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lokilickedme · 3 years

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The Way

I’m writing horror again. I guess it’s that time, you know, that time that has nothing to do with Halloween or the seasons or whatever, that time when it just hits me for some reason. And just like I always do, I’ll say I don’t know why.

Even though I know why, and you know I know why.

Because the truth is always so much weirder and worse and more disquieting than any excuse I could make up for it, and sometimes I just feel the need.

Today I felt the need, and I couldn’t make it go away.

And so I sat down, and words I didn’t want to write were written.

8592 words I would rate this Mature 18+ if it was a fic, strictly because of the subject matter.

Warnings: Death, mostly. Religious trauma, brief descriptions of abuse, mentions of mental illness, domestic violence, grief, familial dysfunction, religious abuse, emotional abuse, medical conditions, brief mentions of drug use/abuse, mild gore in reference to corpse decomposition, psychological unease and mild terror, child abuse (mental/emotional/psychological), brief allusion to physical child abuse, cult references, loss of faith, attempted murder, possible actual murder.

A Note: I love you guys, you’re always so quick and willing to be helpful and offer advice and suggestions and such, and I adore that about you. But on this piece of work I ask that nobody offer any theories about what happened to my brother - medical, criminal, or otherwise - and please no suggestions on things we could do to pursue investigation, that ship has long sailed. It’s been 23 years and he’s a cold case. We spent years trying to sort it out but in the end it’s just something that happened, and we moved on because we had to. There are a lot of open ends, a lot of question marks, a lot of suspicious details that never connected to anything - and we tried, we truly did. If anyone out there knows the truth, they’ve never shown themselves to us. We do have our theories, but my brother was a secretive person living a life none of us knew about, and the people he knew weren’t people we knew. Everyone involved is either dead or moved on or got away with whatever it was they did, and there are only three of us who still care. It’s over.

Until today, I’ve never put these events into words.

It was something I needed to do, finally.

This is PART ONE. There may not be a part two, unless doing this ends up making me feel better.

Please feel free to comment if you wish. As you can see, pretty much nothing triggers me. I just ask that you please refrain from the type of comments noted above.

And thank you.

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This is, regrettably, a true story. Nothing has been changed but the names, because the dead don’t like being talked about, and James was just enough of a shit to haunt me for it.

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They made up their minds And they started packing They left before the sun came up that day An exit to eternal summer slacking But where were they going without ever knowing the way

They drank up the wine And they got to talking They now had more important things to say And when the car broke down They started walking Where were they going without ever knowing the way

Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold And it's always summer They'll never get cold They'll never get hungry They'll never get old and gray You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today, today

Their children woke up And they couldn't find them They left before the sun came up that day They just drove off and left it all behind them But where were they going without ever knowing the way?

You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today, today

- The Way, Fastball, 1998

That was the year James died in his sleep.

Or that’s what they say, anyway. Asthma, the likely cause based on his medical history, our first and least disturbing assumption. Undetermined, the official determination based on the hastily scraped-together autopsy, the best that could be done under the circumstances. We tell people he had breathing problems, and they nod their heads and agree because they knew he did, and now he’s been gone so long that nobody asks. Most of the people who ever met him have long moved on or disappeared or died themselves, or just remember him as the enigmatic middle son from the Keithley family that nobody really knew very well. You know, the odd one, the one that showed up at meetings maybe once a year and smiled nervously but didn’t really talk to anyone and always seemed anxious to leave? The one who died under mysterious circumstances? That one.

He left the way he always came in. Quietly, unexpected, without anyone being aware of either his entrance or his exit.

But me and mom know some things, and she’s not talking. She probably never will.

So maybe it’s time I did.

December 1998. I’d gotten married two years previous and moved back to the family land with my new husband. He hated it there, but we had an affordable place to live. It wasn’t bad. He’d tell you otherwise. The land never sat right with him, but I’d lived there too many years to see it. I’d been fifteen when my father uprooted his large family from the city and hauled us out to the great back door to nowhere, and even though I’d left several times to wander elsewhere, I always came back.

I didn’t realize why at the time, at any of the multiple times. But now I know. That place gets you, and it holds you, and unless you’re goddamned devoted to staying gone you will always be pulled back. It took me till I was 49 to funnel the necessary amount of devotion away from the religious dedication I’d had jackbooted into me and turn it toward getting out, but against a great number of overwhelming odds I finally did it.

But this isn’t about that, not yet anyway. This is about my brother James, and how he went to sleep one night and found his own way out.

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It was snowing, had been for days, a bit unusual but not unheard of. The part of the state we lived in was notorious for extended ice storms and we knew a bad one was coming, but until it hit we played in the snow like it was a gift and we were deprived children who knew it was all going to be taken away soon. My brothers and I were adults but you wouldn’t know it, watching us sneak around in the woods staging elaborate commando attacks on each other. James was the best of us, a stealth king who could stand in the middle of a room for an hour without a single soul seeing him. Perception bias, he said. Your brain ignores me because I obviously don’t belong, like those puzzles where you circle what’s wrong but it takes you forever to find them.

He crept around in the forest scaring the shit out of people, dropping his long tall self out of trees, appearing from nowhere to administer a well aimed snowball to the face of whoever happened to cross his path and then disappearing just as quickly. We called him a wraith and it wasn’t a good natured jibe. We meant it. He made people nervous. He was the stealthy kind of quiet you associate with danger, and he knew how to do things an average person doesn’t ever have any need to know. It was a quiet cool that we admired him for, because none of the rest of us had it.

The religion we were raised in kept a tight lid on us, but me and James, we never really let it get into our bones. We were the smart ones, in retrospect. I went through the motions by force of habit and a sense of self preservation, doing what was expected and demanded of me, following the rules and making myself a perfect example of a young member of the church so I wouldn’t bring shame on the congregation and my family. But mostly the congregation. It was always more important than anything else. And I had behaving down to an art form, but mostly when people were looking. Usually also when they weren’t.

But sometimes, not quite.

And then I prayed for forgiveness about it later because God was supposed to forgive you if you asked him to, right? The tenet of willful sin being unforgivable never took root with me even though that was what the church conditioned into us through fear and constant repetition. They said it from the stage two nights a week and again on Sunday to hammer it home. Two nights a week and again on Sunday my head silently disagreed. God’s not like that. And then I did the praying for forgiveness thing even though I knew I was right, because I was disagreeing with the church, and the church was God’s channel here on Earth, wasn’t it? I committed a mortal sin at least three times a week on that subject alone, and though the dread of divine punishment was hardwired into me, I never could reconcile the concept of a loving and forgiving God destroying me simply for knowing better.

I’m not sure the comprehension of an overwatching deity ever actually established itself in James’ brain. A moral code, yes. But isn’t that what God is, really? Maybe he understood more about God and forgiveness than the rest of us. But he was considered an unapproved fringe member of the church because he couldn’t suffer people and noise and being looked at and he refused to preach, and he was soft-shunned as a result. Because if you weren’t all in to the point of being willing to die at any moment for your faith, you were as good as faithless.

And faithless meant condemned. And the congregation couldn’t be bothered with condemned people, regardless of their reasons for not having both feet in the water. The first and only option on their list was to put the person out and let them find their own way back once they realized they had nobody left in the world who cared about them.

James escaped that somehow. He was supposed to be shunned whole scale, but he wasn’t trying to convince anyone to leave the faith and he presented no threat to anyone’s strength of belief, and so far as anyone knew he’d committed no grave sins other than disinterest. So the rule that dictated we cast him out was bent enough to allow him to remain living on the family land, though at one point during a fit of overzealous righteousness my mother had tried to have a family meeting to vote on whether or not we were going to let him stay. I refused to vote and when I walked out of the house the meeting fell apart.

I’ve never forgiven her for that. Her son’s life being put to a vote with her presiding over the proceedings, vengeful and unfeeling and devoid of compassion on behalf of God himself. It takes my breath away, the anger, still to this day. The only thing I ever truly learned from my mother about parenting was a long and intensely detailed list of what not to do to my own children, and I suppose I should be grateful for that. It’s a bitter thank-you to have to give, but it’s something.

We knew James as much as he would allow us to, and not an inch further. Which meant the extent of our knowledge of him pretty much stretched to include the singular fact that he was different. What that meant, I still don’t really know - but it was there from the day he was born, that slight off-ness, the oddly off center calibration that you can’t really see so much as sense in a person. I know now he was likely on the autism spectrum and he walked through life seeing and reacting to everything differently than most of us, but that wasn’t a thing back then. You were just weird, or you weren’t. And I’m not convinced that was a bad thing for him, strictly speaking. But in the confines of our religion and our family’s devout and sometimes violent dedication to it, it took its toll almost daily.

He stood out, and he was very much a person who didn’t want to. He wanted to fade into the background, to not be seen, to not be known. And our religion didn’t tolerate that kind of nonsense, because we were commanded to be bold bearers of The Word Of God, and no exceptions were made.

None.

I’m going to stop calling it a religion now. I beg your indulgence as I shift to calling it what it is, because calling it a religion is an insult to actual religions that don’t destroy peoples’ lives with callous indifference and murderous glee.

We were raised in a doomsday death cult. There’s no other name that fits.

And we were trapped in it and its ugly cycle of neverending mental and emotional manipulation and abuse until we were adults, and some of us are still bound to it. My oldest brother worked his way up to the upper levels of oversight in the local congregation and was solidly entrenched in it until his death, which is a story for later. My youngest brother, the last remaining living blood sibling I have, is still deeply in it to this day and will likely never leave it.

I took the hard way out, three years ago, by walking away.

James, though. He took the easy way. He simply closed his eyes, and he was free.

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December 22, 1998. Three days before Christmas, though that meant nothing to us. The cult told us Christmas was a filthy demonic pagan ritual that was condemned by God, so to us the season was just a nice chilly time of year with lots of time off from work. We’d had an unusual amount of snow, the most we’d had in years. The roads were impassable and everyone was home except my husband, who worked close enough that his boss at the glass shop came and picked him up that morning with chains on his tires. Lots of windshields had shattered from the sudden violent cold that had struck the previous night and Scott had the only glass shop for sixty miles.

I think it must have been around noon, and likely my mother had sent my dad up the hill to see if James wanted to come down for the lunch she was making. He and his wife had split up against the strict rules of the church after a few years of suffering through an ill advised marriage, an important detail to this story that will come into the tale later, and he was alone up there at the top of the hill a lot. Sometimes he forgot to eat, or he got so busy that he just didn’t bother, so our mother always made something for him because even though he was in his 20′s he was still a kid who needed looking after and her zealous fervor against him had died down with time. I think he let her believe he was helpless because it worked in his favor and there was always lunch waiting for him in her kitchen as a result.

He was different, he wasn’t dumb.

We all lived on the hill back then with the exception of our youngest brother. He’d moved to the city with his new wife not long prior. The locals jokingly called the place a commune, and I guess they weren’t completely wrong. Thirty-eight acres of wooded land far beyond the city limits that we’d painstakingly spent years carving a livable space into, with five houses, all built from the ground up and inhabited by an extended family of well known culties from a well known cult. It’s almost comical, looking back on it, knowing now how they kept an eye on us for years to make sure we weren’t doing anything weird up there.

They should have run us off with pitchforks and burning stakes at the very beginning.

Things might have ended differently for us if they had.

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My grandparents lived at one end of the property, an old couple as simple and solid as salted soup, devoutly religious and devoted to the cult and very much cut from the can survive anything and probably will cloth like so many old country folks of their generation. They were waiting out the end of days up there in their little wooden house, expecting the final hour of this old system to come long before their own demise. I liked my grandmother, she had a sweet smile and fell asleep every time granddad started talking about the Bible and she paid me five dollars every Wednesday to drive her into town to get groceries, and years later, when she was dying, she told me she’d had a dream where she met my unborn son. I was four months pregnant and didn’t know yet that I was having a boy. She died before he was born, but to this day, fifteen years later, he tells me he’s sure he met her, he just can’t remember when.

I was scared of my grandfather. Not terrified, but there was nothing grandfatherly to him and I always suspected he never actually liked kids much. He’d once told us a story about the great Fort Worth flood that wiped out most of the city when my mom was a baby, and how he had told my grandmother to let go of my 2-year-old mother while he was struggling to get them across a rushing flooded creek in water up to their shoulders. My grandmother couldn’t swim. We could make another Ruthie, he said. But I couldn’t get another ‘Nita.

He said it proudly, like he was to be admired for his choice. I was young when he told that story, but it settled into me that this was evil.

Even when he was old as dirt and dying of a brain tumor in hospice care, he made me uneasy. I was never close to him. But for some reason, in his final days, he forgot who everyone was except me. I had been living in another state for years and he hadn’t seen me since before the tumor started taking his life. But when I walked into the room he turned his head and looked at me, and he mouthed my name.

He couldn’t speak. I don’t know what he was trying to say, struggling with words that nobody could hear. And I felt bad. I didn’t want to be the last person he recognized. My cousins adored him and had spent the last few years constantly at his side, and they were angry, maybe justifiably, that I was the one he reached for.

I didn’t want that at all.

I don’t believe he was a bad man, but he never spoke of anything except the cult’s interpretation of the Bible, and it was as tiresome as it was terrifying. Granddads are supposed to be fun. Ours quoted doctrine at us in a deep loud commanding voice that you couldn’t interrupt and you couldn’t tune out, and once he got going you had to just settle in and wait for him to run out of zealous steam. And then he would suddenly stop and command grandmother to turn on a John Wayne movie and bring him some ice cream, and it was over until the next time.

I know my mother resented him. She knew grandmother was the one that had refused to let her go, the one that had held onto her even though she almost drowned by the simple act of holding on. She knew her father had been willing to let her wash away and drown. That he thought she was interchangeable with whatever baby they would have next. How she could spend her entire life with that knowledge and not be deeply affected by it was something that never made sense to me, but now, when she’s in her 70′s and I’m in my 50′s, I finally understand. It affected her. She’ll just be damned if she’ll let anyone see it. And she had stood there in that hospice room watching him mouth my name with resentment burning in her eyes, though she would have rather died than let anyone know what it was for. He’d forgotten her weeks ago.

The house in the center of the hill was mom and dad. The homestead. The house we’d all lived in together, that we’d built with our own hands, the first thing that marked that wild overgrown hill as a place where people actually lived. A long path through the woods connected it to the grandparents’ house, and it was the epicenter of everything in our lives. James and I had lived in the upstairs rooms of that house until we both moved out and married our respective mates years later, a reprehensible act on our part that was never okay with my mother and that she never forgave either of us for. She’d wanted us all to stay. We can all live here together until the New System comes, she always said. That’s how the Bible says it’s supposed to be. We can all keep each other safe and on the right path until the end comes, and then we’ll all be here together forever.

A decade later when I sat up on the hill watching that house burn to the ground, there was as much relief as grief billowing into the sky with the black smoke. It was the end of an era, and it was far beyond time for it.

Nobody saw it but me. James was dead, had been for years. Robbie was dead now too. Dad was gone, so was granddad. Me and my youngest brother David were the last two left of the kids, but he had moved to a neighboring city when he got married and he has never seen things the way I see them. We were of different generations, we weren’t raised the same way, and he’d never experienced the abuse I lived with for the first half of my life. And he had dedicated his own life to the cult with all the honesty and lack of guile that I didn’t have when I’d made my own dedication vows at the too-young age of sixteen.

It was the end of an era, but apparently only for me.

James’ house was up the hill, past a clearing where my dad used to keep old cars that he cannibalized for parts. Our oldest brother Robbie, long married with kids of his own, lived at the bottom on the farthest corner of the land. And my house was on the slope to the west, built on the spot where we’d cleared off an old half-fallen homestead from the late 1800′s, dutifully paying no mind to the fact that a grave was nestled into the slope, right where the yellow daffodils grew. The cult told us superstition was tied up with the demons and false religion, so we didn’t have the built-in human instinct that tells most people to stay the hell away from certain things.

We just pretended it wasn’t there, and put no importance on it. It was just an old grave. The soil was good and the garden I planted next to it did well, though those strange daffodils always wound themselves through everything I put in the ground. My husband said something wasn’t right about it, but I didn’t pay any attention to him. He hadn’t been raised as devout as me.

My dad knocked on my door around lunchtime and I opened it. He backed up, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, the fancy leather coat the dealership had awarded him when he was designated a five-star Chrysler technician and given the state’s first and only license to work on the new Vipers that had recently rolled off the prototype line. It was a cool jacket. Made him look like the old pictures my other grandmother had shown me of him from the early 1960′s, when he was young and very much a product of a fancier era. He’d never stopped greasing his hair back and was still so thin that he and I wore the same size jeans.

I’ve never understood the look on his face when I opened the door. To this day I can’t sort it. It wasn’t a blankness like so many people who’ve seen death wear without awareness. It wasn’t grief. It wasn’t even shock.

He was sorry.

Those were the first words out of his mouth.

I’m sorry.

I stood there, not knowing what he was sorry for. It was cold. I couldn’t push the screen door open very far because of the snow blocking it. And my father was standing at the bottom of the steps James had helped my husband build, his hands shoved down far into his pockets like a penitent child about to get in trouble, telling me he was sorry.

James is dead, he finally said. He’s in his house. I went up there and he’s dead.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I do now - just now, this very moment in fact, I know that I was the first person he told. He came straight from James’ house to mine and told me my brother was dead.

I don’t know what I said back to him, I just remember sitting down on the top step and feeling the cold bite of the snow through my pajama pants. There’s a vague recollection of putting my face in my hands, and the embarrassing knowledge that I did that simply because I didn’t know what else to do. And dad just stood there, nervously stepping from foot to foot in the snow, because he didn’t know what else to do either.

I think I asked How at some point. He said he didn’t know. He had something in his pocket but to this day I don’t know what it was.

I don’t know if it was important. Something tells me it was. Or maybe it was just the eternally present handkerchief he always kept on him.

I’m sorry, he said again. He seemed to feel like it was his fault somehow. I’m sorry.

What do we do? I asked him. I’ve never felt more blank. What are we supposed to do?

I don’t remember what he said, other than he was going to get my older brother. I remember thinking that was a good idea. Robbie would know what to do. He always did. Brash and blustery and bigmouthed, he got things done while other people stood around debating how to do them. He would get on it, whatever needed doing. He would figure it out.

