#me when my dead wife writes me a letter to meet her at our special place

[soulmate-game]

Finally another oneshot, after forever and a day. I’m weak for soulmate AUs. I think most of you know that already.

SO WHY NOT ANOTHER?! WOO!

This one is based on a prompt given to me a hella long time ago, idk who sent it to me. Tell me who you are so I can credit you! I wrote down the prompt for me to remember, it’s something like; “You can write letters to your soulmate, and they travel through time either to a moment your soulmate needs the letter most or to a random point in time to them.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Dear Myself.

I’m doing this for school. We have to write letters to our future self. I am nine years old right now, the year is 2009. I hope you found a cool job! I don’t know what to do yet. I like drawing though! Science is icky, so I hope you’re not a scientist. But if you are, and if it makes us happy, then I guess it’s okay. Be the best scientist you can! If you are all moved out, did you ever get a pet hamster? Hamsters are so cute!

Oh, but most important. Yesterday, I was bullied by my Arch Enemy. You know who. Yeah. Anyway, she said some mean things and it just reminded me that sometimes life hurts, and people can hurt you real bad. But life is still pretty. A family of robins made a nest on my terrace outside my room, and I saw them after I was done crying. They are so cute, and made me happy again. So, always look for your family of robins to keep you happy, I guess. Life isn’t bad, even if some things and people are. I hope you remember that. Keep believing in yourself, and in others!

Marinette Dupain-Cheng (from the past).

Do not open this letter before 2020! Pretty please!

Shaking hands held the letter. It was written two years ago, but he only could have gotten it now. It just appeared on his desk out of nowhere. At first, he thought it was some sick joke. He had just moved to Gotham again, and none of his—

None of them knew he was back. But he recognized this handwriting. He had gotten exactly one letter from them before, written by an older version of this woman and received by him when he was ten. Not long after being taken in by Bruce Wayne. The letter back then had been short, precise. Comforting.

Hello there.

I am writing this in the year 2018. You see, I found out quite a while ago that my soulmate bond is unique. It sends letters to you that I write, from all across time. I can get your letters, too, so don’t hesitate to write to me if you need to vent. My letters might not always reach you in time to feel like a normal response, but I’ll keep writing if you do. I know your life isn’t easy, if the letters I’ve already gotten mean anything. But keep fighting. I know what it’s like to be the underdog. But I’m rooting for you.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, New Adult.

Jason’s hands crumpled the two pieces of paper in them, the older of the two already close to crumbling away. They had buried him with it, resurrected him with it. It had seen hell and back just like him, but he still kept it. Even with blurring ink and ripped edges and blood stains. The writing and names matched, even if his newer letter was written in the clumsy scrawl of a child. The nuances in the handwriting were still the same.

She would still be writing to him. This new letter he got was clearly the first, before she knew about her soulmate or how her letters would disappear after she wrote them just like his did. But 2009? It just sank into him, that she was younger than he was. By seven years.

But her words still kept him afloat better than any lecture from that asshole Bruce.

He couldn’t see her yet. Not any time soon, really. He was already eighteen, dead and resurrected, and she was barely eleven. He could wait.

She didn’t need somebody as screwed and dark as him right now, anyway. A murderer, a budding crime boss. If she needed someone killed for her, or someone to save her, he’d be there. Otherwise?

Jason took out the receipt from his last visit to a gas station for cigarettes, grabbed a sharpie from his desk, and began to write.

Yo, Mari.

I’m writing this in 2011. I got your first letter. Thanks. It reminded me of some good times. I’m sorry I didn’t write anything for five years. Stuff happened. I won’t write often. Not until I’m in a better place. But if you need it, you can vent to me too. Also, don’t look at the back of this receipt. This was the only paper I could find.

Jason T., Your Soulmate.

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette, nine years old, stared down at the receipt that had taken the place of her letter to herself. She recognized that it was written in English, but she couldn’t read it yet. But that was okay, her Papan and Maman could read English!

She ran down, holding it in her hands tightly. She didn’t want the mystery letter to disappear! She handed it to her parents, who were in the middle of making croissants and stared at her for a moment. And then they broke into a flurry of movement.

“Why do you have a receipt for cigarettes, Marinette?!” Sabine yelled, confused more than angry. How would her daughter get a receipt written in English? And after giving her parents a confused head tilt, Marinette explained.

“It just appeared, like, poof!” She moved her hands to illustrate her point. “I was writing my letter to my future self for school, which is gone now oh no! Mlle. is going to be so mad!”

“Mari, focus,” Tom prodded gently, laying a hand on her shoulder. “You were writing your letter, and then what?”

Marinette took a deep breath. “Well, I finished it and put it in a little envelope. But as soon as I put it down and was all done, it shimmered red and faded away! This showed up in the same place my letter had been, like they were traded!”

Tom and Sabine shared a glance, and her mom held out her hand. “Can I read it, Marinette? I promise I won’t take it away. Your father and I just want to see what it says. We’ll read it to you.”

Marinette nodded eagerly, and after making sure their dough was put away the family of bakers moved to their living room and the little girl sat on her father’s lap as her mother held the note for them to see and read it aloud.

The parents shared another glance.

“Wow!” Marinette exclaimed happily, bouncing in place. “He sounds so cool! He is my soulmate? Really? I wonder what he looks like!” Her eyes took on a dreamy quality as she began to daydream. “I bet he’s super handsome! And nice and strong and—“

“Mari,” Tom said gently, tugging one pigtail playfully to get his daughter’s attention. She turned her large blue eyes to him, rapt with attentiveness. “I know this is exciting, but you know that not all soulmates are romantic, right?”

Marinette instantly calmed down, eyebrows pinching together. “But— but Nino said that soulmates are people you will marry in the future. Your perfect person. Like you and Maman,” she argued, incredibly confused. Her Maman chuckled, handing Marinette her receipt-letter back.

“Yes, but sometimes a person doesn’t need romance the most. Sometimes, what a person needs most is a friend or another family member. So sometimes, a soulmate is a big sister or brother instead, or another Maman or Papan. And we think that your soulmate might be the big brother kind,” she explained patiently. Marinette’s confusion instantly changed to excitement again, eyes sparkling with starry amazement.

“Really? How can you tell?”

“Well,” Tom took over, tapping the receipt with one finger. This receipt is from America. Over there, you have to be eighteen to buy cigarettes. Which means that, two years from now, your soulmate is already eighteen.”

“Or he better be, anyway,” Sabine growled, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“But even if he isn’t,” Tom nervously glanced over at his wife and back to his daughter. “The way he writes is too grown up for someone close to your age. He is probably several years older than you—“

“At least seven, if he knows what’s good for him,” Sabine interrupted again. Tom just chuckled and shook his head.

“But still. Are you okay with him not being a romantic soulmate, Nettie?”

Marinette jumped off of her dad’s lap, hugging her note to her chest with one of the biggest smiles either of her parents had ever seen on her face.

“Are you kidding? I’ve always wanted a big brother! I bet he’s so cool, and rides a motorcycle and beats up bad guys! And when we meet, we’ll go out for ice cream and he’ll ruffle my hair, and let me ride on his shoulders, and it’ll be so awesome!”

Sabine finally lost her threatening aura, laughing along with her daughter. “Well, I don’t know about the whole beating up bad guys thing. But it sounds like he might need some cheering up, so you should write him letters pretty often. You never know when he might need one the most.”

Marinette nodded seriously, eyes shining with determination now. “That’s right! I have to be the best soulmate-sister ever! I’ll start writing him another letter right now!” She instantly turned to run back up to her room, but her dad’s voice followed her:

“Marinette! You haven’t eaten dinner yet!”

—*—*—*—*—*

The next day, Jason came back to his base to see another letter. It was on special scrapbook paper, a pretty white with a heart-and-stars border. He found himself snorting despite himself, shaking his head and picking up the girly letter.

Hello, Jason!

I just got your letter! It’s still 2009, and my parents were worried about the cigarats. I wanted to learn English first, but Maman and Papan reminded me that you have to be able to read French if you were able to read my past letters (I wonder what I wrote you! My future self must be real smart). Maman says you better be 18, or else she’ll kick your butt. She didn’t say that exactly, but I could tell.

Jason snickered at that. She must have a pretty fun family.

Maman and Papan also said that you’re probably a Big Brother soulmate. That’s super cool! I’ve always wanted an older brother, but it’s just me. I get lonely sometimes. And Maman thinks I have a big imagination, so help me prove her wrong! I bet her that you’re suuuuuuper cool, and have a motorcycle and beat up criminals! She doesn’t think my soulmate would be a hero, but I think you are. I don’t even know you yet, but I just feel it. And even if you don’t beat up bad guys, that’s fine. You’ll still protect me like a big brother should, right? And we’ll go and eat ice cream and talk about the stuff we like when we finally meet. And I’ll protect you too. I know little sisters aren’t supposed to, but I will totally protect you anyway. If you’re sad, I’ll make you macaroons and read you a bedtime story. That always makes me happy.

Please write back soon!

Marinette Dupain-Cheng (from the past still!)

Jason couldn’t help it, and maybe the Lazarus magic had a bit of sway on him still, but he laughed raucously. A deep, belly-shaking bellow. His soulmate sure was a character! And scarily intuitive. How did she guess such accurate things about him? It was hilarious.

But he wouldn’t write back today. Not yet. He held no illusions; he wasn’t brother material. Not now, and probably not for a while if ever. Which reminded him, he had a replacement to kill.

—*—*—*—*—*

The Replacement lived, but at least Batman had gotten the message. Meanwhile, letters from Little Mari, as he had started calling her in his head, had started piling up. He read every single one, but didn’t respond to any. It was all the usual stuff. Talking about her day, asking stuff about him, spouting advice that seemed way too insightful for a nine-year-old.

He kept every single one. Soon, 2009 letters turned into 2010 letters. She switched from writing almost every day to once a week.

By then, Jason had reconciled with Bruce for the most part. After a few attempts on his life, but that wasn’t important. It was then, as he sat down in the living room watching Tim, Dick, Bruce, and the newest hellion Damian, all talking with and teasing one another that he finally got the urge to write again. So he asked for paper, and Alfred brought him a notepad and a plain ballpoint pen. And, for the first time in over a year, he started writing.

Dick and Bruce noticed first, stopping their banter to stare. Dick smiled softly, his shoulders relaxing as he let himself slump over the sofa’s arm a bit. Tim furrowed his eyebrows, and Damian frowned.

“What are you doing, Todd?” The young hellion asked, but Jason barely heard him.

“Nonya business, squirt,” he replied absently. Bruce chuckled fondly, beckoning to his two youngest sons. They both came a bit closer, and Bruce smiled at them conspiratorially. He leaned forward and whispered:

“Jason’s soulbond allows any letters that he writes to travel through time to his Bonded, and vice versa. Back before… everything, he used to write a letter to her almost every day.”

“It’s really sweet. We lined up the dates, and we think that she’s around your age Damian,” Dick added in equally softly. “Probably a familial bond. It’s good that he’s writing to her again.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette was twelve the next time she got a letter from Jason. But, unlike the last one, this one came from the past. And it was written in French.

Hi, Marinette!

I guess I’m your soulmate. I got your letter from 2018. It’s 2005 when I’m writing this. I’m twelve years old right now, but that shouldn’t matter. It was a little surprising when I got a letter written in French out of nowhere! Luckily, I speak a lot of languages. I love learning languages, and reading is probably my favorite thing to do. Don’t tell anyone though! I have my bad-boy image to keep up. I think our soulbond is really cool actually, and maybe we can teach each other stuff if we do this right. I know the whole time-traveling-letters thing makes it hard to reply to each other like normal. From now on, I’ll write you these letters in English and translate them in French on the back. That way, you can read it whenever you want and also learn English if you don’t already know it when you get this letter.

Oh, and I think I’m older than you? In real time, I mean. If you’re a “new adult” in 2018, then you’re probably a few years younger than me. I was born in 1993. You can do the math, since I don’t know when you were born. Anyway! I’ll keep writing you as often as I can and hope that you get these letters when you need them most.

Jason T., Excited Tween.

Marinette laughed, running down to show her mom. She was only writing Jason once a month now, but in the midst of this first letter she had received in three years, her determination was relit. It was just the letters being dumb when they flew through time! No way he was done writing to her. Right?

“Maman! Maman, he really was eighteen when he wrote that first letter! You don’t have to kill him!”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette stared at the pile of letters on her desk, sighing. She ran a hand through her hair. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to read them yet, but she knew they were each dated from 2005. Apparently they had both decided to write daily when they had first discovered their Bond.

“Marinette,” the familiar voice of Tikki spoke you, the little Kwami floating over to land on her holder’s shoulder. “You should read them. Your bond wouldn’t give you letters you don’t need.”

Marinette took a deep breath, rubbing her already sore and red eyes. “I know. But what if—“

Tikki grabbed the letter at the bottom of the pile, flying over and handing it to the pigtailed girl. She smiled gently. “Read it. No what-ifs. Just read for now, Marinette.”

The newest Ladybug sighed, but acquiesced. She sat down at her desk, and began to read. Only two months as Ladybug, and already the pressure was becoming too much.

Two hours later, she had caught up and her mood was considerably better. Jason’s life was definitely no cake walk, but his humor bled through the more concerning details and helped bring light to Marinette’s day. Slowly, one by one, she folded the letters and put them in her special locked box inside her “diary”. She tried to keep a real diary once, but quickly stopped when she realized that even “dear diary” counted as a letter and sent itself to Jason.

She pulled out one of her special pieces of stationary paper and her favorite pink gel pen. For a while she stared at the paper, out of practice after a few months of not writing to him, but eventually she was able to begin again.

Hey Jason.

It’s 2013. I’m 13. I’m pretty sure you got the point by now, it’s not hard to figure out what year I was born. I haven’t responded to any of your letters in a while, but I guess that doesn’t matter. It’s not like I know if you’re gonna get this right away anyway.

So. Uh. Things have changed. I’m only thirteen, but I feel so old you know? On the bright side, your letters really did help me learn English. I mean, you probably guessed that since I’m writing this whole thing in English.

I guess I should explain. A little. A lot has happened. I suddenly have so many responsibilities, and it’s really hard to keep up with it all. So much has changed in just a few months, I feel like I’m going crazy. I’m keeping secrets from Maman and Papan now, which hurts the most. I can’t tell them, I can’t even tell you, but I’m not used to this. I don’t like lying. I don’t even know why any of this happened in the first place, I want answers and I’m getting radio silence. It sucks. But your letters from 2005 really helped, so thanks. I just got them this past year, which is really weird because I remember that our letters time travel and I feel crazy again. But this is real. Our Bond is real, and maybe writing you will help me remember that. Help me focus a bit.

Anyway, that’s all I can think of right now. I’ll try to write you again sometime this week if I have time. We’ll see.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Unsure Teenager.

—*—*—*—*—*

As soon as Jason finished his letter, pretending he couldn’t feel Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Damian all spying on him from their own spots around the living room, the papers he wrote on shimmered red and vanished. In their place, a piece of tea-colored scrapbook paper with a decorative robin-and-egg border (he would never know how she could be so obliviously on point with the designs she chose), popped into existence. He blinked, snatching it up and looking it over. His eyes widened.

“It’s only from next year,” he said aloud, for the benefit of the nosy assholes sharing the room with him. “That’s the closest any of our letters have been to one another,” and then Jason’s eyes promptly went serious as she actually read what the paper said.

“Jay?” Dick asked after the man had been silent too long. Jason grunted, his eyes briefly shimmering green before he shook it away. He took a few deep breaths, and finally responded by standing up and handing the paper over to them.

“Something happens next year that fucks with her. All of the letters I’ve gotten from her, besides that first one back when I was still Robin, were from before this. 2009 to 2010. I even got a few from last year, not that long ago. She’s always upbeat and happy and never said anything about any concerning things besides some schoolyard bullying. This isn’t at all like her. The tone is off.”

“Well, it’s not like you’ve actually met her yet Jason,” Tim tried to console him, rereading the paper to make sure he didn’t miss anything. “This could be something mundane. A new school, or an issue with friends or something.”

Jason grit his teeth. “It isn’t. I don’t know how I know, but my gut is telling me it’s more than that. B, I want us to keep an eye on Paris. Something big happens next year, I know it.”

Bruce sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Funnily enough, I agree with you. Alfred, can you get up a monitoring system? we’ll keep it automatic until next year actually hits, and then I want someone personally checking up on Paris news at least once a month. Just in case.”

—*—*—*—*—*

It was a year into HawkMoth. Marinette hadn’t written a single letter to Jason, but she kept getting the ones he wrote in 2005. When those ran out, she only had two from 2006 before they suddenly leapt to 2012. She guessed that that was because of the five year gap he had mentioned in his first letter, the infamous cigarette receipt.

She sat in her chair, reading the only two 2012 letters so far, the second of which had conveniently landed on her desk that morning. The first had arrived months ago, but she gave it a reread anyway.

yo, Mari.

I’m sorry I haven't written anything else after that horrible receipt, I was getting my life sorted out. things are better now. I have three annoying brothers, by the way. I told you about Dick, I think, in my early letters. Now I have two younger brothers too, Tim and Damian. Damian is a little shit, but oddly enough I think you’d like him. Oh yeah, I’m writing this in 2012 by the way. And yes, this small notepad paper was all I had. Don’t judge me. I guess I’ll answer some questions, to make up for my lack of letters lately. More up to date than what I told you back when I was a naive little kid anyway.

Yes, I have a motorcycle. It is my baby, and I have no idea how nine-year-old you was able to guess stuff about me so accurately. I am most definitely a bad boy, and I have five different leather jackets that I love to death. I’m trying to quit smoking. It’s bad for your lungs kid, don’t follow my example there. Also, I am so fucking proud of your taste in music. I know I had no sway in it, but the fact that Jagged Stone is your favorite musician instills so much older brother pride in me you don’t even know. My dad (You remember how I said I’m adopted, right? yeah that asshole. Don’t tell him I actually love him, but he’s still an asshole), he grew up with Jagged actually. He still refers to him as Jared, it’s surreal. I will definitely let you ride on my shoulders, even if you’re an adult when we meet. I give no shits. And ice cream is mandatory. Officially. I’m making it mandatory right now.

I hope you’re doing okay when this gets to you, Mari. And keep designing, the sketches you sent me were awesome! That’s some real talent. Don’t let it go to waste if it’s something you love.

Alright, the Doofuses are still staring at me so I better go before one of them snoops and sees the sappy stuff I wrote about them. You are sworn to secrecy about it too, Cupcake. No blabbing.

Jason Todd, Finally Kinda Okay.

Marinette chuckled at that, then put it aside to read the new one from that morning. It was shorter.

Marinette!

I just read your letter from 2013, holy shit let this reach you not long after that. You remember that 2012 letter where I was sappy about my family and shit? I hope you got that one first or else this is gonna be confusing. Anyway, this was written that same day. Are You Okay? If shit gets too bad, for whatever reason, you can always contact me. I know this damn letter thing won’t let me give you a specific way to contact me, not for lack of trying damn it, but I’ll say this: Bruce Wayne isn’t hard to get a hold of. Find a way to contact him if you need my help, and I will be close behind. He knows how to contact me. No matter what, Cupcake. I don’t care if you think you’re being stupid or dramatic or whatever lies run through your head. Contact him if you need it, and I will come to help you. I promise. Being thirteen sucks, trust me I know, so let me help you.

Jason Todd, Worried As Hell.

Marinette huffed, shaking her head. She wanted to take him up on that offer, but she couldn’t. She had just met the Guardian not too long ago, and he had made it clear that she couldn’t tell anybody about being Ladybug. Not even Jason. She needed to deal with this alone.

Scenes of bloated bodies filled her mind, all the people who had died just the previous day because of Siren. She had had to swim through so many corpses. So many dead, of all ages.

She rushed out onto her balcony, taking in deep breaths of fresh air and letting the sun’s rays warm her up and slowly bring her out of the haze of burning memory. She was fourteen already. She could handle this. Her childhood had died the moment she had been given the Earrings, ripped away from her too early. Her old self had died. Now she was Ladybug, she was Marinette Dupain-Cheng and she was responsible for the fate of even more than just Paris. She couldn’t let herself fall. Not now, not ever.

The loud roaring of a motorcycle made her jump, and she ran to her railing just in time to see a gorgeous black and red bike come to a tire-screeching halt on the street right under her. The biker, she could tell he was large and covered head to toe in corded muscle even from her spot high above his head, slowly took off his helmet. Black hair with stark white bangs came into view, and startlingly deep blue eyes met hers. Marinette’s breath hitched; it was him. She could tell, his mere eye contact made her feel safe and warm and like… like home had found her. He gave her a roguish grin.

“Come on, Cupcake! I believe I promised you a shoulder ride and ice cream. And you gotta keep me from beating a certain old man into a bloody pulp!”

He knew. Marinette smiled widely, a laugh tearing itself from her throat. Hysteric, overjoyed, free. He knew, and it was okay. She didn’t even have to tell him. She took a few steps back, and then vaulted straight over her railing.

“Catch!”

Jason threw his helmet to the side, running forward just in time for her to land safely in his arms. He glared down at her, but his eyes held no heat. “That was incredibly reckless. I shouldn't be proud, but I am. Don’t do that ever again.”

Marinette giggled. “No promises.”

Jason set her down, picking up his helmet before opening the storage on his bike and tossing her a smaller, pink one. “Sorry it took so long. I wanted to come last year, as soon as I figured out what had made you send that concerning letter, but I was told that I would be an instant Akuma. But after what happened yesterday…” Jason shook his head solemnly. “I knew you’d need a break. Come on, Gotham actually has some amazing ice cream.”

“How are we gonna get to Gotham right away? how did you..?”

Marinette paused, Jason keeping his motorcycle’s storage open just long enough for her to see his Red Hood helmet.

“We got portals for that,” he responded nonchalantly, nobody was nearby to overhear anyway. Marinette looked up when he closed the storage compartment, putting her helmet on.

“Well. Then I’m glad you actually took my rant on the Gotham vigilantes to heart and used my designs, because your old mask was disgustingly ugly.”

Jason rolled his eyes, and waited until she was behind him on the bike before revving it and replying;

“Trust me, I know your feelings on it. Demon Spawn and Replacement teamed up to steal that letter and made copies. Now one is pinned to the fridge and I spent another several hours cleaning up the ones they posted over every inch of my apartment walls.”

“... I approve.”

