded, and he laughed.

“Starting a new store branch in Tilendria with an escaped noblewoman and a deserting captain… you never do things as expected do you?”

“Maybe not as YOU expect.”

“Well, at least now, you have a reason to come visit me in Tilendria.” His smile was bright, “You should at least check in on your store occasionally, right?” 

I held up my hands helplessly. “Tilendria’s a big country. Even if I go check on the store, I can’t guarantee we would see each other.” 

“That reminds me….” He passed me an envelope with a grin. I took it, feeling some exasperation.

“You and your envelopes. What is it now?”

“Information regarding land for sale in Tilendria.” He smiled. It’s in the Capital, right in the heart of the city, perfect for a business. You said you were opening up a new branch, so I asked around.”

I sighed. “You can’t keep doing me favors.”

“Oh, it not just a favor, this definitely benefits me, in many ways. After all, you’ll pay taxes right?”

“Yes, but what does that…?”

“Oh, there’s the signal!” He grinned, turning away. “It’s time for the flower heist!” 

Groaning, I turned away, and prepared to leave the party. Sensing an angry stare at my back, I turned to the side to catch Ronan’s gaze. He seemed bitter, likely upset that the rumors he had started hadn’t affected me at all. I smiled at him, allowing him to see the mockery in it, and walked away. 

In the carriage ride home, Henry clutched the large flowery bush, ignoring the wrath of Hallers at dirtying the carriage. I stared out the window, thinking things over.

Lady Erica had successfully eloped with her Captain. I was happy to have that out of the way, even more so that suspicion had been cast on someone else besides me. I remembered that man’s ruthlessness in my last life, and had no desire to face off with him again in this one.

I have enough enemies; let someone else deal with him for a change.

With the failure of the rumors to bring me around, I knew that Ronan would switch his strategy soon. My mind flipped through the possibilities, unsure of which route he would take. But i would get some sleep tonight and think about it further in the morning. 

But as I entered my house, and saw the stranger sitting in the visiting room, I realized that he had struck much sooner then I had expected.

[itsomgitsgreenblogging]

Pour Over Me: A Critical Role Fanfic, chapter 2

I finally have gotten this done...and I realized that I would need to split the actual chapter into two. So next chapter will be the last chapter! As always, I'd like to thank the Essek server! You guys rock.

I hope you all enjoy!

Read first chapter on Tumblr

Read on AO3

Preview: 

He turned his head, moving out of the shade for just a single moment. Caleb was utterly radiant. In the sunlight, Caleb’s hair was fire, an even more vivid shade than Essek had realized. And his eyes were the color of the sky. A shade of blue that was almost impossible to replicate and yet by some magic it was here in his gaze.

When you tear my heart out of my chest, will you at least cherish it? Essek's thought in a strange daze. Will you kiss me, before you devour it whole?

Essek stood in the ballroom, as the Mighty Nein filtered in joking and laughing as usual. He thought his mask was meticulous as always---his smile so practiced that it was a natural feature of his face like the two moons in the sky. But Caduceus immediately frowned at the sight of him, and Jester cast him a worried furrowed look. 

“Is everything alright, Mr. Essek?” Caduceus asked, the concern in his voice tugging at some of the heartstrings that Essek couldn’t believe he still had. He had sworn he had cut them all a while ago, and yet, somehow he was still in this situation. 

“Yes, of course,” Essek said breezily, clasping his fingers in front of him. “A second tutor has been provided to aid me  in your instruction. We shall wait for her before beginning today, she should be here momentarily." 

“Are they...someone we need to take care of?” Beauregard asked him, her voice low and eyes narrowed. “Do we need to fuck someone up? Is that something we have to do at the ball?” 

“No, it is not required nor is that a function of the ceremony,” Essek assured her. “She--”

“Essek!” 

At that moment, Adore made her appearance. Essek wished beyond all wishes that he could push her out an open window. If he weren’t so annoyed, he would have been impressed. She was all red draped silk, cinched waist, and a slit that was very nearly scandalous...the exact kind of thing that suited her best and it made Essek want to strangle her. She ran her fingers through her fur, before pulling it off in a perfectly calculated motion that was meant to reveal with golden-shimmer of her pale white shoulders. Her tail swayed, like a too pleased predator about to pounce on her prey. 

“Introduce me, Essek,” Adore demanded, voice lush and like the whisper of desire tossing her furs at a neighbor servant who looked dazed and confused. 

“Mighty Nein,” Essek said, perfectly pleasant. “Lady Adore Theylss.” 

“Essek’s elder sister,” Adore added, holding out her hand. “It is truly a pleasure to meet all of you. I have heard so much about you, despite my little brother’s penchant for secrets.”

“My name is Fjord, it’s a pleasure,” Fjord introduced, taking her hand and kissing it. Adore looked at him through her heavy golden lashes. 

“Caduceus Clay,” Caduceus said, introduction pleasant but reserved. He didn’t move to take her hand, but he smiled. 

“I’m Jester!” She introduced with an excited wave. 

“Nott,” Nott said, uncharacteristically morose and with her arms crossed in front of her chest. She looked like she itched to pull her crossbow, and Essek couldn’t blame her. 

“Yasha,” said the barbarian, softly, inspecting Adore as if she were a strange rare being that was meant to be approached with caution.  

“I’m Beau,” Beau introduced brashly, pushing slightly in front of Caduceus, also kissing Adore’s hand.  

“Caleb Widogast,” he introduced, his blue eyes raking over Adore’s face quickly, with an expression that Essek couldn’t even begin to categorize. Thankfully, it wasn’t desire. Essek didn’t think he would be able to take that. Instead, it was a cool neutral mask. 

"It is a pleasure to meet you," Adore crooned. “To meet all of you. Fjord, would you mind giving me a hand for a moment--”

"Your sister is fucking hot," Beau hissed at Essek as Adore and Fjord walked to the side to move a table. "I'm sorry, is that weird? Did I say something weird because holy shit. Could she step on me?"

"Yes, it is weird," Essek said, resigned. 

"You are hotter," Jester tried to soothe, her stage whisper not subtle in any way and Essek prayed that Adore was too caught up with introducing herself further to Fjord that she wouldn't notice. "Like you are really really pretty Essek."

"And-everyone-thinks-so-right-Caleb?" Nott asked her words a jumble of syllables. Caleb looked up from petting Frumpkin with startled and wide eyes. 

"I--uh--" 

"I am afraid I am very used to this," Essek said, cutting him off. He didn't think he could bear to hear the answer either way. "Adore! Let us not dally any longer.”  

“Of course, of course,” Adore said as she clapped her hands together. “Now, I would like to see how far you’ve all progressed. Partner up please.” 

The Mighty Nein got in their usual pairs, except for Caleb, who looked at Essek expectantly. Essek opened his mouth--to say something, anything really when  immediately Adore saw him. Essek’s hand remained frozen by his side. He was caught in her trap, and they both knew it.  

“Ah, I see there is one left over. Would you mind?” Adore asked Caleb, her expression a mask of politeness. But there was just the flick of her gaze to Essek, the smugness of that flash, and it made his guts churn violently. 

“Of course not,” Caleb said softly. 

“Very well then,” Adore said, taking his hand with her bare fingers delicately with a sort of ease that had Essek burning. Her body pressed against Caleb’s in ways Essek’s did not. Adore was a beautiful dancer, beyond graceful and refined. But she was daring too, in the way she arched and moved into Caleb like an unrepented wave--

Stop it, Essek demanded of himself. Stop looking. This is what she wants. She wants you to be affected, to be angry. She wants you to act out irrationally so she can report back to Mother. This is the most obvious hand she could play and you are playing right into it, you are better than this petty game. 

But what if she was what he preferred? Though Essek was not attracted to female beauty and she was his sister above all else,  Essek knew rationally that Adore was a beautiful woman. It didn’t take a genius to figure out how she so easily courted favor wherever she went. Her color made her rare and striking, her voice was warm and dripping with sublime elegance. Growing up, Essek had been drilled on manners, cut his teeth on High Undercommon, had to practice noble protocol and table manners and conversation. Adore had sailed through it all with relative ease, as if she had been born to rub shoulders and steal hearts.  

What if she was what Caleb wanted? The thought was there as Adore coached them into a dip. Their faces were close. Close enough to bite or to kiss. And he may want to kiss her. Perhaps Caleb didn't like men at all. He had been tense when they danced together after all. Essek had to have been projecting his own unruly...feelings (but not even feelings  these had to just be urges or instincts) onto Caleb. He should have just been happy with being...companionable. Caleb had called him a friend, but--

“Very good, Mr. Widogast,” Adore said, her voice a purr.  Her touch lingered upon upon his shoulder a moment too long, trailing down suggestively. “I can see my brother has not stinted on your education." 

I'm going to kill her, Essek thought decisively. 

"The Shadowhand is a patient and thorough teacher," Caleb said simply. Not pulling away, nor moving closer to Adore. His face was a neutral mask--not indifferent, but not the desperate sort of hunger Adore tended to inspire. Adore smiled at him, a slanting sort of half-smirk tossed in his direction. 

"I'm sure you need that, don't you?" Adore laughed airily. "A thorough teacher, that is?" 

"Adore, I shall remind you not to ignore the other students. It isn't like you to pick favorites," Essek said with a smile that felt like scraping nails against his skin. 

"Ah, but of course," Adore hummed, and her gaze met Essek's. 

I see you, it said. I see you the same way I always have. You are Mother's pet, her little mutt she brought in off the streets with your wayward father, her possession. You are dispensable and we all know it. Disagree, I dare you. 

It made Essek want to crawl out of his own skin. 

They both took the Mighty Nein through the flourishes and quick turns. Adore took particular note to dance with Caleb, Beau, and Fjord. The three targets, Essek knew. The three she believed she could manipulate. He knew rationally that she would most likely be sorely disappointed, but the old fear was there and it was strong. Strong enough that when it was his turn to dance with Jester, she gave his hand a supportive squeeze.

"I don't think I like her," Jester grumbled as they danced together, eyes on the pair of Beau and Adore dancing. They cut a striking pair across the ballroom floor. 

"If I may tell you a secret?" Essek said, leaning in closer. "I don't either." 

"I can cut holes in her pants," Jester offered, with a mischievous smile. “If you want. Or I can send her scary messages! Beau doesn’t want me to do that with her dad but I could totally do it for you.” 

"If anything, she would like that," Essek promised. Jester humphed like she was the long suffering heroine of some tragedy. This was something Essek admired in her; her disarming charm was nearly a lethal weapon. He wondered what it was like...to be so universally adored. Was it easy for her? Essek wouldn’t know. He often felt like he was drowning when everyone else appeared fine. 

"She doesn't treat you kindly," Jester said, as her brows furrowed and lips pouting. "And that's like, super duper mean. If she's your family she ought to treat you better!" 

"We have a...complicated relationship," Essek explained. "And I'm afraid I've done enough to deserve it." 

"You are nice, Essek," Jester said as if it were the most obvious fact in the universe. “I don’t think you have done something to deserve someone being mean to you, unless you used to be a really bad guy. Were you a bad guy, did you do crimes Essek?” 

“As I’ve told you, I’m not very interesting,” Essek said with a shake of his head before adding an extra spin. Jester smiled widely and warmly as she giggled. Essek could see how easy it was for someone to fall in love with her. Jester was beautiful, soft and rounded. She exuded a sort of childlike innocence and a whole-hearted love that was easy to sink into. He wondered, perhaps, if this was what Caleb desired? An innocent and pure love, that tasted of melting sweets and was perfumed with lavender. This Essek could understand. 

Not yours, Essek thought as he looked at Caleb yet again. He was dancing with Nott now, smiling at her easily. Never yours. 

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Jester said, nearly pushing her lips to his ear, like a gentle sisterly kiss. “Caleb thinks you are nice too.” 

On that note they separated. Essek bowed, while Jester curtsied. Essek felt Caleb’s eyes on his neck, but didn’t turn around to look. There was only so much of this game he could take after all. 

----

The table was set, filled with a dizzying array of food. The servants of the Theylss Den had to have been up all night preparing the feast. From roast fish to caviar-stuff mushrooms, the courses were brought out with all the pomp and circumstance that was befitting of the Den. There were Ladhinder snails with garlic butter and  seasonal tubers and roasted squash on beautiful printed plates. Elegant soups to be served with spoons that had handles like creeping vines. All of it had been prepared by a critical eye, and served on the best silverware and porcelain that the den was in possession of and was probably worth what the average citizen made in two years. His mother waved her hand, and a servant quickly worked to fill her plate as she watched from the rim of her wine glass with a disapproving glower. 