I went back in the house and dad walked away, headed down the path through the woods that connected my house to Robbie’s, hands still shoved deep in his pockets, the big retro vintage Chrysler emblem on the back of his jacket the last thing I saw before I pulled the screen door shut. I stared down for a minute at the mound of snow it had scooped into my livingroom, still with no clue what I was supposed to do.

No clue at all.

I kicked the snow back outside and shut the door.

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It’s an odd thing, watching the coroner’s van drive away with someone you know inside it. Someone you saw just yesterday. Someone who was alive. Someone who should still be alive but isn’t, somehow. And since there’s really no way to earn a ride in a coroner’s van without dying, there’s an awful unsettling sensation to it that you can’t get away from. The last time I saw James he was laughing that devious little laugh of his, his eyes red and bloodshot from the ever present asthma he’d suffered with his entire life. I don’t count the sight of the coroner’s van leaving the hill via our long steep driveway with his cold corpse tucked into a black zippered bag, because I didn’t see him. I never saw him. I didn’t see him dead in his house and I didn’t see them carry him out, I didn’t see them put him in the van. I didn’t see him later, when it was all over with. And if I try hard enough I can imagine that van empty, with that long black bag tossed crumpled in the back without a body in it, and James somewhere else living his life however the hell he pleases.

I hold onto that. Some days it helps. And some days I think I see him, walking by the side of the road or getting out of a car in the post office parking lot, and it makes me happy thinking he escaped. I see him in every hitchhiker, in every wandering traveler making his way down the interstate, in every tall thin man I glimpse from the corner of my eye as I go about my business in town.

He’s out there.

I hope he’s happy.

The ice storm hit the next day.

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For the next two weeks we were stuck on our hill. Power out, no electricity, no heat, no lights, roads iced over and impassable. We all piled up in mom and dad’s house, quietly grieving James, trying to stay warm. Most of the state lost power for days, including the city 150 miles away where his body had been taken to the state coroner’s office. There was no apparent cause of death, so the state ordered an autopsy.

His body had just been placed into cold storage to wait its turn when the power grid went down. And then, by some unholy stroke of nightmarish luck, the facility’s generators failed.

Nobody could make it in to work because of the ice. By the time someone finally got into the morgue the cold storage had been down for four days.

Six bodies melted, including James.

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No viable autopsy could be done, though they tried their best I suppose. The end report was obtained two months later. It was mostly inconclusive due to the long delay and resultant decomposition of tissue. There was apparent scarring on James’ heart, but it was old scarring and had nothing to do with his death. His lungs were scarred as well, but that was no surprise, he’d had severe asthma his entire life. There was no determinable cause of death, no inflicted trauma, no presence of illicit drugs as far as they could tell from the limited toxicology report they managed with what they had to work with.

No reason.

He’d simply died.

It seemed fitting, to me at least, that the end of him be enshrouded in an unsolvable mystery. He was a secretive person, intensely private. He would have loved knowing nobody had a clue what happened to him.

And so we drew our own conclusion as a family. He’d had an asthma attack in his sleep. There had been an inhaler next to his bed, but it was new and still in the box. He simply hadn’t woken up to use it. Dad didn’t participate in the drawing of this conclusion, his input kept stoically to himself, like he knew something the rest of us didn’t.

We pretended not to see it.

He and mom braved the last of the ice a few days later to make the 150 mile drive to see James one last time.

They came back different.

You couldn’t tell it was him, my mother said. He was melted, literally. It was like one of those science fiction movies where they melt you with a laser beam and you turn to goo.

Dad had nothing to say. He went to bed and stayed there until the next day.

You can go see him, mom told me. I’ll go with you if you want to go. But I don’t recommend it.

I decided not to go.

And so I never saw my brother dead. I never saw any proof that he was gone. He just wasn’t there anymore. There was no funeral, he was cremated and his ashes were sent home weeks later, and I went on with my life with the image in my head of James, alive, somewhere else.

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Dad was different from that day on. He’d always been stoic, terse, strict. My childhood had been spent in fear of him, an eternal dread of making him mad and feeling his temper erupt keeping me from showing any hint of a personality during my formative years. The cult had forced him to abide by the violent tenet of Spare the rod, spoil the child and there was never any risk of me being spoiled.

James being gone flipped a switch in him. He was nicer suddenly. Mellow. Kind. After the trauma wore off his humor discovered itself and he was funny. The dour angry demeanor fell off and revealed a man that I was sad never to have known before. He and I became friends. I could sense in his new attitude toward me that he regretted how he’d raised me and respected the way I’d always stood up and been my own person despite it. But my mother was falling off the deep end and for all the newfound easygoingness of my father, she counterbalanced it with an extremism born of the religious fervor of a mother determined to gain enough favor with God to see her dead child again. And she was going to make sure the rest of us did too.

We all had to get good and straight on the path, get completely right and stay that way, or we’d never see James again. He’d be in the New World and we wouldn’t, and how would she explain that to him? She and I worked together in a law office at the time and as she became more unhinged and unpleasant, I reacted by becoming more outgoing and accomplished. Our boss changed my work designation from receptionist to Executive Assistant and started teaching me how to do everything from filing papers at the courthouse to photographing accident scenes. I no longer answered to my mother, the office manager. I answered directly to the boss.

That didn’t go over well. She was a control freak with heavy untreated trauma, and the one person in the world she felt the most obsessive need to control was suddenly no longer under her thumb in a workspace where she considered herself the supreme authority. She countermanded every order the boss gave me and tried to load me up with general office chores that left me no time to do the important assignments he’d given me. I had no choice but to tell her she wasn’t my superior anymore.

She chose that day to have her nervous breakdown over James, jumping out of my car at a red light on the way home and storming angrily through a shopping mall with me trailing frantically along behind her, yelling for security to arrest me while I tried to get her to calm down. I ended up telling her she wasn’t the only person who lost James but that none of the rest of us were allowed to experience our own grief because we were too busy catering to hers.

She sat down on a bench outside the sporting goods store and glared at me with a cold hatred I’ve seen on very few other faces, ever.

I knew it would be you, she hissed at me.

That moment changed our relationship forever. It changed me forever. That was the day I decided my life was my own, that she not only didn’t have authority over me at work, she didn’t have authority over me anywhere else either. She could no longer dictate my actions, my behavior, my thoughts and feelings.

For this she disowned me. It was the first of several disownings over the next few years. I got used to it. We went to work the next day like nothing had happened, and I didn’t do a single thing on the task list she slapped down on my desk. It was a metaphor for the rest of my life, but I didn’t know it yet.

My husband and I moved out of state a couple of months later, away from that hill, away from her increasingly controlling paranoia and bitterness, the first of many small steps toward freedom.

As we were driving away with our trailer full of personal belongings behind us, he said one thing that I tried to argue against, but that somewhere deep inside I knew was probably right.

That land is cursed, he said.

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A few weeks before we moved my youngest brother came to town and we went into James’ house together. It was exactly like it had been the day my dad found him. The only thing that stood out as different was the bare mattress on the bed - the men from the coroner had wrapped him up in the sheet he’d been laying on and took it with them, leaving just the naked springform mattress James had bought for Jessica right before her final breakdown and their subsequent separation.

It took me a while to go in the bedroom, but I knew from the moment I walked into the house that I was going to end up there. I needed to see it, the place where James had closed his eyes and left us.

There was a small puddle of dried blood near the foot of the bed, brown and stained into the fabric. James always slept backwards, with his head at the wrong end. The blood had come from his nose.

I touched it. I don’t know why. It was dry.

He was gone.

----------

David and I laughed a lot that day. James had been funny in a way that was distinctly him, quiet and of few words, but those words had always counted. And as we sorted through his things and talked about him and moved some of his stuff into boxes to be stored away, I felt as much awed respect as befuddlement at what was around me. He’d never been a conformist, which I knew was why the cult had never gotten a firm grasp on him. He was unknowable and therefore unbindable. But his house was proof that he didn’t conform to any human expectations either, and nothing in it made sense unless you’d spent time around him.

There was an engine in the bathtub. I’m not sure what it went to. Another engine, in the beginning stages of disassemblage, rested on a blue tarp in the center of the livingroom floor, obviously the last project he’d been working on. There wasn’t much furniture - his wife had taken most of it when she left and it would have never entered his mind to replace any of it. Jessica’s cookware was in the kitchen cabinets, unused, some of it still in the original boxes, some not even fully unwrapped from their wedding shower years before. Jessica didn’t cook, she microwaved. David asked me if I thought it would be okay for him to take a glass Pyrex measuring cup because he’d broken his. I told him to take it. It had never been used.

I didn’t want anything, but knew I needed to take something. One of my husband’s solo CDs was sitting on the entertainment center and the cover, the cover I’d designed, caught my eye and brought me to the CD player to pop the tray open.

Inside was a CD single of The Way.

It was the only thing I took.

----------

My husband told me some time later that my dad and older brother had altered the scene before the police arrived. After the phonecall from me his boss had rushed him home and he’d gone up to James’ house without my knowledge. He’d thought it strange that he’d had to step around at least a dozen empty compressed air cans scattered haphazardly around the place as he entered, like they’d been used and tossed aside one after another. There had been several more on the floor around the bed. My father had told him to go back down and see how mom and I were doing, and when he returned to James’ house after the coroner’s departure, the cans were gone. Other than that he said things seemed different, but he couldn’t say quite how. Just not the same.

He told me my dad didn’t call the police until after he and Robbie had been in there at least an hour, alone with the body.

It’s not something we’ve talked about often, because there’s no satisfactory explanation for it that either of us can come up with. My mother says they probably didn’t want the police to assume the cans meant he was huffing compression fluid and accidentally killed himself, because Look at the shame and reproach that would bring on the congregation if anyone thought such a thing! We all knew he used the compressed air to clear the valves on the engines he was working on, all mechanics do, it’s common. Wouldn’t the police have accepted that explanation? Dad was the only one that spoke to them. They wrote down whatever he said, and then they left, and then the coroner came and took James away and that was that. My father, the most upright straight-and-narrow devoutly dedicated man I’ve ever known in my life, misled the police for a reason that he took with him to his own grave.

The only other person in the world who knew the truth about it took it to his grave too.

At the same time.

In the same car.

Four years later, on October 18, 2002.

----------

The big garbage bag of empty air cans and whatever else that was removed from James’ house that morning had been stashed in my dad’s garage and stayed there until a few weeks after he and Robbie’s joint funeral, when my mother asked my husband’s old boss to come and dispose of it. Scott was a man who knew people who could do things.

The evidence, whatever it was evidence of, vanished.

----------

The mystery around James never dissolved and eventually no one talked about it anymore, I guess because there was no way we could ever truly find out what happened without him here to tell us. There were a lot of details that we could never find a way to weave together into anything that made sense and a lot of it was probably inconsequential anyway. There was a girlfriend that he’d tried to keep hidden from us, a woman that was quite a bit older than him who wasn’t a member of the cult and therefore needed to be kept a secret. In the end she had convinced him to stop hiding their relationship and he’d bought her a ring. We met her all of twice before he died, and within days of his passing she left town with her brother and never came back, taking whatever she might have known with her.

James’ ex Jessica had sneaked onto the hill and broken into his house to put a dead raccoon in his kitchen sink a few days prior to his death. We were shocked when he told us she trespassed on the land often without anyone knowing, and my mother made my father fix the electric gate down at the road so that it wouldn’t open without one of three clickers in the possession of herself, my father, and me. James would have to come to her house and get hers any time he needed to leave the hill, an arrangement he agreed to because Jessica stole things from his house all the time, she would absolutely take a gate opener if she saw it.

He told us the gate wouldn’t keep her out though, and that she didn’t come in that way anyway. The only way to protect ourselves from her was to lock her up and he doubted even that would do it.

He died less than a week later, and twenty three years later we still don’t know how or why.

----------

We never felt safe on the hill again. Jessica was deranged in the worst possible way, we’d known it for a while, and James was her obsession. She’d threatened to kill him multiple times and had tried twice. We hadn’t known this, because James, big strong stoic Clint Eastwood type that he was, wasn’t about to tell anyone he was violently abused for years by a skinny little woman that everyone believed was not much more than a meek dormouse with shyness issues and a case of painful awkwardness. But we knew she was evil. We just didn’t have any proof.

The first thing my mother said after the initial emotional breakdown of finding her son dead was Jessica did this, I don’t know how but I know she did it.

I believe she was probably right. But if Jessica was anything she was wily and devious with a strong survival instinct and an uncanny ability to lie convincingly and draw sympathy onto herself. She’d convinced us for years that she was the perfect combination of sweetly harmless and endearingly clueless, but that only lasted until the day she called 911 screaming that James was beating her and then threw herself face first into a tree in their front yard and sat, calmly singing and coloring in a coloring book on the porch with blood running down her forehead, waiting for the police to arrive. The act she put on when they got there was one for the Academy, but the officers didn’t buy it.

James calmly rolled up his sleeves and showed them his scars where she’d burned him and slashed him with a kitchen knife. He pulled up his shirt and pointed out the marks she’d left on him with her teeth and nails. He hooked a finger into his mouth and showed them the empty hole where she’d knocked one of his teeth out with a baseball bat. One of the officers asked him why he hadn’t killed her and buried her somewhere on the land already.

She left in the back of the squad car, and my mother took James to the courthouse to get divorce papers started two days later.

Jessica came to his memorial service when we finally had it, several weeks after his death. She wasn’t invited but we couldn’t keep her from coming. She wore black like a widow and created a dramatic disruption complete with loud wailing and declarations of undying love, and afterward she stood to one side of the room, smirking at us with the kind of icy malice that you only see on the dangerously deranged, and then usually only in the movies. Several people commented in hushed voices, asking why she’d been allowed to come. At one point she started wailing They killed him!!, but everyone with the exception of her mother ignored her.

Her mother, who was still in our congregation, flitted around the room chatting with everyone, sobbing her heart out like it was her own son we’d just memorialized. She was an ER nurse and had been famously fired from her job at the hospital for taking locked-cabinet medications home by the purse load. She claimed she put them in her pocket to use on her shift and forgot to return them to the cabinet before leaving.

Jessica had been staying with her for a while.

----------

We fed the crowd at mom’s later that afternoon with my husband and his boss guarding the gate, making sure she didn’t try to come into my mother’s house. The police were called preemptively, and because this was a town of 300 with not much of anything else to do, a squad car was dispatched and stationed near the inlet to the main drive.

Jessica showed up not much later, like we knew she would. She drove past the police and parked a few yards down from them in plain sight, just sitting there by the side of the road, far enough away from our property that we couldn’t legally do anything about it. The officers got out and talked to her, warned her not to cause us any problems, and she fed them a woeful tale about being banned from her beloved husband’s memorial service and denied the right to say goodbye to him.

The officers knew there was no body at that service to say goodbye to. They also knew her.

My husband came up the hill and told us she was down at the road and that Scott was blocking the driveway with his truck to keep her out. I told my mother it was time to file a restraining order against her. She was living in fear and Jessica was known to be trespassing on our property frequently. No, she told me with tears in her eyes but not a sign of distress on her face. It was a look I knew, because my mother rarely showed emotion unless she was angry and the rest of the time it was this cold detachment. That would bring reproach on the congregation because everyone knows what we are. I can’t do that. I won’t let her win that way. I won’t let her cause us to bring shame on God’s name.

God’s name. I took it in vain that day.

More than once.

I was leaving in a few weeks, moving a thousand miles away. My husband and I weren’t going to be there to help her keep an eye out, and thirty eight acres of heavily wooded land is impossible to protect and easy to sneak onto from a hundred different directions, James had shown us proof of that.

God will protect us as long as we do the right thing and leave it to him, she said. He knows what she is.

I think it was just a coincidence that nothing terrible happened in the following weeks, because my faith was getting tenuous and a lot of prayers were going unanswered. But Jessica quietly disappeared back to her own world after a couple of infuriating weeks of putting herself in our paths every chance she got, and not long after that my husband and I moved away, and as we left the driveway for what we thought would be the last time he sighed and shook his head with the exasperation of a man about to say I told you so.

“That land is cursed,” he said.

I tried to disagree, though I don’t know why.

----------

Less than a mile up the road we passed a man walking. He was tall and thin and covered in the dust of a long journey with a ratty backpack strapped to his back, and as we passed him I caught his reflection in the side mirror.

It was James, I knew it in my heart every bit as strongly as I knew it couldn’t be.

He was walking away from the hill, toward the west. The way we were going. And I swear on whatever holy relic you wish to place under my hand that he raised his head and met eyes with me in the mirror, and he smiled.

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kjack89 · 3 years

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An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 9/14)

Continuation of the E/R Bridgerton AU, regency-era fake-marriage fic. I feel confident enough in the remainder of my outline to finally put the end chapter number up top, though of course, it’s subject to change because I’m, you know, me. (Chapter 1 tumblr | AO3, chapter 2 tumblr | AO3, chapter 3 tumblr | AO3, chapter 4 tumblr | AO3, chapter 5 tumblr | AO3, chapter 6 tumblr | AO3, chapter 7 tumblr | AO3, chapter 8 tumblr | AO3)

Rarely has this Author been so inundated with the same piece of news, and so while most readers likely already know this, it must still be reported for those apparently unaware or living under a rock: the Marquess of Enjolras has made his triumphant return to the city.

But those hoping to catch a glimpse of the new Marchioness will find themselves disappointed: the Marchioness has returned to her family home, having apparently fallen ill while on her honeymoon. Still, there is plenty of time left in the season for her to make an appearance, so all hope is not lost.

And while she has not yet taken her place in the Enjolras manor, this Author has learned that her brother has been invited to stay with the Marquess, a move that gives no credence to the rumors that the two have fallen out ahead of the Marquess’s marriage to Mr. Grantaire’s sister. Indeed, if anything, the pair’s unlikely friendship seems only stronger now, which only proves that the marriage mart truly does make strange bedfellows.

Far more important than their living situation, of course, is the annual de Courfeyrac ball this very evening. With the Marquess back in town, he is certain to attend, and this Author is equally certain that even without his new bride to accompany him, all eyes will surely be on the one bachelor who got away…LADY WHISTELDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 14 MAY 1831

“Stop fidgeting.”

“I’m not fidgeting,” Enjolras grumbled, though he reluctantly stopped playing with the cuff of his shirtsleeves.