[mysticgoblinwriter]

Driving In A Cold Sweat; There Is No One On This Highway

Warnings- Murder, infidelity, swearing, food imagery, shitty parents, i made Steve the villain who’s in the HOA and a politician, adult content, dark!reader, cheating, a bit of flirting, mental health joke (mental health is NOT a joke, y’all), religion symbolism, dark!steve, peggy x bucky,

Word Count- 1.9k

kudos to @blackberrybucky for being my soundboard, and @fandomsandxfiles for being my beta reader. Love y'all

a/n- This is inspired by Hypothermic by Goodnight Texas.  Its really dark, and I surprised myself writing this but I like it. I also changed the landscape to desert. Leave comments if you want! As many as you like, I fangirl over my work too. All writers should, its selfcare.

IF YOU WANT SOMETHING FLUFFY AND SOFT TURN AWAY NOW; MINORS DNI

DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE. A REBLOG IS APPRECIATED. A REPOST IS NOT.

Bucky looks you up and down, taking you in like you are the gods own ambrosia.  “So, doll.  What brings you to this shit hole?”

You laugh to yourself.  “I murdered somebody.”- was the sentence that also inspired this but its not in the actual story.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The radio gave out miles ago.  It was emitting nothing except for crackling and static.  Every now and then it would cut back to a sermon, funnily enough it’d been the same one that was on when you started your trip.  Sunset was a little ways off.  If you looked hard enough you could see coyotes just off the asphalt.  Alive, yes.  But just how long had their souls been gone?  Someone was screaming.

A man.  You’d heard that scream before.  Seared into you memory like that steak you had for your 15th birthday. It was right next to you.  Oozing blood and raw-red.  You could hear the clink of the knife as it scraped against the plate.  Shaking your head to clear it, you notice an exit with a gas station.  “Now’s a time as good as any to stop.”  Gravel crunches as you slide up next to the pump. The neon beer lights from the bar across the road are calling.  But you can’t answer. The gas handle is slick and grimy, you’ve felt something like that before, but you can’t remember what.  A fuzzy noise in the back of your ears gets your attention.  Another truck has pulled in.  Right in the spot next to yours, never mind the dozen others that are free.  A bulky man steps down, his face hidden by a rangers hat.

You could tell he worked out though.  And had hair in need of a washing.  Clunk.  The tank was full.  You thought it best to leave before anyone could place you, but your stomach needed something other than greasy two-bit fast food.  You glance around, looking for any sign that promised a hot meal.

“Looking for something, doll?” You let out a small gasp.  He was staring straight at you now.

“Does this shithole have a place to eat?  I might have to start eating the cactus.”

He lets out a soft laugh, “Yeah, there’s a diner about half mile down the road.”

His face brightens like he just thought of something.  “You wanna meet me there?  I’ll buy dinner?”  You weigh the options.  You can’t have anybody recognize you; but your cash is getting low and however you can stretch it, you must.  You nod once.  “Sure.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The diner is every trope you’d seen in the movies your pops watched when he got off work.  Flies buzzing, neon sign flickering, checkered tile.  It even had the shiny red leather booths.  What a dream.  “Getcha a seat anywhere, honey.  I’ll be right over,” came a perky voice from the back.  Presumably a waitress. You choose the booth near the back exit.  Its always good to have a backup plan.

The man said he needed to get something at the mini-mart, that you could go ahead and he’d catch up.  Somebody screamed right next to you, causing you to jump out of your seat.  You whip your head around.  No one was even in the dining area.  It sounded so real.  Like you could reach out and grasp the shattering inky blackness.  You take a couple of deep breaths.  Try to remember your happy place.  Tahiti, its a magical place.  Or so you’ve been told  You just picked it from a magazine that was open on the coffee table the night your mother set fire to the curtains in the living room.  The flames had licked up the page, burning the island resort into ash.  Boots thudded as they made way to where you were.  He slides in across from you.

“Um, the waitress’ll be right out,” you said softly.  He barely heard it over the rickety air conditioning.  He nods to show he heard.  He’s sitting close.  Closer than you’d thought another human would ever sit next to you again.  His hands are rough and calloused.  The sleeve cuffs of his hoodie are frayed; as if someone clawed at them.  Eyes traveling up his body, you take in more details.  The hoodie isn’t faded, its brand new.  He wears a bracelet of leather on his right hand, with a charm you can’t quite see.  His necklace is corded hemp, plain and understated.

A light stubble that’s maybe three days old covers his jaw.  His eyes... are piercing right through you. You take in a quick breath, not being able to look away.  You’d never seen that shade of blue before.   He’d been watching you watching him.  Quirking an eyebrow, ”See anything ya like, doll?” You start to sputter an answer but the waitress comes over.  “Sorry about the wait.  Here’s your-”  Blue eyes interrupts her, “We don’t need those.  I’ll have the special and she’ll have the ‘Its Impossible To Go Away Hungry’ plate”  “Okay, then.  I’ll get that right out to ya folks.”

You glare at him, he mirrors it with dicky nonchalance. “Why did you order for me?”  He leans forward, tilts his head the right the tiniest fraction.  “You’re starved.  I really don’t give a damn what kept you from eating but I ain’t gonna let you go without giving you a meal.  The steak plate is the biggest meal they have.  You can take a to go box, that is if you don’t eat the whole thing.”

“Oh.”  You cast out a huff, “Well, thank you.”  He flashes a killer smile. Pearly white teeth in a straight line.  Not an imperfection to be found anywhere.  A silence falls between the two of you.  You can’t decide whether its comfortable of not.

“My name is Bucky.  I thought you wouldn’t like eating with a stranger.  I like to doodle in the margins of my books sometimes.”  “Please tell me not library books.”  He scoffs as if you suggested the impossible, “Never.  Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Jury’s out on that, Bucky.”  He looks at you more intently now.  “Really?  Same could be said about you.  When I first spoke to you it was like a deer in headlights.  Ya running from something, sugar?”  He’d said it jokingly but you didn’t laugh.

“No.  Nothing like that.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Shirley came back with your plates, and two root beers.  She left the check at the end of the table and Bucky swooped it up.  The meal passed by in the comfortable sounds of silverware clinking and ice clacking in the cups.  You both ate in record time.

You were careful to save enough for a second meal. That went into the to go container.  Now both cups were drained and plates scraped clean.  You start to slide out of your seat, mumbling a thanks but Bucky stops you.  “Wait, won’t you sit here a while longer?  I’d be kinda sad sitting here alone.”  After a moments hesitation, you resume your position.  “What do you wanna talk about?  It can’t be the weather.  Its been dry as bones for weeks.”   He ponders for a moment, “You.”  He shifts a little, resting one ankle on the opposite knee.

“I want to know what you’re running from, and see if I can offer...a distraction.”  That shocks you.  “Life?  Aren’t we all running away in some form or another?  I just happened to take the mobile route.”  You shrug, “What do you want me to say?  It was all shitty so I left it behind.  And as for the distraction part, I got a whore last night, so don’t bother.”  He is silent.  Just sits there and gazes at you.  You cock your head, getting impatient.  “Am I allowed to leave now?  Or do you want to talk about our feelings?”

“I slept with my best friends wife.”

“I-I’m sorry you what??”

“I slept with my best friends wife.  He owns half the town, what with him being mayor and all.  I couldn’t take it anymore, he’s always been the golden boy.  Always been the beacon of light.  I just wanted a slice of what he had.”  He looks up, his eyes are dead.  “She was willing, and I just... took her.  There on his desk.  He’d been out for lunch with some bigwig, and I made her cum twice on my cock.”  He chuckles darkly.  “That’d been the first time.  All the other times don’t matter, he doesn’t know about those.  But he does know about the time in the craft shed.  Peggy did pottery.

Had a nice little workshop, it was connected to the mansion they had.  I wanted to bring her pleasure in the place where she gets frustrated often, so she’d have something else to think about.  Steve caught us on the floor.  A big bunch of daffodils in hand.  Stupid, those weren’t even her favorites.”  He was gone now, lost in memories, not even knowing he was talking.  “Said he had come by to take her to lunch.  That was always like Steve.  Expected her to clear her schedule at the drop of a hat but never doing the same for anybody. He didn’t even get mad.  He just walked away, muttering something about his office.

Peggy said she could talk some sense into him.  The next day I found her in the garbage when I took out my trash.”  Your sharp inhale and big eyes do nothing to catch his attention.  “Steve comes strolling out of nowhere, said that she was a threat to his image.  Said that I need to leave or face the same.  I asked why he left me alive and he said ‘So you can remember the pain until you lay down in the ground and the mice and carrion drag your body up from its silk cocoon to feast.”

But that’s not all.”  He said the last bit so quietly, it was as if he said nothing.

“What?”  He’s crying now, tears are forming rivers in his eyes.  “She knew.  She knew  he was going to be there and that’s how she wanted to go out.”  Your puzzled expression makes him laugh.  “Don’t know many politicians, do you?  Good.  Keep it that way.  That day when the mail came I got a letter.  From her.  It said how she wanted to divorce Steve ever since he became the HOA president.  But she couldn’t.  He had threatened her once, just once and what he said was so blisteringly awful.  And he did it.  He is a man of his word, after all.  He kept his damn word.”

“So...she used you as an out?”  He winces.  You hadn’t meant to sound like that.

“Yes.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Out in the diners parking lot you say goodbye to James.  Wait.  No, no.  His name is Bucky.  He’s got a green  Chevy and blue eyes.  Or was it red?  It doesn’t matter anyway.  You back out and head for the next state, ignoring the blood leaking from the tarp in your trunk.  The screams have stopped.  And the moon is bright.

[easily-infatuated23]

The Parent and the Professor

a/n: i love the idea of reader being a professor! let me know if you want a part two :) letters are in italics

pairing: Draco Malfoy x Professor!Reader

word count: 4k

warning: mentions of war and not feeling worthy

summary: Will a broken friendship be rekindled when Scorpius’s favorite teacher writes a letter to his father?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have always had a passion for teaching and inspiring young minds. So, it wasn’t surprising that I was ecstatic to start my fourth year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at my alma mater, Hogwarts. When I first started working there, I was haunted by the memories of the war. Everywhere I looked I could remember a different face of a friend or teacher laying dead. Seeing the students happy faces made the memories easier to bear. Just the knowledge that they could safely live out their childhoods in such a magical and special place softened the lingering pain.

One of my favorite parts of teaching at Hogwarts was teaching the children of the people I had grown up with. For some, I knew so much about their parents from those early silly childhood days that simply seeing their faces made me laugh and reminisce. Of all the children of friends I had taught thus far, the most gifted was Scorpius Malfoy. It wasn’t such a shock that he was so clever, his father had been a very gifted student when he applied himself. I had been apprehensive when I first read Scoripus’s name on the attendance sheet. His father Draco and I had actually been very close friends for the first 6 years of schooling. We were both in Slytherin and he was one of the few people who didn’t tease or berate me for not being a typical Slytherin. Yes he would get annoyed when I stood up for Hermione when he called her a ‘mudblood’ or when I would challenge his pure-blood views but he always was kind to me.

That all changed in the beginning of our sixth year. He started pushing everyone away and yelling at me almost any time he saw me. I tried to continue to be kind to him but my attempts were swatted away like flies. Once the war began, I understood why he had become distant. He was given an impossible task with no choice as to whether or not to complete it. The worst moment came when he walked to the side of the Death Eaters and The Dark Lord. I was one of the few people that knew he did this for the sake of his parents and not for the Dark Lord. He redeemed this action when Harry Potter was revealed to be alive. He threw him his wand and ran back to the side of good. We locked eyes for a moment before he ran through the castle to safety. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since. He did make a sort of “apology and amends” tour going to almost every individual in the Wizarding World and showing he was a changed man and that he no longer held his past ideals. The one person he left out on that tour was me.

I never understood why. I figured he either thought our friendship was beyond fixing or maybe because he knew I would forgive him and understand. More likely, I guessed he couldn’t stand to face me. But none of that mattered now. It was all just a slight pain in my heart whenever I saw Scorpius. As the school year began, Scorpius Malfoy excelled in my class. He was always the first to raise his hand to ask or answer a question, always the most engaged and eager to learn. One day after class I noticed he was lingering by the door. “Can I help you Mr. Malfoy?” I asked. He nodded and approached my desk. “I was wondering if you could assign me as Athena’s tutor. I know she asked you for one and I want to volunteer”. He looked down at his shoes, trying to hide a blush I figured stemmed from a small crush on the student called Athena. “I was going to assign it to you any way but because you asked I will also add ten points to Slytherin for taking the initiative”. He looked up and smiled. “Thank you Professor!”. He ran out of the room so giddy, calling to his best friend Albus to tell him the news. “What a sweet kid” I thought. Later that night I took a break from grading tests and thought about my old friend Draco Malfoy. Perhaps I should write him. But just to tell him what a gifted student his son was. His wife had passed away four years ago and I figured it must be lonely being all alone in the large estate he occupied known as Malfoy Manor. Maybe this would re-open a line of communication between the two of us. It had been a long time since I had seen him and frankly, I missed him. He probably didn’t think of me though. Sighing, I picked up my quill and penned a formal letter to my former friend.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

-I couldn’t bring myself to write Draco-

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I wanted to inform you that your son has done exceedingly well in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class and has quickly become my prized pupil. He has even volunteered to take on extra tutoring responsibilities. He is a sweet young man and it is a privilege to have him in my class.

Sincerely, Professor Y/L/N

I examined the letter for a long time, constantly frowning at it and wondering if I should just ball it up and forget about it. At last I found the nerve to seal the letter and before I could stop myself Harvey, my owl, was flying away from my cottage. “Too late now” I murmured. My letter went unanswered for nearly two weeks. I spent the entire first week feeling anxious and most of the second week resigned to the idea that Draco had truly decided I was unworthy of a response. After all, it had been many years. On the Friday of the second week, I stayed up late grading some last minute essay submissions when I heard a tapping at my window. I turned to find an unfamiliar owl outside. I opened the window and took the letter. After a sufficient amount of pats and snacks were given to the owl, I settled in to see if the letter was what I had been waiting for. It was the first thing I saw, the green snake seal on the back confirmed it. Draco had responded to my letter. I flipped it over to see my name scrawled on the front in handwriting I used to be more familiar with. I stared at the letter for a long time before finally opening it. I gently removed the seal and unfolded the letter, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would leave my chest.

Dear Professor Y/L/N,

I appreciate your kind words about my son. He has spoken fondly of you and of your class, he says it is his favorite. Congratulations on being the longest serving Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in twenty years. It is quite a feat. I hope you are well.

Sincerely, Draco Malfoy

My heart skipped a beat. He matched my formality but he still slipped in something to make me blush. I sighed. I hadn’t been expecting some long rambling dramatic letter explaining why he never came back to me, despite my efforts, but a small clue or hint would have been something. I thought writing the letter might give me more closure but I was horribly mistaken. Now, all I wanted to do was write him back and find some way to see him. I had done my best after the war but he pushed me away more. That night was a sleepless night for me. I felt like a sixteen year old again, debating if I should write him back or not. If I did decide to write him back, how long should I wait? Ultimately, I decided it was best to leave it there.

Two months later, Quidditch season was in full swing as Slytherin was playing Hufflepuff in a match leading up to the finals. I was never one thrilled by the idea of Quidditch, but Scorpius had begged me to come so I attended. He had followed in his father’s foot steps and was the Seeker for the Slytherin team. When I got to the parent and faculty section I was stunned to see none other than Draco Malfoy. I quickly looked away and tried to pretend I hadn’t seen him. I jogged up the bleacher stairs and sat next to the Divinations teacher. For most of the game I pretended to be watching the match but in reality, I kept glancing at Draco’s platinum blonde hair, half hoping he would turn and see me and half hoping he would leave without knowing I was there. Eventually, I was able to relax and enjoy the game. Scorpius lead the team to a win and the Slytherin student section went wild. I could have sworn I saw Athena blow him a kiss. I guess those tutoring sessions had helped him as much as they had helped her grades! I couldn’t help but look down and chuckle to myself, this little bit of childhood romance warmed my heart. When I looked back up my gaze was meant by the piercing blue eyes of Draco Malfoy. I couldn’t tell if the look on his face was that of shock or fear but before I could give a slight smile he looked away. Now this truly felt like we were sixteen again.

Everyone started to rise and leave the section talking and making merry. I rose from my seat and before I could begin to descend, Draco rose suddenly and turned to me, walking in my direction. I froze. “Hello Professor Y/L/N” he said, not meeting my gaze for long. “Mr. Malfoy” was all I could manage to croak. “I was so pleased to receive your letter about Scorpius, he doesn’t always tell me what’s going on when he’s here”. “Yes,” I smiled “he is a wonderful student. You must be very proud of him”. Draco gave a small but sincere smile. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you here” I said. “I was able to get a few weeks off from work so I decided to come down and watch the match. It has been nice to see the place so..” he paused. “Free” I finished for him. He smiled and met my gaze again. “Yes thats exactly what I was thinking.” There was a few moments of silence. It wasn’t as awkward or terrifying as I had anticipated. “I should go find my son” he said finally. “Yes of course it was good to see you again”. I meant this whole heartedly. “Perhaps I can see you again soon and we can talk while there is less noise” he said. A little surprised but happy I replied yes. Before turning to leave he squeezed my hand and gave me his signature smirk before turning and descending down the bleachers. Was my friendship with Draco Malfoy finally going to be rekindled? I hoped so. Before turning and walking out of sight he called back to me, “I’ll write you”. I nodded. I would never have expected this to happen and I had no idea what to expect next.

Another week went by before I heard from him. His owl found me in the middle of a lesson, I opened the window and thanked the owl. I tucked the letter into my robe pocket. As I shifted my attention back to the class I saw Scorpius’s face twist with confusion then look at Albus Potter. Shit. He clearly recognized the owl. I decided I would talk to him after class. Once the lesson was over I called Scorpius to my desk. “I saw you looked confused when your father’s owl delivered me a letter so I thought I owed you an explanation”. He said nothing but simply looked at the floor and shifted uncomfortably. “Your father and I actually used to be very close friends in the early years at Hogwarts,” I began. He looked up at me puzzled. It was clear his father had never mentioned that detail to him. “I wrote to your father telling him what an exceptional student you were and then we ran into each other at the last Quidditch match, congratulations by the way, and we discussed possibly meeting to catch up. I didn’t want you to simply see the owl and then have your brain spin in circles thinking of possible reasons for the letter”. He nodded and finally spoke. “Yeah I was really confused at first. I must admit I am a bit more confused now though. He has never spoken about you before. When I told him you were my favorite professor he seemed to not know who you were”. Ouch. “Well we were going through a hard time back then, I don’t blame him for forgetting” I managed, trying to keep my composure. “You may go” I finished. He jogged out of the room glancing back one more time before finally leaving. Maybe he thought I died. Rationalizing wasn’t helping. I climbed the small staircase in my classroom and entered my office, locking the door behind me. I opened the letter and read its contents.

Dear Professor Y/L/N,

It was pleasant running into you at the Quidditch match last week. If you are able, perhaps you would be kind enough to meet at Malfoy Manor for lunch on Saturday at 11:30. I fear we have much to discuss and would prefer to do so in private.

Sincerely, Draco Malfoy

Saturday, at the Manor. It would be a difficult place to be. Although I was a Slytherin, I had befriended Harry Potter and the rest of his trouble-making trio. I enjoyed their company. It provided a break from the constant berating from the rest of my house. However, due to this friendship I had been taken and held hostage along with Luna Lovegood in Malfoy Manor for a few weeks before the final battle. I had been hit with every curse short of killing me. Draco had been forced to witness but did nothing to help me. I understood why he couldn’t but just once it would have been nice to see him stand up for me. But, alas, I figured I wasn’t worthy of any help. Returning to the Manor was something I never thought I would do but his letter let on to a promise of answers to questions I had been harboring for so long now.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

I accept.

Sincerely, Professor Y/L/N

Short and sweet. Now came the long wait for Saturday. Once the day arrived I was more nervous than I had previously anticipated. I pulled on a pair of black slacks and a fitted white long sleeve shirt. Over the top I chose to wear my brown striped blazer. I put on my favorite silver earrings and necklace with an ’S’ charm. When we had been young, Draco gave me a silver ring for my birthday that was shaped like a snake. I had worn it everyday since then without thought. When I went to reach for it today, I paused. Wearing it had become part of my daily routine but he didn’t know that. Would he think I wore it just for him? I shook the thought out of my head and wore it anyway. If I didn’t wear it I was worried I wouldn’t feel complete which would make me more nervous than I already was. I pulled my light brown hair into a half-up-half-down look and applied some light mascara. I was never one to wear makeup but I hadn’t slept much on Friday night so adding some definition to my face and leading the attention to my green eyes became a necessity to attract attention away from my dark circles.

At 11:29 I gathered all the courage I could and apparated to Malfoy Manor. I knocked timidly on the front door. Even the frigid fall wind couldn’t cool my skin as I blushed in anticipation of the meeting. When he opened the door I was overwhelmed by the scent of apples and cologne that had once held a permanent residence in my nose. “Professor, please come in” he said cordially. I nodded and entered into the place that had housed my nightmares for so long. But somehow it was different. The decor wasn’t as sterile as it once was. It actually looked more lived in and closer to a home than a prison. He noticed my slight surprise. “We’ve redone the place a bit so it probably looks much different compared to……last time” he mumbled. I put on my bravest smile and turned to him. “Yes it is quite lovely Mr. Malfoy”. “Please, you can call me Draco. ‘Mr. Malfoy’ is awfully formal don’t you think?”. I looked at him, a slight smirk waved across his face. “Alright, as long as you call me Y/N” I replied. He led me to the kitchen where a small round table was set and had sandwiches on the plates. “I figured since it was just the two of us there was no need to use the dinning room. Can I take your jacket?” he asked. I nodded and unbuttoned my blazer, handing it to him. As he took it from me, I saw him glance at my right hand and saw the serpent ring coiled around my middle finger. He quickly took the blazer from me and said nothing.