“Thank you,” Essek said to the servant girl as she placed his plate down. 

“Of course, Lord Shadowhand,” the servant girl said with a relieved smile. She curtsied before disappearing back into the kitchen. 

“You sweet on that one then, Essek?” Rylas asked him, eyebrow raised. As the Denfather, he was sitting beside Mother. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as if deep in thought.  

“Of course he isn’t sweet on that one, Father,” Drari scoffed, the half-orc rolling his eyes. 

“I am merely thanking the servants,” Essek said, taking his napkin and spreading it upon his lap. 

“Why, so they can whisper to your little shadows?” Drari asked, stabbing a slab of meat with his fork. Probably imagining Essek’s face. Essek fought to remain polite and distant. .  

“Of course,” Essek said with a polite nod. "It always pays to make nice."

"You don't make nice," Drari scoffed, a vein jumping at his neck. 

"As far as I'm aware, your fiance kept their job, regardless of their ability to keep books from suddenly hemorrhaging coin--"

"In spite of you…!"

"Children," Mother said, voice cold and demanding. "Your bickering is giving me a headache. Adore, tell me, how did the lesson go?" 

Essek resisted the urge to grab something and tear it apart with his hands. Adore, however, preened as if she were being called to go on stage. 

"Very well, Mother. The heroes are so very interesting. Different than the tales, but I could spin a hundred songs from just one afternoon," Adore said with a dreamy sigh. "Especially about the pretty human wizard? What was his name? Mr. Widogast? Isn't that right, Essek?" 

Essek didn't validate her words with a response. Instead just looked ahead, ignoring the stares from every person at the table that he was receiving. The servants, ducked into the shadows, all looked at him with a understanding sadness that nearly soaked into the walls like a cold rain. He knew all of their names, and their families. And he was finding it easier to focus on them then on what was happening at the table. 

"Was he very pretty, my love?" Adore's husband, a dragonborn named Kan'el asked. He took her hand and kissed it, and she grinned conspiratorially at him. 

"Oh, very! Most of them were absolutely scrumptious. I can see why Essek tries to keep them to himself." 

Essek focused on his breath, on the sensation of his lungs and ribs expanding. Not on this. Not this--

"Tell me something, Essek," Adore demanded, eyes sliding over to him. "When you spread your legs like a common whore for that wizard, is he at least halfway decent? Or do you just let him rut into you like an animal?" 

"Stop it," Essek snarled, slamming his hands down on the table. "Say another word, I dare you." 

The table was deadly quiet for the span of a breath. The servants scurried into the kitchens and ducked into hallways, away from the oncoming storm. It was wise of them, no doubt. 

"Wait...no," Adore gasped clasping her hands together, studying his face with a growing expression of glee. "You haven't, have you? You haven't bedded him then? Oh, brother, that is hilarious. You'll have to do it soon, or he'll shrivel up." 

"My darling," Kan'el said chidingly, though obviously amused at her daring. "Don't be so crude." 

"But I am right! You are entirely too tightly wound, Essek," Adore said, waving her glittering hand and claws at him. "Just fuck the man and work out whatever feelings you think you have festering like some open wound. It's so obvious, Essek, your bleeding heart is spilling out all over the floor. I know it pains you to have to pretend to be a person, but please, for all of our sakes just--"

"Adore,"  their Mother said, stopping her tirade. Essek glared at Adore, his teeth aching from how hard he was clenching them. "As crudely as Adore put it, she does have a point Essek."

"She has no point. I've never--" 

"Essek, allow us to be serious for a second," Mother said, setting down her fork with a click. If there had been air in the dining room, it all escaped now. "Nothing about your personal connection to them will benefit you in the long run."

"They are heroes of the Dynasty." 

"They are mercenaries. Traitors to one nation, and perhaps they will become traitors to ours. You will be attached to them, and it will bring you down. Think rationally," Mother demanded before sighing. "Of that you are capable, I know you are, unlike your fool brothers and sisters." 

"Mother!" Adore snapped, white-skin growing brighter. Drari looked murderously at her. 

"Oh be quiet," Mother commanded. Adore mouth clicked close. "Essek, my dearest. Be reasonable." 

“Being reasonable means something very different for you than for me,” Essek pointed out. 

“Does it?” Mother asked him. "Allow me to give you this piece of advice, Essek. The greatest skill that one learns in thousands of years? Restraint." 

“Oh? Is it?” Essek asked her, a jagged sarcastic edge to his voice. 

“Self-control, to be measured and to moderate your behavior to suit the situation,” Mother said, her eyes flashing. “Right now this is the area you are sorely lacking in. You are indulging yourself in ridiculous urges. You are my brightest child, and I shall not have you squander your potential--” 

“As if you are one to chastise me about restraint,” Essek scoffed, interrupting her. He stood up. “Everything I have done, my whole life,  is try to keep everything under control and to please you and the Bright Queen. And I’m good at it. If I say I have it all under control then I do. I have no personal connection to them. I don’t--I have no illusions about that.” 

"I saw you today," Adore reminded him, smile hard and angry. "I've never seen you like that. Normally when mother let me have my way with your playthings, you just folded like a broken chair. But this was different, wasn't it?" 

"They are not my playthings," Essek said firmly, throwing his napkin on the table. “The Mighty Nein are...well, it doesn’t matter anyways. Good night.” 

“Oh don’t be like that, Essek!” Adore called after him, but Essek was already out the door. He was grabbing his mantle when he heard his mother's heels. He stopped and looked at her. She had her arms crossed, and was staring at him impetuously. Eventually she sighed, and almost looked fond. As if Essek was a small child simply misbehaving. 

"Essek," she said, her voice almost comforting. "You know that all I wish is for us to maintain what we have." 

"I know, Mother," Essek said simply. She reached to trace his features with a touch that was a cruel illusion of motherly concern. 

"You inherited the only admirable traits your father had, your pretty face and comely voice. Everything else is mine," she said, grasping his chin. “We are alike, you and I. I know that when the time comes you will make the right decision. You’ll find your way to the correct path.” 

You are mine, she didn't say. My belonging to do with as I wish. The honors you achieve are mine, your accomplishments are mine, you are mine. 

Suddenly, he was a child again. They had all been watched incessantly for any sign of consecution. Everything was a test, everything. Your words, actions, how you looked at mother, how you slept or breathed. Just because a member of the den was your parent, it didn't mean you would stay. 

Dead weight, Adore scoffed as a half-brother was given away, staring at them with eyes like broken-open graves as he was dragged out the door and away from the only world he had ever known. 

Weak. It'll be you next, Essek. Just you wait and see. Drari snickered. 

Be grateful that isn’t you, his father sneered and Essek's cheek hurt from where he had backhanded him.  Essek had liked that half-brother...his name had been Unak. He had cried when he had realized he wouldn't hear his brother play little cheerful tunes with his pennywhistle any longer...and his father had seen it. Prove your worth and you won’t end up a failure like him. 

I don't even like him, Essek's first love, his first kiss, his first everything scoffed down the hall as Essek hid in a shadowed alcove. He had a crooked smile and a daring laugh, and had been less talented than Essek but not by much. His friends snickered with him, as if Essek's existence...his love was some great cosmic joke. His Denmother told me that I just need to keep him in line until his consecution, and then I can have the pick of who I'll marry. 

Essek would be thrown away. His whole life was spread out before him like some desolate plain, devoid of warmth or hope. The terror was a constant prevalent ache, like a wound that wouldn't heal. It scabbed over and tore, was ripped and bled. He hadn't been consecuted and he was of middling muddied blood. The Denmother even giving him a chance was a mercy, given only because he had been born of her. Essek was nothing but fodder or an easy target or just invisible. How? How could he escape his ruinous fate? He had to search for a way. Essek had to find a way to keep himself from being abandoned for good. If he was powerful enough, smart enough, then maybe--

And yet, all these years later, he still found himself alone and vulnerable in this house. He would rather quit it for good. 

"I found my way in spite of you," Essek said, his voice cool and impersonal. A stalwart loathing was rising in him. It was the same feeling he had when he had hacked off all of his hair with scissors the morning of his consecution. He had watched the horror spread upon his Denmother's face in the chapel and had been so proud. "I'll ask you not to pretend otherwise." 

"Fine," Mother said, stepping back. She looked exasperated. "Don't take my advice, but don't come crying to me when they hurt you." 

"I won't," Essek promised. "In that regard, you have the second highest honor." 

On that note, Essek left the house. He went home, floating as he did, grateful for the cool darkness. As soon as he was beyond the door of his towers, he leaned against the wall. The shaky exhale of breath escaped his lungs. His feet hit the ground with a soft click, and he slid down to sit on the floor. 

"Stop it," Essek demanded of himself, clenching his trembling fingers and forcing the air in and out of his lungs in ragged breaths. "Stop thinking about it. You are fine. You are fine. You are going to get up. You are going to go read Weraq's Treatise on Time and Space. You will get a glass of your favorite wine. You will start the fireplace. You will relax. You will stop acting like a fool, and just calm down you fucking idiot. You must prepare. You’ll have to face them again tomorrow." 

He chastised himself for a few more minutes, working to gather his strength and then peel himself up from the floor. 

He had a long week ahead of him. 

And so Essek continued to practice with the Mighty Nein, only occasionally bothered by his sister. But by the end of the week, even Adore was too busy with preparations to come and cause further destruction and mayhem within Essek’s personal life. The last two days leading up to the actual Day of Radiance was so busy with paperwork and shadow-monitoring that he couldn’t even check in with the Mighty Nein, though he had been informed that they had gone to get their evening attire without any out-of-the-ordinary antics. 

The morning of the Day of Radiance came. He had tranced early so that way he would be able to wake early. He had wanted to be sure to collect the Mighty Nein before the ritual started. Essek, used to a realm of eternal night where the passage of time meant little, had been told that the sun rose “early” though he didn’t really understand what that meant. He hadn’t expected an extremely grumpy Beau to answer the door, her hard-worn scowl even more prominent. 

“This should be illegal,” Beau grumbled. “Well...come on in. We could get you breakfast or something?" 

“I have already eaten, but I appreciate the offer," Essek said simply, drifting past the entrance before dropping his spell. 

"Oh my goodness Essek, my dress is absolutely beautiful! I know you'll see it tonight but do you wanna see it now?" Jester asked, grabbing his hands and bouncing up and down. 

"I wouldn't dare ruin the surprise for later," Essek said, patting one hand calmingly. "I'm sure you will look absolutely breathtaking." 

"Aw, Essek! You are going to make me blush!" Jester said with a giggle and a flutter of her eyelashes, tail waving behind her. "You aren't super in love with me are you?" 

"As lovely as you are, I assure you no." 

"Hello Essek," Caduceus greeted warmly, he reached out and took Essek's hand and shook it. He looked to picture of serenity as opposed to Beau...and Fjord who was laying on the coach snoring. "Ah...they had to wake up extra early to work out this morning."

"I see." 

"It'll be nice to see the sun today," Yasha said, her quiet thoughtful voice coming from the table. In her large hands she cradled a laughably delicate elf-sized tea cup. "Are you looking forward to it?" 

"It will be a very busy day," Essek admitted. "With a lot of official business."

"I understand." 

"Is that a new robe attached to your mantle?" Nott called, plodding into the room. As was the rest of the Mighty Nein, she was wearing her usual clothing, but they had obviously all been washed and pressed. Essek would have to ask if they used his recommended cleaner's. 

"Ah…yes, for the occasion," Essek said. He had liked it because the fabric itself had a pleasing luster to it. 

"It looks very handsome, doesn't it Cay-Cay?" Nott called back as Caleb entered the living space. 

Essek had been seeing Caleb almost every day, and yet, he was still punched in the gut by how handsome he was. It was horrible how clean clothes and a shaved face could leave Essek so speechless. He was thankful that he wasn't required to be the next one to speak in this interaction. 

"Of course," Caleb said softly. "Good morning, Essek." 

"Good morning to you as well," Essek said managing to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. He smiled his usual smile. "Well, if we are all here and ready, we must be getting going. They will soon start putting out the lanterns, and the streets are already quite busy. 