Grantaire rolled his eyes as the receiving line at the de Courfeyrac Ball inched forward. “You are so,” he said in an undertone. “And leave your damned cravat alone, it took me near a quarter hour to get it to lay right.”

Enjolras had barely even starting to reach up to adjust his cravat, and his hand fell back to his side as he gave Grantaire a look. “Yes, but only because you were the one who untied it in the first place.”

As Grantaire had indeed been the one who had untied it, in the carriage ride over to the de Courfeyrac manor, mostly to give himself better access to Enjolras’s neck, his self-satisfied grin was somewhat to be expected. “Yes, well, can you really blame me?” he murmured, eyeing Enjolras appreciatively. “I know you hate formal dress, but by God, man, you were made to wear an evening coat.”

Enjolras could not help but preen at that, just a little, even as he warned Grantaire teasingly, “Keep looking at me like that and our cover will be blown sooner than you think.”

Grantaire just laughed lightly. “Please,” he said dismissively. “I’ve been looking at you like this for ten years now with none the wiser.” He paused and considered it. “Or at least, with none willing to comment on it, and I doubt very much that would change now.”

But Enjolras was still focused on the first part of what Grantaire had said. “You’ve really been looking at me like this for a decade?”

Grantaire smirked. “Again, can you blame me?”

Enjolras hesitated, wondering for not the first time what it had been like for Grantaire, to love him as he had for as long as he had, and with Enjolras among those none the wiser. “Does it bother you that I never noticed?”

“I think it would have bothered me more if you had,” Grantaire said, sounding a little surprised by the question. “I wasn’t ready for you to know before.”

“And now?”

Grantaire shrugged, a little helplessly. “Well, that cat’s quite out of the bag regardless, isn’t it?” he asked, before his voice softened, just slightly. “Besides, no matter how prepared I was, it was worth it in the end.”

Enjolras smiled as well. “Keep talking like that and I might be tempted to do something untowards,” he murmured, bending his head toward Grantaire.

“Scandalous,” Grantaire said, with a wicked smirk. “Besides, keep talking like that and I might just let you.”

Enjolras let out a laugh, but his amusement did not last long. As the line barely moved, he could not help but bounce on the balls of his feet, trying to glance over the top of the receiving line. “I wish Courf would just let us go in with having to go through the whole thing,” he muttered.

“Yes, I too wish my friends would allow me to break all social protocol just because I dread having to sit through it,” Grantaire said wryly. “But alas, seeing as how we live in the real world…”

He trailed off as the line started moving again, and finally, with only a few more minutes’ delay, Enjolras and Grantaire were at the front of the receiving line. “Enjolras!” Courfeyrac called, sounding elated, and he grasped Enjolras by both shoulders before leaning in and kissing both his cheeks. “And Grantaire!” To Enjolras’s surprise, he embraced Grantaire in much the same way – and judging by Grantaire’s wide eyes, he was equally surprised.

“Christ, Courfeyrac, have you been borrowing Jehan’s opium?” Grantaire muttered when Courfeyrac finally released him.

Courfeyrac ignored him, just beaming at both of them. “From brothers in arms to brothers in law!” he trilled, clapping his hands together. “What an unexpected twist to this tale. Enjolras, you must find me later and fill me in on the details.”

Enjolras tried to smile, though he was pretty sure it looked more like a wince. “I am certain you would track me down if I didn’t.”

Courfeyrac laughed loudly and waved them through. For as long as he had waited to finally get inside, Enjolras found himself hesitating at the ballroom entrance, dreading what welcome awaited him within in the wake of his ‘scandal’ and marriage.

As if sensing exactly what he was feeling, Grantaire found his hand and covertly squeezed it, his own hand warm and strong in Enjolras’s. “Be easy,” he whispered in Enjolras’s ear, and for the first time all evening, Enjolras relaxed, just slightly.

Of course, he tensed once again when they finally entered the ballroom, and the first person Enjolras saw across the way was Combeferre. He reached out blindly for Grantaire’s arm, gripping his elbow harder than he likely needed to.

This was always going to be the hardest part of their charade, as Enjolras had confided in Grantaire the previous night as they lay together in his bed, neither one tired enough yet to fall asleep. “I don’t know what to tell Combeferre and Courfeyrac,” he had confessed, turning so that he was facing Grantaire.

“What were you planning on telling them before?” Grantaire had asked, curiosity clear in his voice.

“Before what?” Enjolras had asked.

Grantaire had given him a look. “Before, when it was just a straightforward fictional marriage,” he said dryly.

“Oh.” Enjolras flushed slightly. “Frankly, I hadn’t given it much thought. I was certainly going to allude to the arrangement solving certain matters with my mother, and let them draw their own conclusions.”

“And that same answer will no longer suffice?”

Enjolras had drawn Grantaire close to kiss him lightly. “Frankly, I suspect my interactions with you will undermine the credibility of that explanation. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are not stupid, and decidedly more observant than myself.”

Grantaire’s expression softened. “Then we need not interact in front of them,” he had said quietly. “I am overdue in seeing Joly and Bossuet, and it is not as if any of our friends expects me to be at your side all evening. Or at all, frankly.”

While Enjolras had agreed at the time, now, faced with the reality of the situation, he wanted nothing more than Grantaire to stay at his side. But Grantaire was already pulling away, even as the look he gave Enjolras was gentle, and understanding. “They’re your friends,” he reminded Enjolras in an undertone.

“They’re your friends as well,” Enjolras muttered. “And they will likely forgive neither of us for the deception.”

“Forgive? Perhaps not, or at least not immediately. But they will understand.”

“Will they?” Enjolras asked, more rhetorical than anything, and mostly because Grantaire had already abandoned him, making a beeline to where Joly and Bossuet were talking quietly together in the corner.

With no excuse left, Enjolras crossed to where Combeferre waited, feeling more nervous than he frankly expected to be. Combeferre’s expression was completely neutral as he approached, which did not help Enjolras’s nerves. “Hello,” Combeferre said when Enjolras finally reached him. “Long time no see. Anything new with you?”

Enjolras laughed lightly. Combeferre’s dry humor had never before failed to put him at ease, and this was no exception. “Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that,” he said airily before adding, in a more serious tone, “I certainly doubt either you or I were expecting the events of the past few weeks.”

“After the scene your mother made at the Musain?” Combeferre returned with an arched eyebrow. “I expected you married within the fortnight. Grantaire’s sister was a twist I did not see coming.”

Enjolras shrugged, avoiding meeting Combeferre’s eyes. “Yes, well. A twist, but perhaps not as unpleasant a one as some would expect.”

Combeferre nodded slowly, looking at him closely. “Whatever anyone may say, you seem happy,” he remarked.

“Well, I am rid of my mother,” Enjolras said. “Or will be, once I hand over the dowry.”

Combeferre’s expression didn’t change as he took a sip of his drink. “I didn’t say you seemed relieved. I said you seem happy.”

As usual, Combeferre saw right through him, and Enjolras took a moment to compose his answer, opting for as much of the truth as he could give. “I suppose I am happy,” he said. “It’s...freeing, in a way, to know that part of my future is settled.”

“To be free,” Combeferre murmured. “What greater thing is there.”

Enjolras smiled. “Precisely.”

Combeferre nodded slowly. “Well, if you are happy, then I am happy,” he assured Enjolras, before adding, in a slightly disapproving tone, “Of course, Grantaire’s going to be a bit insufferable for awhile, I suppose.”

Enjolras felt his heart stop. Had Combeferre figured them out so quickly? “What do you mean?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

Combeferre raised an eyebrow. “Surely you realize – you’ve rather elevated his status.”

“In what way?”

“By marrying his sister, he is now brother-in-law to a marquess,” Combeferre said slowly, and Enjolras felt immediate relief that he had not figured him out. “Which may very well make him the most eligible bachelor here. A fact I’m certain he’s realized, even if you haven’t.”

He nodded towards the corner that Grantaire had headed to, but where previously he’d been in conversation with Joly and Bossuet, now they seemed surrounded by numerous young women. Enjolras’s initial relief was replaced by a pit in his stomach as he watched one such lady laugh, touching Grantaire’s arm in a way that made Enjolras’s vision go red.

Combeferre, as he always seemed to be, was correct. Before, Grantaire had been notorious as a rake whose sole redeeming quality was association with many powerful peers and gentry. But now, while he may still offer no title, he offered societal status that far too many mothers would crave for their daughters.

And even though Grantaire seemed quite convinced of his affection for Enjolras, there was little doubt that this could change things. After all, while Enjolras would get no enjoyment from marriage to any woman in the entire city, Grantaire very well might.

He was so busy watching Grantaire flirt (or at least, not automatically brush the young women off, which was tantamount to the same thing in Enjolras’s mind) that he barely noticed when Combeferre was pulled into a different conversation entirely, leaving him standing alone. It ended up for the best, though, as he then had no need to make an excuse for crossing the ballroom, making a beeline for Grantaire.

But he was intercepted on his way by Éponine Thenárdier, who blocked his path entirely. “Lord Enjolras,” she said, smiling sweetly at him.

Enjolras jerked a nod. “Miss Thenárdier,” he muttered, trying in vain to sidestep her, but she moved swiftly to again block his path.

“You must allow me to congratulate you on your nuptials,” she told him, her tone saccharine. “I wish you nothing but happiness, no matter how surprising the event was.”

Internally, Enjolras rolled his eyes, knowing damn well that she was trying to goad him into sharing details that would almost invariably make their way into Lady Whistledown the moment he spoke them. Externally, he forced a smile that almost certainly looked more like a grimace. “I’m not certain there’s much of a causal link between surprise and happiness, but thank you nonetheless.”

Éponine laughed lightly. “But where is your lovely bride this evening?”

She almost certainly already knew the answer, having undoubtedly read about it like everyone else had in Lady Whistledown, but Enjolras nonetheless gritted his teeth and told her, “I’m afraid she is ill, and staying at her family home in the country until she recovers.”

“Oh, how dreadful,” she said, though Enjolras noted she didn’t sound particularly upset by the news. “And we were all so eager to meet her.”

“I’m sure you were,” Enjolras muttered, before Grantaire appeared without warning at his side.

“Isn’t it a lovely ball?” he asked, so brightly that Enjolras wondered for a moment if he had been hit in the head – or been hitting the whiskey already. “It is as if someone has unhooked the stars and put them on the table in the guise of candles, don’t you think?”

Éponine’s smile slipped, for just a moment. “Indeed,” she murmured politely, but the look she gave Grantaire was icy as she swept away, clearly put out at having her attempted interrogation so rudely interrupted.

Grantaire smirked as he watched her leave, resting his hand on Enjolras’s back, a little too low to be entirely proper. “The trick,” he murmured in Enjolras’s ear, “is to be so banal that absolutely no one wishes to continue the conversation.”

Despite himself and the jealousy he could still feel, Enjolras was unable to stop his smile. “Is that your secret?” he asked in an undertone.

“My secret is usually to get drunk as quickly as possible and then disappear without saying goodbye,” Grantaire said cheerfully. “But as I am in polite company—” He nodded his head graciously at Enjolras, who rolled his eyes affectionately. “—we must make do together.”

And indeed they did. Enjolras was shocked to find that Grantaire’s trick of not providing any details about his fictional wife and instead speaking of the decor, or the weather, or something equally boring was enough to forestall almost all conversation that followed. It helped, he realized, as he and Grantaire made the rounds together, that far fewer young women and their mothers attempted to monopolize his time or beg him for a dance, almost certainly because they had set their sights on more available targets, and the ones that did want to make conversation were after gossip, like Éponine, and easily thwarted.

But neither was what really made the evening bearable; instead, it was Grantaire who proved the difference in the evening.. Grantaire, always quick with a quip or scathing observation under his breath, who stayed by his side despite the invitations to dance that he received. Grantaire, who knew without Enjolras needing to say a word when they needed to stop for refreshments or be pulled away from the conversation. Grantaire, who was as easy a companion as Enjolras had ever had.

And Grantaire who was, according to Combeferre at least, now the most eligible bachelor in the place.

As much as Grantaire was turning this most dreaded part of his social obligations into, perhaps not the most anticipated, but at least something that could be enjoyed rather than merely endured, Enjolras could not shake what Combeferre had said, or the pit that formed in his stomach when he thought about it.

“Is everything alright?” Grantaire asked an hour or so later, his brow furrowed as he looked at Enjolras.

“Fine,” Enjolras said quickly, giving him a tight smile. “Just a bit warm in here, do you not think?”

Grantaire studied him closely for a moment. “Perhaps we should step out onto the balcony,” he suggested. “Get some air.”

“That sounds like a good—”

“There you are!” Courfeyrac exclaimed with his usual exuberance as he joined them, oblivious to how close Enjolras had been to escaping. “As promised, since you did not come find me later as requested, I have instead hunted you down. And Grantaire is still at your side, how lovely.”

“Not for long,” Grantaire said, ignoring the pleading look Enjolras shot him. “I’m due for a refill. Anything for either of you?”

He did not wait for a reply, leaving Enjolras alone with Courfeyrac, whose smile had sharpened. “Come now, you can afford to look a little less panicked,” he said innocently, looping his arm through Enjolras’s. “After all, people will think you don’t wish to speak to one of your oldest friends.”

“Speak with, or be interrogated by?” Enjolras muttered.

Courfeyrac’s grin widened. “Potato, po-tah-to.” He patted Enjolras’s arm reassuringly. “But truly, more the former than the latter. Too many prying ears, and I’d rather learn the details of your scandal where they can’t be transmitted to the inimitable Lady Whistledown.”

Enjolras snorted. “Yes, that would be a shame,” he said dryly.

But something in his tone made Courfeyrac pause, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at Enjolras. “I was hardly anticipating you being the model of wedded bliss, but you seem far too downtrodden for someone who must no longer put up with the marriage mart. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Enjolras said, by instinct alone, and when Courfeyrac just looked at him, he sighed and relented. “Just something Combeferre said.”

He was expecting Courfeyrac to demand details, details that Enjolras would not be able to share without revealing the truth, but to his surprise, Courfeyrac just rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, ignore him,” he said. “He’s just jealous.”

Enjolras frowned. “Jealous?” he repeated. “Of what?”.

Courfeyrac looked at him as if the answer was obvious. “He thinks he’s been replaced, you fool,” he said impatiently, and when Enjolras still looked confused, added, “As your best friend. By Grantaire.”

The statement was so absurd that Enjolras barked a laugh before realizing Courfeyrac was entirely serious. “Really?” he asked derisively. “Forgive me, I did not realize we were still in the nursery.”

Courfeyrac just shrugged. “Perhaps not, but you cannot deny that he used to be your partner in crime when it came to your schemes.” He gave Enjolras an appraising look. “And whatever else you may say, you and I, I think, can acknowledge that this is a scheme of some variety, though of which, I could not say.”

Enjolras felt stricken at the realization of how Combeferre had interpreted his involvement with Grantaire, which, of course, couldn’t be further from the truth. “I never thought—”

Courfeyrac patted his arm. “Of course you didn’t.”

Enjolras sighed and tugged his arm out of Courfeyrac’s grip. “Still, I should go apologize.”

“You should do no such thing,” Courfeyrac said firmly, turning to face him head on. “You’ve done nothing wrong, but even if you had, actions speak louder than words. Spend some time planning with him before the next Les Amis gathering, and all will be forgiven.”

“But not forgotten.”

Courfeyrac just looked amused. “My dear fellow, none of us, I think, will be able to forget the moment when you and Grantaire finally stopped trying to kill each other using just your words.” His expression softened. “And believe me, no matter what Combeferre may say, we’re all quite grateful that you have.” His eyebrows raised. “Speaking of Grantaire, I believe he wants a word.”

He nodded over Enjolras’s shoulder, and Enjolras turned to find Grantaire, holding two glasses of champagne and gesturing with his head toward the door that led out to the balcony. Enjolras nodded his understanding, and turned back to Courfeyrac, who had already disappeared into the crowd.

Enjolras crossed to the balcony door as quickly as possible to avoid being waylaid once more, and this time, he was successful. Never had he been so relieved to find himself alone and out of doors, even if the night was unseasonably cold. Grantaire laughed lightly from where he was leaning against the balcony railing. “You look like you need this more than I do,” he said, offering Enjolras one of the glasses of champagne.

Enjolras took it gratefully and drained it in one long gulp. “I did need that,” he told Grantaire, setting the empty glass down on the flat top of the wide marble balustrade. “I suppose I did not fully appreciate how complicated this all was going to be on my return.”

Grantaire eyed him carefully, his expression unreadable. “Curious,” he said lightly. “You normally think through every detail before you take any action.”

Enjolras shrugged. “Desperation apparently made me less thorough,” he said. “And, of course, there were unanticipated complications along the way that I did not account for.”

Grantaire let out a light, humorless laugh. “Am I to assume that I am one of those complications?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, not seeing any point in sugarcoating the truth. “Though a mostly welcome complication.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Who would have thought the word ‘mostly’ could feel like a dagger being driven into me,” he murmured, though he also hastened to add, “I jest, I jest.”

Enjolras traced a finger along the line of the balustrade. “I did not intend to hurt you by saying it,” he said heavily. “Only I think we need to be honest with one another.”

Grantaire searched his expression for a long moment. “I have been entirely honest with you,” he said carefully. “So if there is anyone with something to hide…”

He trailed off, looking at Enjolras expectantly. “Not to hide,” Enjolras hedged. “But one of the complications I did not anticipate has revealed itself this evening, and that is related to your social standing.”

Grantaire blinked. “My— what?”

“Combeferre pointed out that by me marrying your sister, your status has risen to one of the most eligible bachelors,” Enjolras explained. “And that knowledge complicates things.”

“How so?” Grantaire asked, his brow furrowed.

Enjolras shrugged, avoiding Grantaire’s eyes. “You have...options now, I suppose,” he muttered. “Real options, for a real marriage.” He hesitated before adding, “Options that I would not discourage you from exploring.”

Grantaire nodded slowly, turning to stare out at the sprawling grounds that surrounded the manner. After a long moment, he asked softly, “Am I being thrown over, then?”

“What?” Enjolras asked, confused.

“Is this your rather inelegant attempt to be rid of me?” Grantaire asked, his voice brittle. “Trying to soften the blow by intimating that I now have ‘options’?”