As we sat down to eat there was a few minutes of uncomfortable silence before I finally broke and turned to him. “I am sorry but I have a lot of questions and I won’t leave without answers”. He sighed. Nodding, he turned toward me and I began. “Why didn’t you find me after the war? I wrote to you and tried to reach out but you ignored me. When I told Scorpius we had been old friends he looked at me as if I was lying. Why? Did you completely erase me from your life? If thats the case its your decision but I would like to know why.” I paused, waiting for him to speak. “After the war, I was so ashamed that I never stood up for you and how badly I had hurt you when I shut you out, I didn’t feel worthy of your forgiveness. I ignored your letters because I thought you would be better off not ever having to be reminded of the pain that I caused you.” He couldn’t meet my eyes. I exhaled sharply and buried my face in my hands before I finally replied. “Then I guess you never knew me at all”. He looked up, a stunned expression on his face. “Of all the people in the world you should’ve known that I would be the one to forgive you the most. I understood why you did what you did and why you couldn’t help me. You as much as the rest of us were fighting for the lives of us and our families. Had it really been your choice, I don’t think you would have complied.” He stood up and walked away from the table. “I know” he finally said. “I realized all of that a few years ago but at that point I thought it was too late.” He leaned on the kitchen counter with his back to me. His head was dropped and his shoulders were shaking softly. “Its one of my biggest regrets.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Well, we’re here now. If you have anything else you want to say, nows the time.” He turned back to me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never helped you, I’m sorry I didn’t find you after the fighting was over, I’m sorry I didn’t defend you better at school, I’m sorry for all of it.” His words sounded desperate but genuine. It was like he couldn’t find the breath to properly support his list of apologies. “Stop” I said suddenly. I walked in front of him and grabbed his shoulders, lowering my head until he was forced to meet my gaze. “I forgive you. Completely and totally. I just want my friend back.” He chuckled through a cry before pulling me into a tight hug. His hands were around my waist and mine around his neck. I moved my right hand to the back of his neck and stroked his hair, like I had when we were kids whenever he was upset. He chuckled again softly and held me tighter. “Ok as nice as this is I think you are gonna squeeze all the life out of me!” I joked. “Oh I’m sorry” he breathed as he let me go and pushed me away slightly.

After this first meeting, I saw him almost every weekend. We would meet and reminisce and catch up on our lives. At our third meeting he asked me about the ring. “I see you still wear the ring I gave you. I thought you would have gotten rid of it”. He held my right hand and looked at the ring. “Draco, truthfully, I was worn this ring every single day of my life since you gave it to me. It’s a part of me”. This seemed to please him as his cheeks flushed a light pink. By our sixth meeting me we were sharing a bottle of wine after dinner when he decided to play an old record of songs played at the Yule Ball. “Oh my goodness I can’t believe you actually have this!” I laughed as he purposefully did his worst dance moves. “This was one of my favorite nights at school, how could I not!” Before I knew it, he scooped me up and we were dancing the awful and silly choreographed dance we all had to learn. He spun me around in his living room as the music played. Our shadows were dancing on the walls from the light of the fire. “I don’t think I have laughed this hard in years!” I remarked. “Me too” he replied with a chuckle. Just then all of the sudden the laughter stopped and I realized this was the closest I had been to him since we were in school. This only lasted a few moments before Scorpius appeared at the door. We quickly broke apart and Draco took a step froward. “Yes son?”. “Uh, I just wanted to let you know I was going to Albus’s house to spend the night..” he stared at me with a look of confusion on his face. “Oh yes thats fine, have fun and be safe”. He quickly left the room and hurried out the front door before either of us could offer an explanation. “Oh gosh that was so embarrassing” I said, sitting on the couch and hiding my face in my hands. “He probably thinks that we kissed or were about to” I said, the sound muffled through my hands. Draco sat down next to me. “Weren’t we?” he asked timidly. I sat up and looked at him. “I don’t know, my mind kinda went blank” I chuckled. “Mine too” he smiled. “Can I kiss you?” he asked finally. I smiled and nodded. He smiled back and reached his hand out until he touched my face. He brushed his thumb over my cheek as it made its way to brush over my lips. With his other fingers positioned under my chin, he gently pulled my face closer to his, tilting it slightly upwards and to the right. He kissed me gently moving his hand back to my cheek. I hadn’t expected him to be so gentle but I was so happy I sunk into it easily. Scorpius would get an explanation later, right now, I just wanted to live in the moment I never realized I wanted.

[wtffundiefamilies]

This is from 2013, but holy hell I hope Anna finds it.  Entirety of the post beneath the cut; it’s both long and not something people should read with no warning.  But I wanted to copypaste in case the link goes down one day.  It’s insane to me that these “little details” and “clues” are obvious and screaming red flags to people raised in a normal world.  (And no, looking at legal porn is not a “red flag” that someone is a child molester.  But, like...again, given the circumstances I’m not sure what we’d expect; we all saw what Jessa said.)  It’s part one of a series, and it’s amazing just how much this dude sounds like Josh.  And how much their “courtship” sounds like Josh and Anna’s.

Part of my mission, my purpose in life, is to educate others about child predators.  I’m not here to stir up some kind of crazy hype, but to present the facts and to give you a bit of insight as to what happened in my own life.  How was I so blinded to the fact that for forty years I was living with a practicing pedophile?  How did I not see the signs?  How did I not pick up on something being very wrong with the man I married?  

The truth is that I sensed something was wrong even before we got married, but I didn’t listen to my inner being.  I didn’t pay attention to those nudgings that something was wrong.  Why?  Because as a Christian it had been taught to me from little up that people who went to church were good, honest, moral people.  I was taught to trust people who said they believed in God and followed His teachings.  And, I did just that.  I was, unfortunately, one of the most trusting women who ever walked the face of the earth!

Pay attention to this, please!  Just because a person tells you that they walk by the teachings of God does not mean it’s true.  In fact, the word of God warns us against “wolves in sheep’s clothing”, and I learned first-hand just what that meant.  But, it would be years before my eyes were totally opened to this fact. As a bit of background information, I came from a broken home.  My parents divorced when I was fourteen, a sister of mine died when she was thirteen, my mother was an alcoholic, and my father was by today’s terms a “dead beat dad.”  Needless to say, I longed for a different life, and I prayed constantly that God would send a good, righteous, faithful Christian into my life so that I could build a home on godly principles and a firm foundation.

I worked hard all through high school so that I could go to college.  But, I didn’t want to go to just any college.  It had to be a Christian college because I sincerely believed that was the only place I would ever meet a Christian man to marry.  Because I worked so hard all through high school, I earned a four-year scholarship to a four-year state school.  BUT, you guessed it!  The idea of finding and marrying a Christian man was so ingrained in my heart and mind by now that I passed up the scholarship and instead went to a very small, two-year Christian College.  Little did I know that this one decision would lead to so much heartache for me and for those who are most special in my life — my children.  While it’s true that we can’t see around every bend in the road, there are signs and signals along the way.  I didn’t pay attention to anyone who tried to talk to me.  One thing was on my mind — finding a Christian mate!

Every person wants to feel special, and longs to be told that they stand out among all of the rest.  During the summer between my first and second year of college I met a young man who was articulate, bright, funny, witty, and who also told me that I stood out.  He was spending the summer at college and so was I.  A friendship developed, and even though I was engaged to marry someone else, this young man worked very hard every day to convince me that I was with the wrong person.  He pointed out all of the flaws of the man whose ring I was wearing until he finally convinced me to break off the engagement.  That’s a story in and of itself — maybe I’ll share that with you another day.

What was a bit strange to me was that the man I would soon marry had a quiet control over me like nobody ever had before.  Even though I had low self-esteem I was used to making my own decisions and being very independent.  For the first time in my life I found I was reporting my every move to this quiet, shy young man. He told me I was special.  He said out of all the girls on campus I was the only one that he thought was pretty and was a true Christian.  He told me just what I wanted to hear.  It was the word “Christian” that nailed me!  I knew he was the one I had been praying about since my youth!

One of the greatest stories my now ex-husband loved to tell was how he spotted me from across campus and said to his roommate, “See that girl?  I’m going to marry her.”  This was totally absurd because at the time he said that we had not even met!  He later told me he would hide and watch me — study me — and he knew my schedule, when I was going to eat, when I’d walk back to campus, when I would go to work.  He said, “I knew everything about you.  I knew where you were from morning until night. I knew I would marry you.”

Instead of being freaked out and thinking this guy was some kind of stalker psycho, I was flattered.  “He chose me.”  Out of all of the girls around, he chose me and that again was more evidence of answered prayers.  Deep inside, though, was a gnawing feeling that something wasn’t right.  He didn’t talk much.  And, for a man who said he loved God, he made fun of people in a mean way.  He mocked people’s insecurities.  Yes, you guessed it!  He mocked me on several occasions and I felt like a piece of dirt he had stepped on.  He made fun of the size of my nose.  He made fun of my feet calling them “hammer head toes.”  He made fun of the space I have between my teeth.  I cried myself to sleep many, many nights, but still……..he was a Christian man, and he was so nice when we were together in public.  He opened the car door for me (it was my car, by the way).  He paid the bill when we went out to eat and left a nice tip.  (It was my money that he used.)  He talked me into giving him my car (which I had since I was 16) and I found myself asking him for permission to use my own car.  This was really weird!

Why did I put up with it?  Why does anybody put up with abuse?  Because they’ve been so used to being beaten down that they think this is the norm. Please, please — if you’re in a situation like this run for your life!!!  This is NOT the way a good relationship works!  And, it’s a red flag indicator of many other problems — in my case, it was a big red flag that I was being masterfully manipulated.  Groomed to be the wife of a pedophile who was already deeply involved in porn and child sexual molestation!  

Learn to listen for “clues” that a decision you’re making might not be right.  I had BIG clues that I passed off as “odd”, “not making much sense”, “silly”, or “not that big of a deal.”

Clue 1:  For the last four months we dated, my fiance was in Israel doing overseas study.  We corresponded by letter only.  We were to get married less than one week after he arrived back in the states.  In his letters he would write to tell me how he would hide behind the grasses on the beach and watch girls changing out of their clothes and swimming nude.  He said he’d skip class and stay there all day.  In other words, he was openly telling me he was a “peeping Tom.”  This was a test of how far he could manipulate me and I passed with flying colors! I never questioned him about it.  Oh, I cried lots, but I never questioned him!

Clue 2:  He told me while we were dating that he and one of his cousins spent the summers together and they would steal cartons of cigarettes from stores and sneak out of the house at night and smoke the cigarettes and look at “porn” all night long.  Another test!  I looked at him quietly but never questioned him.  If you want to know the truth — I didn’t even know what porn was!!!!!  I had to ask my college roommates.  Again, I was being tested.  Could he get away with doing things right under my nose?  Sure he could. I’d never question a man of God!

Clue 3:  He was almost 21 and his favorite job was to “babysit all the little kids at church for free because he loved to give them baths and powder their little butts.”  I’m totally sick now as I write these words.  Why in heaven’s name didn’t I run from this man? There were so many clues that something was wrong, and I passed them off as being a little odd.  Nothing more — just a little bit odd. In fact, I actually thought this was kind of nice.  I never saw my father get involved in parenting like that, and I thought, “Wow!  This man will make a wonderful father!”    

Porn.  Lying.  Peeping Tom.  A young man who loves bathing and powdering little kids.  Masterfully manipulating.  Gaining the trust of adults. (Church people loved him babysitting their kids!)

I was another one of his victims.  I was being set up. I was being groomed  I would be the perfect alibi for his continued evil behavior.  He was calculating.  He studied me.  He used me.  He used my faith as a means to get what he wanted.  He knew what he was doing! His actions were no mistake.  He worked very hard to plan every detail.  

Listen up everyone!  Please don’t do as I did!  If your gut is telling you something is wrong, it probably is!!! Pay attention to the little details and the little voice that is whispering something is wrong!!!

This is just the beginning of my story.  I will share more in the weeks to come in hopes that others will not be blinded to the facts as I was.   We must get educated about child sexual molesters so that we can protect life’s most precious blessings — our children!

Why am I sharing the ugly, sad parts of my life?  That’s simple.  Because children are beautiful.  Children are precious.  Children deserve to be protected.  Statistics (according to information found here ) tell us that 1 in every 3 girls and 1 in every 6 boys are molested by the age of 18.  Please help me to stop this!  Let’s get educated!  Let’s do all we can to make it incredibly difficult for the molester!  Let’s be vigilant on behalf of our children — at all times!!!

Every child should have the ability to grow up feeling safe and loved and whole and pure!

It isn’t easy or comfortable for me to write about this, but I must.  I must take this terribleness and do something positive with it.  I must work for the safety of our children. Thanks so much for stopping by and for taking the time to read this.  Thanks even more for making yourself more aware of what is going on right under our noses — in our schools, our churches, our camps, our homes.  Let’s do all we can to work together to make this a safe place for our children!  

Love, Clara

[spidersmiceandeverythingnice]

OISIN - 4* CASTER - PROFILE

Under the read more!

Summon: “My name is Oisin. I am a poet – and now, I am your Caster-class Servant. Though our time together won’t last forever, I’m glad to meet you, Master."

Initial Information:

A beautiful poet, blessed with eternal youth and wisdom. Though he is a great knight, he is most famous for his silver tongue, which has preserved the legends of many heroes in what is now called the "Fenian" or "Ossianic" Cycle of Irish mythology.

Passive Skills

Territory Creation A

Item Construction C

Divinity C

Active Skills

Heroic Legacy A – Increase defense for three turns and clear own debuffs, increase attack and star generation for all allies for three turns.

Blessings of Youth A – Apply invincibility for 3 turns, apply Arts, Quick, and Buster up for 3 turns. Costs 9 critical stars.

Storyteller B – Drain all enemy NP charge, increase own NP charge, increase party NP gain for 3 turns.

NOBLE PHANTSAM: Dord Fianna – the War Cry to Defend Humanity (QUICK)

Area of effect Noble Phantasm that deals damage to all enemies, special bonus damage to any Threat to Humanity trait enemies. Applies defense down, critical strength down, and slight chance to inflict Terror status to all enemies. Applies attack up, critical strength up, and NP damage up to all allies for 3 turns.

Lines - Room

Idle: “Master, are you doing anything right now? If you’re bored, I can show you the song I’m working on now. No? You’d rather go outside? Well, that’s alright, too. I’ll tag along.”

Master-Servant Relationship: “I’m used to working, living, and fighting alongside others, so this situation is fine for me. Honestly, it brings back pleasant memories.”

Opinion of Master: “I could write a thousand songs about your adventures. I really do consider it to be a privilege to fight at your side!”

Scheherazade: “I think she and I could have a lot in common. And so beautiful too… hey, don’t look at me like that. I’m happily married, you know!”

Author Servants: “There are a lot of very talented people here. I consider myself a formidable opponent, but I think I’ll work a little harder, regardless of that. [laugh]”

Saints: “It’s not that I don’t like them, it’s just that I can’t really understand them. I have my reasons, but that may be the one story I’m not interested in telling.”

Irish Servants: “There are so many famous heroes here from ages past. Of course, I already know the tales by heart but I wonder if there would be any differences in the first-hand accounts…”

Diarmuid: “Diarmuid! It’s been too long since I’ve seen your face! Master, this is the only person in the world who is smarter than my father. He always used to beat us at chess, and that’s just the start of it. I’m sure you already know. What? Oh, don’t be modest! And here – look! I brought you some letters from your relatives. They say you hardly ever visit anymore and – hey, where are you going?!”

Fionn: “Ahh… It’s good to see him in his prime like this. He seems to be very at ease here. Seeing that he’s able to smile and relax like this… honestly, he looks just as Mother always described him. Ah, wait a moment. Please don’t ever tell him I said that.”

Lines – Battle

DECK: QQ/AA/B

Start 1: “Just because I am an artist doesn’t mean that I can’t do battle when I need to.”

Start 2: “That look on your face… I have to wonder if you’re not taking me seriously. Well, it can’t be helped. Best of luck to you!”

Skill 1: “This is the blessing I was given.”

Skill 2: “Hmm… still a bit out of tune.”

Skill 3: “With the strength of my own limbs.”

Skill 4: “With actions that will match my speech.”

Attack: [IDK SOME NOISE]

Extra Attack 1: “With purity in our hearts!”

Extra Attack 2: “You won’t underestimate me a second time!”

Noble Phantasm Activation: “If the time has come to defend humanity – then I will serve with all the power I have.”

Noble Phantasm 1: “For the things we have forgotten, and for all that we have to gain – there is something that I, too, must protect. I swear that I shall defeat all evil in the world. With the purity of our hearts – Dord Fianna!”

Noble Phantasm 2: “This is a story of those who stood should to shoulder to defend humanity's destiny, from all that would covet and destroy it. No matter when, or where, we will always rise to meet this challenge. This is our sacred duty – Dord Fianna."

Noble Phantasm 3: “This hunting horn is not for making music – if you’re skittish, you might want to cover your ears. Listen – to our sacred battle cry!”

Injured 1: “Rude!”

Injured 2: “At least make sure to avoid my face!”

Incapacitated 1: “It seems that… once again… I can’t stay beside you until the end… I’m… sorry…”

Incapacitated 2: “It’s always like this, huh… Strange… this time, it doesn’t hurt…”

Victory 1: “I told you from the start. Before I am an artist, I am also a knight!”

Victory 2: “You know, I think I could make a song about this victory. Someone give me a tune! Hey… wait a minute… why are you all walking away?”

Bond 1: “You know, Master, I spent a long time out of human society. So, I need you to tell me to my face if I ever say something strange. Seriously. I’m not joking. I really don’t know what people talk about these days. I’m counting on your guidance.”

Profile 1: Oisin, the son of the legendary hero Fionn MacCumhail. Because his father had already eaten the Fish of All Knowledge, he was gifted from birth with wisdom and a quick wit. His name literally means "little deer" or "fawn."

Bond 2: “What was it like, growing up with such a famous father? Well, that’s a difficult question. Father has always been good to me. I’ve always felt that the Fianna were my family. Even the most loving and tight knit families sometimes fight… and even so… hm. I wonder… …Um, sorry. [slightly nervous laugh] What was I saying again?”

Profile 2: The story of Oisin's birth is a tragedy. His mother, Sadhbh, was Fionn's second wife. Though they were madly in love, his mother had another suitor, who was a cruel and wicked mage. One day, when Fionn was out hunting, the mage lured the pregnant Sadhbh out of their home by impersonating her husband, and transformed her into a deer before loosing her in the forest.

When Fionn returned to their home and found it empty, he immediately marshaled his knights and began to search for them, leaving no stone under-turned.

Eventually, the toddler Oisin was recovered - but his mother was never seen again.

Bond 3: “Yes, yes. My wife is the most beautiful woman in the world. Every man says that about his wife, but in my case, it’s actually true! She’s a wonderful, wonderful woman, and her family always treated me so kindly. I simply lost track of time, that’s all. Yes, I always meant to go back and visit, but the opportunity always… Eh? I trailed off again? I’m not sure why I keep getting lost in thought. Anyway, let’s talk about something else.”

Profile 3: Fionn was never the same after Sadhbh's disappearance. Plunged into a deep mourning, it was said that his entire personality shifted, until he was nearly a shadow of his former, magnanimous self. It was Oisin who volunteered to seek a new bride for his father, perhaps desperate to see his father smile again. It was these events that eventually lead to the Pursuit, another tale that is narrated in the Fenian Cycle.

Bond 4: “Was it hard? Yes, I suppose it was. All the places that I had loved, and all the people I had loved were gone. Even my own father. Even my first son. And then, I was even stupid enough to fall off my horse. Hah. Sorry, Master, I’ll go now. No, no. It’s alright. It’s just that I would never want you to see me like that. That’s all.”

Profile 4: Like the other Knights of Fianna, Oisin lived a long life full of adventures too numerous to recount in full. He married a fairy woman and went to live in Tir na Nog, the land of eternal youth. Eventually, he decided to return to the mortal world to visit his family. His wife gifted him a magical horse, and told him that he would not be able to dismount, or the blessings of eternal youth that he had been granted would disappear.

When Oisin emerged from the Land of Youth, he discovered that 300 years had passed, and the Fianna had all but completely disappeared.

Bond 5: “I will make sure that they remember you. I’ll fight beside you until the end – and then, I’ll make sure that the world remembers you. Really, it’s the least that I can do. But let’s not talk about depressing things. For some reason, I’ve been wanting to write a love song lately. What do you think? ‘Too early…’ It’s never too early for beautiful music! [laughing] Really, you ought to enjoy life a little more, Master.”

Profile 5: DORD FIANNA - The War Cry to Defend Humanity. A war cry to strike fear in the hearts of humanity's enemies, a power that can wake sleeping kings.

This Noble Phantasm would not normally belong to Oisin. It is said, in Ireland, that their great hero Fionn is not dead, but slumbers beneath a mountain, surrounded by his loyal knights, and that the one who blows upon his hunting horn will rise him from his sleep. When he rises, he will resume his duties, to protect humanity.

But the stories of the Fianna exist in the modern age because, after emerging from Tir na Nog, Oisin wrote them all down. Using his talents for word and song, he told the tales of valor and heroism and adventure, the stories of his friends and family to anyone who would listen. After an accident caused him to fall from the horse that should have carried him back to his beloved wife, Oisin lay dying, feeling each of those 300 years seep back into him, even as he desperately tried to finish the story he was telling.

So in this form, the Dord Fianna is not a war cry, but more like a song.

Bonus Profile, Post Interlude: In one version of the story of Oisin, he encounters a certain saint while traveling around Ireland. The saint listens to the knight's tales, but even so, because Oisin is still a pagan and an immortal himself, he and the saint don't get along very well and part on bad terms. Even though Oisin claims that it wasn't like that, and even so, he never holds grudges, he still can't help but make a face whenever the saint's name comes up in conversation.