"We saw the stalls all going up yesterday. It really is like a big Harvest Close festival isn't it?" Fjord asked the others. 

"Do you think we'll be able to throw you again?" Jester asked excitedly. 

"No...definitely will not do a repeat of that performance,” Fjord said shaking his head. Yasha and Jester shared a meaningful look that Essek simply didn’t understand. 

“Let’s stop fucking around and get going!” Nott whined impatiently. 

“Okay Mighty Nein, break!” Fjord shouted, followed by a discordant clapping from everyone but Essek who stood there, rather confused, but was willing to usher them out the door. 

The city was alive in anticipation. Stalls lined the streets, with food vendors shouting out different prices for famous Xhorhassian dishes from across the Dynasty, clothing, jewels, games, or anything else you could possibly think of. The crowd swelled more intensely directly outside the Lucid Bastion. With a little effort they were let into the Lucid Bastion, to the upper most level of the Cathedral of the Bright Queen. There, the Bright Queen sat upon her throne, flanked by the High General and her innermost court members. This level was the observatory, the glass ceiling now open and the clerics of the Luxon gathered below it as well as some high-level wizards who Essek counted as his colleagues. When everyone was settled in their place, the Bright Queen raised her staff. 

“Let us commence with the Day of Radiance,” she announced. 

With a nod of her head, the wizards began to somatic gestures. The Clerics kneeled upon the floor, clasping their hands and began to pray,

“Oh Glorious Lord of Light, You who were first in the Universe and Master of All Creation. Keep me and bless me, in this life and my future lives. Show me the way as you did Our Most Righteous Queen, so that I may never be led astray. Let me pray for ascension, for consecution. Let us offer our bodies--our transient and mortal vessels to the light so that we may reach true Enlightenment.” 

“So I will it, so shall it be!” the Bright Queen commanded. 

Then, there was a pulse of power that shot up straight into the cover of darkness. Most of the members of the Mighty Nein gasped as it occurred. Even Essek, who saw this ritual once a year, still never got over the way the sky looked as the magic pulsed and radiated within the spectral field. And then, like the shell of the world had cracked like an egg, the field splintered and evaporated. There was a roar from the crowd outside, and the Bright Queen’s smile was nearly euphoric. 

Dawn was just breaking across the sky, lightening the curtain of the world. Dark blue shifted to light, and then there was the burnt orange glow of the sun beginning to gather like condensation at the bottom of a bowl. And then, the sun peaked out from the horizon. Thankfully it was low enough it didn’t hurt. And as soon as it did, there were cheers, fireworks were set off, and the sound of cheerful music burst out. 

The Bright Queen announced the end of the ceremony. Immediately, the nobility began to chit chat. 

“That is our cue,” Essek told the Mighty Nein. “If you would like, you may go down and join the festivities until the Illumination Ball.” 

“Oh! Can we? Can we?” Jester asked excitedly. “I want to go feel the sun on my face!” 

“Let’s go get some breakfast,” Beau said, stretching. 

“Essek, are you coming with us?” Caleb asked, startling Essek. The rest of the Mighty Nein was looking at him expectantly. Usually, on the Day of Radiance he kept to the inside of the Lucid Bastion. Often he would pretend to be busy, but really he preferred to stay out of the light. Sunlight wasn’t deadly to his kind, but it was certainly uncomfortable after a little bit, and his eyes had always been particularly sensitive. He had been told it was because he had silver eyes...the lighter the pigment the worse the pain. 

But looking at the expectant faces of the Mighty Nein, he found his protests stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

“I can come for a bit,” Essek said, offering a smile. In his mind, he was calculating how long it would be before the light became unbearable. He should be fine for at least an hour. 

“You’ll have to point us to the best food,” Fjord said with a grin before elbowing Caduceus. “We’ll probably find tea too.”

“They do have stalls that have tea,” Essek explained. “I’ll at least be able to show you to the popular food stalls.” 

“Oh! I never thought to sell tea in a stall, that’s nice!” Caduceus said, sounding legitimately delighted at the prospect. 

The streets were a hectic swell of bodies. Essek directed them through the movement to one of the stalls that served a popular drink made of rice, milk, and spices. Jester added an ungodly amount of syrup, as opposed to Nott who passed out shots to slip into the cups of anyone who wanted them. Essek himself got a bowl of rice porridge, while he watched them all attempt to figure out tofu or rice bowls or the spice of a fermented cabbage. 

They had been relatively safe in the rows of stalls, in the shade cast by the building and the roofs. But almost at the next moment, Essek took a wrong step and was immediately blinded. Oh, his eyes burned. He always hated this the most about the sunlight. He squinted, trying to make it bearable, but he couldn’t help the tears that welled up in his eyes and spilled over. Essek turned quickly to face the wall, ducking his head to wipe at his eyes. 

“Essek? Is something wrong?” Caleb’s voice, low and soft and concerned. Essek jumped, having not expected to be seen and in such a pitiful condition. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just, my eyes are very sensitive to the light,” Essek apologized, closing his eyes and praying for strength. Even like this, the burning was nearly too much. “Forgive me.”  

He felt a hand grasp his, and tug him somewhere. Then he felt a touch upon his cheek...the most delicate and gentle brush of a thumb against his cheek. The touch traced right where his tears were cooling upon his skin. Essek stayed still, desperately trying not to shy away from the sensation. It all felt so close, and so personal, and so intimate that it left him breathless. When he managed to open his eyes (out of necessity...only because if he lingered in this moment too long he was afraid he would never leave) he saw Caleb looking down at him, having led them into the shade.  

He turned his head, moving out of the shade for just a single moment. Caleb was utterly radiant. In the sunlight, Caleb’s hair was fire, an even more vivid shade than Essek had realized. And his eyes were the color of the sky. A shade of blue that was almost impossible to replicate and yet by some magic it was here in his gaze. 

When you tear my heart out of my chest, will you at least cherish it? Essek's thought in a strange daze. Will you kiss me, before you devour it whole? 

"Essek?" Caleb asked, concerned, and Essek realized that he must have missed what Caleb had said to him. 

"Yes?"

"Do you want me to get Jester or Caduceus?" Caleb repeated, shifting on his feet nervously like a shy animal wandering close to a person. 

"No...no, I will be fine," Essek promised. 

“Oh, wait!” Caleb said, rooting around in his bag. “Ah, sheisse--here it is!” 

Out of his bag, he produced a hat. It was a straw hat, wide-brimmed and floppy. Essek blinked, half incredulous and half because it really was difficult to see in this light. 

“Caduceus gave this to me to hold onto, if you’d like I’m sure he wouldn’t mind?” Caleb asked. 

What would hurt worse? The sun in his eyes, or his bruised ego? The hat would really clash with his whole outfit. But in the end, the burning in his eyes was enough. He plucked the hat from Caleb’s grasp, careful not to brush their fingertips against each other. He placed it on his head, mindful of his ears and earrings, and was immediately glad for the shade. Essek looked up to see a smile attempting to peak out from the horizon of Caleb's lips. Essek gave him a look. 

"I must look ridiculous," Essek signed, resigned to his fate, curling his hands inside his sleeves. "Feel free to laugh." 

“You could never look ridiculous,” Caleb promised with velvet soft eyes that Essek could almost feel sweeping across his features. “Though I am not a good judge of these things, but you are always...”

“Always?” Essek prompted. Caleb for a moment looked caught, like a child sneaking sweets from a jar. 

“You always look refined and put together,” Caleb said, the slightest tint of pink in his cheeks and on the soft rounded curve of his ears. In the daylight, somehow, it was even more charming. It was strange, but somehow in the light the human looked more alive then Essek had ever seen him before. A creature of light and fire, Essek thought solemnly. How strange it would be...if his people had never conquered the sky with magic. If they had remained bound to the Underdark their paths would have never crossed. 

“Stop flirting over there and join us!” Beauregard shouted at them. Essek watched Caleb’s face go scarlett. Essek was glad for his years of rigorous court training and for the shade of the hat that hid his face.   

“We ought to go join your friends,” Essek said, motioning for Caleb to follow. Caleb gave Essek a sheepish smile, and then did.  

He looked at the Mighty Nein, their rambunctious spirit and their excited demeanor. He looked from Jester marvelling over sweets sculpted to look like small baby birds or spiders, Nott playing tossing games against Fjord while Caleb watched, and Yasha and Clay browsed stalls.  He orbited around them, like one of the dwarf planets that their scholars documented in their reports. Essek was just thankful to be able to bask momentarily in their shine. 

Essek caught Caleb’s smile, and returned it with one of his own. 

-----

“Essek what do you think?” Jester called before bursting out from a corner. The top of her dress unfolded like beautiful flower petals about her shoulders and chest, it was cinched at her waist and then unfurled out in asymmetrical waves of sparkling pink pastel fabric that lightened to almost blush-white at the bottom. The front was short enough to reveal calf, almost enough to be scandalous but just riding the line. 

They were within the palace. Essek was waiting for the Mighty Nein and just hoping and praying they left everything within the suites alone. A shadow had already been assigned to check over the rooms for any missing objects or hidden dick drawings, but he had faith that if left to their own devices the Mighty Nein was capable of many unforeseeable things. 

“You look beautiful,” Essek promised her, “as do you Nott.” 

“Thank you,” Nott chirped, swishing her lantern-light yellow dress. It was similar to Jester’s in style, but with a high neck and gloves. 

“We all clean up nicely I think,” Beau said, appearing in blue robes, with an ornate detailed sash with the design of swooping dragon flies and iridescent lily flowers. Caduceus was smiling at the long sleeves of his tunic, an ephemeral garment a swirling floral design that matched with his general aesthetic. His green vestiges had real flower buds beginning to bloom along the buttons. And his, though his symbol was there, were also adorned with creeping gold vines. 

“That we do,” Fjord said before motioning Beau closer to him. He was wearing a more classic Xhorhassian silhouette, a geometrically quilted dark green gambeson and black cloak and cut a dashing figure in it. He helped to straighten her sash before giving her a thumb’s up. Yasha was wearing her usual armor, though it had obviously been cleaned and mended. She nodded at Essek. 

“Ah, Essek.”

Essek’s mouth went dry. 

Caleb was dressed like a main character from Essek’s childhood collection of fairy tales from across the world. He was dressed like a bridegroom on his way to woo his sweetheart, blue vest and shiny gold buttons and a jacket with a velvet lapel. His hair was even tied back with a blue ribbon, which made his hair an even richer red and his eyes a cornflower blue. Essek tried to find somewhere to look, but somehow was even more distracted. From the white ascot that contrasted against the pale cream and a dusting of dusky freckles upon his neck, to the attractive cut of his pants that certainly did him plenty of favors. 

“I see the tailor earned his keep,” Essek managed to comment before immediately turning to everyone for emphasis. “You all look wonderful.” 

“It’s a little rich for my blood,” Caleb said worriedly, pulling at his sleeve. “I am afraid the clothes are wearing the man, ja?” 

“Not at all, Caleb!” Nott protested shrilly, grabbing onto his sleeve. “You look wonderful! Doesn't he, Essek?" 

"Of course," Essek said simply. "You all do." 

Nott pouted as if that wasn't the answer she was going for. But thankfully no one else pressed him, if they had Essek wasn't sure he would be able to hide the fact he was having heart palpitations. It should be against the laws of nature for a man to be so attractive. There was an old story of a drow who wasted away looking at his reflection in an underground pool so still that it acted as a mirror, and when Essek was young he didn’t understand why he didn’t prioritize his life over beauty. But looking at Caleb just now? Essek wasn’t sure he would be able to notice if he were on fire in the face of such beauty. 

They entered the ballroom during the announcements. All of the important nobility and diplomats were given their dues, including the Mighty Nein who all seemed to have various reactions to all the attention that was given to them. Essek quickly ducked out, to give his mantle to one of the servants. He didn’t want to give it up because they would all see him, but he had to because the garment was too cumbersome to dance in. They would see the lines of his body in a way that Essek wished to keep private. Essek had always been good at hiding in plain sight...but without his mantle everyone would see-- 

“You look very nice,” a voice startled him out of the rising tide of his panic. Essek looked over to see the High General, dressed in resplendent military garb, silvered and shining like a full moon.  Her mouth quirked up in a small smile. “Though, I always do forget how scrawny you are underneath that mantle of yours.” 

“I can hardly dance with it if I need to,” Essek said, smoothing his silvered brocade tunic, making sure the fine black pearls buttons were properly shiny. “As much as I loathe to give it up.” 