Enjolras stared blankly at him. “Of course not,” he spluttered. “That’s not at all what—”

“Then tell me,” Grantaire interrupted, “when I told you, multiple times now, that I love you, did you think I was speaking falsely?”

Enjolras scowled. “Not at all, but you did not know all the facts then!”

“And what facts could possibly matter in this regard?”

“The fact that you have a real chance to make a marriage match that would improve your standing and your family’s standing!” Enjolras snapped, though he wasn’t quite sure why he was angry, and especially at Grantaire. “You could secure a future for your lineage that any man would be envious of. It’s why most men put themselves through these torturous affairs.”

Grantaire just shook his head. “Most men, but not you, and certainly not me,” he said quietly.

Something in his tone caused Enjolras to deflate, but it also allowed him to realize why he was so angry, or more accurately, at whom he was so angry: himself. He had dragged Grantaire down this path, and this was perhaps the last real opportunity that either had to part ways before irreparable damage was done. “Think of what you are saying,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “I cannot offer you anything, not my name, not my title, not even the promise of the future if we are discovered. You deserve so much more than that.”

Grantaire shook his head again, but slower this time, and with a crooked sort of smile. “You can offer me the only thing I have ever wanted: you,” he said simply. “There is no one on Earth who can offer me more than that.” Enjolras shook his head, ready to interrupt, but Grantaire did not let him. “Do not seek to dismiss my words, when I mean every one of them. There is no happiness that I would find now with any other, not now that I know what true happiness is. Not now when I know what true love is.”

The breath caught in Enjolras’s throat, and for a moment, he could not speak. If he had been waiting for the perfect moment to finally tell Grantaire that he loved him, he knew he would never find one better than this. The music from the waltz taking place inside the ballroom swelled, and Enjolras leaned in toward Grantaire, reaching out to lightly cover Grantaire’s hand resting on the railing with his own. “Grantaire,” he started, his voice soft, “I—”

But before he could get the two most important words out, the doors to the balcony banged open, and Enjolras and Grantaire instinctively moved apart as two giggling couples spilled out of the ballroom.

The moment was thoroughly ruined, which perhaps explained the face Grantaire made as he turned back to Enjolras. “Shall we consider this our sign to adjourn for the evening?”

“Yes please,” Enjolras said with a sigh of relief.

His relief was short-lived, however, as a current of tension resonated between them as they made their way back through the ballroom and then waited out front until his carriage pulled around. As soon as they were inside and en route back to his place, Enjolras cleared his throat. “Shall we continue our conversation?”

Grantaire sighed. “I did not realize there was more to say.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “There is always more to say.”

“That should really be your family motto,” Grantaire muttered. “Plus semper est dicere.”

“I don’t think that’s an accurate translation,” Enjolras said mildly. “Though at least it’d probably be more appropriate than my actual family motto, Nox finiet.”

“Perhaps I’ll have Marius figure out the correct translation, then, and we can have it engraved on our stationary.”

Ordinarily, Enjolras probably would have laughed, but now, Grantaire’s attempt at glib just fell flat. “Grantaire—”

Grantaire ignored him. “After all, my family is too new amongst the gentry to have a motto of our own. Of course, if I ever got to pick a family motto, I’d probably choose Fidelitas usque ad mortem.”

His words were pointed, and Enjolras swallowed, hard. “Faithful until death.”

Grantaire met his gaze steadily. “And I aim to be.”

“I do not doubt that you will be,” Enjolras said quietly. “I only wish that you would consider what your loyalty will cost you.”

Grantaire reached out and took his hand. “Even if it costs me everything in this life and the next, it will be more than worth it.” He raised Enjolras’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “If you will have me, at least.”

Enjolras squeezed his hand, but before he could respond, the carriage jolted to a stop, and he glanced outside. “We’re home already?” he asked, somewhat surprised.

Grantaire just chuckled lightly. “One day we’ll figure out our timing,” he said before stepping out of the carriage and turning to help Enjolras down.

But Enjolras was not so willing to surrender the moment this time. As soon as his driver had left, he grabbed Grantaire’s hand, pulling him away from the lamplight at the door. “Before we go in, there’s something that I wished to say.”

“Something so secret you dare not speak it in earshot of your servants?” Grantaire asked, amused.

“Be serious,” Enjolras said with a frown.

Grantaire just smiled at him, his eyes sparkling even in the dim light. “I am wild.”

“Grantaire…”

“Fine, fine,” Grantaire said, chuckling. “What is it you wished to say?”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “Only that our time together has meant more to me than I ever thought it could. Not just our time up north, when it was just the two of us. But our time tonight as well. “

“Even when we were quarreling?” Grantaire asked.

“Especially when we were quarreling,” Enjolras said firmly. “Because our quarrel came from us wanting the best for each other.” He took both of Grantaire’s hands in his. “I do not know what the future holds, but I know that I want you in it, options be damned. Besides, with you at my side, I’m beginning to think anything is possible.”

Grantaire was quiet for a long moment before he leaned in and kissed Enjolras gently. “I may not share your belief in possibility, but I too have valued our time together,” he said softly. “It is everything I always dreamt it would be, and so much more.”

Enjolras laughed breathily. “You dismiss my belief in possibility, only to speak of dreams?”

Grantaire half-smiled. “Possibility speaks to hope,” he said with a shrug. “I never hoped my dreams would come true, though I am gladder than words can say that they have. That they are.” He squeezed Enjolras’s hands. “And who knows, you may make a believer out of me yet.”

This was Enjolras’s moment, and he took a deep breath, ready to finally say those three words he knew Grantaire wanted to hear more than anything else. “Grantaire, I—”

“Lord Enjolras?”

Enjolras could not stop the groan that escaped from his lips as he let go of Grantaire’s hands at the sound of his butler’s voice. “What is it, Porter?” he asked tiredly, taking a step towards the now-open door.

Porter cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon for the interruption,” he said, “but we’ve received word from the Marchioness.” Enjolras and Grantaire exchanged startled glances, and Porter corrected himself. “Beg pardon, the Dowager Marchioness. Your mother.”

Enjolras felt the blood drain from his face. “Christ,” he muttered. “What does she want?”

“She is planning on visiting tomorrow morning,” Porter said, glancing at Grantaire before looking back at Enjolras. “And I thought you would want to know immediately so that, ah, arrangements can be made.”

Not for the first time, Enjolras wondered how much Porter had surmised of what was going on between himself and Grantaire, and decided quickly that he cared less than making sure his mother knew absolutely nothing. “You were correct, Porter, thank you,” he said, and Porter nodded before closing the door again.

Enjolras sighed and looked back at Grantaire, but before he could say anything, Grantaire cleared his throat. “I should spend the night at mine tonight,” he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “The last thing you need is to start your conversation with your mother with an explanation for our unusual living arrangement.”

“I know that you’re almost certainly right, but I wish to God you weren’t,” Enjolras said, reaching out to draw Grantaire close. “I need you on my side against her.”

Grantaire just laughed and tilted his head up to kiss Enjolras, a quick, fleeting kiss. “You will be fine,” he said with far more confidence than Enjolras felt. “I promise that I will be back tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, but before or after my mother leaves?” Enjolras muttered mutinously.

Grantaire laughed again and pressed one more kiss to Enjolras’s lips. “I love you,” he murmured before stepping away. “And I will see you in the morning.”

Enjolras watched him go, dreading the next morning and wishing more than anything that he had not waited until Grantaire was out of earshot to finally reply, “I love you, too.”

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #with some Les Amis actually making a real appearance!#gasp!#les miserables #fanfiction #bridgerton au #regency au #canon era #fake marriage #developing relationship #chaptered #part 9

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topazy · 4 years

Text

The Fierce And Broken

1.07

Master list

“It's been a few days. Maybe the bomb at the bridge scared them off?”

Bellamy raised his eyebrows at Clarke, “do you really think that?” She shook her head, Bellamy turned to face you. “What about you? Do you think the grounders have been scared off?”

“No.” You admitted, “I think they are planning on how to attack us. Not that it will take them long.”

Clarke frowned, “what do you mean?”

You sighed standing up. “From what I’ve been told the grounders have already got biological warfare nailed, I imagine they have other tricks up their sleeves. It’s amazing how advanced they are without technology. I think we should- is something amusing?”

You and Bellamy both turned to look at Clarke who had a strange look on her face. She shook her head, “no sorry...i just never realised you were such a fan of the grounders.”

What was her problem? You ignored her comment and continued talking. “We need to be prepared, I think you need to find out what people’s strengths are fast.”

Bellamy seemed intrigued by your suggestion. So far they hadn't come up with a better idea. You weren’t invited to the ‘leaders meeting’ but you’d overheard them talking. Since you were in the next room checking what medical supplies the camp still had, you had since been dragged into the conversation because Bellamy wouldn’t stop asking your opinion on things. “What do you suggest Al?”

You quirk a brow suddenly feeling a mixture of emotions, was this your chance to finally make a difference around camp? Bellamy had done the best he could but to survive the grounders you needed to be more organised. An idea that is easier thought than done. “Well, we need to know who should be on the frontline.” Clarke made a scoffing noise. “Any of us could fight if it came to it, but that doesn’t mean we should. Monty and Raven are far too useful to risk losing. Me and Clarke are the only people with medical training. We need to utilise people to the best of their abilities.” You shot a glance at Clarke, “or not.”

“It’s the best idea we have got so far,” Bellamy stood up. “I’ll get Octavia to help me make a list of everyone and what they are best at.”

You smiled at him before walking out of the drop-ship. For all his flaws he wasn’t a bad guy, Bellamy had done some reckless things that you didn’t agree with, but he was trying his best. At least he was open to hearing what you had to say.

______

You stepped inside the tent Raven was currently in, and unsurprisingly she was working hard. “Hey, genius.”

She turned to you and smiled, “hi Al.”

Ever since Raven had broken up with Finn you had been worried about her, she seemed fine but it could have just been an act. She told you how Finn said he loved her, but Raven ended it with him anyway. You were proud of her. Your friend respected herself enough to know when to call it a day, something you wished you could have done for yourself.

“Earth to Alba,” you looked straight ahead to see Raven wavering her hands in front of you. “Sorry, I completely zoned out. What were you saying?”

Raven smiled and motioned for you to sit down next to her. Once you were seated she repeated her previous question. “I was asking how your morning has been? You were gone by the time I woke up, usually I need to shake you awake.”

You chuckled at her comment. Raven had shared a tent with you most nights, apart from the one night when she spent the night with Finn. “I got up early to check on Murphy, his finger nails are finally starting to grow back.”

Raven pulled a face, “that’s so gross.”

You shrugged, “I’ve seen worse.”

The brunette smiled at you, and shook her head before turning back to the table in front of her. “Murphy is lucky to have you, nobody else would stick their necks out for him.”

“He was a good friend to me on the ark, he was there when-let’s just say whenever I needed a shoulder to cry on he was it.”

On the ark your parents used to joke Murphy was secretly your older brother. The two of you could be fighting like cat and dog one minute them playing like best friends the next as children. Regardless of what age you were, you and Murphy always had each other’s back.

“Like I said, he’s lucky to have you.” Raven paused before continuing, “we aren’t on the ark anymore...you have more than one friend down here. I’m always here if you need a shoulder to cry on.”

You opened your mouth to reply when Finn barged into the tent. He walked towards Raven and leaned down to see what she was building. “What's for dinner?”

Raven glanced up at him. Split loads, turning one bullet into two. It's all I can do until we get more gunpowder. Jasper has a recipe. Yesterday I saw him taking buckets from the latrine. I didn't ask.”

You felt uncomfortable. The calm atmosphere had changed the moment Finn entered the tent. Raven’s positive attitude had shifted, she now seemed pissed.

Finn obviously hadn’t of noticed because he kept talking. “Is one of those for me?”

“Maybe. Still deciding.”

He cleared his throat, “I keep wanting to apologize again.”

Oh. This was awkward. You cleared your throat, “I can give you guys a minute.”

Raven sighed, “You don't have to.” You weren’t sure if she was talking to you or Finn, but the pleading look on her face made you stay. “We're good. I’ve got to get this done.”

Finn shook his head, “that's bad.”

“What?” The volume of Raven’s voice surprised you. It was getting higher each time she spoke.

“When you're really pissed off, you always find a project, something to keep your hands busy so you don't punch someone in the face.”

The brunette frowned, “I'm not keeping busy, Finn. I'm keeping us alive.”

“Yeah. You're right.” Finn mumbled under his breath, “That was a dumb thing to say. See you later.”

You see Raven’s face fall. She looked hurt. “Wait. We're good. We're good. We are. I just want you to be happy.”

“Fire! Help fire!”

You ran out of the tent and towards the smoke. You were relieved to see Octavia and Murphy both stumble out of the tent. You noticed the furious look on Murphy’s face, Murphy was now standing toe to toe with Del. “This is all your fault! We told you it was too much wood.”

Del shoved him, “get the hell away from me!”

You were standing by Octavia’s side and rubbed her back as she continued to cough. Bellamy jumped in between the two boys before a fight could escalate. “Hey! Hey! Hey, stop! Save it for the Grounders.”

Octavia stepped away from you and towards her brother. “Well, now what the hell are we gonna do? That was all the food.”

Clarke stormed over shaking her head. “Any idea what happened?”

“Murphy says that Del kept feeding the fire, mostly because Octavia told him it was a bad idea.” Bellamy explained while glaring at Del.

Clarke scoffed, “And we believe Murphy?”

You answered her frowning, “yes. I’m sure O will say the same.”

The Griffin girl shook her head. “Whatever, we need to get more food. Anyone we can spare goes out.”

______

Delinquents gathered round to hear what Bellamy had to say. “Each group takes someone with a gun, and they're for killing Grounders, not food. We don't have the ammo. Use the spears for hunting. Get what you can. Be back by nightfall. No one stays out after dark.”

You eyed others in the camp as the split off into pairs. Your eyes landed on a head of blonde hair, oh great. It was only you and Clarke left. Sighing you went to walk towards her when you felt somebody’s hand on your shoulder.

Turning around you saw Raven staring at you with a worried look on her face. “You shouldn’t be going, the camp needs a medic. What if somebody becomes ill.”

She had a point. Thinking back to your previous conversation with Clarke and Bellamy, you knew what you had to do. Turning away from your friend you faced Clarke. “Hey Griffin,” you said walking towards her. “One of us needs to stay here, and I think it should be you.” She looked at you surprised. “You are the better medic, and the camp needs you.”

She pressed her lips together into a thin line before reluctantly agreeing. “Okay, be safe out there.”

You nodded and turned back to see Raven staring at you with a disappointed look on her face. She crossed her arms over her chest, “that’s not what I meant.”

“Clarke is more useful to this place than I am, she’s need here more than me.” You answered honestly.

Raven’s face twisted. “That’s not true. Octavia and Murphy need you, I need you here. You should have just let Clarke go.”

Running your hand through you’re hair, you let out a deep breath. Truthfully you didn’t want to go hunting, the idea of grounders attacking petrified you. But you needed to be brave. “I’ll be fine, and back before you know it.”

Raven’s expression softened as she pulled you into a hug. “Please be safe.”

“I will.” You pulled back from the hug, “I’ll be excited to see whatever badass creation you have made by the time I returned.”

She smiled hesitantly before returning to her previous job of making bullets.

Myles walked towards you. “Hey Y/N. You alone? You maybe want to go together?”

You pondered for a moment if it was a good idea to hunt with him. You had hated him for what he did to Murphy, but in times of war it was better to let go of grudges. “Sure. I'll get some gear.”

As you started collecting what you need Finn approached you. “Hey, you ready to go?”

Confused you studied him, “are you coming with us?”

Finn let out a chuckle. “You're lousy with a spear, but you're sneaky. We would make a good team.”

“And?”

“And Clarke says I’m to keep you safe, and so did Octavia. She actually threatened me.”

“I’m glad,” you laughed. “I’m also terrible at tracking, so you will come in handy.”

Myles joined you once again. “Hey, partner, we're wasting daylight. Oh, Finn, you're joining the band?”

He nodded, “yip.”

You glanced back one more time before exiting the gates as Myles started telling the story of how he got arrested on the ark.

______

Myles looked around trying to figure where the animal went. “Is is one of those scaly panther things?

Finn looked at him, “bore.”

“Good,” Myles did relived. “Because that panther meat is nasty, but I could eat a whole boar by myself, no joke. You know what the best part is of the boar? It's gonna sound gross.”

You stopped walking and turned to face them, you had noticed the look on Finn’s face. “Guys, quiet for a second. What is it?”

Finn crouched down to inspected the ground better. “These tracks. They're perfect.”

A knot twisted in the pit of your stomach, this was bad. “It’s too perfect.”

Standing up, Finn spoke in a low voice. “We're the ones being hunted.”

You looked up at the tree lines and the bushes where you stood. I’d the grounders where there they where well hidden. “I don't see anything.”

The moment the words came out of your mouth arrows started flying in your direction. You and Finn managed to dodge some, but Myles got hit. A arrow landed in his leg before a second one hit him in the chest.

Myles screamed out in pain. You tried to help him but Finn pulled you back. “Al, come on. We got to leave him.”

You went to argue that you couldn’t leave him behind when something heavy hit you on the back of the head. The last thing you remember is Finn screaming your name before landing on the ground.

______

You awoke to a grounder screaming in your face. He tied your hands and began dragging you along behind him as he road his horse. You felt a wave of relief seeing Finn was tied up beside you.

After a while the grounders stopped when you reached a grounder outpost. Finn nudged you, “We walked for about three miles after crossing that creek, another two or so before we got to the road.”

“I don't think it matters, Finn. They didn't blindfold us, which means they don't care what we saw. They're probably gonna kill us. What do you want from us?”

A grounder opened the door to revile a wounded child laying on a bed. Anya stepped out in front of you. “Help her. If she dies, he does. Her name is Tris.”

You shook your head and took a couple of steps back. “I can't do this. I don't have any equipment.”

Anya eyed you suspiciously. “We'll provide you with what we can Alba of Skaikru.”

“Why do you think I can save her?”

Finn let out a frustrated sigh, “Lincoln told her.”

Anya nodded confirming his theory. “Yes. Our healer is gone. There's nothing we can do for her.” She pointed at Finn. “For his sake, I hope you can.”