[benex78]

Forgive our Sins

5 years after the events of Immortality, Sara and Grissom are living back in Las Vegas when a ghost from their past reappears in their life forcing them to face some old decisions. GSR of course! Enjoy it! I hope you like it and please review it! (Sorry if there are mistakes but I'm not a native English speaker and a special thanks to my friend LuLu for reading it)

PART 1 They went through a lot together during their 16 years long relationship. She left him and the sin city, he went to Costa Rica for her, they got married, they got divorced, she went to San Diego and sailed with him. They hurt each other more than once, but their love never stopped. In the end, they gave up their carriers to stay together, got married again and now they were finally living happily together. Grissom and Sara are back in Vegas, living in a small house in the university district. While Sara works as a consultant for the crime lab, Gil is a part-time professor of entomology who tends to stick his nose in his wife’s forensic cases. 14 years have passed since the miniature killer events and Natalie Davis is still in prison. In her cell she keeps a collection of miniatures and she is now working on a new one. She interrupts her work on the miniature to write a letter. It’s a difficult one: she had tried to write this letter so many times without success, in fact there are a few ripped sheets of paper on the floor. This time is different, she manages to use the rights words and, once done, she sends the envelope to the Las Vegas Crime Lab. It’s addressed to Sara Sidle. What does she want from Sara? Does she want to make amends? Does she want to go after her again? PART 2 A car is parked outside Sara and Grissom's house and the driver is observing Sara. One day on her way to work, Sara notices him and tries to run away, but suddenly she’s caught in an incident. She is brought to the hospital where a frightened Grissom arrives. Fortunately, Sara is fine, she only has some bruises and she is soon allowed to leave the hospital to go home with her husband. Sara tells Grissom what happened and now they fear someone is chasing them. Thanks to the street CCTVs the police finds and arrests the stalker, however the man has nothing to do with the accident. Thus, he is released, but not after securing a conversation with Sara Sidle. He is a private detective and he needs to talk to Sara because his client, a woman named Kelly Ross, wants to meet her. Sara asks the detective the reason for this meeting and he responds that Mrs. Ross instructed him to reveal only in which part of Vegas she lives and, most importantly, that they have someone in common. Sara is caught off guard as she doesn’t know what to expect from this. However, she can’t help but feel curious. PART 3 On their day off Grissom drives Sara to Mrs. Ross, but he waits outside in the car. He is worried but he respects Sara’s decision to go in alone. When opening the door, Mrs. Ross welcomes Sara with a warm hug then she lets her in. Gil Grissom observes the whole scene speechless. When Sara comes back couple of hours later, she is in shock and immediately askes Grissom to take her home. He wants to know about the meeting, yet Sara begs him to give her some time to put her thoughts together. That evening in their kitchen Sara tells him a story she kept for herself for far too long. FLASHBACK:13 YEARS EARLIER The miniature killer had changed everything: the team had found about her relationship with Grissom, she had to join swing and above all she felt something inside her had broken and no one, not even Griss, could do anything to help her. She was so depressed that she decided to leave Vegas and the love of her life. She was in L.A. visiting her mom when she started to feel unwell. It took her a few days to even conceive the idea that she could be pregnant. She went to the nearest drugstore and paid for a test that she took directly in the customers toilet. She waited in there for almost an hour with the result in her hands: POSITIVE! How could it be? She didn’t want a child and Grissom neither. They talked about this at the beginning of their story and even more recently when he proposed. They (she and Griss) were the only family they wanted. How could she tell Grissom something like that? At least by phone she could avoid looking into his eyes and see his disappointment. She went back to her motel room and waited for the morning to come. She didn’t sleep all night, she kept looking at the clock on the wall. When she was sure Grissom could be home from work, she called him. He picked up almost immediately. She heard him giggling at the other side of the phone, but his joy faded at the news. Sara was so depressed; their relationship was stalling and surely, he wasn’t ready to be a father. Thus, they both agreed to end the pregnancy. Grissom offered to come to L.A. to be close to her, but Sara declined. She wanted to do it alone and he didn’t complain. She had just booked an appointment at a private clinic, when her mother got sick, so she had to postpone the whole thing. When she finally got there 3 weeks later, it was too late to proceed with the abortion. She had no another choice but to contact the social services to find a family for her unborn child.  She never told Gilbert she carried their baby and that he was put up for adoption. To him, this was a dead story. Just 10 days before Warwick’s murder she delivered a healthy baby boy who she held only briefly in her arms before giving him away. When she came back to Vegas, Grissom was so devastated he didn’t even notice her body didn’t have the usual silhouette and she kept the secret for herself. Until now. Sara’s confession is very painful, she fears Gilbert’s reaction. She fears he will hate her and never forgive her for taking his son away. However, Grissom isn’t angry. He seems quite relieved instead. Grissom reaches his hand out across the table and places it on top of Sara’s, giving it a gentle squeeze: - I don’t begrudge you honey. In the end, you did what we had decided. At the time we didn’t want a kid and you didn’t keep it. Honestly, I’m quite happy it went this way. – Sara raises her head: - Really? – Grissom admits: - Yeah, because now, 13 years later, we are talking about someone we created, someone who has our genes and who probably is still alive. Even if he is somewhere, we don’t know where and who raised him – Sara reveals: - Gil, his name is Dylan, he is here in Vegas and Mrs. Ross is his adoptive mother – Grissom is astonished: - What? He’s in Vegas right now? Did you see him? – Sara shakes her head: - No, he was at school - Grissom: - How did Mrs. Ross find you? – Sara: - I can’t explain it, but since I had decided for an open adoption, she must have assumed a detective to find me. - Grissom: - But why now? – Sara: - Because she wants to give us a second chance – Grissom: - Sorry I don’t get it – Sara: - She is dying, she has terminal cancer and her husband has died of Covid last year. She fears that once she’s dead her boy will end up living in an institute until his 18th birthday. -   Grissom’s heart starts beating fast, he can’t bear it any more. Maybe it’s his age but he wants to be a father now. However, he knows everything it’s up to his Sara: - Can we…? What do you want to do? - Sara: - Honestly… I don’t know – Grissom: - Sara, we are his parents! – Sara’s answer is firm: - No, we lost that right a long time ago Gil! – Grissom corrects himself: - You are right, but we have to do something. Don’t you want to get to know him? To see who he looks like? – Sara:  - Of course I want to, but I am also terrified. I abandoned him. For all I know he could hate me. – Gil replies: - He could love you. -   Sara gives Grissom a sad smile. Grissom tries to lift her spirit: - He could be a geek like us - Sara announces: - Gil, he is a special boy, he is not like the other kids – Grissom asks: -What do you mean? – Sara: - Mrs. Ross told me Dylan can’t hear, he has a genetic disease that made him almost deaf 5 years ago. Grissom is hurt, he can’t find the words to express his feelings. Sara notices his reaction and she gently touches his leg. Sara: - Are you ok? – Grissom nods: - I just don’t know how to feel about this: happy because I have something in common with my son or sad that I passed this pain to him It's all my...  – Sara raises Gilbert’s chin, she cuts him off this time, shaking her head: "No, it's not. and it's not right to put the blame all on you. We both made stupid decisions in our relationship that lead us to where we are now." She takes a breath and speaks again more softly. "Now, I just want to put all of that behind us and start over..." Grissom clears his throat and asks in a more serious tone: - So... what do you think? –   Sara takes both his hands in her and smiled a little: - I think we are going to speak with Kelly Ross and arrange a meeting with Dylan. Ok? – Grissom nods satisfied. Sara: - Let’s see what happens but we have to keep our hopes grounded – Grissom: - Ok… Come here – and takes Sara in his arms: - I love you, no matter what! – Sara leans towards him. She looks him in his eyes and responds with a tender kiss on his lips whispering against them "I love you too”.

PART 4 Sara spends the week working and thinking, thinking and working. Tension and expectations building up every day, more and more. In her mind Sara has imagined their meeting with Dylan at least 300 times, she has repeated all the possible things she could say to him, but every time his reaction is bad and the meeting goes wrong. Even Grissom is anxious; nonetheless he tries to distract Sara: he invites her to see one of his lessons at the university, he proposes a trip on a boat over the lake Mead and he takes her out to dinner. The Italian restaurant they go to is one of their favorites. They eat a very good lasagna and they drink a little more than they usually do, just to relax. Once at home, they go to bed. They face each other but, thinking of the day ahead, they can’t sleep. Grissom: - It’s gonna be fine – Sara: - You can’t know that – Gil caresses her hair: - No, but we have to stay positive – Sara takes Gil’s hand and brings it to her cheek: - I don’t know what to tell him – Gil’s finger brushes her lips: - The truth! If he asks, we’ll tell him the truth - Sara: - But? – Grissom: - Honey, if we want his trust, we have to be honest. We can’t lie. - Sara: - I am scared! -   Grissom: - Me too – and he slowly kisses her. She returns the kiss as they are taken by the passion of their bodies, entangled in one. Their minds are lost in the rhythm of that primordial act of desire, they know so well. They are just flesh and skin, sweat and moans. PART 5 It’s afternoon and they are sitting in a park near Dylan’s school. The sight of the boy approaching them with his mother takes their breath away. Kelly greets them from afar and points them to her son. They stand up and walk in their direction. Sara and Grissom stop when they are in front of Dylan and Kelly.  4 souls, 4 people meant to be a family finally together.  Dylan is a mini version of Grissom. He is not so tall but he’s slim. He has short curly brown hair. His eyes are blue and curios. Behind his left ear he has a hearing aid. Kelly addresses them to Dylan; she gestures in sign language and tells him: - They are the friends I was talking to you about. – Grissom takes courage and speaks first, gesturing his words: - Hi Dylan, my name is Gilbert and she is my wife Sara. We are happy to meet you. Your mother told us a lot about you. – Sara: - Hi, sorry but my sign language is a little rusty. I will try to improve. – Dylan: - Don’t worry, I can hear you (he indicates the implant to Sara). Moreover, I’ve learned to read lips. You, (he addresses to Grissom) on the other hand are very good. – Grissom: - Thanks. My mum was deaf, she taught me – Dylan nods pondering the answer. Sara tries to break the silence: - How was your day? Do you like school? – Kelly intervenes: - He is the best of his class – Dylan gives her a little buff on her right arm: - Mum please! – Kelly smiles: - He is shy, he doesn't like to brag – Grissom and Sara, grinning, exchange a look of complicity mixed with pride: - We can imagine – Dylan fixes them and he asks abruptly: - Why don’t you tell me who you really are? – Grissom and Sara almost choke: - What? – Kelly scolds him: - Dylan?! – Dylan continues: - You are my real parents, aren’t you? Sara feels responsible and wants to give him an answer: - You are right, I’m your birth mother and he is your father. – Dylan insists: - Why are you here? – Kelly: - I asked them to come – Dylan turns to his mother in shock but Kelly goes on: - I have to know that you would be safe, cared for and loved when I will be gone – Dylan: - How could you think that I would stay with someone who abandoned me? – Kelly interrupts them: - You three need to talk, you need to know each other. Dylan please, you have to listen to them – Dylan: - I don’t want to – and he runs away. Kelly touches Sara’s shoulder, she feels her pain and apologizes for Dylan’s reaction: - Give him some time.  He is a good boy… he’s very smart – Grissom sighs: - I see – Sara is ashamed: - He is right, I made a mistake. – Kelly tries to soothe her by saying: - We all make mistakes, Sara – Sara: - But he is the one who’s paying the consequences of that mistake – Grissom: - We had our reasons, dear– Sara locks her eyes on Gil: - and why does it all seem so wrong now? – Kelly: - Let me talk to him – Sara replies: - No, I want to try - Sara goes to look for Dylan; Grissom follows her but she turns and stops him: - Give me 5 minutes – Gil nods; she approaches the boy. He is sitting on a swing. Sara asks him permission with a soft voice: - Can I? – Dylan shrugs his shoulders and Sara sits in the swing next to him. The boy leaps down and faces her. Sara: - I’m so sorry for everything, Dylan. I’m sorry for your mum, for your dad, for your earing problems, and above all I'm sorry for what I did to you. – Dylan: - Why did you leave me? – Sara tries her best to formulate an answer: - It’s complicated.... I wasn’t feeling very well. Something bad had happened to me. – Dylan interrupts her: - My father? Did he hurt you? – Sara: - No, absolutely not. He has always been kind to me – she invites Grissom to join them and he moves in their direction. – I was, I still am a Crime Scene Investigator. Do you know what it is? – Dylan nods and Sara continues: - I was working on a case, and a serial killer kidnapped me and left me to die. I managed to escape, your father and other members of my team saved me – Dylan listens very carefully. – But after that, nothing was the same. I was broken and unhappy. I wasn’t myself anymore and I couldn’t stay there. I went away from your father, from this town, from my old life. I could not be a good mother for you, you deserved more. – Dylan looks at Sara and then Grissom and says: - You are married now – Sara declares: - We got back together 5 years ago. – Grissom kneels in front of Dylan: - We're not here to be your parents, you already have them – Dylan states: - My mum is great! – Grissom agrees: - It’s true. We just want to know you, Dylan! – Sara teases: - Can you give us a chance? – Dylan thinks and then asks Sara something that has always intrigued him: - Did you give me a name before.. you .. ? Sara affirms instantly: - Arthur, I named you Arthur –

LITTLE FLASHBACK OF 13 YEARS EARLIER Sara was holding her baby when a nurse entered the room to take him. The social assistant was waiting outside. The woman checked the papers she had filled in. On the birth certificate she had written her name, Gilbert’s, and a new one: ARTHUR. She gave her baby a kiss on the forehead and passed him to the nurse who left the room, closing the door to a crying Sara. Grissom turns towards Sara, surprised by her admission. Sara looks at him directly in his eyes: - It’s your father’s middle name! – Dylan chuckles, satisfied by the answer: - It’s my middle name too – Sara is grateful that the Ross in some way had kept the name she had chosen for him. Dylan remarks: - My father was a pastor, he always told me to forgive the others. I’m forgiving you! – They give him an appreciative smile before Grissom touches his head saying: - He’d be very proud – Dylan nods and walks over to an emotional Sara. He wipes a tear from her face, similarly to what Gilbert would have done. She whispers a thank you to him, then they return to the bench where Kelly was sitting, watching the whole scene.

PART 6 Grissom and Sara start seeing Dylan every day after school. Their bond gets deeper and deeper. Dylan looks more at ease with them. He loves spending time with Gil, making experiments, going fishing or sailing. They find a new balance in their lives. Every once in a while, he even spends the night with them. The guest bedroom has become his room now. Kelly’s cancer on the other hand gets worse and she ends in hospital. It’s a Wednesday morning when Sara picks up Dylan from school and brings him to the hospital to give his mother one last hug. Kelly Ross dies at 2.00 PM of that same day and Dylan cries in the arms of Gilbert.  At the funeral he stands between Sara and Grissom. He is brave but silent. Over the last year, he has lost both of his parents and found two new ones. It’s strange how life takes an unexpected turn sometimes and turns up the way it should have from the beginning.  In fact, before her death, Kelly had arranged things so that Sara and Gil could have full custody of the boy and become a family.

PART 7 Sara is in a hurry; she greets her boss and some other members of the team as she prepares to leave the office. The receptionist at the desk calls her back and gives her some correspondence. She doesn’t have time to read it, she will do it later with calm. All she wants to do now is to go home to her boys and to enjoy the evening with them. After dinner Dylan does his homework in the living room, Gil prepares his lesson and Sara tidies the kitchen up. She suddenly remembers the letters in her purse, so she takes a break to read them. An envelope without a sender attracts her attention. She rips the envelope and her jaw drops.

Dear Sara Sidle, I’m Natalie Davis, you probably remember me as the miniature killer. I’ve been thinking of you very often lately. I know, I don’t have the right to write to you after all this time, but my journey here in prison made me reflect on my actions and on what I have done to you and to the other victims. I’m so sorry Mrs Sidle, I can’t change the past and my apologies can’t relieve your pain or what you’ve lost. I was angry and I seeked vengeance for no real reason except because I couldn’t accept the daemons from my past. I should have known that that wasn’t the answer but I was too lost. I hold Mr Grissom responsible for the death of Arnie Dell and I tried to take you away from him because of his love for you. However, and now I know this, it was not his fault and you were a collateral damage in my inner war. I don’t deserve your forgiveness; I’m not searching for redemption. I’m just happy that you are alive. I also hope life has been kind to you and that Mr Grissom is still by your side.                                                                                                      Sincerely, Natalie Davis                    

Sara confronts Grissom about the letter and what to do next. They are concerned, still they decide to go to the county jail to see Natalie in person. As CSI they get a special permit to meet her in the interrogation room. The door opens and a guard escorts Natalie Davis inside. She is handcuffed and she’s wearing an orange suit. For the first time in 14 years she, Sara and Gil are in the same room. The guard moves to stand in a corner and Natalie sits at the table. Natalie is surprised by this visit: - I didn’t expect you to come. - Sara: - I didn’t expect your letter either. - They contemplate in silence for some time. Natalie clears her throat: - Anyway, thank you. Your presence here is very important to me – Sara replies: - I’m here because I wanted to look you in the eyes, to make sure your words were true and your regret sincere. Natalie: - Mrs. Sidle, I don’t know what to do to prove it to you - Sara: - You wrote you don’t deserve forgiveness… – Natalie: - No, I don’t. I’m a sinner and I need to be punished for my sins! – Sara: - Hmmm. It was not easy to understand it but now, now I’ve got it. We have different backgrounds, different stories but we have one thing in common – Natalie looks confused. Sara continues: - We are survivors, Natalie! We are women with physical and psychological scars. I could have surrendered to the difficulties that life put in front of me, as you did, but I decided to move on and I’m still doing it – Sara grabs Gilbert’s hand and squeezes it. They exchange a tender look. They both smile before Sara shakes her head and goes on: – Therefore, I forgive you! – Natalie is incredulous: - Why are you so good to me after all I’ve done? - Sara: - I’m not good, I just think this place and your sense of guilt are enough for me. We cannot live in resentment forever, and you know what? I’ve learned such an important lesson from a very mature 13 years old boy who has been through hell in such a short time. Goodbye Natalie. - Sara and Gil stand up and leave the room, Natalie and her nightmares behind. Dylan will be home soon with some of his friends. Tonight, they will go to the Luna park, they will ride the rollercoaster and then eat pizza. Their future is definitely bright.

THE END

[drethanramslay]

Letters of Love and Longing (6)

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x M!MC (Dev Lennox)

Letters of Love and Longing Masterlist

Requested by @sinner-chan- #75 & #84 

Author’s note: So I cried while I was writing this so just keep your tissues on standby. Also, I gained some inspiration form Heather by Conan Gray 

Year: 1943 Location: Kasserine Pass, Tunisia

Respected Dr Ethan Ramsey,

I can’t help but laugh at how I can’t get over this formal salutation when you are probably the only person who knows me intimately, both physically and emotionally.

It is true! Absolutely no one knows me for me… No one knows my fears… No one knows how foolish and deadly the words “be yourself” are to a person like me because that could be the very thing that could get me jailed or worse killed. Nobody knows me, Dev Aidan Lennox. Nobody but you.

At first, when I fell in love with you, I almost resented your intrusion.

I was okay with hiding my true self, a homosexual, do you know that? I had made my peace that I would be in a loveless marriage with a wife who will never be satisfied and with kids in a modest suburban in Boston. I had made my peace that this my punishment and that I was just born to suffer. I had made my peace that I would probably die unloved and alone.

But you changed that. And I hate you for it.

You read it right. I hate you. I hate you for seeing right through my misery. I hate you for making me open up to you. I hate you for digging out the part of me that I had kept under lock and key. I hate you for kissing me under the inky skies of Miami. I hate you for all the passionate lovemaking. I hate you for giving me the one thing that I was so afraid of-

Hope.

You gave me hope of a future. You gave me love and affection in a way I had never been acquainted with. You gave me a safe space in you, where I could be my truest self with you.

Your presence to me was like St. Peter’s shadow to those sick men; it healed me, but it made me long for more than the shadow. The thought that you would walk through other cities where I could not follow, filled me with emptiness. But you never once let me get drowned in that emptiness.

We were there for each other through the hardships, through the happiness, through the pain and through the love. For the two of us, home wasn’t a place. Home for us was not mortar, bricks and cement. It was blood, flesh and bones. We were each other’s home. You said those words to me.

But I should have known that you were a liar.

So here I am, back to square one. I am lonely, meant to die alone and go to my grave with my true self as a secret. The only thing different is that I am heartbroken and shattered with no hope whatsoever.

I will never forget that black letter day. The day when I walked into Donahues, to meet you for our regular drink before going back to your home on the hills. It was supposed to be a regular Saturday night. But how the turntables.

She was standing at your arm, looking up at you with similar adoration and starry eyes as I am around you. That would have still been okay because I knew whose bed you would come to and how you didn’t care about other women’s infatuation with you.

But she had a ring on the fourth finger of her left hand.

When I turned to you for an explanation, I saw the impassive mask rather than your handsome smile. The eyes which I could so easily read were ice cold and impenetrable. Your arm wrapped around her waist and you introduced her to me- your fiancée.

I have never been a person who hated anyone. I was not one for jealousy either but at that moment… I just wish she were dead. And I was at your arm rather than her. I wished the world wasn’t so harsh and I wished that you would man up and love me.

A part of me silently pleaded that you would leave her and come with me. I know you could see it in my eyes how I was two seconds away from getting down to my knees and begging.

But you didn’t. You didn’t say anything. It was your silence that broke me. It was your silence that completely and utterly shattered me.

Congrats Dr. Ethan Jonah Ramsey, you broke me. You will get over it, oh I know you will. You will stick that stony facade on your face as you say “I do” at the altar. You will convince yourself that you love her and those three special words which were meant for me will be your new mantra to keep her happy and unsuspicious. You will grow old, have three kids who have the same brilliant blue eyes like yours. You will continue to make major breakthroughs in medicine and probably get awards for it. You will be sad but satiated.

You will move on. But I won’t because I am catastrophically in love with you. And I am such a buffoon Ethan that I will never, not in a thousand tragic outcomes, ever regret loving you.

I have a serious affliction: loving you forever.

Guess that is one of the other things I will be carrying to my grave, eh?

I am stationed in Kasserine pass which people have dubbed as death’s doorstep. I don’t see much chances of survival since we are lacking in preparation and resources. So when you get this letter, I might be gone… forever. I think of it as a blessing because a life without you isn’t a life worth living. I see it as a mercy.

I have lived a good life. I have had the privilege to get your love so I am not afraid to die. So, thank you.

I honestly don’t know the purpose of this letter when I am never going to read your reply. But I guess it is better that way for they say, ignorance is bliss. Because if I were to hear from you, my hopes would escalate and I can’t bear that.

I won’t be able to survive that.

I have said my piece so I hope it can give me the contentment that I have craved all my life in my dying hour. But I want you to know that it is your face I will see and your lips that I will feel when I breathe my last.

I wish you the best of everything, my love.

Yours forever,

Dev.

See, I don't want to be a dick but Dev succumbed to his injuries and passed away😭😭😭 6500 Americans out of 30000 Americans passed away. It was a tactical attack causing Germany to win and it didn't help that the Americans weren't prepared AT ALL. 

And it it true that an homosexuals suffered during that time period. In Britain alone 49000 homosexuals died because of the sexual identity, be it imprisonment or chemical castration via hormone therapy. So you get it why it happened that way. 

This was something completely new for me and i hope you like it 💓 I would definitely wanna dive into Ethan x M!MC in the future 😊

Tagging separately

[shushmal]

A pinch hit written for the @kkirzine​! Leftover sales are almost over! Check it out here!

Sakumo’s face lights up, his lips turning up into a wide, excited smile. Kakashi’s hand is so small cupped between his father’s, one of his thumbs rubbing along the line of kanji on Kakashi’s skin. It doesn’t smear like ink but shines brightly as if it had just been brushed on. “The gods have blessed you,” he says, looking at Kakashi as if he couldn’t have been prouder. “Your soulmate was born today.”

“Oh,” is all Kakashi has to say about that, because he’s four and he’s really not sure what a soulmate even is.

Read it here on Ao3!

Kakashi’s four when he finds it. He’s pulling on his shirt by himself—because Kakashi’s not a baby anymore and only babies have to be dressed by their fathers—when he notices it. The black lines are stark against the creamy white of his wrist, and for a long moment Kakashi stares at it, confused.