“You will dance then? With the human wizard?” the High General asked, sounding amused. 

“I doubt it,” Essek said as he clasped his hands behind his back. “It wouldn’t be proper. I will merely offer support if needed.” 

“You are very good at being improper,” the High General noted. “In the best ways, of course. Being too proper hurts the soul. It is better to be brash.” 

“That I am not too sure of,” Essek admitted.

“Do yourself a favor, Essek,” the High General said, looking at him with a soft gaze. “Allow yourself even the slightest indulgence. You are still in your first life, now is the time to be wild and reckless.” 

“I don’t know if the Bright Queen would appreciate that sentiment,” Essek said with a scoff. 

“I doubt my wife would,” the High General laughed, hearty and full of life. “But she also was once a wild, young, reckless creature at heart. That I can assure you. She has always seen a lot of herself in you. And I know that she, as well as I, would hate for you to miss out on what is possible for you.” 

“The comparison is enough to honor me,” Essek said, bowing deeply.  

“I shall see you in the ballroom.” 

With that, the High General swept out of the room the moment his mother swept in. She curtsied deeply to the High General before she looked over Essek with a critical gaze. Dierta walked around him, like she was inspecting him for any fault, but was apparently sated by whatever she saw and ending her incessant circling. He already wanted to go home. 

“What did the High General speak to you about?” Dierta asked, her red gown swaying as she moved, on top of the satin a layer of sheer sparkling fabric decorated with rubies and crystal blooms caught in the lamp light and made her shimmer. 

“She merely wished me well,” Essek said. “Are they announcing our den soon?” 

“Yes, I would like for you to accompany me and your father,” Dierta said, holding out her arm and Essek took it automatically. 

“A strange choice,” Essek noted. “But of course, Mother.” 

“Of course not,” his mother said cooly, smiling pleasantly as servants moved out of their way. “You are of my den and my son, after all.” 

“And you are not angry with me for the other night?” 

“Angry? No, of course not,” she said, her hand reaching to pat his. “You see, your father reminded me that you are young. I always forget that, you know.” 

“I am an adult, Mother,” Essek reminded her, still smiling easily. “Do not patronize me, and treat me like a misbehaving pet. And your husband is not my father, you made that clear to me the other day.”

“Now, now, of that you are right. But your father never had such a horrible temper,” Mother chided him. “I haven’t the slightest clue where you got that from.”

“You and I remember my father very differently then,” Essek told her. 

“Perhaps,” his Mother said with a sigh. “You were always a sensitive child.” 

Essek held his tongue, he had to, or else he would say something he knew he would regret. Keep it inside, Essek told himself sternly. Keep it inside. Do not let her see your weakness. All she ever does is exploit it and you for her own gain. 

“Dance the Opening Dance with Danton of Den Kilsek,” his mother said lightly, conversationally. As if it weren’t an order.  Danton of Den Kilsek? The name came to him like information written on his dockets. He was a powerful captain of the Echo Knights, one of the High General’s right hand men. A handsome drow, with a sharp smile and an intuitive talent for swordplay. Consecuted, and on his second life. He was also a stringent member of the faction who wished to erase the Empire from Wildemount. 

“Why should I do that?” Essek asked her. 

“I agreed to allow him to court you, of course,” Mother said. “He came to me the other day, quite taken with your eyes which ‘are as silver as the gossamer thread of the Luxon’s power’. He swore, he saw you smile ‘a smile as delicate as the sliver of the waning moon’. Really, it was quite touching. I didn’t know him to be so poetic. Now, I would prefer you just to marry a woman, your talents are simply too powerful not to pass on. But, I know you have your preferences, so I figured this would be an acceptable offer to you.”  

“Dierta, Essek--”

Essek yanked his arm from his mother’s grip. Her husband and the family around them gaped, including her mother who took in a breath like Essek had slapped her. 

“I shall go in by myself,” Essek told the Master of Ceremonies, who looked like getting involved in the family drama was the last thing he wanted. But he gave Essek a solemn nod before stepping out and allowing his voice to carry. 

“Shadowhand Essek Theylss, of Den Theylss!” 

Essek walked out, down the stairs, facing the sea of people alone.

[momofaddict]

The Story of the End

November 26, 2019, Melody and I has planned a girl's day out. I sent the baby to the sitter, I had the day off from work, we ran a few errands, then enjoyed a nice lunch downtown. I had $150 cash in my purse from selling the laptop that she kept hawking for drug money, so my last errand was to deposit that cash and get it the hell out of my purse.

When we got home around 2pm, she said she was going to meet one of her best friends at the condo, who was already there waiting. She's a pot head and occasional Xanax user, but not an addict. I told her I loved her and she left about 2:30p. The condo is 10 min from my house.

She was supposed to pick up the baby at 5p. My son's ex who I'm still close with had been group texting Mel and me around 4:30. I'd been responding, but Mel hadn't. Not terribly unusual, but I got that oh so familiar sinking feeling, heart palpitations of worry started.

Just after 5p I text Melody and asked if she'd picked up the baby yet. No answer. I called a couple of times, no answer. She always got mad at me when I worried & blew up her phone, so I was trying to not do that. I texted again around 5:30 asking if she wanted me to pick up the baby. At this point I knew she'd used. No answer. I called a couple more times, straight to VM. I called the sitter at 5:45p. Nope, Mel hadn't picked up the baby. I'm on my way...

It was rush hour so I skipped the highway and took back roads. Mistake! Every light took forever, every driver was going half the speed limit. This only exacerbated my anxiety, which was starting to skyrocket. I prayed, "Please don't let this be it. Please let her be asleep and pissed at me for overreacting. Please don't let her OD and die!"

I got to the condo, & saw her car (was hoping I wouldn't, which would mean she's out and about). I parked in the fire lane, ran up to her condo and entered with my key. The place was tidy and quiet. I thought maybe she'd left with her friend that she was meeting there. I looked all over the house, seemingly no one was there. I walked to the back of the condo where there first a vanity area, then past that, a door to the tiny room with a toilet and shower. Then it hit me... I think the TV is missing. I ran out to the living room and confirmed it was gone. Initially I was pissed.

I'd left my phone in the vanity area and went to retrieve it... And suddenly realized the toilet room door was closed. I went to open it - locked. Insert major sickly adrenaline rush of complete terror. She'd never OD'd before so I was fucking scared.

I started beating on the door and screaming at her. Nothing. I looked under the door as best I could, I saw shadows. Was it her? Was it just dirty clothes on the floor? Why was the door locked if she wasn't there? So many thoughts and questions running through my head. I got a hanger to try to break into the door and called 911. I continued to try to break into the door with no luck whatsoever. Kicking, banging, screaming. It looked like one of those easy doors that all of us at one point in our lives have broken into, a knob with just a hole in it that you can stick a metal hanger in there and easily unlock. It wasn't coming open. Divine intervention, I've now concluded.

What seemed like forever, but was probably about five minutes later, a cop showed up. He too could not get the door open. A couple minutes later EMTs show up and I am escorted into the living room, but I didn't want to be by the bathroom anyway because I was so afraid of seeing something I could never unsee again.

They got the lock open, but something was against the door. it was like they were trying to be careful pushing open the door and we're taking forever doing it. I wanted to scream at them to break her bones if needed, I don't care just get that fucking door open!

At this point the babysitter who lives in the same complex rushed over when she saw the ambulance out front. I was a goddamn mess, screaming and crying harder than I ever had before. I told her to go look. She said Melody's head was in the toilet and she's blue. They pulled her out and I kept yelling at them I HAVE NARCAN RIGHT THERE BY THE BATHROOM!

Ms W, the sitter took me outside for air & one guy came out saying she's breathing. That was it for me, she's breathing and there's Narcan, she'll make it.

I went back in and the cops just kept asking me questions and asking me questions and I was in no mood for any of that bullshit. They had Melody laid on the bedroom floor. I couldn't see her, but the door was cracked and I could see them working on her. I swear to God it took them 15 minutes to finally administer narcan. Surely that was their second try?? But then I saw the thing that I did not want to see, CPR. I fucking flipped my lid!

They moved me to a spot where I couldn't see inside the bedroom anymore & about 10 minutes later they said they were going to transport her to the hospital. I asked if she breathing several times. All they would say is that they're working on her. They told me to wait outside while they transport her to the ambulance. I had my back turned in my ears plugged with my fingers because I didn't want to hear or see anything that would make me lose hope. I wanted to know that there was some hope that my baby was going to live. While I was waiting for them to get her in the ambulance, I called my son and told him to meet me at the hospital, that Melody had overdosed. He was on his way. I did breakneck speed to get to the hospital that was approximately 10 minutes away.

When I got to the hospital I waited for about 5 minutes until someone came and got me. They escorted me, not to my daughter's bedside, but to the "family room", a small, private room with couches and tissues. I stood in the doorway shaking my head, telling them no, I don't want to go in there, but eventually relented.

The first person that talked to me said they're still working on her, which of course gave me a small glimmer of hope, but why in the fuck was I in that little room?

Within about 5 minutes the EMTs, cops, and medical staff that have been working on her all flooded into that room. This was it, I knew it. They explained how hard they tried. I stopped them and said no I don't want to hear it, it's not true! I was bawling needless to say, head in hands. Finally I looked up and just said is she...? He just said I'm sorry. I lost it. Ms W (babysitter) came in about that time and I held on to that woman as tightly as I've ever held anybody in my life. I told her she's gone she's gone she's gone, my baby is gone! Everyone left the room that wasn't family except Ms W and a "counselor", who, long story short, it wasn't helpful even a little.

The counselor left the room at one point for about 5 minutes and my son walked in. I was trying to read his face to see if anyone had told him anything. He hadn't even had a chance to sit down and the counselor basically followed him in the room. I hadn't had a chance to say anything to him yet, when she extended out her arm for a handshake, introduced herself and said, "I'm so sorry for your loss." OMFG! My son looking at utterly and totally confused said, "Wait, what?" immediately started bawling. I asked everyone to leave the room and he and I just held each other and cried as hard as we've ever cried in our lives.

I went outside shortly after for some air. By the time I got back in, Melody's dad was there, my ex. We cried and held each other. It was by far the worst day of my life. At one point they asked if I wanted to see Melody. I decided I did not. My son and my ex saw her.

I had arrived at Melody's condo at 6 p.m. . By 8:45 p.m. I was leaving the hospital no longer a mother of a daughter. Goddamn heroin took her away from me.

Ms W kept the baby and we all went our separate ways. I thought I would want to be alone, but pretty much as soon as I walked into my empty house and Melody's cat walked up to me, I knew I didn't need to be alone. I called my best friend and neighbor and she came over immediately. She stayed for about an hour, I was exhausted, and thought I was ready to be alone. Nope! Being alone with my brain at that time just wasn't a good place to be. So I called my sister who lives fairly nearby. We'd been out of sorts lately because she had a mental breakdown a few months before, basically because my druggie daughter had a baby and she can't have children. She had literally told me that as long as Melody is in my house, she won't be there. But she and her husband rushed right over. We talked until I couldn't stay awake anymore.

Then came all of the busy work of trying to figure out arrangements for my daughter. How was I going to pay for a funeral when I just shelled out the last of my available credit card money to her grandmother's funeral one month before? That's a whole other story I'll save for another day.

The story doesn't end there though.

Two days later, Thanksgiving Day, D (the baby's father) came up on a train. As you know D has never been anybody's favorite person in this family. But he was so emotionally distraught, we tried to embrace him and help him as much as we could. Even my son who pretty much loathes the man hugged him and told him if there's anything he needed... The only people there were my son, my ex, the baby, D and me. We did our best to have a small Thanksgiving dinner together, because we didn't want to ruin things for the baby and we knew Melody would want us to continue with Thanksgiving.

The next day, D and I were the only ones at my house other than the baby. I tried to give him as much time as possible with the baby. We all also had to go to the funeral home that day and start trying to make arrangements. I wanted those closest to her to have an opinion on the arrangements. that was a total cluster fuck because after spending four miserable hours up there picking this and picking that for the arrangements, just for the funeral alone they wanted $16,000. That does not include burial, headstone, in a myriad of other things. Fuck that. But we picked a burial plot, because no matter the price, I needed her grave to be at that location, which is very close to my house. My sister helped me pay for that, $5800 (without the headstone), so at least that much was done. The $3000 headstone was purchased later. My God, these people really take advantage of people in mourning.