Finn grabbed you by the shoulders. “Al, you can do this.”

You bit on your bottom lip, “What happened to her?”

The grounder leader pulled a face of disgust. “She was on the bridge when your bomb exploded. Your people did this to her.”

“How could you send a little girl into battle? What is wrong with you people?” You asked bewildered.

Anya remained expressionless. “She was with me. She was my second. It's how we train them to be warriors.”

“Oh, so the killing can just go on and on.” You quipped back.

“Your people the bomb on the bridge. You did this to her.” As Anya spoke Tris began gasping for air. “Help her!”

You studied the young girl for a moment trying to asses her. Her skin was calmly, she had chills and was sweating. You pressed your hand on her chest to feel how fast her heart was beating. Tris was septic. “She needs clean blood.”

Finn looked at you worried, “A transfusion?”

You rummaged around the room for anything useful. “There's no tubing!” You turned to face the grounders. “We need a syringe, the biggest one you can find, and I need a cannula. It's like a hollow needle.”

One of the grounders eventually handed you ‘equipment’ you could work with. You times to face Anya, “Ok. I'm gonna need your blood.”

“No.”

“You're from the same tribe. It's the best match we're gonna get.” You tried your best to explain why you needed their blood, but all the grounders refused.

“Alba, if you're gonna do something, you have to do it now. Just use mine.” Finn rolled up his sleeve for you to tie a tourniquet around it.

Tris let out a whine of pain that didn’t sound normal. Shit. You knew she was dying but stilled tried your best. “I can't find a vein.”

“Al...”

“Oh, come on.” You continued to look frantically before eventually giving up.

“She's not breathing.” A grounder spat.

Anya raised her hand, “take him away and kill him.”

“No. No. No. No! No. No.” You protested, and fought against the grounder holding you “I did everything I could. No!”

Finn shouted as he was dragged away. “Alba, stop. They'll hurt you.”

______

“Anya will take no pleasure in your friend's death.” Caliban one of the grounders from before spoke. “Prove your worth, and you'll be welcome here.”

You squinted at him confused. “I couldn't save Tris. Why would you want me?”

“We told you. Our healer is gone.”

Maybe this bizarre offer could work in your favour. You might have the chance to get back to camp and warm the others. “Will I be able to go back to see them... my friends, my home?”

He let out a wicked laugh, “tomorrow there'll be nothing to go back to.”

Dame it. All you could do now was try and distract him. “Those marks on her shoulder, what were they? Lincoln has them, too.”

Caliban pulled his top down to reveille his own. “Each scar marks a kill in combat.”

“She had five kills?” He nodded. “She was a little girl.”

“She was brave.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “You have a lot of them.”

“And half were after I hurt my knee.”

You bit down on your bottom lip. “Is your commander really going to kill my friend? And the rest of my people?”

The grounder explained in detail what would happen to Finn, then how they would attack ‘Skaikru’. Panicked, you kicked Caliban in the knee and used the scalpel to slit his throat. You sobbed out a apology before watching him die. The moment the realisation of what you done sunk in you threw up, but quickly pulled yourself together.

Not knowing where Finn was you started running in the direction towards camp.

#the 100 #Raven Reyes #raven reyes x reader #slow burn #slow romance #the 100 x oc #the 100 fandom #the 100 fanfiction #Raven Reyes/reader #the 100 imagine #raven reyes imagine #grounders #finn collins #Octavia Blake #clarke griffin #anya the 100 #John Murphy #Bellamy Blake

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readyplayerhobi · 4 years

Text

Flower | 29

; Hoseok x Reader

;Genre: Fluff, slight angst

; Warnings: Discussions of periods and contraception

; Word Count: 4.6k

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: I know it’s taking a long time for me to update this but I hope you enjoy it :D Please reblog if you do and let me know what you think my commenting on this or sending me an ask!

; Flower Masterpost

“Hey, meeps,” You hear Hoseok’s voice calling to you from the end of the aisle, his new nickname for you now gaining its own nickname as well. “If sunflower oil is made from sunflowers, and coconut oil is made from coconuts...then baby oil…”

He trails off, raising his eyebrows and giving you a scandalous look as he holds up a bottle of baby oil. For a moment, you just stare at him blankly before sighing and rolling your eyes in amusement. Taking the bottle from him, you place it back down onto the shelf before linking your arm through his.

Thankfully, he lets you direct him back to the little section they have in this makeup and skincare store that’s fully dedicated to Korean beauty. This is one of those strange stores where they have tons of products that are basically on sale yet also have branded stuff alongside it. Not that you cared though; it had the Korean brands you swore by for your skin and you were more than tempted to try out the Japanese beauty stand next to it.

For someone who isn’t particularly bothered about the whole concept of skincare, though you had managed to convince him to at least improve his routine, Hoseok was being a pretty good boyfriend right now. He hadn’t complained about the half an hour you’d spent perusing the makeup to find new stuff to put into your collection and he still wasn’t complaining as you filled your basket with face masks.

If anything, he’d managed to entertain himself quite well.

But you think he was being good purely because you’d gone with him to a concert last night. It had been for one of his favourite bands, Metallica, and he’d ended up with a spare ticket as Jungkook had ended up ill with food poisoning. He had been about to go on his own, but you hadn’t liked the thought of him being lonely so you’d gone with him.

You’d recognised some of the songs they’d played from whenever Hoseok played them in the car or the house but it hadn’t been your scene. Still, it had been fun enough and you’d more than enjoyed seeing Hoseok happy as he’d rocked out to his beloved band.

It did mean that you were exceptionally tired today though as the two of you hadn’t gotten home from the stadium they’d performed in until after 2 am. That had been the closest performance apparently and you’d been shattered, sleeping until well after 11 am. Hoseok had promised you a day of relaxation, which you’d jumped on by asking him to do a full Korean skincare routine with you tonight.

He’d agreed, and you’d eagerly dragged him out to this store to replenish your supplies. The makeup was just because it was there and you couldn’t resist it. Already you were coming up with ideas for looks in your head that you could create and then put onto your Instagram. Moving places had meant that you hadn’t done many looks lately and you were eager to change that.

Especially now that you had a yard to take nice photos in. Hoseok and you had both been working hard on the weekends and evenings to transform the yard from the overgrown mess it had been into something nice. Nothing too amazing or expensive as it wasn’t your own house but nice enough that it made from some pretty aesthetic photos.

Placing a final bottle of moisturiser in your basket, you smile at Hoseok and hold it up proudly. He just looks at you in amusement for a second before smiling back.

“All done! We can go to pay now.” While you pay for all your new stuff, he goes and waits outside for you. Which you discover means he intently window shops at the video game store, getting that look on his face when he wants to do something.

Feeling that your bladder is a little too full right now, you glance over to where the public restrooms are and move over to Hoseok. “You can go in if you want, I’m going to the restroom so I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He takes your bag for you like the gentleman he is before disappearing inside, immediately making a beeline for the Playstation 4 section. You have a feeling he might be about to drop some money given how interested he’d been in some of the new games that have been released in the last few months.

Any thoughts of games are wiped from your mind very quickly though when you’re on the toilet. The sight of red staining your underwear has your eyes widening in horror as you realise that your period has decided to make an early appearance. For a moment you simply stare, brow creasing before you reach for your bag and grab your phone.

The period app you use says that you shouldn’t have started for another four days and you curse your body for doing whatever it likes. Scowling at the stain, you attempt to clean it before sighing in defeat, acknowledging that at least you were wearing black jeans today.

Another rummage in your bag causes you to find another problem, this one sending ice water running through your veins. Grabbing it and placing it onto your knees, you visually scan through every space and almost pull out the entire contents before letting out a small sound of despair.

You had no tampons.

Cursing to yourself quietly, you finish up and make do with an almost ridiculously large amount of toilet paper. Rushing out, you wash your hands before moving over to the machine that always had condoms, sanitary pads and tampons.

Only to see the ‘sold out’ sign on both the buttons you need. Groaning quietly, you do a little dance of frustration as you realise there are not even any other women in the restroom for you to ask. Not that you would. As if your social anxiety would allow for that!

So instead you have to slink outside and into the game shop, lip jutting out in a slight pout as you become hyper-aware of yourself. Can other people smell the blood? What if you leak through all the toilet paper and it does somehow show through your jeans?! What if you leak through onto a chair!

Hoseok wanted to get something to eat after this and you were dreading having to sit there for ages. Playing with your fingers nervously, you move over to where he’s crouched in front of the PS4 stand. He already has two game cases in his hand and is reading the back of another one, your bag of goodies on the floor between his feet.

Glancing up at you, he grins brightly before showing the cover of one of the cases he’s got.

“Look! The Spider-Man game is on sale! You want to play this, right?” Absentmindedly, you nod. The back of your mind takes in the fact that he’s also got Divinity: Original Sin 2 in his ‘buy’ hand and the other case he’s considering is the Doom remake. You wish that you could let him browse more but the drug store wasn’t close by and you didn’t want to just abandon him suddenly.

Still, the thought of what was going on down below was overwhelming and you found yourself shaking his shoulder slightly.

“Hey, are you done? Can we go?” Reaching down, you take your bag back and stand back as he rises, the crease between his brows letting you know he’s a little confused as to why you’re suddenly rushing him. He knows full well that there’s nothing important you need to do.

Still, though, he doesn’t question it and instead nods slowly. While he goes and pays for the games he’s buying, you go to wait by the entrance. Wrapping your arms around your waist, you realise that the low ache in your back that you’d had for a day or so was one of those early symptoms you got of your period.

Only you hadn’t thought anything about it. Not when you’d spent a few hours last night stood up. You’d just thought it was because you’d done a lot of work in the yard combined with the concert. Apparently not.

You’re pretty much already walking in the direction of the drug store by the time Hoseok comes out, causing him to have to jog to catch up with you. All you can think about is whether or not walking faster or slower would make things worse.

“Woah, hey, where are we going?” Hoseok asks, matching his speed to yours. You’re just thankful that there are not too many people out shopping today because it would only increase your stress levels if there was a big queue that you had to wait in or something.

“Just, to this store.” Admittedly, you’re not being very open and honest right now. But you’re embarrassed. Hoseok is fully aware of your periods and that they’re very much a thing that happens. They’d become a little more irregular recently as you’d had a copper IUD put in around a month before moving in with him.

Nothing drastic or anything, but then again they were also sometimes longer and a little heavier than you were used to when you were on the pill. It wasn’t exactly something you enjoyed talking about with anyone though; Soyeon and Chungha were pretty open about this kind of stuff but you had always mostly stayed quiet whenever they talked about it.

Which was silly. They were women who fully understood what you were going through and Hoseok understood that it was a monthly event. So it wasn’t like he’d be shocked to find out or anything. If anything, you’d probably done a bit of a bad job in explaining some things to him as you’d always got too shy whenever he’d asked things.

That was bad, you were well aware. But you’d only really got comfortable talking about sexual things with him. You knew that there were guys who thought it was gross that women bled for a week or so. Hoseok had never made those kinds of comments, but still. You were a work in progress.

“We’ve already been in here, why are you dragging me like Jason Voorhees is running after us with a knife?” He whines when you enter the store. You’re not surprised he’s confused because he’s right, you had come in here earlier and picked up what you needed. Still, though, he follows close by.

“I thought we didn’t need anything else.” Comes from him next, his lip pouting and you get the sense that he wanted to spend more time in the game store. A rush of guilt and shame washes over you, causing you to grip his hand even tighter as you shuffle awkwardly in place for a moment.

Finally in the store though, you realise just how silly you’re being with him. It’s not like he’s going to get outraged or upset. And you’re sure he’d have been much more willing to come along if he hadn’t been dragged along half the street with no idea what was happening.

Leaning into him, you cough slightly before swallowing as you feel yourself go hot with anxiety.

“My period started.” You whisper, keeping the words quiet enough so that he can hear them without having anyone else overhear. Though the rational part of your mind knew that you shouldn’t give a flying fuck what anyone else thought. It was a natural, bodily function and all that.

Your mind has never quite done things rationally though.

Hoseok has heard you though, you can tell by the way his head tilts to the side ever so slightly. But his expression is blank for a moment before his brow creases in obvious confusion, lips pursing as he contemplates what you’ve just told him.

“Okay...so why are we here?” Annnnd there it is. That famed male obliviousness to female problems. You couldn’t get annoyed at him though, not when he was good with you on everything else. He was cute.

“It’s early? And I have nothing to use. So I need to buy some.” His face changes immediately when he understands finally, mouth curving into an ‘o’ shape as he lets out a noise of recognition. It then contorts into worry for you, his eyes glancing down to your crotch area with wide eyes.

“Wait, so that means you’re...just…” He creates a rushing gesture with his hands, imitating a waterfall as he makes a ‘whoosh’ noise with his mouth. It’s a little too loud for your liking and you hiss at him, poking at his stomach before quickly pulling him over to the menstrual health aisle.

“I’ve used some toilet paper but it probably won’t last. It’s come on pretty hard and fast today. Please don’t laugh.” You beg him and his face sobers immediately, eyes darting over your own as he takes in your distressed appearance. Licking at his lips, he inhales deeply before nodding.

“Okay, you use tampons, right? So like...which ones? You never keep the box.” Automatically he starts to look over all the boxes of tampons; staring at the brands, types and absorption levels like he’s reading signs in Mandarin or something. It makes you want to laugh, despite the situation.

You appreciate his eagerness to help though, even when he points at random boxes with absolutely zero knowledge of what it was.

“What’s the difference in the brands? Is there a difference? Or is it like...when you buy those store brand biscuits and realise they taste the same as the branded biscuits only to find out that they’re made in the same factory and just relabelled?” That makes you snort with amusement, particularly as he’s now holding up a box of Tampax and a store brand to try and see the difference.

He’s not finished yet though, and even though you still feel the urgency to just grab some and run, you can’t help but let him entertain you. Because that’s what he’s doing. You’re not oblivious, you’ve realised over time that if you’re feeling anxious or uncomfortable or shy, Hoseok will often use humour to distract you away from your negativity.

It’s nice, which is why you let him carry on for a minute or so more.

“What are the drops for? And what’s the difference between regular and super? I mean, I think you’re pretty super but is this like...super big or something? Wait, is this plastic?! How does it absorb blood if it’s plastic?” Rolling your eyes at him, you bite your lip to stop the laughter that wants to escape before reaching past him to grab the box you usually buy.

Lifting it, you decide for a quick crash course in tampons. As your boyfriend, you never know when you might need him to run out to the store for some and the last thing you need is him bringing the entirely wrong type back.

“I use Tampax, purely cos it’s just the brand I’ve always used and I’m familiar with it. Super and regular are like the absorption so you’d use a super for the first few days when a period is heaviest. Hence why I’m getting these. The drops are the absorption rating too basically and it’s not plastic, that’s just the applicator that makes it easier to insert.” You say it all pretty quickly, but quietly enough that only he hears.

Not that there’s any need, the store is loud enough that your conversation can’t be overheard and on top of that, there’s no one in this aisle anyway. But Hoseok nods thoughtfully, scanning the front of the box carefully.

“When we get home, I think I need a crash course in periods because I’m feeling pretty useless and dumb right now.” Laughing, you lean up to kiss his cheek quickly before heading in the direction of the cashiers.

“We can do that for you. It’s better to be educated after all. This is where I find out that you have this bizarre knowledge that is unbelievably wrong and I cringe.” Hoseok doesn’t answer back to that, causing you to look back and chuckle at his meek shrug and wince.

“What can I say? I’ve never had a girlfriend long enough to learn and education in high school was terrible. I’m not even gonna try to defend myself.” Humming lightly, you grin at him as you pay before heading out of the store. Looking in the direction of the toilets, you twist your lips as you consider your options.

“You want to eat at that place, right?” You ask, nodding your head towards the Japanese place that was down the opposite end of the street. Hoseok looks that way and nods, confirming his desire to you. Already you can feel your stomach rumble as you imagine the delicious food.

“Okay, we’ll just go there and I’ll go straight to the restroom in there. Come on.” Reaching you, you take his hand and smile up at him, your walk not so hurried now compared to before. Not that you aren’t completely aware of the fact that you’re free bleeding from your vagina right now, but walking faster might just aggravate it more.

You had what you needed, so now you could relax a little more.

“Why are there so many steps in this? Don’t you get bored?” Hoseok mumbles, his words a little slurred due to the fact you’re rubbing serum into his cheeks. He’s already been here for ages in the bathroom as you’d used a cleanser to clean his face before exfoliating and then using toner on some cotton pads.

You could tell that he was amused by the whole situation, even though he’d seen you do this many times before. But it was different experiencing it for himself you supposed. Still, he looked so adorable and you cooed to him, squishing his cheeks even more in amusement.

“No. It’s relaxing. You’re supposed to relax.” That makes him scowl, the expression not nearly as intense as he was going for given you’ve got his lips in the cutest pout. Still, you’re finished with that part so you let him go, laughing as he runs his fingers over his skin.

“I’m not relaxed. More...manhandled.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes as you get to work rubbing the serum you need into your skin, focusing on your eyes. The dark circles beneath them were far too...well dark for your liking.

“Okay, how’s your skin lately? Dry? Oily?” Frowning at you, he twists his lips as he considers your question. He’s been taking better care of his skin than he had been before dating you, but you knew that he still didn’t care that much. Surprisingly though, he has an answer for you.

“Dry?” Nodding to yourself, you reach through your box of face masks and pull out a moisturising one. Handing it over to him, you take your own and rip it open, pulling out the mask and carefully putting it on. Hoseok watches you intently before opening up his mask, his face immediately twisting into a cringe.

“Ewwww, oh my god. Why is it so slimy?!” He whines, holding it over the sink like it’s some monster that might kill him. With the mask on your face, you can’t laugh properly like you want to.

“Stop being a baby and put it on.” With a little more whining, he does so, lining it up and putting it onto his face. What follows is then complaints that it’s also cold and feels weird, causing you to roll your eyes at him once more as you help to smooth out any creases in it.

“Right, we’ve got to keep this on for twenty minutes so let’s go watch some Netflix,” Looking over him, you take in how he still manages to look handsome even with a white sheet mask on. “It’s not fair that you always look so good. Honestly.”

Hoseok just shrugs before licking his lips, his reaction immediate as he registers the foul taste. “Oh fuck me, what the fuck. This tastes fucking vile!”