“Otou,” he calls when he hears Sakumo walk by his door. “Did you write on me again?”

Sticking his head in the door, Sakumo raises his brow, his face open and indulgent. “What was that?”

“Did you write on me again?” Kakashi repeats, holding out his arm as his father crouches in front of him.

Sakumo’s face lights up, his lips turning up into a wide, excited smile. Kakashi’s hand is so small cupped between his father’s, one of his thumbs rubbing along the line of kanji on Kakashi’s skin. It doesn’t smear like ink but shines brightly as if it had just been brushed on. “The gods have blessed you,” he says, looking at Kakashi as if he couldn’t have been prouder. “Your soulmate was born today.”

“Oh,” is all Kakashi has to say about that, because he’s four and he’s really not sure what a soulmate even is.

“It’s traditional to send a gift,” Sakumo adds, chuckling at his disinterest. “What would you like to give them?”

Kakashi thinks about it a moment, nose wrinkling under his mask. “Maybe a new kunai?” he says and pouts when Sakumo snorts.

“Well, they’re a baby right now,” Sakumo says, rolling Kakashi’s sleeve back down and fussing with Kakashi’s flyaway hair. “They won’t need kunai just yet.”

“It’s never too early for kunai,” Kakashi says, matter-of-fact. “Maybe a sword would be better, anyways.”

Sakumo actually tilts his head back and laughs with his full body.

-

Kakashi’s formal kimono is stiff and itchy and heavy, and he’s never worn it before today. But his father told him that they were having very special guests tonight and even paid the woman down the road to cook for them. Sakumo gently swats Kakashi’s hands away from his obi and fusses with Kakashi’s hair when it refuses to lay flat.

“Hatake-san,” Yua, their neighbor, says as she peeks around into the room. “Your guests are here.”

“Thank you, Yua-chan,” Sakumo says, pulling Kakashi into a more formal position on the floor. “Please show them in.”

“Who’s even here?” Kakashi grumbles as she turns away. “Why do I have to wear this?”

Sakumo presses his hand to Kakashi’s back, straightening his spine. “A good shinobi sits quiet and observes until the answers come to them,” he says, his voice chiding but gentle, and he smiles at Kakashi when he immediately falls silent and attentive.

Yua slides open the doors, presenting a man and a woman, both kneeling at the threshold. Together, they bow low, and it’s then that Kakashi notices the baby in the woman’s arms.

“Hatake-san,” the man says, his voice almost too soft to carry. “Thank you for your invitation.”

His hand still at Kakashi’s back, Sakumo bows just as deeply, Kakashi mirroring him. “Umino-san, welcome to our home.”

Umino-san smiles nervously at them when they rise, hands twisting in his kimono, but his wife is smiling. “If it’s fine with you Hatake-san, let’s skip all this formality,” she says. “Hatake-kun, come meet Iruka!”

“Kohari!” Umino-san hisses, embarrassed, but the woman just grins, beckoning Kakashi over.

Kakashi, stunned, looks at his father, but Sakumo nudges him forward. “Go on,” he says, and Kakashi goes.

Sitting up, Kohari adjusts the bundle in her arms as Kakashi approaches. In the folds of the blankets is a round little face, smooth in sleep, with a thick tuft of hair on his head. “This is Iruka,” Kohari says as Kakashi bends closer to see. “Please be good friends with him and take care of him in the future.”

Looking from her to the baby in her arms, Kakashi nods hesitantly, saying nothing. Kohari isn’t put off at all, gently shifting her baby until she can show Kakashi his arm, chubby and round with baby fat. Kakashi’s whole focus narrows down, the world fading away. At this moment, the only people that exist are this strange woman and the baby in her arms, because there, on Iruka’s delicate skin, is Kakashi’s name in the same bold letters, almost too big for the tiny wrist cradled in Kohari’s hand.

“He’ll grow big and strong,” Kohari says. “One day he’ll be a formidable shinobi, just like his mom and dad, and he’ll make you an excellent partner, Hatake-kun.”

Iruka wakes as she talks, blinking too-big eyes sleepily. His eyes are a deep, warm brown, and they focus on Kakashi, unblinking. Kakashi can see Kohari smile out of the corner of his eye.

“Iruka-chan,” she coos. “This is your soulmate. Say hello!”

Iruka gurgles back, a high, childish pitch, and he waves his arm at Kakashi, fingers grasping. Kakashi reaches up without a thought, and Iruka’s hand wraps around one finger, already calloused and scarred from regular throwing practice.

Sakumo leans in close over Kakashi’s shoulder, a steadying hand at his son’s back. “Always remember him, Kakashi,” he says softly. “Always remember how blessed you are.”

-

It’s only a few months later that Sakumo is dead.

Umino-san and Kohari still knock on his door to see him, or to leave him groceries and gifts. But Kakashi is a soldier. Things like family, like love are useless to someone like Kakashi.

They never stop coming by for nearly ten years. And when they stop, Kakashi barely notices—the loss of his sensei, his Hokage and commander, leaving him numb. By the time Iruka even crosses his mind, he’s graduated from the academy, an independent kid with his own life. And Kakashi feels he has no right to invade it.

But if he leaves a few vegetables on Iruka’s windowsill, then that’s just for Kakashi to know.

-

When ANBU get hurt, there are no emergency contacts made for them. But for a regular shinobi, soulmates are the first notified in the event of a hospitalization. Kakashi’s soulmate is an academy teacher though, and he’s glad for it, that the most danger Iruka faces is a few badly thrown shuriken.

So when he appears in Iruka’s hospital room in the dead of night, he already feels wrong-footed and Iruka is already glaring at him from where he’s face down on the mattress.

“Visiting hours are over,” he hisses.

“Maa, I just thought you could use some company,” Kakashi says, probably the first real thing he’s said to his soulmate since the day he was born.

Iruka’s eyes soften a fraction, because Kakashi’s voice is a little weak, shaken, and he sighs. “I guess that’s fine then.”

-

Kakashi can separate his life in chapters of a book: the prologue he’s forgotten and many chapters of death that make up his history. But now, Kakashi thinks he might like this new chapter dedicated to his students, and to Iruka’s smile that grows more familiar as the months pass.

“How do you get him to stop?” Kakashi whines from where he’s buried his face in his arms.

Sipping from his coffee, Iruka gives Kakashi a thousand-yard stare of a man who has twenty-three kids to teach as opposed to Kakashi’s three. “You don’t. You distract him.”

“I’m running out of cool jutsu though!”

“Don’t you have like a thousand?”

“That number is highly exaggerated, it’s more like high seven-hundreds.”

“That’s still a lot!”

“And yet I’m still running out!”

Iruka has a snorting, ugly laugh. Kakashi thinks he loves it. “Wanna go on a date Saturday night?”

“God no,” Iruka says, wrinkling his nose. “That’s my only chance to get a decent night’s sleep. I plan on passing out for a solid twelve hours.”

“Lucky,” Kakashi sighs, finally lifting his head from the table. “We have a mission Sunday morning.”

“Sucks for you.” Iruka’s smile is the exact opposite of sympathetic as he stands, shouldering his bag and draining his coffee. “Well, I need to get to the missions room. See you next week.”

“Maa, I don’t even get a kiss good-bye?”

Iruka slaps his back hard as he walks past, sending Kakashi sprawling across the table. “Nope!”

-

Kakashi lands in Iruka’s windowsill with a heavy thump and rattling of glass.

“I don’t have time,” Iruka says, not even looking up from the papers. “I have exams and homework to grade and I’m behind because the Hokage—”

“Iruka.”

Iruka takes one look at him and immediately shepherds Kakashi to the couch. Kakashi strips off his vest and gloves with a sound of disgust, burying his face in his hands when Iruka disappears into his kitchen to put the kettle on.

“Do you have something stronger than tea?” Kakashi calls.

The soft thump of the sake bottle set on the table rouses him, and Kakashi gives Iruka a grateful stare before he pulls down his mask and takes a long draw, straight from the bottle. The alcohol burns its way down his throat, tasteless and cheap and exactly what Kakashi needs right now.

“Buy me something nicer to replace it,” Iruka says.

“As long as I get to drink it with you.”

Smiling, Iruka sits down beside him with two cups of ramen, which Kakashi really doesn’t want, but it is the spicy kind that he likes best.

“Marry me.”

“Not on your life.”

-

“Iruka-sensei,” Kakashi whines. Inwardly, he’s surprised he’s gotten close enough without getting stabbed. Iruka ignores him and continues stomping home. “Please, just hear me out.”

“I’m sorry, Jounin-sama, but I really need to get home.”

Kakashi tightens his arms around Iruka’s shoulders until he can haul himself up enough to wrap his legs around the man’s waist. Iruka doesn’t even stumble, carrying Kakashi’s full weight easily. It’s incredibly hot. “At least let me apologize!”

Iruka pauses. “You’re going to apologize?”

“Yes, please.”

Huffing, Iruka elbows Kakashi off his back and faces him. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

Dropping into a perfect ninety-degree bow, Kakashi says formally, “I am very sorry for not taking your concerns seriously and for not speaking to you as an equal.” Iruka splutters in front of him. “Furthermore, I apologize for embarrassing you in front of our colleagues and the Hokage. It was wrong of me to—”

“Okay, okay!” Iruka says hastily, grabbing Kakashi by the shoulders and righting him forcefully. “I didn’t need all that.”

Smiling, Kakashi shrugs. “I figured I should be serious.”

“It’s awkward,” Iruka says, flustered, his arms crossed in front of him. “I apologize as well, for not trusting your judgment.”

Kakashi dares to take a step closer. “Call it a truce?”

Iruka eyes him from the side for a moment, before sighing. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when it all blows up in your face.”

-

“Are you an idiot?”

Kakashi looks up from his book, completely unphased by the shouting or the nurse’s surprised squeak. “Why, if it isn’t the love of my life,” Kakashi coos as Iruka stomps towards him.

“Shut up,” Iruka snaps, coming to a stop right in front of Kakashi. “Really? Ebisu?!”

“Maa, I just,” Kakashi starts, and knows he has to be careful here, “Naruto struggles with the basics, and he really needs to master them to catch up to Sasuke and Sakura. Not that I’m making a comment on your teaching methods, Iruka-sensei—”

“I know that!” Kakashi takes the knock to the head with dignity. Iruka pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Naruto’s always struggled, but he works hard and has really come a long way.”

Rubbing the lump on his head, Kakashi glares at him. “Then, why are you so upset?”

“He won’t take Naruto’s training seriously!”

“Really?” Kakashi hums, tilting his head back to gaze at the ceiling. “He seemed honored by my request and has already run his training schedule by me.”

Iruka stops grinding his teeth long enough to consider Kakashi balefully. “You actually reviewed it?”

Kakashi pouts. “Of course I did, Iruka-sensei. Naruto-chan is my precious student after all.”

That earns him a kick to the shin, but the line of Iruka’s shoulders relax. “You should still pay him more attention, you know?” Iruka says with a huff. “He looks up to you.”

“He’s not my problem child at the moment,” Kakashi admits, tilting his head to acknowledge Iruka’s curious gaze. “Maa, I may be out of town for a bit, sensei. Do I get a good-bye kiss?”

Iruka kicks him again. “No way.”

“So violent,” Kakashi says. “You sure you won’t marry me?”

Iruka doesn’t even bother to respond.

-

Kakashi doesn't startle when Iruka flips the light on while he's haphazardly laying across Iruka's couch. Iruka is still in his funeral clothes, looking worse for wear. Kakashi shifts just a bit, and Iruka flips the lights back off before he sprawls across Kakashi, tangling their legs together. Kakashi wraps him up and rolls him to the side until Iruka’s pressed between the back of the sofa and Kakashi’s front. They don’t say a word, even as the night passes between them, silent and dark.

-

Naruto’s been gone for nearly five months when Iruka falls into the booth beside Kakashi, making the table rattle. He easily joins the conversation that Kakashi was ignoring, like water flowing into the ocean, laughing along with everyone else. But he’s a warm line along Kakashi’s side, pressed thigh to thigh, their elbows bumping comfortably together.

When the bartender yells for the last call, Iruka hooks his arm with Kakashi’s and drags him outside.

“Sensei,” Kakashi starts as they leave the bustle of nightlife behind them. They walk with their steps synced, their arms around each other. He thinks they would look like a couple if he could see them outside himself, so in love they can’t be separated even to walk home together. “Isn’t it a school night?”

“Actually, I have tomorrow off,” Iruka says. Kakashi turns his head enough to glance the smile on his face. “Are you free?”

“For you,” Kakashi says. “Always.”

Iruka snorts inelegantly. Kakashi loves that about him. “Then, would you like to go on a date?”

Kakashi straightens his spine from his slouch, jostling Iruka beside him. “I thought this was a date!” He shouts, indignant, to cover his shock and Iruka’s laughter.

“Dates end in kisses,” Iruka chuckles. By now, they’ve made it to Kakashi’s front door and he finally realizes that Iruka’s walked him home. “Though I guess, since you’re my soulmate,” he says, like an afterthought as he turns to stand in front of him. “I’ll make an exception.”

He pulls Kakashi’s mask down and kisses Kakashi. For years and years, Kakashi has felt on edge, teetering on his toes, but kissing Iruka is like finding solid ground again. He chases that warmth when Iruka shies away, and whimpers when Iruka meets him again, open-mouthed and wanting. Kakashi wonders if this is what being whole feels like.

“There,” Iruka says, a little breathless, his lips cherry red and shining. He’s looking at Kakashi with smiling eyes, and it feels like standing in the summer sun.

“Marry me,” Kakashi croaks, and it’s worth the embarrassment to watch Iruka laugh.

“Maybe later,” Iruka says against his lips, smiling.

[sweet-cynical-writer]

Thank you to everyone who waited patiently!!! The long overdue update is here for Soukoku's Love Child!

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Suicide, Gore, Death

Special thanks to @soukokuwu naturally for proofreading & of course continuing to be my partner for the series! ♡

Soukoku's Love Child - Nikkō's Past

The soft piano music carried on a reminiscent sound as Dazai walked into Lupin. As he settled into his seat, a certain ginger haired mafioso let out an exasperated sigh as if he'd been expecting company for quite some time. His partner was late as usual.

“What kept you this time, shitty Dazai?”

He took his drink in hand to take a sip before replying. And naturally it made Chuuya upset. A warning glare shot towards the barkeep who was only there to do his job and nothing more. Dazai didn't mind ;In fact for as long as he'd been coming to Lupin, he was always served without having to place a single order.

“I was visiting someone along the way. Turns out, they need my help.”

His partner opened his mouth to retort that there's no way he would assist in helping him but was cut off as if it were expected.

“Chuuya. I know you don't want me to get involved in anyone's problems. But this is a special case. And it will affect you as well.”

The way he released an audible, ‘Tch’ made Dazai smirk with amusement. It was his partner's way of saying, ‘go on and explain yourself fast before I rip your head off’.

“I'm glad you understand. Now. To put it bluntly, I found out more about this kid I ran into. We should adopt him. There's too much risk keeping him in that orphanage and if someone else comes along to grab him.. well let's just say it will only create more work for us.”

Chuuya was irritated at the idea of having a child to look after. He hardly would have patience for Dazai as troublesome and childish he could be. Taking care of a real child would be a nightmare.

“Now listen here, if you think that you could just make all the decisions here and I would just go along with it, you're dead wrong.”

Sure, Chuuya was aware that when it came to making life changing decisions that Dazai had a natural gift for choosing right every time. But that didn't mean the ginger had to mindlessly agree every time something like this occurred.

The way he cooly took his drink to his lips only made him more angry. That sly smile played on his lips like he could order the mafia executive around like some second hand maid.

“Look you bandaged bastard, I mean it. If we just ignore this child and we do end up with more work, so what? We could always use an alternative to helping the kid find a stable home rather than have us watch him.”

Even given their separate roles, it would be impossible for either of them to always have visual watch on the kid. Was he expecting the two of them to play hot potato taking care of him? And then there were always the possibilities of the kid wandering off. Chuuya shook his head after drinking from his glass.

"No, Dazai. There's too much maintenance to bother having this kid in our care. I say make him someone else's problem or just forget about it.”

He knew better than to doubt Dazai's intuition. As insufferable this man was, he never made a wrong call on a long term decision. Ultimately, that was part of the pros of dating such a man. Still, no matter how sharp Dazai was in taking the lead, Chuuya refused to cooperate. This time, Dazai was asking for too much on his part.

To be honest, the burnette anticipated a reaction like this from Chuuya. He didn't look surprised in the slightest as he watched his partner express the facial expression of a stubborn dog who didn't want to move an inch. Unless his owner was going to drag him along by the leash.

“You may be against it now, Chuuya. But when I tell you what kind of capabilities this child has, you'll change your mind.”

Dazai took another sip from his glass before setting it down with a soft clink against the glass coaster. His warm chocolate gaze filled with sorrow as he parted his lips to tell the story of a child that lost everything at once.

***

The child was only six when this took place. A meeting that was long overdue on a night when the air was bone chilling. It whispered desirable sins in the ears of two lovers that tore a bond that was at wit's end. There was only a matter of time that this would happen but the way it happened was something not fit for children. So it was only natural that they waited until their son was put to bed before they took action on leaving him behind.

Nothing was going to stop them from reaching what they both wanted most. The one thing in life that was irreversible that was both feared and wanted by man. It was something that their son wouldn't understand until long after they left.

“The only thing I hope for.. is that he won't hate us if he ever finds out.”

Her silky voice came out in a soft whisper. Sweet honey coated eyes staring back into that freshly cut emerald gaze of his. They were sharp and confident the way he reassured his wife with a gentle press of his lips to hers. The moonlight shone down on them like a spotlight. They danced against death for their whole lives. But tonight? Tonight they would dance toward it.

They had decided a while back; they’d do it here, near the river, under the bridge where it’s quiet, barren. It wasn’t too far from the house, but far enough so their child would be able to sleep through it. Doing it at their home would be too much, too troublesome.

Tonight was the last time they could breathe. The last time they would see each other. Their fate was sealed with the guns they both held in each other's hands. They intertwined arms with the barrels resting on their foreheads. With a silent exchange to one another, they released the trigger.

It was roughly 6:45 A.M. that the boy had woken up from his slumber. He was in a daze, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he rolled out of bed to search for his parents. Their bedroom being empty sent his heart into a panic. Where did they go? And without him? Frantically, he opened the front door to rush to the first place he thought of. The river. It was a favored area that Nikkō loved to spend his time skipping rocks.

There were even times when he would hide from his parents to play out here. It was an obvious spot to be found, but that didn't matter to him, he always wanted to be found easily. However, this time, Nikkō's parents were the ones easily found.

Two bodies, side by side and covered in red, tainting the usual clear blue gentleness which was the river. It no longer held the innocent and kind memories of his family. Instead, it haunted him as he stared wide eyed and unmoving like a statue.

He was snapped out of his blank state to the sound of an incomplete call made out to the caller ID labeled, ‘YASU’. The cell phone was found in his mother's hand. He broke down in uncontrollable sobbing. Nikkō was there, curled in between the decaying bodies of his parents. Crying hysterically with an erratic heartbeat that was visible to the naked eye. A man who possessed blond hair and kind eyes had shown up before to tame the child before police arrived.

It was decided from the note left behind that he would be put into the orphanage for the sake of not learning of his dark past. Out of fear that the child would possibly take things the wrong way or attempt to take his own life out of guilt. His parents did not want the chance of Nikkō ever finding out about losing his family. There was also the logical fear that someday, learning about his ability that he could use it to hurt everyone around him.

As long as he remained oblivious to his ability, he could live out a full life of happiness. If he remains in the orphanage, some loving family will pick him up and raise him to be a sweet child. There were too many risk factors to expose Nikkō to such sensitive information. All they could do was hope he would never have to go through the stress and strain that came with having an ability.

Including knowing about Yasu, he was left with no choice. His parents found it too risky that one day, the truth would slip out if they allowed Yasu to raise Nikkō. Their last request of their old friend was to take him to an orphanage. No further contact was allowed with him after he was dropped off. But Yasu loved Nikkō like his own. He kept his promise to take Nikkō to the orphanage, only to go against their wishes and keep in contact with the boy by exchanging gifts and letters with him as time passed.

The moment the orphanage learned about the child's ability to manipulate emotions upon physical contact, they had him separated from the rest of the children. He was considered a walking disaster that only wanted those to suffer with him. When in actuality, the child not only had no clue he possessed an ability, but he wished for someone to explain what he was feeling. He was confused and often became docile at the mention of any word similar to ‘family’.

He was often asked many questions referring to his past like what happened to his parents and if he knew why he was there at the orphanage. Nikkō couldn't answer with certainty, given that the disturbing image of two bloodied bodies seen at a tender age made his brain block out those memories. Something in him refused to let him access his past. Telling him to keep pushing forward and never look back.

Tags for notification: @suehiro @jounos-teashop-writing @aiya-chan03 @i-am-sleepy-as-heck @tapioka-boi @wildnya @chihxru @dazedbydazai @bandaged-writer @daffodildazaiwrites @orphic-osamu

[fericita-s]

Epilogue

The end has arrived for the A Mansion House Murder!

Big thanks to all the writers of this quarantine round-robin: @jomiddlemarch, who had the idea to begin with and wrote so many good chapters, @broadwaybaggins and @sagiow who dragged us all across the finish line, and @mercurygray and @tortoisesshells for their wonderful chapters and effusive comments and @the-spaztic-fantastic for the faithful beta-ing. I think this story probably set a record on AO3 for the comments to kudos ratio.  300 comments and 20 kudos?! We are a chatty bunch.  And I love it.

“Thank you, Belinda.  For so much. Not just today,” Emma said from the doorway.  Belinda hadn’t invited her in and Emma didn’t want to assume.  She’d already assumed too much about Belinda’s desires, or discounted them completely. “I’m going to see Mother and explain about Jimmy.  And Frank.”

Belinda looked to Emma’s arm looped through Henry’s, to the pale circle of white around her ring finger where a wedding ring had been.  “Would you like me to go with you?”

“No, Belinda. I won’t ask that of you. I just wanted to tell you all of that myself before you hear it gossiped about.” 

“Well,” said Belinda, a smile turning one corner of her mouth. “I think I’d like to see her take the news.”

“Even if she asks you for laudanum?” Emma asked, matching her smile. It was a sad thing to tell her mother that her brother was arrested, her husband dead, her sister currently in hysterics that Percival was trying to soothe with one arm while signing away the family hotel to Mrs. Morris with the other.  It was sad. But the lightness and laughter kept rising in her chest and she couldn’t stop smiling over the freedom she felt and the relief that she would be leaving soon.

“I can tell her where to find it if she does,” said Belinda, reaching to the peg by the door for a shawl.