The next day was Saturday, two days after Thanksgiving. D had obviously been day drinking and was just going off at the mouth about how he's going to be okay, he's going to move back up to my city, get a job, get his life together, so he can take care of his baby. The thought of that sent shock waves down my body because I knew he would never be in a position to really take care of the baby. But I also knew he was talking out of his ass because he's getting drunk. he just kept talking and talking and saying the same things over and over. I think he was trying to convince himself.

Then randomly out of the blue, I'm standing in the kitchen washing a baby bottle and he opens my freezer and takes a giant gulp of vodka that I had in there. He turns to me and says, "Take care of my boy." It took me a full two or three seconds to realize what he just said and I said "what did you just say to me?" Take care of my boy. I immediately burst into tears grabbed hold of his jacket and I said what the fuck don't talk like that! He said there's nothing that I could do to stop him. I told him he's a fucking liar for all the stuff that he had said earlier that day about taking care of his own son. He goes yeah that's right I'm a fucking liar, just take care of my boy and he yanked away and went for the front door. I just said D don't do anything stupid, please, at least for your son. He started crying and saying how he's going to get the motherfuckers that killed his girl, & walked out the front door.

I'm not going to lie, at this point I thought it was a bunch of addict, drunk bullshit. Yeah right, he's going to set off on foot to go do something to these dealers? I gathered his things from my house, put them in a bag, set it on the front porch and locked the door. My daughter just died and he wants to pull this bullshit on me? I don't think so.

I had plans to run to Target and then go to my son's for dinner, so I continue with my plans with the baby in tow. Target is pretty much around the corner, and since it was Black Friday weekend, there was a cop car sitting in front of Target. I went up to the cop car and told the cop inside what just transpired, and told him I felt he was a danger to himself and potentially others. I told him he was on foot so he couldn't be far. He entered some stuff in his little cop car computer and said that they'd keep an eye out for him. I said I didn't care if it was jail or someplace else, he just needs to be taken off the street and put it somewhere safe.

As the baby and I were then on our way to my son's house, my phone starts blowing up with people saying that D is posting some pretty sick shit on Facebook. He had cut up his arms really badly & was showing them off on various pictures. Then he apparently got a hold of a roadkilled possum and wrapped it around his neck and posted one video naming his dealers by name and saying they're going to pay. Then he posted another video where he was literally eating or tearing apart this dead possum with his teeth. He had officially lost his mind. His last video talked about me and my ex and my son, thanking us for all we had done for him, but that it just wasn't enough, among other things. So while all this was going on, I decided to call 911 and let them know what's going on.

A couple of investigators called me while I was at my son's within 30 minutes of me calling 911. They just wanted more information about him. I found out later that they were trying to identify his body.

I got home from my son's house about 2 hours later and a cop was waiting in front of my house. He came inside and proceeded to tell me that a man fitting D's description was hit by a car while appearing to cross the interstate. They performed surgery on him but he did not survive. We later found out that he was on a bridge leading from one highway to another that was actually on the way to the dealer's house. The unfortunate person who hit him with their car said that he appeared to jump in front of her car. In that moment in time when the cop was telling me all of this, I was pissed. The baby was right there in his little jumper while I'm getting this terrible news, plus I just couldn't get my mind off the poor people that hit him with their car.

D's last FB post said, "Stop crying, it's a wrap, imma ghost." No question, he killed himself.

But there was that voice that said, that's it, no more addicts in my life. I never really considered that D would be a big part of the baby's life anyway. But now he's going to have no part and someday I have to tell this child what happened to his parents. And that's what I cried for.

As I've mentioned before D's family are pretty much pieces of shit. there was no way that I had the mental capacity to try to set up arrangements for his memorial too, nor did I have the money. I was still trying to raise money for Mel's funeral! So his ex from 11 years ago, the mother of his other son, bless her heart, took the lead on trying to make arrangements. His family did nothing to help. She set up a GoFundMe for $6,000 and only raised $2000. D had burned a lot of bridges and his short life. But she found a funeral home that would do the service, the embalming so he could have an open casket service before being cremated, the cremation itself, all for $3,000. I pitched in the other $1,000 out of my GoFundMe for Mel and a small service was held for him. The only family that came from Ohio and Georgia for his service was his sister. Oh but his mom left lots of sad face emoticons on Facebook, so she's clearly grieving horribly. Ugh. Wretched family! I felt so bad for his sister though. And even the mother of his other son. They were both tore up at the memorial. My guess is about 20 people showed up. D's other son, JC, was as sad as a little 11 year-old boy could be. That shit hurt my soul and I vowed to make sure that he and Melody's baby will be in each other's lives moving forward.

While making these arrangements, JC's mother and I also ordered matching necklaces for D's sons to wear that would have D's ashes in them. And just last week we spread some of his ashes on Melody's grave so JC, who really loved Melody, and Mel's baby (P) could have a single place to visit Mel and D.

This is what opiate addiction has done to my family and many, many families across the country. I am forever changed by this and I don't know what normal is supposed to be anymore. I said it before and I'll say it again, thank God for this baby. While I'll be 70 years old when he turns 18, he will have a stable home with lots of love, and I have that little piece of Melody with me forevermore.

[shainlov]

New Years Exchange!!!

@the-sociopathic-jacket I was your gifter! And this is... longer than it was supposed to, I’m so sorry.

Nemuri never forgave herself, but life moves on.

A year before Midnight joined UA staff, she had a difficult case including her family members that no hero should've go through but it’s just such a common trope.

Nemuri Kayama was forever convinced that the case of Sosuke’s killer was going to forever stay her hardest one. Even five years later, she still grieved the boy she didn’t know until a few brief moments before his demise.

If she were to guess when it all began, it would be when she got involved in the case. Though… Sosuke’s... parents would point at her pathetic hero career and shout that it was then when she went to the hero school when she started... she doomed Sosuke to death... because anyone else would’ve done a better job and saved him.

If she never went to the hero school, Sosuke would’ve never attracted the attention of that villain. Or any villain at all.

If she were a smarter woman, a braver-- If not for her incompetence he'd… well, either way, she’s never been the same.

Kayama saw horrible things, but the death of the young boy taken it’s greatest hit on her yet.

She couldn’t bear the guilt alone... she was very bad at handling her feelings on her own. She depended on people to help her to take care of herself when she was at her worst.

Of course, those people weren’t either Present Mic or Eraserhead, they barely held their emotional baggage. It was her wife who helped her through awful episodes each time.

Midnight was ever so slightly jealously looking at a monitor, watching a disgustingly romantic scene playing out between Ms. Joke and Eraserhead - it was the origin of Emi’s “marry me” joke that she repeated endlessly tormenting both Nemuri and Shouta with.

Both of her... friends were very good actors - convincing enough to make Midnight envious, even a little worried about whether they were genuine. She had to pinch herself to calm down and tell herself that Aizawa Shouta was gay. A few times.

Shouta would never answer to the advances of a person he wasn’t attracted to. Shouta would never try to hurt Nemuri either - hell, he asked many times if she was alright with his part in the operation because he knew of her silly crush.

Other than three of them at the scene, there were also two other underground heroes and a nearby police station on alert, waiting tensely for a signal. One of the extra teammates was inside the bar as an immediate back-up, while Midnight was waiting outside with the other guy. Shouta said he's never seen either of them before. It made Midnight wonder about how big the Underground Agency was.

That’s when Nemuri’s mobile meant for hero-related stuff rang. Excusing herself, she stepped out of the van, gladly distracting herself from the monitors.

“Lovely," She murmured to herself, "who’s this?” She answered in her "Midnight" voice, she didn’t recognize the number. Her fans liked to get her phone number from her agency’s site and call her. Some were sweet, while others just plain creepy.

“Mistress Midnight,” The voice on the other end of the line striked her immediately as someone dangerous. She was pretty good at reading people based off of their voice alone. Nobody in her agency had this voice and only those people addressed her as Mistress. “I’d suggest you come to your office quickly and pick it up, you have a very important message there." The person sounded almost giddy, like a little child who got a treat, or rather, in this situation, left someone a treat and wanted to see their reaction to it. With years of hero training and experience, she formed a suspect’s profile. "Time is extendable, but I don’t have forever.” This could be another freaky fan, but her gut was giving her especially bad vibe. “Ah, and don’t worry, we’re going to meet soon.”

Kayama was confused as to what the hell was that supposed to mean, but for now, she returned to the van. She was still on her mission and she had to keep the watch in case of Shouta and Emi requesting a back-up. Stepping back into the van, she bumped into the underground hero guy.

He shouted at her to get out there and "do her thing" because the operation was going to shit.

Alright then.

Nemuri counted herself as a part of the case ever since the villain called her phone which led her... home. The home of a naive pretty little girl who grew too fond of heroes and aspired to become like them.

Which resulted in the pretty little girl getting kicked out.

At 4 AM, about five hours after apprehending the villain gang and sending them into jail, Nemuri was sitting in her office.

Her leg bouncing as she looked at her phone. She had only a few saved numbers - only people she trusted were there, but there was an exception. There were two numbers saved of people she didn't trust one bit, and the missed calls came from them.

Back then, the agency building was her only home - she had a side room off of her big office - where she lived. Her office was modest, the only pieces of furniture were a desk, three leather armchairs, and her chair on wheels. The walls were covered praising articles and her posters, and also a sue for "too revealing outfit". She won that lawsuit by saying that the costume-regulation laws weren't established yet. They served as amusement for her bad mood.

In her desk's drawer, there were letters from her fans, police officers, some secret admirers and not-so-secret ones. She never responded because of her brand, and the other reason was... well, she was irreversibly lesbian. Male advances flattered her, but she wasn't interested.

"Hard to get" was helping her to sell more merchandise.

Below that drawer, she held some private things - like embarrassing photos of her cousins and aunts - and her identification documents. Only a small fraction though, she knew how things could get messy, and the most important stuff were kept in the side room, where she was the sole person who had access. It was relatively small and consisted of a pull-out couch and a wardrobe, and a small kitchen, and it connected to a bathroom with a shower and bathtub.

She used the shower at around 1 AM and ever since has been sitting motionlessly only changing the object that she was blankly staring at. The leather armchair in her office already dried from the water her wet tangled hair left.

Two notifications read:

You have missed 4 call(s) from Father

You have missed 17 call(s) from Mother

...and Midnight was… puzzled.

What was she supposed to do? The Kayamas have disowned her ages ago! What could’ve they wanted from her? They had everything! She was their disappointment! Her parents disowned her when she got into the hero school because she didn't want to play "status", and "power", and "house".

She disobeyed and went against what her parents thought was best for her. What was she even to them after all? A doll? They've married out of love and she was supposed to be sold? What's fair in that?

Pretty face, no brains and talented at dress-up games - that's what she started as. She still had little to no brain, but she wasn't useless anymore.

Surely, there was no emotional attachment to her. After all, they threw her out of her--their home. Well, not officially, and since that wasn't legal and they didn't want to be labeled as child abusers by abandoning her, they got her an apartment, moved her things and paid for it until she was 21.

She got her act together, unlocked the phone to look at dozens of missed texts.

Most of them were demanding to call back as soon as possible. When that list ended, she noticed the gap between this flood of texts and the last ones she sent them on New Year’s Eve back when she was 22 and hoped that she could fix their relationship... somehow.

So, not minding the hour, she called. It took two attempts - each to different parent - before Mother picked up. Her voice sounded… weary.

“Hello?”

“What happened?” Midnight didn’t quite sit well with the fact she was talking to her parents after promising herself to not look back.

“Nemuri?” The surprise in the woman’s voice that answered the phone was no wonder - she didn’t hear Nemuri’s voice for straight-up over ten years.

“Yeah. Why were you calling me?”

“Well… it’s about Sosuke, yo-- my son.” Nemuri flinched at that.

Of course, her parents wouldn’t know about her being aware of who Sosuke Kayama was. Her mother didn’t tell her she was pregnant, she officially hasn’t met him, she never talked with him. Nemuri was disowned sixteen years ago, and Sosuke was fourteen.

When she heard her mother went into labor, she sneaked into the hospital to greet her replacement and wish him good luck, but after that, she didn’t make any effort to contact him.

“What about him?” She kept her voice flat.