“...you’re not meant to eat it, babe, they don’t make it for the taste.” He washes his hands in the sink to get rid of the remaining residue before following you out to the couch in the living room, Netflix still paused on the large television screen. Kasumi is curled up on her cat tree, fluffy body small as she sleeps quietly.

For around ten minutes, neither of you speak as you continue to watch Warrior Nun. It’s surprisingly got both your attention hooked, so you’re a little surprised when Hoseok suddenly speaks up and distracts you.

“Hey...I know this is a weird time to talk about this but after your whole period thing today it reminded me. So, I’ve been thinking lately. You definitely don’t want kids...right?” He looks at you and you get the impression he would raise his brow if he could. When you nod in response, he blows out a breath slowly.

“Okay...how would you feel if I said I wanted to get a vasectomy? I mean, I know you’ve said you don’t want kids but there’s always a chance that you might and a vasectomy is pretty final. Despite what people say.” Now it’s your for your expression to be mostly hidden by your face mask, your eyes widening until your eyelashes are uncomfortably touching the edges of the holes.

“You want that? I thought guys normally got all weirded out at that prospect. And I don’t want kids, ever. Full stop. Are you sure?” Of all the things you were going to be discussing tonight, you did not expect it to be this. It’s almost amusing that Hoseok has decided right now is the time for something so serious, when you both look so silly.

“I do. I just...I don’t want to risk a pregnancy and I know you’re scared of that too. Also, it’d put less stress on you, I know most birth control is usually aimed at women except for condoms and it’s a lot easier for me to get a vasectomy than for you to get anything done.” That makes you snort in acknowledgement, shifting on the couch until you pull your leg up and wrap your arms around it.

“Yeah, because god forbid a woman not want to fulfil her natural duty and pop out a kid, right?”

“I’ve been looking into it, I’m pretty sure I could get one. If not, I’ll just talk the doctor’s ear off until they let me. Because it’s gonna happen. It’s way easier and less stressful than anything you have to do.” His dual concern for not wanting to cause an accidental pregnancy that neither of you wanted along with not wanting the burden to fall too heavily on you warms you, causing you to reach out and grasp his hand tightly as you squeeze at it.

“Is it easy? Or quick?”

“Apparently. Some guys say it doesn’t hurt at all, others said it hurts. But...I’m pretty sure I want it. I just wanted to check with you that you’d be okay with the idea too. As I said, it’s final.” Hoseok smiles at you as best he can, causing you to shuffle a little closer to him. You’d like to rest your head against his shoulder but you’d just get it covered in face mask gunk.

“I mean, it’s your body. It doesn’t have anything to do with me.” Pointing this out to him, you look up and tilt your head, your statement almost a question.

It makes him sigh and focus on your hands, shifting them until he could interlink his fingers with your own. You let him do so, figuring he should probably be taking the lead in this conversation. It is about him after all.

“We’re in a relationship. A serious relationship and this decision would affect both of us. It’s cutting off the chance for biological kids, despite people saying you might be able to reverse it. I feel you should have a say too.” Nodding slowly, you hum lightly as you consider his words carefully.

“Well, if you want it then I’ll support you completely. I never want children so you don’t have to worry about that. It’s your decision, but I just want to make sure you think it over properly and do research, okay? Don’t go rushing into it.” That makes him snort in amusement.

“Meeps, if there’s one thing you should know by now; it’s that men do not take decisions regarding their dick and balls lightly. You can be damn sure I’m going to be 100% in my decision if I’m going to let someone come near my balls with a scalpel or somet.” The way he says this is so matter of fact that you can’t help but laugh, the sound not as big or bright as you’d like it to be given you still had your mask on.

“Man, I can’t believe I’m talking about someone knifing my balls while I’m sitting here looking like a dollar store Michael Myers.” Hoseok points at himself, his bemusement clearly obvious despite his poor Halloween costume and you giggle softly.

Reaching out, you run your fingers through his hair that’s currently being held back by a bandana and smile at him softly. “Come on, let’s go get these off and start looking human again.”

Hoseok follows you immediately, already peeling the face mask off and making casual comments about how the mask isn’t as slimy as it had once been. You take off your own and drop it into the small bin in the bathroom, making sure that he does the same.

“Okay, rub it in and pat it dry. Make sure you get the excess to go on your throat and stuff, it’s good for your skin there too.” Hoseok looks in the mirror, his face shining obscenely from the residue leftover and grimaces.

“Ew, this feels...gross,” One hand presses to his skin, rubbing it in and cringing. “Is this what it feels like when I cum on your face?”

The comment is so random that you pause for a moment, all thoughts disappearing as you comprehend what he’s just said. A glance at him makes you realise he’s being completely serious, his expression focused on rubbing his face as you’d told him. It’s moments like this that make you love him even more, the blasé comments he makes that are so funny and yet also x-rated.

“No...not really. That’s more...well it’s not all over, you know? And it’s thicker than this. And I don’t know why I’m explaining this to you. You know what your cum feels like.” A snort from him gives away his bemusement.

“Yeah, but I’ve never smeared it all over my face before.”

“Maybe you should. Experience it for yourself for once. It’s not all that good for you by the way, despite what people say. It has protein but it’s not enough to make it worthwhile or anything, so don’t think I’m going to be asking you for your special facials anytime soon.” Looking away from him, you grab the next item on your routine before looking at him with a smirk.

“Damn, there goes my plan to be self-sufficient. Could’ve made a whole organic spa thing out of it.”

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pearl-pilots-in-chains · 3 years

Text

Come to My Window (All the Little Lights #2)

Fandom: Neon Genesis Evangelion

Ships: Asurei

Rating: T

Summary: Rei doesn't like summers much. She usually ends up spending most of her time alone. One afternoon, an open window changes things. Meanwhile, Asuka's unpacking is going great . . . just great. She's just about had enough when she's distracted by the sound of a familiar song.

Notes: It's time for Asurei to Asurock! This is the second part of my All the Little Lights Evangelion high school AU. A slight warning, there's some content in this fic that might be offensive/triggering. I tried to avoid getting too graphic or dark, but there are some clear depictions of depression and bullying, as well as allusions to familial issues. I just wanted to make sure I put a bit of a disclaimer. That being said, I think those parts are important to Rei's character, so I didn't want to leave them out.

The first song Asuka recognizes Rei playing in this fic is "Always With Me, Always With You," by Joe Satriani, and the band shirt Asuka is wearing in this fic is based on the art to the album "Karmacode" by Lacuna Coil.

This was originally posted to my AO3 on May 25, 2020. Hope you enjoy!

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Rei slumped down into the chair, letting her head fall back, her gaze tilting upward, until she was scrutinizing the ceiling. The faux-sky formed on it looked down on her, the painted stars flares of cream and flame that sliced out of the navy base. She thought it was a nice view. It had the power to draw her back, pulling away years to reach innocent memories. She could recall when the sky was first cast onto her ceiling. It had been her father’s idea, and it was his hand that brought it to life. She remembered watching him from her bed, sitting on top of the plastic wrap they had laid down, crinkling the glossy tarp between her fingers. It half-seemed to be a fragment of another world, a remnant of a different life. Now, the mural served as the sole reminder that her father’s presence had once filled her room.

She had thought about asking Shinji to help her paint over the false sky. She knew there was a can of paint in the garage that could match the ceiling’s original shade well enough. She could return it all to a blank canvas. Erase the constellations, fill the vacuum with blinding light. And yet, she never asked. She wasn’t sure Shinji would be willing to help if the request was made. There was a picture on top of his bookcase. It wasn’t in the front. Its frame stood behind one that displayed Shinji and Toji after a track meet, celebrating their respective performances. But it was still there, half in hiding, half revealed. She knew the day it had been taken. December 24, 2000. On the eve of their last Christmas as a quartet. Her memories of that day were nebulous, lost to the childhood haze that the painting day had managed to emerge from. The picture spoke enough to make up for the lack of recollections though.

Her mother was holding Rei in her lap. Rei was looking away from the camera, down at the floor. She looked far wiser, far sadder that a child should. She looked as though she knew too much. Yui was looking up towards the camera, a smile plastered on her face that failed to hide its fraudulent nature. It was took curved, too hooked, too forced. The eyes told the truth. Distant, worried, ashamed. Shinji was sitting by Gendo. He was trying to imitate his father, pressing his face into an amalgamation of the mask the adult wore. It was a shoddy disguise though, as his lips looked seconds away from tremble, and there was water in the corner of his eyes. Gendo wore the true mask. His gaze bored directly into the lens’s eye, staring it down, as though he was willing the time to work correctly through sheer willpower and determination alone. Or, perhaps he was merely compensating. The tinted glasses he normally sported were nowhere to be seen, which left his eyes naked, exposed, without a shield to fume behind. It was possible that the tight, angry smile which ripped through his lips and the needling glare in his iris were designed to make up for this. They had the opposite effect, however. Whereas his traditional spectacles contained and concealed some degree of his emotions, his posturing revealed the true extent of them. His spite, his wrath, his pride, all laid bare.

As a general rule, Rei didn’t keep photos in the same way her brother did. He had a greater appreciation for the physical mementos, the tangible preservation of a moment for posterity. Rei treasured the fleeting nature of seconds, minutes, days. The ephemeral essence of life. The truth that nothing was everlasting, nothing endured. Consequently, there were three pictures in her room. One of her standing by the front door, the day before her first day of elementary school. She looked brave in it. It wasn’t just a front, Rei realized. She had felt brave that day. Time had taught her, however, that there was a thin line between bravery and foolishness.

The second picture showed Shinji and Rei, mouths broken in laughter, dancing through the backyard, Shinji lunging out in an attempt to tap her shoulders. They had been playing hide-and-go-tag, as they referred to it, and he had found her secret spot behind the rose garden. Yui had snapped the shot the moment before Shinji discovered that his sister was faster than he had anticipated, and had ended up face down in the grass after his ill-fated leap.

The last picture was the newest of the three, though now passing the age of six years, another family photo. This one was dated August 16, 2005. The smiles were more genuine, even if they looked more worn. Gendo was over four years absent.

Shinji visited his father. He had since second grade. Sometimes once every other weekend, sometimes once a month, depending on how their schedules worked out. Rei never visited. She hadn’t seen Gendo in person in a decade. She was perfectly fine with her only memories of him being mostly vague, indefinite impressions of youth. They were painful enough as they were. She didn’t want to imagine having concrete memories.

Yui had never made either of them visit him. She never would. She understood while Rei chose not. If anything, she understood better than Rei herself. Rei was truthful unsure why Shinji chose to go. Perhaps out of guilt, perhaps out of regret, perhaps out of pity, perhaps some combination of the three. Whatever it was, Shinji chose to see his father, and Rei chose not to ask her brother to help remove the last physical trace of their father from her space.

Even beyond Shinji though, Rei felt a reluctance to erase the ceiling, to restore it to its first form. Her mind shied away from the choice, became anxious, and fell silent. Rei knew far, far too much about anxious silences.

She was the “Silent Ikari,” after all. That was one of the names which had been ascribed to her. One of the kinder ones, really. She was never called them to her face, of course. Not that people said much of anything to her face. She supposed that it might be out of respect for her brother, the Ikari most people liked. But they still spoke, in voices loud enough and near enough for her to make their ‘observations’ out. Maybe they thought she was as deaf as she seemed mute. Maybe they just didn’t care if she heard. After all, they could reason that she had no real ‘excuse’ for being withdrawn, closed-off, that ‘emo girl in the corner.’ She just thought she was ‘too good for them.’ The genius who was smart enough to have skipped a grade, who could probably skip another, but ‘just didn’t feel like it.’ The one who all the teachers thought was practically perfect, even if they worried she was ‘a little on the quiet side.’ The one who had a friendly, and moderately popular brother, but was herself too ‘stuck up’ to even bother talking with anyone. And if they didn’t play up that she was cold and arrogant, they played up that something was wrong with her. That she ‘wasn’t all there,’ or had never figured out ‘how to be a human.’ There were words that stung even more, especially when she was younger, when she learned what they meant, but she preferred not to reiterate them in her mind. She didn’t need to give the speakers that power, that lasting blow. All the same, a memory crept into her head unbidden.

It was one of the first times she had sat away from Shinji and his friends. She had felt like a burden to her brother, and she had been tired of always hanging on to him, even if he had never minded. Even if he had wanted nothing more than to make sure she was okay. He was smart enough to know her reputation, even if people avoided saying things in front of him. He had gotten into a fight, a real fight, with someone who he had called a friend before it, over a passing comment the friend had made about Rei when he thought Shinji wasn’t paying attention. After that, Rei had decided to give her brother space. She didn’t want to be the weight that he felt bound by. She didn’t want to be the shadow that he felt as though he had to protect. He hadn’t been happy about it, but he had understood and agreed when she had talked to him. If there was one undeniable fact about her brother, it was that he always did his best to empathize, even when it was clearly difficult for him.

She had picked out a table along the fringe of the room to sit at. Somewhere out of the way, to avoid unwanted attention. She hadn’t wanted to be alone. She never had. But by then, it had seemed too late to change the perception of the faces she saw. The disregard, the amusement, the disgust. They had seemed immutable. And so, she hadn’t tried. She had done her best to be invisible. Because it was easier than fighting against a tide than felt overwhelming. She was too afraid of drowning to do otherwise.

She had heard the boy’s conversation with his friends before he approached her. Her hearing had always been above average, and when you heard your name spoken in first cautious, and then careless, tones behind your back, you got used to honing in on it. There had been a dare. A bet as to whether or not he could get a date with the ‘broken girl.’ They had all been at the age where suddenly, exploring previous unknown urges and interests seemed of the upmost importance. Well, most of them had been. She hadn’t. She still wasn’t. Not in the same way, anyhow, or to the same degree. At least, she didn’t think so. They spoke of crushes, and flirting, and love, and sex, like objects on fire, that burned the skin when they were handled, but were worth the flame. She thought of them in muted terms, as though she was touching the same once-scorching objects, but after they had passed beneath a waterfall, the flames all-but vanquished, only the occasional ember remaining. They were safer to hold, to handle, but the appeal, the allure in the danger, was gone, their extinguished state irrevocable.

His stance had been casual as he walked over, but there was a cruel, cocksure glint in his eye. His tone betrayed just what he thought of her, and what he thought of himself. She was an object, a means to an end (the money involved in the bet), and that was all. He was the lad who was going to win the bet, and she should feel lucky to be used for that purpose.

“Hey.” His tone had dripped smooth self-importance, self-exaggeration. “I’m Maximilian.” He had used his full name, not the Max he went by, as though he could make her persuade by the sheer power of possessing what he no doubt thought was an ‘exotic’ name.

“Hello.” Her reply had been quiet, not really timid, though it could have been mistaken for such. Any who had been less caught up in himself would have recognized that it instead bespoke that she had no interest in talking to him, was aware of what he was doing, and want no part of it.

“I’m going to sit here.” It hadn’t been a question, hadn’t been a request, had been a statement, had almost been a command. A command to accept the fact that she was in his presence, and should treat him with the respect his conceited conscience told him he deserved.

She hadn’t said anything in response to that at first. He had taken that as the acceptance he desired, and taken the seat across from her. “So, you’re Rei, right?” The tone was aggressive, as though he was going to dismiss whatever she said, because he was certain he knew who she was. She had imagined that if she said, simply to deny him, he would have ignored it and preceded ahead as though she had said ‘yes.’ He had been the type of boy who could go either one of two ways. On one hand, he could cross too hard of a line earlier enough that he still had a chance to learn how to be something better. On the other hand, he could grow up to be a man who refused to acknowledge refusals, because he felt he has the right to what he wants. The worst kind of person, Rei thought. The kind who thought that others very selves were second to their own desires. Rei wasn’t sure which path he had ended up taking, but she was very glad that they had gone to different high schools, although she felt bad for whoever ended up being the target of his interests there.

Instead of saying ’no,’ or merely staying silent, Rei had cut to the chase. “I don’t want to go out with you. Please leave me alone.”

This had thrown him for a loop. That much had been clear. He had expected her to at least hear him out. His opinion of himself was high enough that he hadn’t even considered outright disregard, the very same treatment he had intended to give her. The result of course, had been that he had become angry. Furious, really, she imagined, though his sheer pride kept him from making a scene, considering he cared too much for his image as the ‘cool guy.’ Instead, he had leaned in, breaking into her bubble, to spit the words in her face. “You don’t know what you’re missing, stupid bitch. It’s not like anyone ever going to ask out a freak like you. The most attention you’ll ever get will be from some white coat in a psych ward.”

She hadn’t flinched. She had known that it would be her downfall if she did. That breaking was what he wanted, her visible suffering was what he was craving in that moment. He had realized she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction after a few seconds, and strolled off, still cocky, but surely fuming internally over the fact that he hadn’t managed to get a reaction out of her. Not a twitch in her lips, a blink in her eyes, something to show that she was shattering beneath the calm exterior. Not that she wasn’t. She just knew how to delay the collapse. It had happened later that day, in the safety and solitude of her room, a silent sort of disintegration. No tears, no screams. Just a widening hollow feeling that consumed her from the pit of her stomach, reaching up into her chest cavity, groping at her lungs, sucking the air into, folding her in on herself until she felt small enough to simply stop existing altogether. It wasn’t an uncommon experience in those days. Before she learned how to grow numb to the words, numb to the spite. That came later though. You had to experience enough pain, enough cover crumbling, to learn how to ignore the barbs that brought it on.

She had never told her brother about that particular incident. She hadn’t wanted him to start another fight on her account. She wasn’t sure if he had ever found out. She guessed it was likely he had, although she wasn’t sure what he had done about it (though she thought it was probable he had done something).

The abuse had never been physical, never public, rarely direct. There had been no retaliation for that incident either. She supposed on all accounts that it was because people were afraid of what her brother might do. Or perhaps not her brother, but more accurately, her brother’s friends. She liked them for the most part. The track team members her brother was close to were an anomaly, in that they were some of few decent people she had ever met in the schools she had attended. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. Knowing that she didn’t have to worry about making her brother choose between his sister and his friends. At least not anymore. He had discarded the ones that had tried to sway him away from the familial choice. She supposed then, that he had already made his decision. She felt guilty for that. She felt guilty often, when it came to her brother, and what she perceived as the difficulties she brought into his life. She knew how much he worried for her. Worried that she was afraid, worried that she was hurting, worried that was lonely.