***

“It’s a fair price,” Anne said, though she knew it was a bargain. She also knew how desperate they were to sell and she knew what being desperate felt like, so she didn’t push further. Emma, at least, deserved the money and Anne was eager to send it to her.  Anne had more money than she could spend and Charlotte’s idea for a school was the first thing to excite her about the future since Frederick’s death.  They could scrub the blood out of the walls, purge the secrets from each closet.  The Greens had done it once before.  Anne was determined she and Leah and the Diggs would do it even better. Bridget too, if she could persuade her.  

Percival nodded and might have shaken her hand, but his arms were currently around his wife who was crying.  Anne couldn’t tell if Alice was genuinely grief-stricken and whether it was for the loss of property or the loss of life, and she didn’t much care to find out.  She’d had her fill of mysteries. 

***

    They went to Boston before Williamstown and Mary took her shopping.  In Boston, it was easy to find ready-to-wear, though Mary took her to a favorite tailor and dressmaker and insisted on some pieces made to Emma’s own measurements.  They moved slowly through town, at Mary’s normal pace and Emma’s preferred one for seeing a new city. It wasn’t so different from Alexandria, not really, not until people spoke to her or their eyebrows shot up at her accent. The kid gloves were to guard against the cold more than the sun, and she’d never had nor needed a sealskin toque or fur muff.  But the Yankees weren’t the fearsome lot her mother had promised they would be, practically drowning out the vows she and Henry made to one another in the Green family drawing room with a subdued Dr. Hale doing the honors. 

    After a wool cape and fur-trimmed pelisse that Emma bought with Henry’s money (our money he had said, pressing it into her hands that morning as he kissed her forehead), Mary bought her a silk Paisley shawl with fringe, calling it a wedding present.

“If I was really spoiling you it would be Kashmir.  These are going out of fashion now what with everyone’s desperation to show off their bustles.  But I find them the best way to keep warm at home, at least when Jed’s not there.” Mary pulled the shawl around Emma and fiddled with the fringe. “I hope you’ll be happy here.  I know Henry wishes it too. But I know what it is to lose a husband.”

Emma put her hands in Mary’s and smiled at her friend. “I am happy.  Or, I will be. I’m not sure what I am now, but it’s better than I was.”

***

    He married her in Virginia but, all he had offered since then was a chaste kiss or an arm for hers to loop through as they navigated trains and carriages. Their overnight at the Foster’s home was a late night of reminiscences by the fire, mulled wine, and the steady interruptions of Johnny and Daniel and then even Elias coming to complain about the loud ruckus downstairs.  When Mary finally shooed both the boys and the adults to bed with a meaningful “They’re newlyweds after all, Jed,” Emma and Henry had both hesitated when he shut the door behind them.  

    “You’re weary from the travel; I’ll let you - “

    “Henry,” Emma said, her hands already reaching for the buttons of his waistcoat. “Don’t make me wait any longer.  Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?”

    Henry closed his eyes and reached for her cheek, remembering his first touch there years ago. When he had wiped away a tear and wished he could kiss her. 

    “Is it that you don’t want me this way? That I’m - “

    “No, Emma not that.” He opened his eyes and stepped back so he could see her clearly, reaching for her hands and squeezing. “I want you very much. So much I hardly know how to start.”

    “Then let me show you, Henry,” Emma said, pushing on him gently until they were at the bed and he sat down heavily, off balance and out of breath. She nudged his knees open with her own and stood between them, her hands on his shoulders and his at her waist, leaning in to kiss him behind the ear and to whisper “I am my beloved’s and he is mine.”

***

Henry and Emma continued west to Williamstown, waving from the carriage that took them from the Foster home and promising to return soon for a visit and to write even sooner.  One week later the Foster boys welcomed their much desired puppy, and one year later, a rather less desired sister.  Jed’s apprehension turned to delight when Mary reached for her daughter with eager arms, bringing her to her breast and leaning back into the pillows with a laugh.  “There’s two of us now.  Three if you count the dog.  We’ll be evenly matched soon, Mr. Foster.”

Jed washed his hands in the basin and looked at the brightness in her cheeks and the sweat on her brow, walking to her to check for fever. He kissed her forehead and then the baby’s.  “Oh, I’m very happily outmatched already.”

***

Frank didn’t haunt her.  But sometimes her own inaction did. Her complicity. 

The cold of Williamstown was nothing to the bone-chilling terror of life in Franklin County, the shiver of fear she felt as she heard horses whinny in the dark and hooves pound the dirt as Frank and his most loyal congregants rode off to wreak whatever hateful havoc they could. 

In Williamstown, Henry knew how to stoke the fire just so, and soon afterwards the Rumford fireplace in the house was replaced by a coal furnace, the intricate ironwork and decorative finials as fancy as any etched crystal her mother had been proud to show.

She did not long for her life in Virginia and it took a while before Henry’s encouragement to write letters to her mother and sister and Belinda yielded missives sent south.  She hardly wrote to Mary because they visited so often - heading east for Boston meetings of the American Woman Suffrage Association with Mary and her friend Josephine Bhaer and then later to meet baby Penelope Foster.

Emma taught Sunday School and led sewing circles and an auxiliary chapter of the AWSA. She waved to Henry’s students as they walked by their house and he brought her flowers that Alice might have called weeds but Emma would not.

When Henry’s hands were on her, she never thought of Frank. The way he loosened her corset and spread his hands over her stomach and chest, pulling her to him before it was dark and he could see her best, it was uniquely Henry. He had started hesitant and unsure, but she showed him with her sighs and fingers spread across his shoulders and legs wrapped around his middle that she wanted this too, so much.

In the end, all of her new fitted dresses and smartly tailored coats that Mary helped her buy were useless by her second winter as it became clear the Reverend and Mrs. Hopkins would welcome a baby with the spring.

***

The first students at The Lou Morris School knew there were ghosts, and they knew Ms. Leah Gordon took care of them.  They knew there had been a war and they knew about loss.  In their beds, under clean cotton sheets, they whispered about the cries they heard in the night, the thuds and thumps and rhythmic banging.  Laughter too, though only when patrons Doctor and Mrs. Hale came on their weekly tours and Mrs. Diggs walked them to an upstairs room.  The children decided the ghosts liked ornate bustles and lacy flounces like Mrs. Hale wore and drew elaborate flourishes on the pictures they drew of the spirits they imagined. 

But after a few years, no one spoke of ghosts, even though Ms. Gordon still sang at night to calm them and Jack and Harriet had been there the whole time and remembered.  The children knew people came in different colors; the grown-ups said black and white, but to them, they were all brown and beige, with a few pink, with freckles all over their faces, like Miss Brannan. They also knew people had different skills; some spoke with words, others with their hands, and some, not at all. Some could run and jump over the fence they weren’t supposed to jump over, earning a scowl from Old Mrs. Green who seemed to always walk by when they were at play in the yard.  Some could walk with some help, and others had special chairs with wheels that needed to be pushed - slowly! the teachers always said, Mrs. Morris most of all, her eyes all seeing, her tone sharp but never mean.

When the cries in the night and the thumps and thuds sounded, it wasn’t with fear that the children strained to listen.  They stilled in their beds to listen for Ms. Gordon’s voice floating down the halls.

Nobody knows the trouble I've seen

Nobody knows but Jesus

Nobody knows the trouble I've seen

Glory, Hallelujah

[dani-camp]

“You don’t have to stay. I understand"

copenhagen, denmark, 1567

as a princess, a lot of things were familiar to clara; feasts and festivals named after saints, tiaras interwoven into her dark hair every morning, debates on what subjects she and her older sister should be allowed to learn, getting pulled from her warm bed in the dead of night to a room lined with the royal guard because someone was attacking the castle. but nothing was more familiar to her than josh was. born only a few months apart, they’d shared a wet nurse. as children, they’d often fall asleep curled into each other, their grips only growing tighter when the nannies tried to coax them to bed. when allowed at palace parties, clara often coaxed josh into dancing with her, and the adults cooed over them as they played about the dancefloor. at eleven, josh swore fealty to her –i promise on my faith that I will in the future be faithful to my royal highness, never cause her harm and will observe my homage to her completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit–a rude imitation of the ceremonies they’d witnessed but significant to clara nonetheless. 

at fifteen, they were meant to be wed. they’d been engaged since they were eight, a union agreed upon by both of their fathers on a drunken night, celebrating a successful hunt during which a young josh demonstrated his talents at falconry. it hadn’t been a particularly hard decision for hans; clara was the least likely to assume the throne of all of his children and thus incapable of being much use to him. the gastons were trustworthy nobles, wealthy and supportive of the royal family. besides, their children were already in love, in the pure innocent way only children could be. 

but what hans realized, after a decade’s more experience of being on the throne, was that advantageous marriages were the only thing daughters were of use for. and clara, shrewd and vibrant and charming, would have an easier time marrying up than most. when he shared his thoughts with his children over a special dinner, she grew sheet white and pointedly reminded him that she was already engaged to josh and they were to be married soon. that can be remedied. clara’s expression pleaded with sterling to say something to her father. he didn’t.

the next day, hans orders a round of royal portraits to be painted and distributed amongst all european nobility and the young princes and princesses take turns sitting stiffly in an ornate chair. clara does not smile in hers. gaston told josh to woo clara in an attempt to secure the marriage, seduce her even, maybe even try with kaela, too. but clara is the one who corners him during a snowball fight, cheeks pink and dwarfed by her fur-lined cloak as she chases him around her mother’s gravestone. she kissed him until they were both more than warm, and then they stumbled into the nearest empty bedchamber and didn’t stop to question their actions. the king may tell them who to marry, but he couldn’t tell them who to love. 

they have to be careful for the sake of clara’s reputation, especially when all of the suitors arrive, several for each christensen. there are balls and feasts every night, and clara speaks in french, english, and latin as she greets and charms and pouts. hans is soon remarried and josh skips the ceremony, unable to forget that he was supposed to be married to clara by now. hiding from her suitor, a handsy french noble twenty years her senior, clara held his larger hand between hers and promised, it’s not me you have to convince. 

a year passes. josh hates hans, more than anyone else, but he gains his favor, does shameful, horrible things for him. clara’s education intensifies and she sees less of everyone, especially josh, until josh can’t even remember why he’s bothering. sterling begins to insist on sitting in on all of hans’ meetings and they disagree often. luca is engaged without ever having met the girl, some unlucky princess of germany that will soon be disappointed to find that her future husband is dark and surly. maids begin to go missing. kaela grows even quieter and her suitors question her health and fertility. rumors of clara’s reputation reach as far as norway and hans only shames her and doubles his efforts to have her married off. it doesn’t help that she gets lost in the courtship sometimes, flirts a little with each man and smiles brilliantly at each compliment. josh doesn’t know if she’s enjoying herself or just doing what she’s told, and neither does she. he ruthlessly flirts with her ladies’ maids in front of her as revenge and dances with ladies at every dance. they sneak around and fight and stand each other up and have to remind each other that they want to be with each other. she cannot forget the empty words he once swore to her. sterling leaves for a european tour just as plague reaches court, and josh’s mother and hans’ new wife are struck. sequestered in the great hall surrounded by burning torches with her brother and sister, clara writes to josh, our proposed union, no matter how desired, seems to bring us nothing but sorrow. i’m afraid it must come to an end to allow room for future joy in our lives, though i swear i will love you unfeignedly for the duration of my life. 

all who show symptoms die. letters to sterling are not answered, and many begin to look to luca as the next heir. clara and kaela only leave their respective miseries to help him, who never wanted a crown of any sort. josh beats both hans and gaston in a tennis tournament to the cheers of all of his female conquests, but he doesn’t feel any better and doesn’t bother to offer his favor to any of them. clara and josh are brought face-to-face during an intricate dance and it’s too much for both of them and she withdraws for the rest of the night. the next day, a new suitor arrives, an orion liddel, the extremely wealthy and titled son of english explorers on his way home from studying under hieronymus bosch. he is handsome, overtly kind to her, and not much older. he tells her of the stars he is named for and of distant lands. he begs clara to sit for a portrait for him, and she smiles for this one. 

orion declines her dowry during marriage negotiations and with luca’s blessing, they are set to be wed within weeks. he learns of her reputation nonetheless, but does not flinch. he has gifts presented to her daily, jewels and gowns and tapestries and even an affectionate spitz. he promises to bring her along during his travels, though it’s not something most wives would be allowed to do. it’s simpler and sweeter than it ever was with josh, but she cannot help but wonder. 

a few days until the wedding, an unfortunately-imbibed josh urgently pulls clara from her bed and clamps a hand around her mouth. there are soldiers inside the castle attempting a coup, looking for her and her siblings, and he will protect her as he swore to when he was eleven years old. there is fighting outside her bedchamber and she allows him to kiss her one last time as her guards fall.

when the door opens, they are both ready to face their death, but it is only sterling, who envelops clara in a rare embrace. he was the one behind the coup, he explained to his younger siblings over goblets of wine. before and while traveling, he’d learned of several rumors surrounding their father and has begun his efforts to remove him from the throne; hans had several of his personal enemies executed without cause, stolen large amounts of the crown’s gold, and had been promising his daughters to nearly every suitor that had visited. he’d dismissed several of their governesses and maids over the years after bedding them, even having them tortured or beheaded if they refused to leave quietly, and was thought to likely be behind the missing maids. also, he said, many believe that he’d poisoned each of his wives. 

hans is forced to abdicate in sterling’s favor, who shortly becomes king. with his siblings’ blessing, he orders hans to be executed and none of the four wear black, though the girls do shed tears. clara and luca lay flowers on their mother’s grave together. sterling reverses all marriage contracts, so they are each able to choose. surprisingly, luca would like to remain in his, as the letters he’d exchanged with his betrothed had only endeared them to each other. and who would you like to marry, clara? clara’s shaken by the question. no one had really, truly asked her that before. 

she loved them both, the two men who’d protected and taken care of her in different ways. but copenhagen castle was full of ghosts and josh could see that she was inescapably sad. escorting her from the castle to the chapel outside the moat so she could pray, he says, you don’t have to stay. i understand. she smiled weakly and then cried tears into his chest despite the rain. i meant what i swore. me too. 

she is married to orion within the week in a glittering ceremony, the first celebration in denmark in a long while. she sails away on a boat heading west with her dog and her new husband, leaving everything else behind her but her smiling portrait, left for josh.

@sloan-astrid, @taehyunggtrash, @hexeghoul, @wildwcrlds

[roxannarambles]

Firewatch Review: Where There’s Smoke

This is a repost on a new blog. The original post was on Mar 4, 2016.

Contains major, major spoilers including endgame. Do not read if you haven’t played!

When I first started into this game I thought it was a horrifically depressing introduction. It opens telling a tale of a man and a woman who fall in love and it’s a lovely story and then the woman falls ill from a rare hereditary disease and slowly gets worse and loses her career and the man loses the wife he knew and struggles to care for her and it’s fucking awful. Then the game opens with the man– you– taking up a summer job in a park near Yellowstone. He’s done this to get away and have some time to think about his life.

He works in a watchtower. Lone rangers station in these towers to watch the horizon for signs of fire. He has little to do but keep an eye out and sit alone in his station up there. His only company is his supervisor, in the nearest watchtower over, whom he speaks to via walkie-talkie. (these are the days before cell phones) Her name’s Delilah.

All I was really told about this game is that it involved exploration and was story-centric. And that’s an accurate description. And while it starts off with a rather depressing backstory, the main part of the game is not all bleak and bleary. It is a story about the interaction between Henry and Delilah. There is a mystery plot involved in the game as well; the game starts off with small park dramas and tasks to ease into things, then develops a mystery, which eventually gets rather intense. But entwined with this mystery story, always central and foremost, is the character-driven plot of these two.

The voice acting is fantastic, and the writing is excellent, so it carries well. Dialogue writing is certainly not everyone’s strength, but the writers here did a very good job. The two characters have excellent chemistry; it flows naturally and is very enjoyable. The quips and interactions are fed in small bits steadily throughout the game as you explore, providing an enjoyable regular stream of interactions. It’s a satisfying blend of exploration and conversation.

The game is atmospheric and beautiful to look at, and that’s not something to dismiss either. Those factors really do add something special to a game.

And here’s the thing. I fell in love. It was such a compelling story. And the characters felt so real. I found myself deeply engrossed in the mystery and unable to stop. I found myself deeply emotionally invested in the characters and I truly cared about them. They were relatable human beings. And I loved Delilah. She was the light in the dark. The beacon in the middle of the loneliness. My lighthouse; my watchtower. Quippy, caring, flawed, human. I shared my troubles with her, and she listened.

Early on in the game, one of the conversation responses caused Henry to say something that annoyed Delilah and kinda offend her a little. I had accidentally overheard a phone conversation she was having (she left her walkie-talkie button depressed) and it sounded like kinda maybe she had been talking about me? So I asked her, were you talking about me? She was confused and surprised at the accusation and no, it had just been a conversation about work, and besides, was that really any of my business?

So the good mood killed, she stepped out for a while and I couldn’t talk to her anymore on the walkie-talkie. ‘Cause she was annoyed and didn’t feel like talking. And the thing is– I felt so bad. Like, I really felt sorry and wanted to apologize and felt I’d been a bad person for accusing her of that, and I wanted her to like me. And I didn’t want to be left alone. It was hauntingly quiet, unlike the rest of the game, when Delilah wasn’t there for company. I think this plot point was especially effective because it was in the middle of what had been at that point the deepest conversation we’d had so far, and we had been really bonding and sharing. But now I’d screwed it up.

Eventually Delilah forgave us for our rude question. And I cannot tell you how much of a relief it was. Heck, I thought I’d lost my chance and it would never be brought up again and I’d never have a chance to apologize, but she brought it up later. (She actually apologized for being so snappish over it, and said she knew what it was like to get too lost in your own head out there and start imagining things.) I felt so much better knowing we were cool again. It was that delicate part of a budding new friendship, you know, and I didn’t wanna mess it up. I really commend the game for including the callbacks to previous conversations. It enhanced the feeling of history between us and internal consistency throughout the story.

There have been many people online complaining about the way the game ultimately ended. In my humble opinion, those people are missing the point of the game. Indeed, with games like these, that have a somewhat open-ended conclusion (and there’s plenty of stories that fall into that category), how you interpret the ending and its meaning says a lot about the person who played the game. The whole point of an open-ended conclusion is for a person to think and draw conclusions, after all, but many people seem to fail to realize this.

One game that comes to mind is ‘Presentable Liberty,’ a game that you spend in a prison cell for the vast majority of the time, reading letters that are delivered to you. It had a very open-ended and nebulous ending. But that game made so many people think, and I think Firewatch makes you think a lot too.

I won’t lie, of course; I do somewhat understand where the critics are coming from. In some ways the ending did feel anti-climactic to me. It felt like it was possibly building up to something and that payoff never came. Yet … that experience in and of itself was fascinating to me.

Let me explain in detail. First of all, I reached the conclusion of the mystery plot. Plenty of people bitched about this online as well, but I loved the way it concluded. The plot was suggesting a very exciting but rather typical video-game story where a government conspiracy was uncovered that was studying human subjects (perhaps a psychological study of the effects of isolation in people), and Henry and Delilah were the subjects in these nefarious privacy-violating experiments. However, this “plot twist” of a secret government study ended up being a false twist. Instead, the story ended up in a less typical direction. As it turned out, the group of mysterious people behind all the spooky hijinks wasn’t that at all … it was one man. One lonely, desperate man living as a hermit with a tragic, awful secret he was hiding about an accident during his job as a fire watch. It was our fears and paranoia that had conjured up this imaginary, yet very real-feeling plot of conspiracy and subterfuge.

And I loved that. I loved that it was something driven by a simple lone man who was guilty and afraid. I loved that was the explanation, that it was something so prosaic rather than fantastic and fanciful. Like the best horror stories are about man as being the worst monster instead of werewolves and vampires, this showed the best mysteries were about human loneliness and desperation and guilt rather than complex conspiracies or extraordinary mojo. Indeed, you felt bad for the man who had been unintentionally tormenting us this whole time.*

After this conclusion to the mystery plot, hot on its heels– literally, because you were being chased by the spreading wildfire– was the conclusion of the Henry/Delilah plot. I was rushing out of there to rendezvous with a rescue helicopter so I could escape my post before fire consumed everything. They landed near Delilah’s watchtower, before I had made it to the rendezvous point– I’d been busy tracking down the ending to the mystery. She told me the helicopters would make another pass for when I got there, but … she might just leave now since the current copter was there.

“Wait for me,” I said into our walkie-talkie. I wanted to leave with her. Together. She was very reluctant when I begged this of her. But she finally relented that ok, ok, she’ll wait. I hollered I was on my way. I rushed as fast as I could.

I finally reached the spot– it was Delilah’s watch tower. The point in the distance I had always gazed upon but never had been to until now. But something didn’t feel right as Delilah was oddly silent on the walkie.

I entered the empty watch tower. I saw a small sign, “Pork Pond” attached to her wall and smiled faintly. I *knew* she had that sign. I put on the radio headset and called.

Delilah answered, in a tone that made it clear she knew I wouldn’t exactly be pleased to be listening to her voice over the radio waves yet again instead of seeing her standing there. She asked me not to be mad.

“I’m not mad, I’m just …”

“Disappointed?”

And yes. I was. That was it exactly.

It hurt. I genuinely felt sad and hurt that Delilah had left without me. It felt like she abandoned me. She stammered about having not want to meet me in the shadow of that poor dead child I had just learned about, but … it still hurt. After all we’d been through the least she could have done was waited. And you’ve no idea how much I had wanted to finally meet Delilah in person, dang.

But I pondered it after, and it made a lot of sense, her actions. She had been afraid to meet me in person, I think. It would have made the whole thing even more real, you know? If it was just over the walkies, fine. But … in person would have made it too real. Delilah was afraid of getting attached. Not just because she had had her heart broken by her long-term boyfriend and was afraid of getting close again to someone, but probably for more practical reasons too. Henry was still married, for Pete’s sake, and in a very complex situation with his sick wife. Any smart girl would want to avoid getting involved with a guy who’s still married. So her early departure and lukewarm response to me asking for her to come with me back to Boulder, well, it made sense.

As much as it had hurt for her to not wait, I understood and forgave her for it. In a way, I suppose, it may have made it easier for us both not to face the anguish of a relationship not working if we never saw each other in person to begin with. But … fuck. Had it been me, I would have wanted to see her in person anyway. I would have asked her to wait. At least for a goddamn hug.**

We spoke on the radio as I waited for the helicopter to swing back around to pick me up. We talked about our future plans. We both didn’t know what they would be. Delilah thought I should go back to my wife and do my best to make things right. Somehow.