“He’s been kidnapped and it’s your fault.” Kayama Saori’s voice was sweet in her perfume commercials, but now it made Nemuri want to throw up. She leaned forward with her ear pressed to the phone. The heroine didn’t know whether she wanted to start apologizing or to throw the phone yelling that it wasn’t her fault.

“It’s not. Did you call to send me hate mail?” For the first few moments, it didn’t reach Nemuri that she was talking about a kidnapping over a phone. She never came to accept that her mother and father rejected her. So now, thoughts processed slower than usual.

“They want you to be the one to find him. You HAVE TO do this.”

“They?” Nemuri frowned, slightly surprised her mother hasn’t broken into wails yet. That was unusual…

“Yes. Whoever did this.”

It’s a game then?

Midnight bit at her thumb frustrated. Her little brother-- Sosuke was in danger because of her hero career? Was that true?

“I’ll call the police to question you, I am not a detective.” She said simply going for the disconnect button.

“No police or else he will be killed. Hurry.” Her mother hissed before she hung up. That left Nemuri frozen in her seat. So it was because of her.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21848440

[pruelockhart]

“the entire history of human desire takes about seventy minutes to tell.              unfortunately, we don’t have that kind of time.”  – richard siken

FULL APPLICATION / PINTEREST

HISTORY –

come, dear reader, won’t you settle in? let me spin you a tale—a tangled web of one, indeed—about a girl who smells sweet as white roses and is as satiny to touch as her gossamer-thin garments. this girl is just a girl; she has never been the girl. even so, this story is her story, and though she is not equipped to be the heroine of a story, or so she believes, she is the heart of this one. like a heart, she is swollen with the fullness of blood: thus, let me etch this tale into parchment with the blood of love, in crimson-ink of metallic-reek. 

it comes in three parts: a beginning, a middle, an ending; it is for you, dear reader, to decide which is which. 

let us anoint this tale the title of METAMORPHOSIS –

✧✧✧

i. THE EGG ;

before there is the girl, there is a man and a woman who live in faerûn by the sahrnian sea, bound together by a contract that is decidedly not the forest-fire love faerie-tales herald. yet that is not to say that love never comes, just because love comes after. when it does, it is a calm love, a steady one; a love that has never cost one to lose one’s mind, and has been grown, meticulously, over the passage of time and the trials and tribulations have littered the path of a match made by those who are older and have witnessed so much more life than them. it is not for years that the woman feels nature stirring within her body’s vessel, and when it does, it is with the undying bestowing upon her a gift that makes up lost time. 

when the girl comes, she comes from a belly more full than most. it makes sense that it is so, for there were meant to be two of them: a boy, and a girl. one might suppose that, in the end, there still were, yet only one in the way it mattered. 

( you decide, dear reader: which is which? ) 

she is born — and it is days, and days, before her time. no matter, a name still awaits her. prudence, they call her. pierce, he would have been.

from the beginning, she emerges from the ruddy cave of her mother’s womb incomplete. a greyish pallor remains where life ought to be warming her skin; it is as if he leeched enough life from her for him to choke on, and she siphoned her brother’s death through the connection only womb-mates share – and this is what she will hear in later years, when she asks about him. 

she will wish she hadn’t.

✧✧✧

ii. THE CATERPILLAR ;

( when you feel unforgiving, dear reader, remember: it is a caterpillar’s job to eat; without an abundance of consumption, it cannot survive. it is this abundance of consumption that allows for the production of silk. it is this same abundance of consumption that is its undoing. )

years do not care if one is ready to bear them; they come, when they must, as they must. and so comes to pass the childhood that tries to swallow prudence lockhart whole, over and over and over –

as an infant, blood is filtered out of her body and fresh blood poured into her veins. it helps, some. it does not help enough, yet there is nothing more to be done; her parents must take her home, and pray to the undying god for the rest. they pray, and pray, and pray, as two people of noble blood and lucrative business-dealings rarely stoop to, for lack of need to need it.

as a child, prue is still a frail slip of a thing, with bones jutting out against taut bronze flesh in protest. fill yourself up, her mother pleads. you must survive, beloved. she offers her savory meals and sweet decadence twice, and anything she takes a suggestion of a liking to just as many times more — and it works; it takes time, but work it does, and prue’s cheeks round some and at times flush rosily, some weakness giving way to the minute miracles that are her tardy signs of life. it is not much, but it is enough, isn’t it? it is to the mother who has warred for her existence. who still combats for prue’s survival. 

when does the girl begin to feel that it might be her that her mother is fighting, when every frustration about her lessness, her inherent lessness, begins to steal the breath from prue’s lungs – for is it not her who is all poetry & rot, wisp-thin & about as flimsy? her heart fills with hot, vital blood then: it beats loud and clear as a belltower’s toll, cutting through all else with the potency of its truth. this is as much as i am, she beseeches in turn, as her mother had once done, except not, for graceless tears roll down her cheeks in impassioned rivulets and the voice that thickens with feeling.

how will you survive the world, beloved? her mother implores.

i might not, prue knows. i might not, she accepts.

it is the caterpillar’s destiny to unbecome –

✧✧✧

iii. THE CHRYSALIS ;

– unbecoming takes time.

it takes long enough that both mother and daughter grow used to it, initially, and then around it, ultimately. 

there is, after-all, the distraction of warfare engrained in the backbone of their precious faerûn. there is the journey to tyrholm, the settling into the dregs of hightown – not quite lowtown-bound, and not-quite-not. it fazes her parents to not be profound upper-echelons of society; her father, a man used to running the business inherited by the men in the lockhart family, and her mother, who had spent all of her time worrying for prudence and never had to about wealth. but prue, for her part, is accustomed to the notion of not-quite-right / not-quite-enough; the feeling might not be home, per se, and yet she recognises the walls of the house all the same – could walk its rooms in the dark, if she had to.

it is circumstance that calls the lockharts to castle tyrholm. 

it tears at her parents: her father believes in not squandering opportunity, and her mother would rather squander anything but prudence. even THE EMPRESS sees it, does she not, when she cants prudence’s head and observes her fragility? the king’s reputation precedes itself; would a heart as true and innocent as hers survive a court like his? within minutes, it is too late to ponder it any longer. within minutes, it is no longer a choice, but a deal already struck. just like a match: it cannot be unstruck. one can endeavour to douse a fire, but it is not the same as un-starting it.

for a time, the castle is one more place prue does not feel she belongs; it is alright, she tells herself. you are alright, she says – because her mother is no longer by her side telling her anymore, is she? silken thread ensnares the girl when THE WORLD knocks on her door one evening; it is lily-white, the radiance of their smile. prue does not understand why, then; she is nothing exceptional, she flounders for the right thing to do, and even then, she gets it wrong so much more often than she ever gets it right. perhaps, she will never understand why – why they are so kind, why they make her feel seen, why… 

and still, this once, there is no question of whether it is enough. they are more than enough.

for the first time in her life, prue discovers what it is to be warm.

✧✧✧

tell me, dear reader – is this a butterfly’s or moth’s metamorphosis?

—

HEADCANONS –

this little miss is twenty-three years old. she’s aurelia valmont’s lady-in-waiting / love-ah.

she came to court at thirteen years old, almost fourteen. she’s been living at the castle since, she grew up there.

y’all know her as prudence, but if you’re friends, she’s told you she doesn’t like being called that and feels more herself being called prue. that said? she looks so uncomfortable if you call her prudence, you can probably glean for yourself how she feels about it.

super soft, super shy, but always super put together and her make-up is forever Poppin’~ think effie trinket meets madame lebedeva; there’s some examples of cool shit she can pull off with makeup. if your kid wants a makeover, hit prue up, she’s got you!

baby girl is 5′3″, super petite & waif-like, but somehow always down at the kitchens eating something sweet

sometimes she takes her dessert to the library?? she reads the fantasy equivalent of children’s lit more than anything, but you can read with her if you want

she’s almost always by aurelia’s side and is never away for long, she basically gets separation anxiety at this point

very clever girl, but you’d never know it because she’s so quiet she melts into the background but if you wanna notice her please do and always feel free to reference the Lurker lockhart in your threads as a human easter egg

if there’s anything else anyone wants to know & play with, hit me up on discord at nayab ✨#4163 i’m so ready to get plotting with y’all and finding prue’s voice and unravelling her story!!!

[noona-clock]

Confusion & Coincidences - Part 6

Genre: Regency!AU

Pairing: Yongguk x You

By Admin B

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

You hadn’t seen the Earl again after your dance, but to be honest, you hadn’t really been looking for him. You’d been doing your best to avoid your mother, aunt, and even Alice. They were far too curious and eager to talk to you about anything having to do with him, and truthfully, you needed some time to process everything.

So, only about an hour after dancing with him, you’d feigned a terrible headache and taken the carriage back home.

Even though you were currently reading The Mysteries of Udolpho, you decided to curl up in bed with Pride & Prejudice instead. You wanted to re-read the part where Lizzy danced with Mr. Darcy to assure yourself that their dance had been nothing like your dance.

Because... you remembered what happened soon after their dance. Okay, well not really soon, but still.

After Lizzy and Mr. Darcy dance together at the Netherfield ball, Lizzy’s best friend, Charlotte, gets married to Lizzy’s cousin who just so happens to be connected to Mr. Darcy’s aunt. Lizzy goes to visit Charlotte, dines with Mr. Darcy’s aunt, and... of course, Mr. Darcy is there. And then he proposes.

Completely out of the blue! Lizzy has no earthly idea why because he has never expressed any sort of romantic feelings for her! And she has done quite the opposite!

Oh, dear, you couldn’t even imagine if the Earl proposed to you like that. Suddenly telling you how ardently he admires and loves you like Mr. Darcy did to Elizabeth.

Of course, your situations were entirely different. You’d known the Earl for less than a month, and you’d only spoken with him three times!

Three!

If the Earl proposed to you anytime soon, you would have to find out who this anonymous female author of Pride & Prejudice was, seek her out, and demand she write a new book where the hero and heroine meet normally, get to know each other, fall in love naturally, and get married like a normal couple would!

You stayed in bed reading for at least two hours, only snapping your book shut and sliding it under your pillow when you heard your mother and aunt arrive home from the ball. You quickly blew out your candle and pulled your bedcover over your head, hoping they wouldn’t disturb you since they believed you to be ill.

You should have known better.

Your mother gently knocked on your door, slipping inside and perching on the edge of your bed.

You expected her to bring up the Earl, of course - because why would you expect anything else?

But she simply asked, “How are you feeling, my dear?” as she rubbed your back soothingly.

“A little better,” you murmured, keeping hidden under the blanket. “I just need to sleep.”

“Yes, that always helps your father when he has one of his headaches,” she murmured.

You almost giggled because your father had let you in on a secret a few years ago: he didn’t really suffer from chronic headaches. He faked them most of the time so he had an excuse to leave a dreadful ball or a painful dinner. So you had used his own tactic tonight, and your mother was none the wiser.

“I guess I get them from him,” you sighed.

Your mother leaned over and placed a kiss on your head, patting your back before you felt her weight lift off the mattress.

“Get lots of rest,” she said before she left your room. “We’re paying a call to the Earl tomorrow, and I won’t have you showing up with purple shadows under your eyes.”

She closed your door before you could cry out in protest, though you probably shouldn’t have, anyway. Someone with a headache wouldn’t be bolting upright and yelling out ‘What?!’

But a visit to see the Earl?! Tomorrow?!

Why?!

Why why why why why did you have such a persistent, social mother who would stop at practically nothing to marry you off?!

You were the first to arise the next morning, which was not a surprise in the least. You very frequently woke before anyone else in your family, sometimes even your father.

You liked to take your time eating breakfast, enjoying the peace and quiet before the hubbub of the day began.

On mornings like today, after a ball, you got to enjoy even more peace and quiet since your mother always slept in later than normal. And today was no exception. You savored your breakfast, stayed in your nightgown a bit longer before dressing for the day, read some of The Mysteries of Udolpho, and by the time your mother appeared, you were in a particularly good mood from all the alone time you’d just had.

“Ah, good,” she murmured as she plopped onto the couch in the drawing room. “You are already ready.”

“Ready for what?” you murmured as you flipped a page.

“Ready to call on the Earl, of course. I just need a strong cup of tea, and then we shall depart.”

You froze, though you did let your book drop slightly. “Mama, you can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I very well am, I can assure you.”

“Why would we call on him?!” you asked with a bit of a whine.