The most painful part of the guilt was knowing the her brother’s fears weren’t altogether unfounded. No, she supposed, they weren’t unfounded at all. She would characterize her feelings as more anxious than afraid, but the other two concerns she knew he held were accurate. The latter led to the former, in a way. She had discovered there was nothing quite like the feeling of isolation, of division from others, to exacerbate preexisting pain. To make it metastasize, grow into something greater than itself. Seclusion bred sorrowful things when it revealed what was latent.

She had never had her brother’s power with people. He had a natural sort of charisma about him, as awkward as he could be at times. He seemed to draw people to him. More important though, words came easy to him. He could carry a conversation when it dashed against rocks, and somehow bring it out to the far side relatively unscathed. Whether it was a matter of skill, or a matter of luck, social things seemed to turn out positive rather than negative for him more often than not.

Words had never come easy to her. Not when she was talking to someone other than her mother or her brother. She could read cues, interpret signs, and understand context well enough, but there was somehow a disconnect when it came to putting all of that into play when encoding something herself. Ironically, and perhaps appropriately, she couldn’t articulate why. She only knew that it made everything harder. That the persona she conveyed caused people to say she was ‘cold,’ or ‘dead,’ or ‘inhuman.’ Those her knew her well knew this wasn’t the case, but aside from her family, the only people who fell into that category were Shinji’s closest friends, who had spent enough time with him, and by extension, with Rei when she was around, that they read her demeanor differently. She didn’t really have friends of her own, she knew that much. It had been that way since she was a child. She had worried her teachers in kindergarten by the fact that she seemed to turn away all the kids who tried to connect with her. This hadn’t changed, and by the time she headed to junior high, no one tried anymore. The teachers had kept worrying of course, but as she got older, this worry had been offset by their satisfaction and appreciation of her academic performance; apparently, at the end of the day, even elementary school teachers cared more about a child’s grades than her ability to fit into classroom society.

She hadn’t understood it then. Hadn’t understood why her responses, her reactions shut others down. It was only after hearing the covert comments too many times that she had realized what other people thought of her. And by then, the road to remake her reputation had seemed entirely too insurmountable.

That perspective had resulted in her leading a life that was half-spent in sequestration. The silver lining to that, of which she constantly reminded herself, was that she had devoted plenty of time to pursuing her passions, even if it was at a solo capacity. The filled bookcases in her room were one testament to that. The filled folders on her laptop were another, and the guitar resting in its stand by her desk was a third. The lack of company had done wonders for her creativity, she supposed. Was it a worthy exchange though? That was all in the eye of the beholder.

Pulling her gaze away from the ceiling, Rei brought it to rest on the guitar sitting by the desk. The chrome elements of Stratocaster-imitation form glistened in the sunlight from the window above her desk, opened to let the breeze flow in (a partially successful attempt to offset the heat without resorting to blasting the AC, because Rei preferred a more natural solution). She knew it would be at the earliest, four hours before her brother made it home. His shifts had been extended recently, on account of another employee quitting. And of course, her mother wouldn’t be home for at least another hour after that, a timetable that had become the new normal over the past several months. There wasn’t much for her to do in the meantime. Shinji was officially the house chef, because he argued that it was a way for him to ‘destress,’ which was his way of saying that cooking was one of his favorite pastimes, and that he didn’t want anyone else in the kitchen, which he had unofficially declared his ‘dignified domain’ in one of his more emphatic (and comedic) moments.

Rei didn’t particularly like summers, primarily because of how empty they often ended up feeling. This summer had been particularly forlorn one, as with her brother spending nearly all of his time either working or in the company of his new friend Kaworu (she suspected that the her brother and the ashen-hair boy would be dating soon, not that she resented Kaworu; from the two brief interactions she had had with him, he seemed quite nice actually), she had been left to her own devices for days on end. At this point, her routines, as much as she appreciated them, had begun to feel somewhat monotonous. She had taken to browsing blogs lately, in search of a new potentially hobby she could try out to add some diversity to her day, but so far, she hadn’t had much lucky finding anything that she had gravitated toward with any great enthusiasm. She had briefly considered trying out her hand at archery, before swiftly coming to the conclusion that as enticing as her visions of Legolasesque prowess were, the actual effort that would undoubtedly be required to achieve any degree of proficiency wasn’t something she quite felt up to. The fact that even if she did manage to become a competent archer, her chances of being able to skate down a staircase atop a shield would most likely remain negligible was also a bit of a buzzkill. And so, at least for the moment, her current hobbies would have to suffice. She decided that tomorrow, she would take a walk down to Off the Shelf! If she was going to stick with what she knew, it wouldn’t hurt to at least get some new reading material. Well, new to her anyway.

With a barely audible sigh proceeding from her lips, Rei pushed herself up and out of her chair, and left the corner of the room, strolling over to her desk lackadaisically. She retrieved her guitar from its stand and plugged it into her practice amp, positioned alongside the desk. Flipping the amp on and turning the volume to a decent level, satisfied with her other levels. She then set herself down in her desk chair and rolled her volume knob up. She paused for a few seconds, thinking of a good song selection. After a moment, she made her decision.

The first palm muted notes sprung out from the guitar as she picked through the intro, before launching into the melody itself, the pensive tone pervading the room. She allowed the traces of a smile to steal onto her face. It was a beautiful song. One which promise never to leave, never to vanish. One whose titled she liked to think vowed to be with her always. It was a piece she was content to return to. That always seemed to make her day a little less lonely.

Perhaps then, the particular events brought about by her playing that afternoon could only be considered highly appropriate. If one was to take this view, then perhaps it could be called an act of fate, rather than a mere coincidence, that Rei did not think to close her window before she started playing on that particular occasion, something which she habitually did, half out of shyness and doubt of her own talent (unfounded doubt, of course, as anyone who had heard her play could attest to), and part out of respect for her the elderly couple who lived next door, whom she suspected were probably not fans of some of the more ‘enthusiastic’ music she played (which was to say, progressive metal). It would, however, be unfair to Rei to blame her for failing to realize that the elderly couple had moved across the country several months before to live closer to their family. It wasn’t as if she interacted with them frequently, or in fact, paid much attention to them at all. They had kept to themselves, something which she also did. On the other hand, a better case could be made to label Rei a bit on the oblivious side for not noticing the new neighbors who had moved in several days before. That had been a bit more of an affair, though not one which either Yui or Shinji could have been aware of, considering it occurred during the day while they were both absent. Rei, on the other hand, had no such excuse. Her excuse would be, if one were to ask her for it, was that she had been particularly engrossed in rereading one of her favorite books on that specific day, which was in fact true. All the same, it meant that she was unaware of her new neighbors. And furthermore, unaware that one of them would soon hear her playing. And of course, logically, this also meant she was unaware that her life was about to change. However, a lack of awareness rarely averts something from happening, and it certainly did not in this case.

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

Asuka glared down at the figurine in her hands, scowling. “Dammit,” she grumbled to herself, pulling away the now-severed head from the body of the dragon, and inspecting the jagged break. She spared a glance at the unraveled square of bubble wrap in the box below. “Well that’s just great.” With a sigh and a shake of her head, she set the broken figurine down on top of the bookcase. “I’ll have to fix you later. Gotta ask Misato if we have any glue, or if it’s lost in one of the boxes out in the garage.” She scowled, and turned back to sorting through the contents of the box. She extracted two more figurines from her their bubble wrap entombments, and was pleased to see that her cobra and sorceress were both still intact. Setting them on the shelf beside the beheaded dragon, she grab one of the discarded pieces of bubble wrap and held it up to the light coming through her window. “I guess you didn’t totally fail,” she remarked dryly, before crumpling the strip in her hand and listening to the series of satisfying pops that occurred as a result.

Tossing the now-pointless piece of plastic into the trash bin by her door, she set her hands on her hips and surveyed the pile of boxes that had yet to be unpacked, a hoard still big enough to lay claim to an entire corner of the room with a vengeance. What next? She ran her eyes over the bare walls of the room, finding the off-white coloration unappealing, to say the least. When was this designed? The 80s? Posters it is.

While she now had a goal in mind for the next step in her unboxing/room design (she preferred the latter description, because it sounded more dignified in her mind, and didn’t serve as quite the same reminder that she had just moved, but in all reality, the former was the more accurate description), finding the objects she needed to accomplish that goal was easier said than done. Opening yet another box, and discovering once again that the objects of her intentions were not within (said box instead contained several stacks of CDs, relics of a time before MP3s were the absolute norm), she set it atop the growing pile of boxes that had failed to contain her quarry, with a derisive glance at the blurred face of Avril Lavigne that stared back at her from within. “Why do I even still have you?,” she muttered as she folded the lid back over. And more importantly, why the hell didn’t we label more of these? I blame Kaji. Because yeah, the person who basically didn’t pack up any of my stuff is to blame for why I didn’t label it. Right.

With a roll of her eyes (mostly directed at herself, if she was being honest), she grabbed one more box from the trove. If they’re not in here, I’m taking a break. This is so stupid. As she opened this particular box, she was at that point not surprised to find that rather than the posters she sought, it instead contained two tight rows of game cases. Well, at least I found something decent. Box in hand, she made for the living room. I’m pretty sure Misato left the bottom shelf of the tv stand empty for these.

She was partway through the process of shelving the games when she felt her pocket vibrate. Pausing her activity, she pulled out her phone and looked over the text that had just arrived.

Tiffany H: How’s day four of the move-in going?

Asuka considered the question for a moment, before writing her response.

Asuka R: About as well as the first three lol.

Asuka R: As in, tedious

Asuka R: How’s life in Terahburg?

Tiffany H: Oh, fun. Same as always, tbh.

Asuka R: Aww, and here I thought you’d be sweet and say it was boring without me or something ;)

Tiffany H: Oh, I mean, you’re right! Whatever will we do? Life’s lost all purpose now that you’re gone xD

Asuka R: Now that’s more like it!

Tiffany H: We’re all lost without you Asuka! We’ll never see the light again without you!

Asuka R: And don’t you forget it!

Tiffany H: In fact, the entire town might perish out of sheer sorrow! Our lives our meaningless now!

Asuka R: Okay, that might be a bit of a stretch. . .

Tiffany H: Ya think? Lol

Asuka R: Hey, don’t stop on my account!

Tiffany H: I’m running out of material here *shrugs*

Asuka R: And here I thought you were a true thespian!

Tiffany H: Yeah, but talking about you gets boring after a while. ;)

Asuka R: I’m hurt. Deeply hurt. *turns nose up*

Tiffany H: There, there, you’ll survive. Just don’t drink the Asherdale kool-aid and forget we exist. Lol

Asuka R: Asherdale kool-aid? Seriously?

Tiffany H: Like I said, I’m running out of material here. Don’t @ me.

Asuka R: Uh huh

Asuka R: Right

Tiffany H: So, what’s the ‘dale like? We got any competition?

Asuka R: I’ll let you know when I figure out what the ’the ‘dale’ is

Tiffany H: Ur 1mp0ssebl3

Asuka R: My eyes are scarred now, thx

Tiffany H: You deserved it. So, what’s the ‘dale like?

Asuka R: Best adjective = boring

Tiffany H: RIP

Asuka R: No competition so far, so you don’t need to worry. The best they have going for them is an

arcade.

Tiffany H: An arcade?

Asuka R: Yeah, I saw it when we were getting into town. Looked it up, it’s some sort of retro deal.

Tiffany H: Retro arcades? Is that a thing now?

Asuka R: Apparently it is in the northwest.

Tiffany H: Whelp, sounds great

Asuka R: Oh yeah, fr

Tiffany H: Well, enjoy ur arcade. I gtg get ready for work.

Asuka R: Ok, say hi to Amanda for me!

Tiffany H: Will do! Ttyl!

When she had finished shelving the games, Asuka made her way back to her room, a determined glint in her eyes (not an unusual expression for her). Alright, now it’s poster time! I don’t care if I have to go through every damn box in that corner, I am finding them! I’m not going to let an outdated 80s color palate get the best of me! And plus, her mind added as an afterthought, Once they’re up, maybe it’ll actually start feeling a little more like my room. And less like someone else’s room, that I’m just staying in. A frown briefly crossed her face, but she tossed it away, steeling her mouth into a resolute line.

Approximately forty-five minutes later, the stack of boxes was no longer a stack, but instead a small pond spread across half of the room. Asuka, meanwhile, was red in the face, and looked as though she was a few steps away from steam vents cartoonishly bursting out of her ears. One final, unopened box sat in the corner, the last remnant of the toppled tower. She knelt by it, her face spelling murder, and began to cut through the tape with her pocket knife. . .

“Verdammt, wo sind sie?! Das ist lächerlich!” (Dammit, where are they?! This is ridiculous!)

She punched floor next to her, gritting her teeth as she looked down at the contents of the last box, namely a set of drum skins, and her stick bag. Still glowering, she removed these items and headed to the spare room. Might as well put these with my kit anyway. She couldn’t deny that one positive of this house was the presence of the extra bedroom, which meant that her designated practice space was no longer a garage. That was definitely a positive. Even if it one of the only ones so far.

Setting the sticks down by her stool and the drum skins alongside her drum cases in the corner, she looked over at the kit with a degree of temptation in her eyes. I should probably at least try to finish unpacking, now that I covered my entire room. But . . . I mean, it could help me calm down. And ignore the fact that we probably forgot the box with my posters somewhere. Walking over, she took her seat behind the kit and grabbed a couple sticks from the sling that hung off the floor tom. Just something to blow off steam. I don’t need to practice a song or anything. She was about to count herself off (out of habit rather than necessity, really), when an adventitious sound reached her ears. She blinked, pausing. That sounds . . . oddly like “Always With Me, Always With You.” She looked around, searching for the source of the faint guitar playing she had picked up. Her eyes locked in on the window behind her, which until that moment, she hadn’t noticed was partially open. Rising from her seat and dropping her sticks back into the sling bag, she walked over to the window and looked out.

This particular window looked down on the strip of the yard which ran alongside the building, and faced the house next door. She couldn’t be certain, but it sounded to her as though the music was coming out of one the windows of that house, which also happened to be opened. Her interest piqued, she decidedly to get a closer look. She headed for the stairs.

Emerging out into the backyard, she made for the wall that marked the border between her family’s yard, and the neighbor’s property. It wasn’t much of a wall, really. It only reached slightly higher than her midriff. She looked down at it skeptically. Well, I could practically step over this is if I wanted to. Guess they’re not too worried about trespassing.

Outside and closer to the guitar playing which floated out into the air, it was relatively easy to determine that its source was indeed the window she had identified earlier. Glancing up toward said window now, Asuka pursed her lips, faced with a bit of a decision. One one hand, she could forget about it and head back inside. She had determined the location of the unseen guitarist, and considering he or she was her neighbor, it seemed like there was a decent chance she’d be able to find out who the guitarist was eventually. On the other hand, going back in and continuing with her unpacking wasn’t the most enticing of options. In the end, she chose the path that let her procrastinate on facing her bedroom’s recently introduced ground cover.

Climbing up over the half-wall, she jumped down into the neighbors’ yard. She decided that if she ran in to any sort of trouble, or said neighbors turned out to be less than thrilled by her trespassing, she could book it back to her house with relative ease. It wasn’t as if the wall would provide any significant barrier. Plus, it’s not as though I’m going to try to break into their house or anything. I mean, I’m going to go ring the doorbell. Though I suppose I could have just gone out to the street from my house and gone over that way. Oh well. This’ll be fine.

Still listening to the solo (which, as she heard more of it and paid greater attention, she had to admit sounded quite good) rolling down from the open window, Asuka walked up along the side of the house, and curved around to the front until she found herself standing directly in front of the door. Alright, here we go. Plan ‘avoid unpacking’ #1, activate! Reaching up, she pressed in the doorbell and waited. She heard a bell-toweresque recording play from somewhere close by the door inside in response to the ring. That’s an interesting choice for a doorbell. Sounds sort of like an antique clock. That might not be a good sign . . . I can’t imagine anyone under the age of fifty using that for their doorbell. Oh well. If it turns out the guitarist is a retiree or something, I can always still act polite or something, say I thought his or her playing sounded pretty good, and then bail. Simple enough.

Asuka waited for a good thirty seconds, wondering if someone was going to come to the door. After a few more moments, she decided that the answer to that question was probably a definitive ‘no.’ Hmm . . . now the question is, do I ring the doorbell again? Or do I just head back home? On one hand, they might have heard it and just don’t want to answer, and in that case, I don’t want to be the jerk who can’t take a hint. On the other hand, maybe they just didn’t hear it the first time. That’s a possibility too. Which means it might not hurt to wring it again. Asuka pulled out her phone and looked down at the clock on the lock screening, waiting for it to change. I’ll give them another minute. If no one comes by then, I’ll ring it one more time. And if no one shows up after that too, I’ll head back to my place.

Watching the digits on the screen, Asuka gave a small nod to herself as the moment passed. She reached forward and gave the doorbell a final ring. Once again, she heard the recording play from within the house. You know, I think I’d get pretty tired of that if it was my doorbell. Just imagine what that would be like if someone tried to prank you by ringing it repeatedly. That would get real annoying, real quick.

After another solid twenty seconds or so, Asuka came to the conclusion that no one was coming to the door. Shrugging, she turned and headed back out toward the sidewalk, content to make her way home. Well, I tried. Guess I’ll find out who the guitarist is another day. Unboxing time it is then. Lovely. However, as she turned away from the path up to the door and angled herself back toward her resident, she heard the faint sound of the guitar carrying out from alongside the house. This time, however, it was a different song. She paused, narrowing her eyes in focus as she searched for the title. Oh, come on, I know I know this one. It’s not Satriani though . . . I don’t think it’s Vai either. Dammit, who is it? She shook her head, disgruntled with the fact that she couldn’t place the tune. Fantastic. Now that’s going to be stuck in my head and bugging me for the rest of the day. Presque vu sucks like that. It was at that instant that another thought snuck into her mind. The guitarist could be the only person home. That would explain why no one came to the door. If they’re practicing, they might have earbuds in or headphones on, which would mean they couldn’t hear me. So, I’d have to get their attention with something else. And their window is open . . .