And it ended once we were pulled into the helicopter.

People online whine that this ending was a 'cop out,’ not a real conclusion. I don’t believe that. I think the entire point was that feeling of uncertainty about the future and that missed chance at getting together with Delilah. Life is uncertain so often. We don’t know how to fix things, what to do, and what things mean. It’s our search for meaning that is so valuable. This game was a reflection of life experiences many can relate to. Not necessarily all the details– a wife that fell ill with premature dementia– but the general themes? Absolutely. This story is about people struggling to cope with loneliness, seeking to connect with others, struggling to deal with hardships in life, seeking purpose and meaning, seeking direction. And it does not provide solid answers at the very end, but that’s OK. It doesn’t have to. It’s OK if the players can provide some of the answers. Sometimes asking the questions is as valuable as providing the answers in a story.

And yeah, sometimes the guy doesn’t ‘get the girl.’ Sometimes relationships don’t work out. (Especially if the guy is still married and needs to deal with some shit before either staying with his wife or breaking up and pursuing something else.) That doesn’t mean our connection with Delilah that summer didn’t have meaning or purpose or value, just that … such things don’t always have a future as a long-term relationship.

I earnestly believe the ending to this game was fine as-is. I might even say it was a perfect ending. Although I admit I desperately wanted to meet Delilah at the very end***, I’m pretty sure my sense of diappointment and feeling of sorrow at not seeing her were kind of exactly the point of the story. All in all, it ended on a tone that was sad and nebulous, but not deeply depressing. There was still a sense of hope about things, and I think that’s important.

(Amusingly, much later I learned there is an option at the very end to NOT enter the rescue helicopter. It leaves without you if you wait long enough, implying suicide of your character Henry. Much darker option than the one I describe above. But again, in stories like these, it depends on player’s reactions, input, and interpretations too, and fortunately most do not have quite that bleak of an interpretation of the tale– and quite that bleak of a choice.)

So many of us sit alone in our own watchtowers, isolated, searching for any meaningful human connection we can come across. I think the themes of connection and isolation were masterfully explored in this game. You really fuckin’ felt it, you know?

And to me, it’s noble. That human beings stand in this intense loneliness but continue that search, and they sometimes find somebody. It may not always end well, but that doesn’t mean you should stop the search and that you won’t find another. Or even rekindle old flames.

Either way, you shouldn’t stop searching the horizon.

————–

Footnotes:

* That’s not to say the dude wasn’t guiltless in his actions. I think it was rather awful of him to just leave his poor kid’s body down in that hole instead of facing up to what had happened, going home, letting people and loved ones know what went on, etc. Also pretty stupid of the guy to pressure his son into doing that dangerous rock-climbing when the kid didn’t have the skills. But, ya know, you felt bad for him too.

** I should note, I have no idea if Henry should break up with his wife Julia (& tried things out with Delilah) or not. I had no opinion on it because who knows? Choices like that are friggin’ complex. Seriously.

*** And yes, I realize the game never had a model for her character anyway, so from a technical standpoint it would have been impossible, but it’s best to use in-story explanations for events, not technical explanations.

[mrsamaroevans]

HAMILTON QUOTES PROMPT LIST

I know there are people who already did this, but, anyway. I made this list of prompts with quotes from the musical Hamilton including the off-broadway versions.

"This kid is insane, man"

"There's a million things I haven't done..."

"Just you wait"

"You could never back down"

"You never learned to take your time"

"Me? I loved him"

"I'm the damn fool that shot him"

"Pardon me, are you _____?" "That depends, who's asking?"

"I have been looking for you"

"I'm getting nervous"

"I may have punched him"

"He looked at me like I was stupid, I'm not stupid"

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"That would be nice"

"Let me offer you some free advice"

"You can't be serious"

"Fools who run their mouths off wind up dead"

"Who is the best?"

"Give us a verse, drop some knowledge!"

"I am not throwing away my shot"

"You keep out of trouble and you double your choices"

"I think your pants look hot"

"_____ I like you a lot"

"Oh, am I talking too loud?"

"For the first time, I'm thinking past tomorrow"

"I may not live to see our glory... but I will gladly join the fight"

"When our children tell our story, they'll tell the story of tonight"

"No matter what they tell you"

"Tomorrow there'll be more of us"

"Daddy doesn't need to know"

"Like I said, you're free to go"

"Remind me what we're looking for..."

"_____, you disgust me"

"Ah, so you've discussed me"

"You can trust me"

"So men say that I'm intense or I'm insane"

"Look around at how lucky to be alive right now!"

"Let him be"

"It's hard to listen to you with a straight face"

"My dog speaks more eloquently than thee"

"If you repeat yourself again I'm gonna scream!"

"Honestly, look at me"

"Please don't read"

"Why so sad?"

"Now you're making me mad"

"Remember, despite our estrangement, I'm your man"

"You'll be back"

"Soon you'll see"

"You'll remember you belong to me"

"You'll be the one complaining when I am gone"

"Don't change the subject"

"I'll love you 'till my dying days"

"Don't throw away this thing we had"

"Here he comes"

"The moment you've been waiting for"

"Can I be real a second?" "Let down my guard and tell the people how I feel a second?"

"Who are you?"

"I have some questions"

"You wanted to see me?"

"Close the door on your way out"

"Have I done something wrong?"

"Your reputation precedes you"

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Look into your eyes and the sky's the limit"

"I have never been the type to try and grab the spotlight"

"Then you walked in and my heart went 'boom'"

"Yo, this one's mine"

"Then you look back at me and suddenly I'm helpless"

"I'm so into you"

"Where are you taking me?"

"I'm about to change your life"

"Thank you for all your service"

"If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it"

"Now my life gets better, every letter that you write me"

"If you really loved me, you would share _____"

"There's nothing that your mind can't do"

"We're through"

"Be true"

"That boy is mine"

"My love for you is never in doubt"

"And long as I'm alive, _____, swear to God you'll never feel so helpless"

"My life is gon' be fine 'cause _____'s in it"

"I remember that night"

"I just might regret that night for the rest of my days"

"I'll never forget the first time I saw your face"

"When you said 'hi' I forgot my dang name"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean"

"I'm a girl in a world in which my only job is to marry rich"

"My father has no sons so I'm the one who has to social climb for one"

"That doesn't mean I want ____ any less"

"You will never be satisfied"

"You will never find anyone as trusting or as kind"

"Well, I heard you've got a special someone"

"What are you trying to hide?"

"If you love this woman/man, go get her/him!"

"What are you waiting for?"

"You're the closest friend I've got"

"Your man has to answer for his words"

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Meet me inside"

"You're absolutely right"

"____ should have shot him in the mouth, that would've shut him up"

"Watch your tone"

"I am not a maiden in need of defending, I am grown"

"I need you alive"

"How long have you known?"

"You should have told me"

"I'm not sorry"

"I knew you'd fight until the war was won"

"You deserve a chance to meet your son"

"Will you relish being a poor man's wife, unable to provide for your life?"

"I relish being your wife"

"Look at where you are" "Look at where you started"

"The fact that you're alive is a miracle"

"Just stay alive, that would be enough"

"If this child shares a fraction of your smile or a fragment of your mind... that would be enough"

"I don't pretend to know the challenges you're facing"

"I'm not afraid"

"I know who I married"

"As long as you come home at the end of the day"

"We don't need a legacy"

"We don't need money"

"If you could let me inside your heart"

"Let me be part of the narrative"

"Let this moment be the first chapter"

"That would be enough"

"I gotta meet my son"

"When you knock me down I get the fuck back up again"

"Don't come crawling back to me"

"You're on your own"

"When you came into the world, you cried and it broke my heart"

"I'm dedicating every day to you"

"Domestic life was never quite my style"

"When you smile, you knock me out, I fall apart"

"And I thought I was so smart"

"When you smile I am undone"

"Look at my son"

"Pride is not the world I'm looking for"

"My father wasn't around; I swear I'll be around for you"

"I'll do whatever it takes"

"I'll make a million mistakes"

"I'll make the world safe and sound for you"

"Soon that attitude may be your doom!"

"Why do you always say what you believe?"

"It's the middle of the night"

"What do you need?"

"I know I talk too much"

"Hear me out"

"You're making a mistake"

"I am doing the best I can"

"I know it's a lot to ask"

"Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room?"

"But the sun comes up and the world still spins"

"What'd I miss?"

"Where have you been?"

"I'm already on my way"

"If the shoe fits, wear it" "I'll show you where my shoe fits"

"You think I'm frightened of you, man?"

"And there you are, an ocean way"

"Do you have to live an ocean away?"

"Take a break"

"There's a little surprise before supper and it cannot wait"

"Your son is nine years old today"

"I have a sister but I want a little brother"

"Our kid is pretty great"

"You won't be an ocean away"

"You will only be a moment away"

"It's good to see your face"

"You're not joining us?"

"I know I'll miss your face"

"I'm sorry to bother you at home, but I don't know where to go"

"Well, I should head back home"

"Lord, show me how to say no to this"

"Please, don't go"

"Nobody has to know"

"I guess I'm gonna finally have to listen to you"

"I wanted what I got"

"I'm sure he already knows"

"Excuse me?"

"I've always considered you a friend"

"I don't see why that has to end"

"The only person you have to convince is me"

"____ knows nothing of loyalty"

"You must be out of your goddamn mind"

"You're nothing without ____ behind you"

"I wanna give you a word or warning"

"I don't know what you heard, but whatever it is ____ started it"

"You'll see what I can do to him"

"Relax, have a drink with me"

"Let's take a break tonight"

"Have you read this?"

"You said you were mine" "I thought you were mine"

"You and your words flooded my senses"

"I'm burning the memories"

"I hope that you burn"

"Shh! I'm trying to watch the show!"

"If you had only heard the shit he said about you"

"I doubt you would have let it slide and I was not about to"

"You don't want this young man's blood on your conscience"

"Is he alive?"

"Can I see him, please?"

"You did everything just right"

"Is he breathing?"

"Is he going to survive this?"

"I never liked the quiet before"

"I know I don't deserve you"

"I know there's no replacing what we've lost... just let me stay here by your side"

"Is there anything you wouldn't do?"

"I learned that from you"

"I am not the reason no one trusts you"

"Even if I said what you think I said"

"I don't wanna fight"

"I won't apologize for doing what's right"

"I can't apologize because it's true"

"_____ come back to sleep"

"It's still dark outside"

"I'll be back before you know I'm gone"

"Best of wives and best of women"

"Now I'm the villain in your history"

"I was too young and blind to see..."

"I stop wasting time on tears"

"Can I show you what I'm proudest of?"

"I can't wait to see you again"

"I've gotta stop a homicide"

"What in the hell was that?"

"What in the hell are you doing downtown?"

"I will not let our family be embarrassed like this"

"Let the whole world know"

"You better have another punch to throw"

"You could let it go"

"Stay alive for me"

"People will always be critical"

"Let other people be cynical"

"You're smiling because you know I'm right"

"You didn't kill him, did you?"

"Were you here this whole time?"

"You don't have to bring a gun to a knife fight"

"You know you really oughta listen to your wife, right?"

"Let everybody know you can take a body blow"

"Let everybody know you can learn to let it go"

"You wouldn't know what I'm doing"

"You have invented a new kind of stupid"

"Truly, you didn't think this through?"

"I begged you to take a break, you refused to"

"You know what I'm here to do?"

"I'm not here for you"

"I will choose her happiness over mine"

"____ is the best thing in our lives"

"____ changed my life"

"____ made my life worthwhile"

"I'll be there for you"

"Don't take another step"

"I can't be trusted around you"

"Don't think you can talk your way into my arms"

"You can stand over there if you want"

"I don't know who you are"

"I have so much to learn"

"I have seen women around you" "How they fall for your charms"

“When will you learn?”

"If you thought you were mine... don't"

[justsome-di]

Class

This was posted on the second tier of my patreon last week! At the moment, I post a bit of Good Omens fics, but I also post original stories. By becoming a patron, you can access all of my writing content. Some works are posted here and on my AO3 a week after they’re up on Patreon, but there are still a good chunk that are exclusive to patrons! 

--

It was a dreary day that made a person hide away in her room with her best friend, pressing a puff to her cheeks lackadaisically as she sat at her vanity.

I was that person. It was my vanity, my best friend, and it was my puff I was pressing to my own cheeks in the aforementioned lackadaisical fashion.

It was a day that was dreary not because of the weather—I find no weather dreary because the weather is only doing its best and can’t always be expected to be sunny and warm. Sometimes the weather needs breaks—like people. We can’t always wear smiles. Sometimes we have to sit in our rooms and mope for a bit as I was doing. A little rain never hurt anyone. Except for maybe that Noah fellow in the Bible. Or, I suppose, all of the people who weren’t Noah. But I’m neither Noah nor the people who weren’t Noah at that specific point in time, and the rain had never wronged me. What had wronged me was my parent’s insistence that I marry.

I’d been very fed up with hearing my father say You’re not going to stay young forever. Pretty women need a good man, and women like you especially need a good man. But I’d always put on a brave face for my parents and nodded along as they listed men that they thought could work for me. I had met a few. I didn’t like any of them. They were too serious for my tastes, and they didn’t understand me. I needed someone who could listen to my gossip and read the same fashion magazines that I studied night and day. But many men don’t read fashion magazines, and that’s all fine and dandy in the end. They would just have to be able to listen to me talk about my studies and carry my bags as I shopped for what the magazines had told me to buy. A good woman, in my opinion, is always in need of a good man who will carry her bags. It’s symbolic or what have you. A smarter person would be able to explain it, but I still carry my firm belief that a man should be supportive in his wife’s shopping.

“I really don’t want to meet this gentleman today,” I said. I didn’t want to meet him any day. “I’m not feeling adventurous enough. I wish I could just be his pen pal for a little bit before we rush into dinner and marriage.”

“No matter what, Mr. Kingsley can’t be the worst,” Stella said, though she said it with a grimace. “Just remember that egg Agatha was briefly engaged to in May. He was a nightmare. I don’t think a man worse than that could exist. Remember how he told her uncle how often he had been sent to bed without supper while away at school? What was it that he would do? Put thumbtacks on the teachers’ chairs and pour milk into inkwells so the rooms would smell sour without anyone being able to tell where it was coming from? He was awful. She deserved so much better, the poor thing. I’ve told her over and over, though, that she needs to take a break from relationships and fill her time with education or something of the sort. Just to build her independence. Women have a lot to learn.”  

Stella sat on my armchair. Occasionally, she caught a glance of herself in my mirror and maybe pressed a hand to a flyaway hair sticking up from her bob cut or ran the tip of her finger along her lipstick. She wasn’t always so vain (as I had sometimes been called every time I looked at myself passing by a mirror or particularly reflective window). She usually had her nose shoved in books or had her hands in paint. But she had taken a special interest in her makeup and hair ever since returning to America a few months ago. I had taught her everything I had learned over the years. I passed down old pencils and paints and helped trim up her hair. She was still the woman I had grown up with. Just prettier. Not that she wasn’t pretty before. She was just able to draw attention to the features I had begged her to draw attention to forever—her dainty nose and lips, her almond-shaped eyes. I was glad she had gotten over her silly idea that makeup didn’t do anything to make a woman feel better.

Stella and I were as similar as two peas in different pods.

She was as smart and cultured as anyone could ever get. Over the summer, she had gone to Paris to study art. In her letters, she told me how she spent her mornings in museums, her afternoons in cafés chatting with people of similar intelligence, and her evenings painting under the instruction of a young, French bohemian man. It sounded fairly boring to me, but she wrote such beautiful letters and occasionally included little sketches on cardstock. She told me about the people she met—all fancy writers that she insisted I read as soon as possible. I bought all of the books she told me about, but they only served to fill my bookshelf that had remained empty since my childhood. They looked beautiful, and I encouraged Stella to recommend me more while she was abroad.

Meanwhile, I had accompanied my father to work every day over the summer, going to his office and watching him write down numbers and tell people Yes, I think we can make that work or No, there’s no room in our budget. We cut that department by 40% last quarter, don’t you remember? I ought to fire you for nearly doing so stupid. The executives and I will discuss it in our board meeting with the president and CEO or something businessy of that sort. To be honest, I never really listened all that closely. I mostly stared at his pencil sharpener, dreaming about eating the lunch my mother and I would have made that morning that always sat next to my father’s desk. I would wonder if the bread was getting too hard or if I would enjoy the fruit after it had set outside the icebox for so long. My father could have been saying anything. I didn’t even know his position. He had told me that I should watch him at the family business so that one day I would be prepared to watch my future husband take over. He said that whenever I asked my husband for money—as I did with my father and as my mother did with him, too���I should know where that money comes from. I would write Stella pages and pages of rambling letters before dinner every day. At night, I would have to find any party to go to just shake off the grimy feeling the business had left on me.

My mother would occasionally listen to my retellings of the drama of the workplace, and she nodded with the utmost sympathy and petted my hair. She would say something in her high, mousey voice that would do little to comfort me. Her talk was always about how we had to do what’s best for our men. Even if that meant watching them do boring work. Stella was really the one who would do well to make me feel better in her letters. She was grounded, and she always knew what to say. She would recommend me even more books to empower my female spirit. They weren’t as attractive as the prettier ones she talked about. The titles themselves put me to sleep and the authors were usually dead, but I took her word that they were very good. I just couldn’t have old books in my possession.

Before I go any further with this story, I don’t want you thinking that Stella is any sort of drag. I’ll have you know that she knows a good time when she sees one. While in Paris—the city of art and love and such romantic stuff—she took good advantage of the alcohol. The Good Samaritans such as myself hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in America since the prohibition. Stella missed it sorely and drank the finest wine she could get her hands on while abroad. I had imagined that her Bohemian lover had whisked her away to his little apartment every night after a bottle and shown her what men from the city had to offer. She didn’t really say it to me, but I understood the twinkle in her eyes and the blush on her cheeks when she talked about him. She was going to go back to Paris and take me with her to meet her artist. I was thrilled to meet him and see what kind of influence he had on my Stella.

Stella had her whole life planned ahead of her. She would marry an intelligent artist, they would have little artist children, and she could spend all her time reading the novels she loved so much and painting because her children would be little, wonderfully well-behaved creatures that would obey every word their fair parents would tell them. When she got tired of painting, she would turn to writing essays about—what does she call it? Feminism? She could write essay upon essay about that. She would have a lovely cook in her home and a delightful maid that never snatched an earring or couple of coins when no one was around. I once had a maid who took one of my favorite bracelets, and I had the hardest time asking for it back. I eventually told my father, and she was fired the next day.

I hadn’t the foggiest clue what my future would be like.

“What do you think he’s like?” I asked.

“Mr. Kingsley?”

“Of course.”

“I think he’ll be nice,” Stella said.

She shrugged. A sign of indifference. She looked away as well, and I wondered if she was hiding something that was ruffling her feathers.

“Nice?” I asked

“Nice enough. I can imagine the man your parents would find for you. He’s probably the same type of egg as your father.”

She was doing her best to avoid my eyes, and she frowned so heavily. I pushed on with the conversation anyways.

“That’s what I’m worried about. Maybe I don’t want to marry a paternal-imitating egg. Maybe I’d like to be with a poet.”

“A poet?”

“Or someone like that. Someone not involved in business. Maybe a film actor would suit me better?”

Stella almost laughed. “How are you going to meet a film actor? Your family isn’t that important.”

“I could become an actress.”

“You?”

“I think I could make a career in the movies. Be a sweetheart. You know, like Mary Pickford.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s not as though they talk much. I wouldn’t have any lines to learn.”

Stella hummed. She was amused by my plan, I could tell, but she didn’t realize that I was being absolutely serious. I had dabbled in theatre in school—as she very well knew—and had gotten the role of one of the maids in Hamlet. And theatre, I’ve heard, is much more challenging than films. If I was an astounding maid, then I would be phenomenal in films. As I had just said to Stella, film actors have no lines. No one would ever know what my voice sounded like.

“Think of how little we know about how good these actors are at delivering lines. I have it on good authority that that Chaplin fellow has an English accent,” I said. “Can you believe that? An English accent!”

“Most people from England, I believe, have English accents. And I’m not sure if an accent dictates how well someone is at acting.”

Stella wasn’t keeping up. Of course, the accent didn’t mean anything to his acting. It was the fact that we didn’t know he had an accent. If we couldn’t even place something so big as his country of origin then how would we know if he was any good at monologues? It was as if she didn’t want to have this conversation.

“As I was saying,” I said, putting my nose in the air. “I think I would make a fine film actress. All I would have to do is make those poses and move my mouth a bit. Mary Pickford is so glamorous, wouldn’t you say? And Douglas Fairbanks.”

“Of course.”

“I could be glamorous. I could go to those parties and premieres. I’m just as pretty as the rest of them.”

“You really want to be known as just pretty? Darling, you wouldn’t have a voice. You’d just be a face. Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

“It’s more than just being a pretty face on screen. I’d have to be in the public. I’d have to play tennis!”

“Tennis?”

“Yes! Haven’t you seen those pictures of Charles Chaplin and Douglas Fairbanks playing tennis? All movie stars must do it.”

“I’m not sure where your mind goes sometimes.”

“Stella keep up! This is important. This is my future.”

I felt bad for the dear. She had such a one-track mind. It made conversations with her so hard at times.

“Do you think Mr. Kingsley plays tennis?” I asked. “It would be delightful if he did.”

Stella didn’t answer. Her face had taken on a somber look—the same look my mother had when she had told me that my pet fish had to go to the country to soothe his nerves. I never saw him again. My mother told me that he had found a better life, and he would be healthier with his new family. I always suspected that he had really died.

I worried about Stella’s face. She pressed her lips together in a thin line and drew her eyebrows together. She looked nervous to speak. The conversation wasn’t about tennis or movies anymore.

“Can I be frank?” Stella asked.

“You can be anything you want to be.”

I was ashamed that my voice wasn’t stronger, but, you see, I’m not a fan of serious conversations. My parents always avoided them, and I never learned how to cope when presented with one.

“It doesn’t matter if he plays tennis or not,” Stella began. “I don’t think you want to meet any man for dinner that your father chooses for you. It doesn’t matter if Mr. Kingsley is exactly like you, your relationship isn’t going to work because it’s forced. And furthermore, I don’t think it’s right for your father to do this. You should be able to find a man on your own. I have no doubt that your father has your best interest in heart, but for God’s sake, it’s 1927. We’re free.”

I smiled as well as I could. For Stella’s sake. I think she relied on my happy demeanor a lot.

“This is how things are,” I said, trying to sound casual. “My parents are depending on this.”

“I’m being serious,” she snapped. “It’s not right for you to marry whoever they want while other girls are going out, voting, getting jobs, and driving! You still haven’t learned to drive even though you promised me you would!”