“Because you danced together last night! It is perfectly acceptable to meet with him!”

“But, Mama --”

You were interrupted by your aunt’s butler appearing in the doorway with a very stone-faced expression.

“The Earl of Blackman is here to see you, ma’am,” he drawled.

A very loud gasp came from your mother, and your own jaw dropped - though no sound emitted from your throat.

...The Earl.

Was here?

So, apparently, it was perfectly acceptable to meet with him after dancing together last night.

“Yes, yes, show him in,” your mother replied hastily, practically jumping up from the couch and scurrying over to you. She smoothed down your hair and pinched your cheeks, muttering something about this being your chance.

“Mama, stop!” you muttered, trying to bat her away.

“Do remember your manners,” she whispered before darting out of the room.

--Wait, what?!

She had just left?!

You stood, preparing to run after her and pull her back into the room, but the Earl stepped into the doorway before you could.

“Ah,” you breathed, trying to gather your senses and act like nothing was wrong. Like nothing had happened. Like your mother hadn’t just abandoned you. “Good morning, my Lord. Please do come in.”

He tipped his head in a bow before stepping inside and... closing the door behind him.

“I am sorry to intrude on you,” he murmured. His hands were clasped behind his back now, and he started to pace slowly.

“Oh, no intrusion at all, my Lord. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

You watched as he paced, your brow furrowing with each passing second.

“I --” he began. “I would like to speak with you about something. Something... important.”

“Oh, dear,” you said softly, his words worrying you some. “What is it?”

The Earl took a deep breath, finally coming to a stop and facing you, though he could barely meet your gaze straight on.

“I know we have only just recently become acquainted, and our times actually meeting and conversing are quite few, but it has become extremely apparent to me that you are the type of person I would very much like to spend my life with. I believe - maybe wrongly so, but I still believe all the same - that you might feel the same way, and so I humbly request you please do me the honor of accepting my hand.”

...

...

...

...

Um...

Wha... 

What... 

Just... 

Happened...?

Had he just said... what you thought he said?

“I’m sorry?” you managed to ask, your voice nearly getting caught in your throat.

The Earl gulped, his voice a bit shaky when he responded. “Please... do me the honor of accepting my hand.”

“Your... hand,” you repeated, completely in a daze. “As in... your hand... in marriage?”

Surely... surely not!

“Yes,” he answered.

Oh, well, never mind.

“I --” you began, though you had no idea what you were going to say.

You were not the type to speak willy nilly. Most of the time, you thought out your responses carefully or you simply said nothing. But when you said nothing, it didn’t mean you had nothing to say. You always had something to say. Your brain was always full of thoughts and ideas and witty comebacks that were three hours too late.

But right now you could safely say you were speechless.

“I seem to have taken you quite by surprise,” the Earl mumbled.

“Yes, very much so,” you told him with a tiny nod. “I apologize, I just -- really? You... want to marry me?”

“I do.”

“But --” you took a breath, trying to calm down your racing heart. “But we hardly -- we hardly know each other!”

“You are not incorrect, but I believe we have learned enough about the other’s character to know we would be compatible.”

Okay, he wasn’t exactly wrong. You knew he hated balls and dancing as much as you did. And he liked to read the same kind of books.

But did that really constitute a solid foundation for a marriage?!

“I had no idea you -- I mean, you’ve never expressed any sort of feelings --”

The Earl closed his eyes, letting out a sort of frustrated sigh. But you could tell he wasn’t frustrated with you.

“I am not one to openly show my emotions,” he began. “As you learned from my cousin, I am rather shy. I do not have the open personality most people do nowadays, but I had hoped I was being -- “

He paused and then shook his head as if to say ‘never mind.’

And then he looked at you with hopeful but mournful eyes. “You are rejecting me, then?”

If your mother were in here, you would already be dead. You hadn’t immediately accepted, which was sufficient grounds to kill you.

“I just don’t -- I -- I mean, I would rather marry for love, and we don’t --”

“I understand,” he interrupted. “Please forgive me for taking up your time this morning.”

And before you could say anything else, he had bowed politely, turned on his heel... and left.

You stood in the drawing room, frozen on the spot.

Because what had just happened?!

Somehow, you had managed to persuade your mother the Earl’s visit had been nothing but a social call. He had simply inquired after your health after hearing you’d departed the ball early because of a headache.

This seemed to satiate her curiosity well enough, so you stole away to your bedroom to dissect everything the Earl had said.

But, really, any way you thought about it - he had just proposed to you.

The Earl of Blackman had just proposed. To you.

Had you not just been thinking last night about this very same situation?! You had been very sure that, just because Mr. Darcy had proposed to Lizzy, it did not mean the Earl would propose to you!

But he had.

So... things really were starting to play out like the plot of Pride & Prejudice.

What would happen next, then?! Would your sister create a scandal by running off with a soldier and forcing your father to pay him off to marry her?!

...Oh, wait. You didn’t have a sister.

But you did have a best friend. And Lizzy’s best friend ended up marrying someone far, far less than she deserved.

It might sound ridiculous, but you had to stop that from happening.

Just in case.

You grabbed your shawl and called out to your mother and aunt that you would be going out to visit Alice, not to worry, you’ll be back soon!

If your mother only knew the truth, she surely would be worried. Worried about your sanity, that is.

When you arrived at Alice’s grandfather’s house, you were escorted into his rather grand drawing room where your best friend was already taking tea and working on her embroidery.

“I daresay your headache is gone,” she smirked without even looking up from her needle.

“The Earl just asked me to marry him.”

“Ouch!”

Your sudden declaration had caused Alice to poke herself, and she quickly set down her embroidery hoop.

“What did you say?!” she cried, standing and rushing over to you.

“The Earl. Of Blackman. Asked me. To marry him,” you repeated with a deeply furrowed brow.

Alice’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “What?!” she laughed. “Oh, darling, this is wonderful --”

“You’re not getting married to my repulsive cousin, are you?!” you asked, clearly distressed.

Alice paused, her expression of delight turning to one of confusion. “I’m not... what?”

“In Pride & Prejudice, Mr. Darcy proposes to Lizzy out of the blue, exactly like how the Earl did to me just this morning. There was a ball and he was acting like a snob and then he went to London and Jane went after him - Mr. Bingley, not Mr. Darcy - and then I went after the Earl and there was another ball and the dance -- I have to make sure you don’t marry someone like Mr. Collins!”

Alice took your hands, leading you over to sit down on a very pleasant window seat.

“My dear, I believe your headache has turned into a delirious fever.”

“I know I sound ridiculous, but just assure me you are not getting married to someone who doesn’t deserve you, the angel that you are.”

Alice let out a soft chuckle, clasping your hands and gazing into your eyes. “I will not be marrying your repulsive cousin or someone named Mr. Collins or anyone less worthy. I promise.”

You let out a very heavy sigh of relief, letting your shoulders droop now that this weight had been lifted.

“But...” Alice continued. “I do believe your brother will be proposing any day now.”

For the second time this morning, you were taken by complete surprise. You were utterly shocked. You were speechless.

“M--my brother?” you stammered.

Alice pressed her lips together to keep from smiling and nodded.

“You -- you and... my brother? How -- when -- why --”

“I am so sorry I did not tell you sooner, but it has all happened somewhat quickly, and -- wait! What did you say to the Earl?!”

Oh, that’s right. You’d never actually told her you’d rejected him.

“I said ‘no,’ of course!”

“Why ‘of course’?!”

“Because we barely know each other!”

“That has no consequence! You have plenty of time to get to know each other after you’re married! Or while you’re engaged, even! Y/N, you must go to him and take it back!”

You mustn’t do any such thing! You’d just been dealt quite a serious blow upon hearing that your best friend... and your brother...

You had to get out of here. You loved Alice dearly, of course, but you couldn’t be near her at the moment. 

So you simply nodded. “Yes,” you mumbled to appease her. And then you forced a smile onto your lips. “I am happy for you.”

“And I, you,” she replied, her eyes filling with tears of joy (you presumed). “Come and visit me later?”

You hummed positively before standing up and making your way to the door.

If you had known the events of today would turn your world practically upside-down... you probably would’ve stayed in bed.

Part 7

[7r0773r]

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

In the bathroom with the pea-soup walls, the grandma rolls a freshly boiled egg over the boy’s face where, a few minutes ago, his mother had flung an empty ceramic teapot that exploded on the boy’s cheek.

The egg is warm as my insides, he thinks. It’s an old remedy. “The egg, it heals even the worst bruises,” says his grandma. She works on the violet lump shining, like a plum, on the boy’s face. As the egg circled, its smooth pressure on the bruise, the boy watched, under a puffed lid, his grandma’s lips crease with focus as she worked. Years later, as a young man, when all that remains of the grandma is a face etched in his mind, the boy will remember that crease between her lips while breaking open a hard-boiled egg on his desk on a winter night in New York. Short on rent, it would be eggs for dinner for the rest of the week. They would not be warm, but cold in his palm, having been boiled by the dozen earlier that morning. 

At his desk, drifting, he’ll roll the moist egg across his cheek. Without speaking, he will say Thank you. He’ll keep saying it until the egg grows warm with himself.

“Thank you, Grandma,” says the boy, squinting.

“You fine now, Little Dog.” She lifts the pearly orb, and places it gently to his lips. “Eat,” she says. “Swallow. Your bruises are inside it now. Swallow and it won’t hurt anymore.” And so he eats. He is eating still. 

***

In college a professor once insisted, during a digression from a lecture on Othello, that, to him, gay men are inherently narcissistic, and that overt narcissism might even be a sign of homosexuality in men who have not yet accepted their “tendencies.” Even as I fumed in my seat, the thought wouldn’t stop burrowing into me. Could it be that, all those years ago. I had followed Gramoz in the schoolyard simply because he was a boy, and therefore a mirror of myself?

But if so—why not? Maybe we look into mirrors not merely to seek beauty, regardless how illusive, but to make sure, despite the facts, that we are still here. That the hunted body we move in has not yet been annihilated, scraped out. To see  yourself still yourself is a refuge men who have not been denied cannot know. 

I read that beauty has historically demanded replication. We make more of anything we find aesthetically pleasing, whether it’s a vase, a painting, a chalice, a poem. We reproduce it in order to keep it, extend it through space and time. To gaze at what pleases—a fresco, a peach-red mountain range, a boy, the mole on his jaw—is, in itself, replication—the image prolonged in the eye, making more of it, making it last. Staring into the mirror, I replicate myself into a future where I might not exist. And yes, it was not pizza bagels, all those years ago, that I wanted from Gramoz, but replication. Because his offering extended me into something worthy of generosity, and therefore seen. It was that very moreness that I wanted to prolong, to return to.

***

There’s a word Trevor once told me about, one he learned from Buford, who served in the navy in Hawaii during the Korean War: kipuka. The piece of land that’s spared after a lava flow runs down the slope of a hill—an island formed from what survives the smallest apocalypse. Before the lava descended, scorching the moss along the hill, that piece of land was insignificant, just another scrap in an endless mass of green. Only by enduring does it earn its name. Lying on the mat with you, I cannot help but want us to be our own kipuka, our own aftermath, visible. But I know better.

***

You once asked me what it means to be a writer. So here goes.

Seven of my friends are dead. Four from overdoses. Five, if you count Xavier who flipped is Nissan doing ninety on a bad batch of fentanyl.

I don’t celebrate my birthday anymore.

Take the long way home with me. Take the left on Walnut, where you’ll see the Boston Market where I worked for a year when I was seventeen (after the tobadcco farm). Where the Evangelical boss—the one with nose pores so large, bisuit crumbs from his lunch would get lodged in them—never gave us any breaks. Hungry on a seven-hour shift, I’d lock myself in the broom closet and stuff my mouth with cornbread I snuck in my black, standard-issue apron.

Trevor was put on OxyContin after breaking his ankle doing dirt bike humps in the woods a year before I met him. He was fifteen.

OxyContin, first mass-produced by Purdue Pharma in 1996, is an opioid, essentially making it heroin in pill form.

I never wanted to build a “body of work,” but to preserve these, our bodies, breathing and unaccounted for, inside the work.

Take it or leave it. The body, I mean.

Takke a left on Harris Stl, whee all that’s left of the house that burned down that summer during a thunderstorm is a chain-linked dirt lot.