“That’s different!” My voice was rising, and I suppose it sounded a bit like my mother’s. “Driving is scary! I’m not sure how you do it. I can’t sit behind a hunk of metal and not hit anyone—”

“Because your parents have told you that you shouldn’t drive. I told you I would teach you.”

“I don’t have to drive to embrace these womanly rights you’re always on about.”

“Maybe not, but it’s more than driving. You freeze in any situation. Driving would teach you how to take control. To take yourself to where you need—want—to go with no one else able to stop you. To feel yourself leave behind your home for just a little bit.” Stella looked at her lap for a moment and took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was calm again. “You at least need to stand up to your parents. You need to tell them that you’re going to find someone for yourself.”

I didn’t want to fight. I hated fights. I believed I was allergic to them and had been meaning to talk to a doctor about it.

I crossed the room to sit on the ottoman in front of her chair. My mother had picked out all the furniture in the room. I sat forward a little bit. I could feel my dress riding up my thigh as it caught on the ottoman. The first time I had come out of my room in a short dress, my parents had thrown a fit. They said that showing knees didn’t get a woman respect. My mother even called me a harlot, and I was offended when I looked it up in the dictionary later that evening. I was also surprised (and a little impressed) that my mother knew such a big word. Stella would have been proud of me if she had seen me lifting my chin and telling them It’s fashionable, and I’m not going to caught dead in something that looks like it’s from the War. She would have clapped and told me that the suffragettes had a similar attitude over lunch. Instead, she embraced me when she saw me that same day and said We’re liberated—knees and all. While she wasn’t the most up-to-date on fashion, her bare knees were the first I saw. I never told her what my parents thought about it.

“It’s not that easy,” I said to Stella. I couldn’t be angry. It wasn’t an emotion I was very keen on. “I have a responsibility. You can meet French artists and paint sunsets. You have a brother who’s taking care of the family. I’m all my parents have, and I have to do this for them.”

“You don’t owe anyone anything.”

“I do. I owe my parents a son-in-law and an heir, and I owe Mr. Kingsley dinner in an hour.”

My chest felt tight. I grabbed my necklace that hung so low that it almost rested in my lap. I would have to change into jewelry more conservative before I left. But before then, I would roll the pearls closest to my chest between my fingers. My mother would have told me that ladies didn’t fidget like she always did when I played with jewelry. Ladies are statues, she would tell me. I always asked her about our relationship with pigeons when I saw them gather on grey stone in the city, and she would only answer Just do your best to be polite to them.

“Think about who are you,” Stella said. “Because I don’t think you know who that is.”

“I know who I am.”

“Yeah? Then who are you?”

It wasn’t a fair question. No one would know how to answer that. I knew who I was as well as anyone else. Stella wouldn’t go up to a random person on the streets and ask them as sternly as she asked me without getting an odd look or a business card.

“You used to tell me that doing whatever your parents wanted infuriated you. What happened to that girl?”

She grew up.

I wasn’t a little girl anymore, kicking rocks because my parents made me go to a stuffy dinner while Stella was never forced to meet her parents’ drab friends. I was an adult, and I was realizing that a lot more compromises had to be made. The more I learned about the world, the more I realized how much I was missing out on.

“If you want to be Mrs. Kingsley or Mrs. Whoever-Your-Parents-Find, then I won’t hold you back. You know I’d support you in whatever you choose to do. But I’m scared for you. Don’t convince yourself that you want this. I know you have a brain in there somewhere.” She smiled a little. “You can use it to think for yourself.”

“I don’t use it for much else, I suppose.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m not sure about this. I don’t want to disappoint my parents. Or Mr. Kingsley. He’s done nothing wrong.”

“Would you rather disappoint yourself? Make a life with a man you hardly know and have his children and spend your days with a stranger? You can go to dinner with him tonight, or I can take you out. It’ll be just the two of us. We haven’t had dinner together in a while, have we? I still haven’t told you about my last letter from Victor.”

Victor was her Bohemian artist. She was crazy for him, and they had found each other on their own.

“Let me think about this. It’s making my head ache.”

I looked to my vanity only to avoid Stella’s eyes. I had my makeup sitting out, ready to touch up what was already on my face. My hairbrush was next to the powders and lipsticks for when I had to pull out tangles before I left. I even had my outfit hanging on my wardrobe door. It was the only outfit my mother had approved of. It was the longest skirt I owned, and the blouse with the highest neck. It was such a bland color. Light blue. Close to grey like an old woman’s hair. I was fond of black dresses and bright blouses. I should have thrown it out a year ago. My mother was making me wear my lowest heels, as well, and I had wanted to vomit over how old I looked. I looked as old as the women that gave me dirty looks when I went into town. I looked as old as my mother. I could have been going to church in that outfit, for Christ’s sake! No respectable girl of my age should have been forced into that.

I took great care to read about the newest fashions and trends from everywhere—England, France, Japan, etc. I had cut off my hair at 17 when I realized (way too late I confess) that long hair in up-dos had been out of fashion for quite some time. I transformed overnight. I looked like Edna Purviance. I had thought about getting on a train to Hollywood to show a movie director or modeling agency that I had the look. I had the short waves even if they were a bit crooked. My jaw and neck were exposed, and I felt scandalous and exposed. My mother almost fainted.

I discovered makeup the same year. I learned how to hold my hand steady to apply eyelashes and how to draw a cupid’s bow on my lips that Clara Bow herself would be jealous of. I propped up magazines next to my mirror and yanked at my eyebrows with tweezers until they looked similar to what I was seeing. I found a shade of blush that didn’t make me look like I had an odd infection but instead had spent a decent amount of time laughing and being happy. I painted thin lines around my eyes and dabbed a modest amount of eyeshadow on my lids. Stella and I had helped each other find powders that would make us look paler but not like corpses. I practiced my pout in the mirror and experimented with holding my head at different angles.

Later, after I was away from the judgment of school teachers, I had begged my father for money for a new wardrobe. I gave a whole speech about he should want a trendy daughter. I’ve already told you their reaction to seeing me in my first short dress.

Stella looked at her wristwatch in resignation.

“I should be leaving.”

She stood. I grabbed her hand.

“Give me a little time,” I told her. “I’d like to write Mr. Kingsley a letter for when he comes. I can’t turn a man down to his face. I also need to touch up my face and hair. I can’t be seen like this in public. Let’s go to that little café around the corner, and then, I think, there’s a movie playing this evening. We can make it if we hurry.”

I tried not to think about how furious my parents would be, and I tried not paying attention to the tightening of my stomach that killed my appetite and interest in films. I put my faith in Stella and prayed that Victor had a brother.

[bindingties]

Change of Heart

[ Drive Link ]

(( me a few days ago: writing mvk’s change of heart in the p.5 verse i made will be a fun creative exercise     me shortly after: oh no ))

“Do you think it worked?”  Phoenix could feel the cold sweat rolling down his back and actively had to force himself not to pace in the lobby.

Maya smiled, though it faltered at the edges.  “Yeah! I mean… it had to, right, Nick? So we just gotta wait.  And by wait, I mean… walk into this courtroom and hope for the best!”

Phoenix combed a hand through his hair.  “And… what if it didn’t?  I still…. We don’t have a shred of evidence and our backs are against the wall and - !”

“So I take it my trial will not end well.”

Phoenix jumped and whirled around to face Edgeworth.  “I’m going to prove you innocent! Trust me, okay?”

Edgeworth cut his gaze to the side with a sigh. “… I will not fight your delusions, Wright.”

“Excuse me,” a bailiff began, “the trial is about to start.”

---

“Court is now in session for the trial of Mr. Miles Edgeworth.”  The implicit question of readiness hung heavy in the air.

No, I’m absolutely not ready, Wright’s heart cried out, trying very hard to force itself out of his chest.  He couldn’t tell if Von Karma looked any different – couldn’t tell if their last-ditch gambit had worked.  “The defense is ready, Your Honor.”  The words came from some far-off place, his tongue feeling like lead in his mouth.

Von Karma raised his hand, thumb pressed to his middle finger and primed to snap.  For a moment, Wright’s chest froze, but then he noticed the tremor in the digits.  

“… Prosecutor von Karma?” The judge prompted, hesitant.

“The prosecution…”  The hand continued to shake.  Von Karma casted his gaze through the courtroom, as if seeing it for the first time, and dropped his hand.  “The prosecution has a confession, Your Honor.”

“E-excuse me?  Prosecutor von Karma, are you feeling well?”

“Bailiff, please bring in the boat shop owner.”

As the man was brought forth, Von Karma levelled a finger at him.

“That man is Yanni Yogi and he murdered Robert Hammond.”  Shock rippled through the courtroom and the witness reeled, mouth beginning to twist into a snarl, but Von Karma pressed on.  “He did so out of revenge for his humiliation in the DL-6 trial.  I know all of this because, prior to the murder, I investigated on my own and sent him the very plans for this murder.  I incited him into murdering Robert Hammond and framing the defendant, Miles Edgeworth.”

He held up a note and recognition lit up Wright’s face.  “This is the very letter I sent; a handwriting analysis will show that this is, indeed, my own script.  I sought to ruin Miles Edgeworth as one last stroke in my revenge against Gregory Edgeworth for causing a penalty to stain my perfect record.”

Strain entered his voice and he paused to breathe.  The courtroom remained deathly quiet.

“The truth of the DL-6 Incident is this: Gregory Edgeworth pointed out the use of coerced testimony in the IS-7 trial and I was penalized.  After wandering the courthouse after the earthquake, I came upon an elevator. Suddenly, a sharp pain engulfed my shoulder – I had been shot – and the elevator slid open.  There was a gun on the ground, and I shot and killed Gregory Edgeworth for revenge.  I never received surgery for my injury; should the court ask, the bullet can be removed and the ballistic markings checked.  They will match that of the gun associated with the incident.”

Wright cut his eyes toward Edgeworth, who had gone paler than a ghost and shook in the defendant’s seat.

“Furthermore, I adopted Miles Edgeworth such that I could mold him in my own image and make him into something his father would despise.  Then, here, I wanted to have him framed for murder to finally bury the Edgeworth name entirely.”  

Von Karma’s voice cracked, and he gripped his sleeve, tears starting to slide down his aged cheeks.

“And I abused him every day. I abused my own daughter.  My wife.  I set impossible standards and kept moving the bar of success.  They were never good enough and I used my influence to keep anyone from asking questions.  I rigged trials, forged evidence, coerced testimony.  I assaulted that defense attorney there just yesterday to keep the truth from coming to light.”

The man doubled over, one hand so tight on his sleeve that something popped and the other pressed into his shoulder.  A puddle began forming on the prosecutor’s bench.

“My perfect record is built entirely on lies.  I am a horrid, horrid disgrace of a human being.  I don’t deserve the air that I breathe.  I don’t deserve to ask anything of this court, but I must ask that Miles Edgeworth be found not guilty and that I be tried to the fullest extent of the law!”

Wright watched the trial end from miles away.  Von Karma was led out, crying and apologizing, in handcuffs.  Edgeworth stood at the witness stand for the verdict, deathly pale and trembling even as the not guilty verdict rang out.

Even when Larry tossed his arms over both his and Edgeworth’s shoulders in the lobby, Wright still felt like something in the air was wrong.  Sour.

“I don’t understand… he would never… why today…?”

Maya forced a smile.  “Sometimes people just… have a change of heart, I guess!”

Edgeworth locked his eyes with Wright’s.  “… Do you really believe that?”

Wright tried to laugh, but even he knew it was hollow.  “I mean, I didn’t expect you to help me out with Will Powers’s case so… yeah.  I believe it.”

Edgeworth walked off without another word.

The false prosecutor’s badge felt like a lead weight in Wright’s pocket.

---

“Why did you confess?  It’s been fifteen years… you almost got away with it all.  Why throw that away?”

“Simply put, I could no longer live with myself.  Live with those crimes.  I could not bear to go unpunished any longer.”

“That doesn’t….  You’ve been prosecuting for forty years; there’s no reason for you to suddenly change now!  I….”

“No apology can fix my abhorrent actions, but I am sorry.”

---

The sharp snap of heels echoed through the prison, followed by the rattling of iron bars.

“Miss, you can’t be - !”

There was a yelp and the sound of a swift retreat.  A black gloved hand wrapped around one of the bars.

“Who are you and what have you done with my papa?!”

Von Karma rose from a cot, joints creaking in protest.  He’d never looked particularly young, but he looked well beyond his years now.  New wrinkles creased his face and worsened its weathered appearance.  His eyes were bloodshot and ringed with thick dark circles.  He limped to the bars, leaning heavily on his cane.  The prison uniform seemed to swallow him.

“Franziska…”

Franziska slammed her free fist into the bars and the sound echoed through the prison.  She glared up into her father’s eyes, teeth bared in a snarl. “Answer my question!  Papa would never…!  You’re… You’re not my papa!”

“I am and I apologize for that.”

The words punched her in the gut, but she shook them off as rage burned in her chest.  “No, you’re not!  Papa would never - !”  Papa would never apologize.  The thought came from nowhere and clashed with all she remembered of her papa; he was a hero and never needed to apologize so why did that thought hurt so much? Of course he never apologized, he…. “Papa would never do anything wrong!”

His blue eyes were dull beneath the gloss of fresh tears.  “I lied to you, Franziska.  I told you more lies than truths.  Only I cared about perfection in my family.  Only I cared about prosecuting.  My father was a businessman, my mother a housewife.  My sister is a vet.  Before I became a prosecutor, only a distant uncle was in the law field and he was a defense attorney specializing in civil suits.  There is no Von Karma legacy.”

Franziska stumbled back, legs almost giving out from underneath her.  “N-no…”  Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back.  “You’re not papa; Von Karmas don’t cry!”

“A lie I told you to keep you from embarrassing me.  To keep you from annoying me.  I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing!” Franziska screamed.  “You’re not my papa!  You can’t be!  Papa is strong and honest and perfect and noble and a hero and you’re… you’re…!”  A sob caught her words and she slammed her fist into the bars one last time before fleeing the scene.

---

“Ah, Prosecutor von Karma! It pains me to see you like this, y’know?”  Blaise Debeste shooed the prison guard away, leaning against the bars.  Crocodile tears filled his googles.  “Always a shame to see such a great prosecutor brought low….  But, y’know…” He carefully dumped his goggles and began fidgeting with a lighter, watching the flames dance back and forth.

“Would be a bit unfortunate for me if ya let the cats outta the bag with this new honesty kick.  Nothin’ personal, but I can’t have you draggin’ me down with you, y’know?”

Von Karma silently wrapped his arms around himself, languidly pulling his eyes up to meet Blaise’s.  “I have to atone for my sins….”

Blaise grinned, flipping the lighter shut.  “And I’m not gonna keep you from that!  ‘Cause, and get this, for some reason, the courts decided your sentencing needed a second pass.  And, well, they’ve decided the best way for you to atone is execution.  By this time tomorrow, you’ll be dead and gone.  A distant memory.”  He faked a sniffle.  “How cruel justice can be!”

Manfred cut his gaze down.  “If… if that is best….”

“I’m glad you’re being agreeable for once.  Well, this is goodbye.”  His lip wobbled.  “I’ll truly miss you!”

---

PROSECUTOR MANFRED VON KARMA EXECUTED THIS MORNING

[aki-draws-things]

Okay, me again 😂 Hope you're having a good day 💜 So, can I ask for another prompt, let's say, homesickness for Tymeo?

Hello again, my dear!! Worry not, you can ask all the prompts you wish, really… It’s much easier when people asks me prompt for a ship or another… on my own I get stuck most of the times trying to decide who should I write on.

Now, about this one prompt, it became a biot of an abstract concept, the homesickness. Especially because home is not the place but the person. also, the ending is open, because I couldn’t chose how to end it, actually. What Romeo will find in the end is up to you.

(Also, Catarina is the sweetest woman. she cares so much…)

***

@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Homesickness

Fandom: Romeo et Juliette

Ship: Tymeo

Venice wasn’t that bad, Tybalt had to agree; it was a bit wet, and humid, yes, but not entirely bad. Except for the part where he did not chose to spend the rest of his life there, alone. Not that he was truly alone, just –

“Are you ready?” He raised the head from the letter he had spent the last two hours writing and looked behind himself at the red haired woman on the door, looking smiling at him. He sighed.

“Yes. I just need to sign it and it will be done.” She nodded and laughed softly, hair bouncing slightly at the movement.

“Must truly be someone special if they receive a letter from you every week, my dear.” He nodded again and stood up, letter in hand and walked to her.

“My apologize for making you wait, again. - He took her hand and kissed her lightly. - We may go.”

Catarina took his arm and led the way, never stopping smiling, they left the letter to a courier and walked away.

“You don’t make me wait, you save me from all those small talks women will make during the party. Not even one that could understand politics or, for the matter, beauty. They’re so boring, so if your precious friend is worth all that time for a letter, then it’s perfectly fine for me.”

She was nice, and understanding, Tybalt liked her. But he couldn’t love her, that was beyond his abilities. First, she was ten years older than him. Normally it would have been the man being older, normally his uncle would have looked for a young lady, in her fourteens or something. But Catarina was, in his uncle’s opinion, the perfect match. - Yes. Perfect because she was still unmarried despite her beauty, and daughter to the Prince of Venice. That union would bring so much power to the Capulet’s family, more than anyone else except for the Escalus’  family. -

Second, he simply couldn’t give her his love since that was already taken by someone else, in Verona. His mysterious friend. His Romeo. - Same Romeo who, in the past letter, accused him of cheating on him. It took all of his calm to explain in the letter that he never chose that life and union and would return to Verona, and probably run away with him, any time, if only he could. -

Third, but that was mostly a secret Tybalt wasn’t completely sure of and preferred to keep for himself for the time being, his wife was quite in love with her personal maid.

Now he could only hope Romeo would understand.

Romeo sighed and clutched the letter at his chest, how stupid he had been, thinking Tybalt actually cheated on him, thinking he would go and marry that woman out of love. How stupid and childish. He knew better, deep down he knew, and yet he had let jealousy take over his hand during his last letter. Now he wanted to take that paper and replace every single word he had written with something better, words of love and kindness.

“I feel so stupid…” He sighed again, and Juliet laughed lightly.

“You were, yes. Just a bit. But I know my cousin, and I know for sure that once he loves someone he gives them everything.”

“I miss him.” He sighed again and she hummed.

“You could come with me next time I go visit him.” She proposed absentmindedly.

“Yeah… Like my family would let me go to Venice just because I want to… I appreciate the thought, Juliet, really, but –”

“If you were to be my husband then you would have every right to accompany me.”

It was sudden, incredibly sudden. Romeo turned to her with his eyes wide open.

“It – It wouldn’t – I wouldn’t … couldn’t – I…”

“I’m not asking you to love me, Romeo. - She said kindly. And a little amused too. - You’re cute, and with time I’m sure I would learn to love you, but I can’t ask you the same. It would be a way for you to come with me to Venice, be with my Tybalt for a little.”

“And we should simply say that… we will marry? That I asked you and you said yes… or something?”

“Or something. Yes.”

The plan was easy, so easy nothing could go wrong. - Except maybe for her father trying to change her mind first, threatening Romeo later and, lastly, trying to speak to the Prince about this absurd turning of things. The Prince gave them his blessing instead and threatened Lord Capulet of exile if he did anything against them. Maybe that would’ve been the thing that would finally bring peace, he though hopefully. -

“I thought you loved –” Romeo almost jumped at Mercutio when he opened his mouth.

“I did – I do. I still do. It’s complicated but like this I will have a chance to spend time with him, somehow. It’s… Complicated.” He repeated, and it was, indeed. It took him and Juliet hours to properly write their plan in a letter and send it.

There was just one small problem. Lord Capulet wrote him too.

Tybalt felt sick, he felt a pang in his heart, he felt tears forming in his eyes. He crumbled up the letter and threw it in the fireplace. In truth there was no anger nor rage in him, he trembled slightly and fell on his knees.

“I miss home.” He said to Catarina just the day before, both sitting in the library, almost distracted. “I miss the people, the air in Verona and its streets. And I miss him. Like air.”

“The one you always write to, my dear?” Tybalt nodded.

“He’s like home. Feels like home, tastes like home. I feel so lost. - He looked up suddenly worried. - Not that I’m not happy here. Everyone is kind, you are kind and I like you, very much. But –”

“But you’re homesick, I understand. He must be truly amazing, maybe next time you should invite him here.”

“No one knows about us. Or I would’ve been already dead.”

“They don’t need to know. - She casted a quick look at a maid collecting some cups from a nearby table, Tybalt saw the way she looked back. - You’ll just invite a friend in our house, so that this will be home for you too, for a little.”

The day he arrived to Venice to marry Lady Catarina he thought he wouldn’t even like her, in any way. He had been wrong. There was no love between them, not the kind of love one expected from husband and wife, they simply were friends. And it was enough, for both of them.

He should’ve known better, he thought sadly, he should’ve known better than trusting a Montague.

And yet he did trusted him, he loved him, he gave him his heart, and what for? To have it crushed like this?

After all of his words about betrayal and cheating he went and married Juliet. How hypocrite of him. How –

Tybalt felt sick. Actually sick, physically sick.

The fire burned every single word his uncle wrote him, slowly he felt his body getting more and more tired and heavy, tears falling down his cheeks silently. He slid on the floor on his side and the world darkened upon him.

- Oh, the fear Catarina felt when she walked in the room only to find her husband lying unconscious on the floor! -

She eyed Romeo doubtfully when he appeared before her next to Juliet. That was him, then. That was the boy.

“Welcome to Venice.” She force a smile standing from her armchair by the large window and leaving the open book on the table. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.” She had to be kind, if not for him or herself than for her husband.

“Thank you Catarina.  But tell me, where is my dear cousin? I’m sure he’ll be so happy to have us here.” Romeo looked around, almost hoping Tybalt to suddenly appear. But he didn’t and Catarina’s eyes darkened just a little.

“My husband is very sick right now. - She confessed. - A strange sickness, something doctor’s can’t explain.” Romeo felt all color drain from his face. He couldn’t be sick… They were supposed to spend the whole week together, he –

She led them to the bedroom and Romeo followed almost automatically until she stopped in front of a closed door.

“He feels like his home had been destroyed leaving him with nowhere to go. Lost. - There was a light accusation in her voice but all Romeo could see was the door. He yearned to enter, to be with his Tybalt, to make things right. Whatever happened he must have not believed their letter. Or maybe he didn’t even receive it. He had to change that. He had to fix that. He had to explain. - Maybe you can cure him. I hope you can.”

She took Juliet’s arm and walked away as Romeo gently pushed the door, entered and closed it behind himself. He hoped he could do it too.