The truest ruins are not written down. The girl Grandma knew back in Go Cong, the one whose sandals were cut from the tires of a burned-out army jeep, who was erased by an air strike three weeks before the war ended—she’s a ruin no one can point to. A ruin without location, like a language.

AFter a month on the Oxy, Trevor’s ankle healed, but he was a full-blown addict.

In a world myriad as ours, the gaze is a singular act; to look at something is to fill your whole life with it, if only briefly. Once, after my fourteenth birthday, crouched between the seats of an abandoned school bus in the woods, I filled my life with a l ine of cocaine. A white letter “I” glowed on the seat’s peeling leather. Inside me the “I” became a switchblade—and something tore. My stomach forced up but it was too late. I n minutes, I cbecame more of myself. Which is to say the monstrous part of me got so large, so familiar, I could want it. I could kiss it.

The truth is none of us are enough enough. But you know this already.

The truthy is I came here hoping for a reason to stay.

Sometimes those reasons are small: the way you pronounce spaghetti as “bahgeddy.”

It’s late in the season—which means the winter roses, in full bloom along the national bank, are suicide notes.

Write that down.

They say nothing lasts forever but they’re just scared it will last longer than they can love it.

Are you there? Are you still walking?

They say nothing lasts forever and I’m writing you in the voice of an endangered species.

The truth is I’m worried they will get us before they get us.

Tell me where it hurts. You have my word.

***

They say addiction might be linked to bipolar disorder. It’s the chemicals in our brains, they say. I got the wrong chemicals, Ma. Or rather, I don’t get enough of one or the other. They have a pill for it. They have an industry. They make millions. Did you know people get rich off of sadness? I want to meet the millionaire of American sadness. I want to look him in the eye, shake his hand, and say, “It’s been an honor to serve my country.”

***

In Vietnamese, the word for missing someone and remembering them is the same: nhó. Sometimes, when you ask me over the phone, Con nhó mę không? I flinch, thinking you meant, Do you remember me?

***

I am thinking of beauty again, how some things are hunted because we have deemed them beautiful. If, relative to the history of our planet, an individual life is so short, a blink of an eye, as they say, then to be gorgeous, even from the day you’re born to the day you die, is to be gorgeous only briefly. Like right now, how the sun is coming on, low behind the elms, and I can’t tell the difference between a sunset and a sunrise. The world, reddening, appears the same to me—and I lose track of east and west. The colors this morning have the frayed tint of something already leaving. I think of the time Trev and I sat on the toolshed roof, watching the sun sink. I wasn’t so much surprised by its effect—how, in a few crushed minutes, it changes the way things are seen, including ourselves—but that it was ever mine to see. Because the sunset, like survival, exists only on the verge of its own disappearing. To be gorgeous, you must first be seen, but to be seen allows you to be hunted.

[comicreliefmorlock]

So here's a fun game. What are, let's say...10-15 pieces of media (books, tv, movies, whatever) that seem to have been made JUST for you? why?

*cracks knuckles*

Surprisingly, not all of these will be Tanith Lee.

…however…

{And this goes under a cut because this is going to be a very long, verbose post. A really long, verbose post.}

1. “Tales from the Flat Earth” by Tanith Lee

These books are essentially like sitting by a crackling fire on a cool summer night beneath the glimmering night sky while a smiling crone cards wool and tells you the stories that come from a time aeons before your birth. I have never in my life found a quartet of books–let alone one book–that have so completely and absolutely captivated me. From the first page of “Night’s Master,” I was gone.

Not only the language–breaking the fourth wall and referring to “words lost when the world reformed itself in the chaos”–but the characters… Azhrarn, the personification of Wickedness who saves humanity with love. Uhlume, the personification of Death who faces a form of mortality and is forever changed by it. Chuz, the walking embodiment of Madness, who is gentle to those under his domain and understands that he cannot understand why he does what he does.

Ferazhin and Narasen and Sivesh and Simmu and Jornadesh and Kassafeh and Zhirem and Azhriaz and Dunziel… Names I have never forgotten because they all but sang to me. A flat earth that holds the best and worst of humanity, often balled into a single person, with Underearth and Innerearth and Upperearth holding gods that have grown so distant they no longer recall humans were their creation at all. 

I have always loved mythology and these books? These are myth.

2. Pan’s Labyrinth -dir. by Guillermo del Toro

I’m not from Spain or know Spanish. I knew nothing about the Spanish Civil War when I first saw this movie. And this was the first film I saw that cemented del Toro for me as the only man I would ever trust to turn Tanith Lee’s books into cinema. 

I love fairy tales, mythology and folklore. And when you read enough of it, you see how bloody it actually is. How terrifying it is to realize that you’re not the only one in the world, humans aren’t the only ones, there are creatures on the midnight side of reality that share space with you. 

And I never really liked the Disney version of fairy tales with “happily ever after” and weddings. 

This movie was literally like watching something I’d imagined for myself. The acting was fucking phenomenal, the sets and costumes were off the hook and the comparison of “fairy tale horror” and “real horror” that overlapped just blew me the hell away.

And Doug Jones… Doug Fucking Jones. I never respected mimes until him and now I give all the respect. Being able to act, to breathe real life into a concept and a costume until it becomes a character you could picture walking through a forest or peering around a corner while not being able to use your own voice OR your own facial expressions is a kind of magic I think does not get enough appreciation.

DOUG FUCKING JONES, LADIES, GENTS AND GENDER REBELS.

3. Fatal Frame - Tecmo

I’m a writer/reader, not a gamer. When I have downtime or I want to relax, I almost always gravitate towards a book instead of a video game. The few games I’ve played purely for my own enjoyment have usually been MMOs and involve roleplaying.

Except for the Fatal Frame series.

Survival horror is my favorite game genre and I lamented when Resident Evil became more “survival action” than survival horror. (Fuckin’ lickers in the original Resident Evil game oh my god.) I wanted a survival horror game that had some meat to it, had something really compelling about it.

And I found Fatal Frame.

I love Japanese mythology. I especially love Japanese ghosts. For some reason–maybe out of sheer novelty because I, being an ignorant American raised near the US-Mexico border, have had little exposure to it–Japanese ghosts are my absolute favorites. Yurei (and the other subclassifications) just have something to them that I haven’t found in other mythologies. I’ve read and reread Oiwa and Okiku’s stories, been fascinated by the concept of the Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai and wanted more of what I found.

Which Fatal Frame provided.

Not only do the game mechanics work beautifully for someone as easily startled as I am, but the story behind each individual game is achingly intense. The intricacy of the interwoven histories, the rituals, the underlying question of “was all this really necessary or was this a priesthood trying to stay in power”… I love absolutely everything about these games. 

4. “The Blue Sword” by Robin McKinley

I’m not going to lie–this book took me forever to actually read. The first two pages were so achingly boring that I had no fucking clue why my mother had recommended it to me.

And then one day, bereft of anything else to read, I flipped through it. I still distinctly remember the line that made me stop and go “wait, what?” – “…your horse tells me where you’ve been…”

me: wait what horses can talk in this? wtf? *flips to the beginning and sits down to fuckin’ read it*

Slogging through those first few pages? Worth it. Because Harry/Hari/Harimad was the first heroine I’d ever encountered that I could imagine myself being. She was too gangly and not particularly pretty and kind of clumsy. She didn’t draw admiring eyes everywhere she went, spent a lot of time going ‘I can’t do this wtf’ and had aches and saddlesores.

Meeting Harry felt like seeing myself on a page for the first time in my life. And seeing someone with flaws like me going through adventure and fighting and succeeding and failing and getting a happily ever after felt like a warm blanket. Like someone had written a book just to tell me: “It’s okay that you’re not beautiful or graceful or soft-spoken and elegant. It’s okay that you’re clumsy and a goof and your hair is fuzzy as fuck because you can be a heroine, too.”

5. “Whoever Fights Monsters” by Robert K. Ressler

No, I’m not a serial killer. :D Nor am I an FBI profiler.

However, after reading “The Silence of the Lambs” by Thomas Harris for the first time in ninth grade, I was fascinated by serial killers. Like… how did they do it? How did they get away with it? WHY did they do it? What kind of person did things like this? I wanted to know so much more and I started grabbing every book on serial killers that I possibly could find.

And the reaction of classmates and teachers who saw my reading material was… less than stellar. Even my mother was vaguely worried about what I was getting out of reading all…that.

It felt like my fascination with serial killer psychology was a flaw in my character that no one else seemed to share. Until I read “Whoever Fights Monsters” and saw Robert K. Ressler talking about the exact same thing. He wasn’t a “sicko” or a “freak” or a “lunatic” or a “killer-in-training” for being fascinated by the psychology of humans who could treat other humans like a moment’s disposable entertainment. 

And suddenly, neither was I. 

6. American Horror Story: Hotel - FX

‘American Horror Story’ is entirely my thing. Interwoven narratives of fascinating (and often awful) people combining “American horror history” with interpersonal storylines? Yes, thank you, I’ll take a dozen.

This season in particular, however, is just more for me than any other. 

Maybe it’s the vampires that are self-obsessed and not particularly powerful but end up with petty grudges and complaints. Or the ghosts that bitch and whine at each other, find consolation together, use Twitter and spend their long, long days doing little more than drinking, smoking and obsessing over their lives and deaths. Maybe it’s the single location with so many years of history weaving together like a book of short stories. 

I love ‘Hotel’ because it feels like Brandenburg to me. I could so easily see the entire season taking place in my fictional city and mentally insert my own characters into the show without losing a single step.

Also Kathy Bates is absolutely glorious and I desperately wish to be a tenth as glamorous as Liz Taylor. 

7. “The Butterfly Garden” by Dot Hutchinson

Books about serial killers? Yes, please.

Books about serial killers told by a victim who barely survived and understands what trauma really means? Yes, please.

What especially got me about this book is my thing for dioramas. The first one I ever remember seeing was in the El Paso Museum of Archaeology (yes, I’m from El Paso, Texas) and it always both frightened and fascinated me. 

^ This one in particular would keep me motionless for ten or twenty minutes at a time, kind of terrified at a house within a building and then absolutely enthralled at a house inside a building.

And the dioramas mentioned in “The Butterfly Garden” were akin to those in “The Cell” –some terrible, awful glimpse into someone’s mind that was visualized and externalized in a permanent way. 

8. “War for the Oaks” by Emma Bull

I love the fae. 

And I also have read enough to know that those sprightly little fucks are terrifying and humans are rarely left unscathed by them.

This book was my introduction to “urban fantasy,” much as Charles de Lint was my introduction to what I consider “mythic fantasy” and a city that felt so much like my own. 

And what was so quintessentially, absolutely me about this book–other than the main love interest being the Phouka :D :D :D–was the underlying theme about creativity.

It’s a driving force, a magic that humans have. It’s uniquely human (as far as we know) and often the only talisman against the dark that we’ve got. With creativity, there’s magic. There’s a spark of something beyond the mundane realities of survival. Creativity is a sword and shield all in one, complete with a lure to bring others along with you.

Whether it’s through music, art, poetry or graphic design, creativity is the actual drive for immortality that pushes us to reach beyond ourselves and touch those we have no possibility of seeing or speaking to in our own short, real lives.

9. Good Omens - Neil Gaiman/BBC

I loved the book when it came out. I didn’t expect to love the mini-series. I especially didn’t expect to love the mini-series for the #IneffableHusbands.

I won’t belabor the point about why this is on my list. The #IneffableHusbands tag on my OOC blog is enough. :D

10. What We Do in the Shadows - Jemaine Clement, Taika Waititi

Vampires who are as absurd, incapable and oblivious as me? Yes. All of my yes. 

Having played the old World of Darkness tabletop games for years--and absolutely fallen in love with them--I found this movie and was in absolute heaven. These are vampires I can actually imagine hanging out with. These are vampires (and werewolves) I can envision walking around a city.

Noble creatures of the night don’t seem real to me (aside from the obvious reasons.) The supernaturals in this movie? They felt like people I knew. Like people I could meet or characters I’d written myself. 

I like the fantastical being put into the mundane--which is why my genre is ‘urban fantasy’ although I have such an eye-twitch about it being all supernatural detectives chasing various pieces of ass now--and I especially love it when the fantastical doesn’t outweigh the mundane.

Imagining vampires vacuuming and riding the bus fits in nicely with my desperate belief (and hope) that the fantastical isn’t JUST imaginary but actually exists. 

{And there, I’m restricting this to 10 or we’ll be here all NIGHT.}