Asuka practically sprinted the short distance back to her house, a confident grin across her face. When she finally emerged from the back door roughly five minutes later, she was glad to hear that the mysterious musician was still playing. Once again, the guitarist had moved on to a new song. This one, however, Asuka recognized. “Tender Surrender,” she murmured. “Not a bad choice.” At this point, Asuka was almost certain that whoever was playing was probably a good bit older than her. I mean, seriously, Steve Vai hasn’t been big since the nineties. At least, I don’t think so. I mean, I only know him because of Kaji, so that definitely says something. But hey, I’m not a guitarist though, so who knows? Maybe they still adore him or something. All the same, her desire to avoid completing (or at the very least, returning to) her unpacking process outweighed her potential concerns. Plus, her new plan kept her even further away from the person whose attention she was trying to get. Which meant that if they didn’t care for her methods, she could be long gone before they could do much about it. The logic of her strategy was moderately convincing, if she did say so herself, even if it was purely designed to give her a somewhat rational justification to her better judgment for her own procrastination.

Pulling herself up and over the sad excuse for a dividing wall, Asuka found herself in the as-of-yet-nameless neighbors’ yard once again. She strolled over a little closer to the house, positioning herself so that she was in a direct line with the open window. I have to say, this is one way I never expected that year I pitched for the softball team in middle school to come in handy. She looked down at the construction in her hand, the centerpiece of her quickly-concocted scheme. Guess all of that packing newspaper might turn out to have a second purpose too. Hopefully it’ll do better at this than it did at keeping Misato’s shot glass collection intact. With a chuckle to herself, Asuka rolled her arm back, lifting the paper airplane into the air, and let it fly toward her target. It soared upward, its arc accurate, and slipped straight through the open window, disappearing from her view.

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

Rei was nearing the close of the song. Her plectrum had been relegated to a secondary position, pinched between her pinky and ring fingers, to keep it from obstructing her fingerpicking. Only the pads of her skin now met the coils of steel, coaxing melody from the taut metal. Though the piece was not an anthemic one at any point, never attaining any great summit or volume in its course, it had still diminished from its peak, drifting back into itself as the notes grew more wavering, less forceful. They now resembled soft, intermittent tears intermingled with trembling gasps, though whether these expressions were borne out of sorrow or ecstasy was a mystery offered up to the beholder’s mind for judgement.

In her mind, Rei could hear, could feel the presence of the band about her. Every feature, each individual auditory fragment of the track came to her as she moved her fingers, by memory rather than sight. She listened as the band’s accompaniment slowly gave way, dissolving into pleasant stillness, sending its light and focus toward the guitar’s shuddering cry, until it was the only sound left to fill the emptiness, in soundscape both physical and mental. But fill this space it did nonetheless, each caressed, drawn note wandering through the fold’s of her shut eyes, dancing over the defined, stringent edges of her desk and shaving them down into something smoother, unbroken, winding. Blurring the room she half-saw through the image she conceived, transfiguring the elements of the space to abstraction, melting the absolute and the tangible into the fantastical, the speculative.

As she glided into the final phrase, she slowed even further, elongating the notes, letting their voices sing louder than her conducting digits. She had led the song to its conclusion, she let the song itself lead what was left. It extended, sweeping over the growing seconds, echoing as it reiterated, reprising and refusing to fade. Rei followed the draw, her fingers seemingly moving of a will other than her own, glad assistants in the art. At last, the final reverberation arrived, pleading, yet peaceful. There were seven notes left, which dwindled to six, and from there it faded to five, a receding handful.

The fifth note was about to declare its presence when the moment was broken. Something struck Rei’s forehead, fracturing her concentration and dream state alike to shards. Her fingers fell from their unconscious ballet, the necessary pressure absent. The string buzzed against the fret before it died an abrupt dead, cut off by its impact against her lax digit. The song was stripped into nothing, the ending cumbersome and unheeding, true closer beyond its grasp. Rei’s eyes tore open as her hand plunged away from the neck, dropping limp to her side as she stared sightlessly at the desk before her, her blank visage betraying no hint of her acute bemusement.

Rei dropped her pick onto the top of the desk, and lifted the instrument from her lap, returning it to its stand once more. Slanting her head downward, she reached out and retrieved the ostensibly offending object from the floor by her feet. Lifting it into her lap, she rotated it around in her grasp for a few moments, examining the shaped newsprint, complied into a new structure, a form capable of flight synthesized from ink and pulped fibers. Adjacent to weightless, an insubstantial avian, an artificial imitation. Its name was derived from bellowing metallic brutes that claimed the skies as their domain, raging turbines thrumming, incensed engines clamoring, the bellow of war on their wings and a cold caterwaul in their grinding wheels as they wrenched away from the ground and took their place in the belly of the beast. Such a marked difference, an undeniable dichotomy, between this tenuous newspaper lark and those titanium pterosaurs that prowled the clouds at humanity’s behest. To think that both such beings were constructed and christened by the same species was a perplexing, confounding concept, one which spoke to the multitudinous nature of sentience. It could give attention no less assiduous than the sedulous scrutiny bestowed upon the architecture of alleged advancement to the most minute of pursuits. The value of each undertaking determined by the engineers, by the consumers, by whatever society observed its progress.

It was curious, the capacity which such a seemingly innocuous, inconsequential object possessed to act as a conduit for contemplations of the existential and philosophical varieties. Nevertheless, Rei pulled her thoughts away from such metaphysical meanderings and extracted her eyes from their glazed gaze, elevating them from the errant examination. Equally curious were the origins of the airplane. Her emphasis adjusted accordingly, Rei rested the newsprint coated craft on her desktop and rose from her seat to survey the yard from her window.

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

Asuka watched the empty window closed, scrutinizing the vacuum that had devoured her airplane several moments earlier. It showed no signs of providing any sort of reaction to that consumption. However, Asuka was nonetheless certain beyond any shadow of a doubt that her newspaper agent had fulfilled its intended purpose. Moments before, the song, which had crawled to a languid and hazy, yet subtly rapturous, finale, had come to a clipped conclusion. There was no mistaking that the ending was unintentional. The last note had been mostly-dead, the tone dulled and buzzed out, a quickly recognizable accident, that had been replaced by silence in an instant, the bum note sheared from existence before it could linger. That . . . was rough. Ooops. Well, hopefully they don’t get too annoyed.

At first, Asuka had expected that the guitarist would take one of two routes. On one hand, the musician might immediately make an appearance, due to the sudden interruption, and apparent derailment of the song. This had seemed to be the most probable outcome to Asuka. After all, most musicians didn’t appreciate being disrupted while they were in the midst of a piece. On the other hand, the guitarist might first finish the song, and then come to the window. Though the second possible outcome seemed somewhat less likely than the first, Asuka knew that there were many individuals who took their musicianship seriously to the extent that they would merely continue onward as if they had never been disturbed in the first place, until they finished their performance. Of course, given that the guitarist was practicing rather than performing, Asuka didn’t expect that this would be the case.

This was all to say that Asuka was not prepared for the reaction occasioned by her action. Or, to be more precise, the lack thereof. Asuka had firmly expected the guitarist to do something. Which was why she grew progressively more and more agitated, albeit it in an understated manner, as the seconds flew by and it appeared as though her ‘delivery’ had prompted positively no response whatsoever. No one appeared at the window, nor did the playing resume, and furthermore, there was not so much as the slightest audible outburst in response to the disruption. Aside from the botched note and the vexatious silence, there was nothing to indicate that the guitarist had even noticed the paper aircraft.

Asuka tilted her head as she continued to stare up at the window, her cheeks and lips creasing downward into the beginning of a frown. Come on, do something. Or are you actually going to just ignore that? Of course, there was no answer to this question, given that Asuka had inquired it of her own mind, rather than posing it out loud. The stillness stretched longer, no termination in sight. Asuka rested a hand against her hip, before dropping it back to her side. That might send the wrong sorta message when they finally decide to show up. If they decide to show up. Asuka’s frown had now passed its infancy, maturing into a full-blown line of irritation. Which is looking less and less likely. A measure of tension had filled the air, as anticipation of a reaction had turned to exasperation, and perhaps a portion of perturbation as well. The tension gave no indication that it had any intention of abating prior to Asuka’s departure. Well that’s just great. Dammit, I guess it’s back to my lovely, most definitely not covered in a mound of boxes room. Fantastic. Rolling her eyes, Asuka half-turned to withdraw, when a figure suddenly appeared in the window. Asuka hastily righted herself as her gaze locked in on the arrival. Took you long enough.

The person looking out of the window was not who Asuka had been expecting. The figure’s blue locks glistened vaguely in the sunlight as it touched them. Her eyes were dark, a rich, bark-like brown, the hue of tilled soiled moistened by a smattering of a rain. They practically gleamed with racing thoughts, deep pools of incalculable deliberation. It was the overall aura of her face, however, that knocked Asuka from her stride. It was expressionless, utterly unreadable, beyond the definitive certainty that the mind behind worked tirelessly and furiously. Asuka could discern no trace, however slight, of any sentiment or emotion in it. The emptiness, the absence, was uncanny. Asuka’s mind raced as well now, seeking an explanation for the void she beheld. Maybe I’m just too far away. After all, I’m a good distance from where she is. Maybe if we were closer, I’d be able to tell . . . something. Her attempts at persuading herself that this was a reasonable explanation failed miserably. The argument was woefully, blatantly incorrect. There was no denying the simple fact that the girl’s face, despite the fact that it appeared as if she was no older than Asuka, perhaps even younger, could have easily belonged to someone who spent years perfecting the perfect vizard. Somehow, I get the feeling that she’s never lost a poker game.

The duo’s encounter began in silence, both parties merely taking in the other, no words exchanged. Asuka did her best to hide her own feelings of confusion, as well as residual irritation. Can’t match her poker face, but I might as well try to not look too worked up. When the silence had lasted long enough to become uncomfortable, especially when combined with the force of the girl’s undeviating gaze, Asuka decided she would have to break it, as it didn’t seem feasible that the supposed guitarist would be the one to do so.

“Hey, you sounded good!,” Asuka called up, doing her best to sound both amicable and positive, in spite of the fact that these weren’t the foremost sentiments in her mind.

The girl said nothing in response, though Asuka briefly thought she spotted the barest, vaguest hint of a smile alight on the edges of the girl’s mouth for a split second. Well, no news is good news, right? And who doesn’t like a compliment? Guess I might have to do the heavy lifting in the conversation though. “That was Tender Surrender, right?”

The girl remained silent, but gave a small nod of her head, her expression unchanged. Asuka decided she would interpret this as an encouraging reaction. I mean, she doesn’t seem angry that I disrupted her earlier, so all things considered, I’m going to take this as a success so far. “Steve Vai is pretty cool. Classic 80s guitar, you know?”

The girl nodded again, blinking as she did so, before resuming her stare. Is that the first time I’ve seen her blink?, Asuka wondered. Because I think it is, and that’s more than a little bit unnerving. Because I’m almost positive she’s been staring at me for a couple minutes. No way, she must have blinked earlier. People don’t go minutes without blinking. That would be . . . unusual . . . and most likely not healthy for your eyes.

Asuka decided to try out a different subject. There’s got to be something that will get her to talk . . . right? Maybe? Hopefully . . . ?

“Anyway, I heard you earlier, and I wanted to see who the good guitarist was.” She bookended this with an agreeable chuckle, that was roughly eighty-five percent forced. “I’m Asuka Kaji. I just moved in to the house next door,” she pointed back over her her shoulder, “a few days ago.”

The girl tilted her head as she received this information, giving Asuka the impression that this was in fact new to her, and she was taking some time to process it. A few more seconds passed, and at last, the girl spoke. “I’m Rei Ikari,” she paused, and then added, “Thank you.” Her voice was soft, but carried down from the window fairly well all the same. It had a calmness to it, that matched up perfectly with her reserved demeanor. It was nearly a monotone, but not quite. There was a note of inflection in it, an element of what Asuka thought was cheerfulness, though it was difficult for her to be certain.

This time, Asuka was the one who tilted her head. Well, at least I got her name. Not sure why she’s thanking me though. “What for?,” she inquired, maintaining her amicable exterior, which was somewhat less forced than it had been several seconds earlier. Perhaps only seventy-five percent at this point, possibly even seventy.

Rei answered in the same voice, devoid of all but a hint of pleasantry. “For the compliment. I’m glad you like my playing.” Asuka hung on to that hint of pleasantry, decoding it to mean that Ikari was genuinely happy. At least, I hope that’s what it means. Although, she could just be putting on a front just like me. I’ll say she’s genuine for now though. It’s easier to be friendly when I don’t have to constantly second guess the other person.

Asuka smiled again, an expression which was mostly real. “No problem. Like I said, you sounded good.”

Rei nodded to this, but didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, she looked down, at something obscured from Asuka’s sight, and then back up at the other girl. “Would you like to come to the door? You won’t have to shout up from there?”

Asuka wasn’t quite sure that the volume she had been speaking at could be deemed shouting per se, but in comparison to Ikari’s subdued volume, she supposed she could see the logic in the other girl’s words. “Sure. Sounds like a good idea.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Rei intoned, not deviating in the slightest from what appeared to be her default voice. Stepping away from the window, she disappeared from Asuka’s view. Asuka set off along the side of the house, making for the front door, considering their conversation so far as she did so. Okay, saying ‘default voice’ might be a bit harsh. Makes it sound like she’s a robot or something. I don’t think she’s AI. I mean, probably not. She allowed herself a quiet little chortle as she rounded the corner and strolled over to the porch. She paused in front of the door. Guess I don’t need to ring the doorbell. Which means I get to avoid the antique clock. Or bell tower. Whichever one it sounds like. Probably both. Either way, not hearing it is a positive.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door in front of her opening. Rei halted in the doorway, looking at Asuka. Up close, Asuka couldn’t discern any substantial differences from what she had already observed of Rei’s demeanor. However, the hints of a smile which she thought she had spotted earlier were more pronounced now that Asuka had a better view, making Ikari look moderately more genial to Asuka’s eyes. Huh, maybe I was right. She’s more friendly when I’m not looking up at her framed in a window. And I thought that argument was absurd. Even though it was my argument. Ha! Shows what you know, me!

Asuka smiled back at Rei, the most genuine one she had offered Ikari so far. Abruptly, Rei held out a hand toward Asuka. She looked down, and her smile fell a bit. The blue-haired girl was holding out the paper airplane to her. “Is this yours?,” she asked, giving no signs that she was angry, which threw Asuka off once again. Alright, maybe she’s just at good at hiding when she’s upset as she seems to be at hiding when she’s happy. Then again . . . I don’t see anything. Not in her face, or her posture. And she still smiling. Well, if that’s what that is, I mean. Maybe I didn’t actually disrupt her? Maybe she just messed up on her own? Or maybe she really doesn’t care?

Asuka nodded slowly, assuming an empathetic expression, less cheerful and slightly more chagrined. Just slightly, however. She wasn’t one to act particular embarrassed, even if she was. Not that she “Yeah, that’s mine. Sorry if I threw you off, by the way.”

Rei extended her hand a little further, offering the miniature parody of an aircraft to the redhead. “It’s okay. I was nearing the song’s conclusion anyway.”

Asuka accepted the offered airplane. “You sure?”

Rei nodded. “Yes. Your technique isn’t bad.”

Once again, Rei managed to say something that Asuka was not anticipating. My technique? Where did that come from? This is kind of getting on my nerves. A little bit, anyway Who just randomly switches topic mid-conversation like that? “What technique?”

“Your folding technique. It’s effective. Do you make origami?”

Oh. That is not what I expected her to say. “Ah, okay. Thanks. But no, I don’t.” I mean, technically I have, but I don’t need to tell her about how great that went. Damn cat. Since when do cats eat paper anyway? When did that become a thing? And to think people say dogs are the ones who will eat anything.

“I think you’d be good at it if you tried,” Rei said sensibly.

“I’ll let you know if I ever try it out.”

Rei nodded, her faint smile becoming somewhat more defined, as if this was the most logical and appropriate response, and she appreciated that Asuka had used it. Asuka decided it was time for her to get in another question, before the conversation took an additional unpredictable turn. “So, do you go to Sarea High?” Might as well figure out if she’ll be going to the same school as me in the fall. It wouldn’t be a bad idea at all to know some people before I get there.

Rei only nodded again in answer to this question.

“Cool. I’ll be going there in the fall. You a,” she made a quick estimate of how old she thought Ikari looked to be, “junior?”

Rei shook her head. “I’m a senior.”

Well, I was only off by a year, that’s not too bad. “Me too.” You know, for expecting the mystery guitarist to be some guy in his forties, it turns out we have a lot more in common than I thought.

Rei didn’t respond to this information, but merely continued to look at Asuka, her head tilting slightly to the side, the smile on her face seeming more prominent than ever, though still more of a light impression than a defined expression. Asuka met the girl’s gaze for a moment, and matched the bluenette’s smile with a wider one of her own. I mean . . . she’s kind of unusual, but she doesn’t seem so bad. Could definitely do with talking a bit more, but whatever. “Are you in band?”

Rei shook her head. “No. I’d like to be in jazz ensemble though.”

Asuka grinned, and remarked, “I mean, from how you sounded earlier, I’m sure you could tackle jazz. Plus, it’s fun for guitarists!” Is it my imagination, or is that a tiny tint of blush I see on her cheeks right now.

“Thank you. Again,” Rei said softly. “I haven’t auditioned though.”

Asuka’s smile faltered, and she pursed her lips. “Why not?”

The imprint of a smile and the vague reddening slipping from her face, Rei shrugged. “Nerves, I guess,” she answered.

“Ah. I understand.” I’ve been there. Who hasn’t? But hell, she’s definitely good enough to make the cut! Especially in a town like this. I highly doubt they have a great jazz scene here or anything. Asuka paused, but then set off again, more animated, “Well hey, you should audition this fall! I’m going to be there! So there’ll for sure be someone else there who knows you’re a fantastic guitar!”

The mild coloring that Asuka suspected was a blush most definitely returned to Rei’s face with this comment. Without meeting Asuka’s gaze, a strange change from her pattern up to that point, she replied, “Maybe so.”

“Well, think about it at least.”

Rei nodded, and after another handful of seconds had elapsed, asked, “What instrument do you play?”

“I play drums,” Asuka answered.

Rei looked back to Asuka once more, her indistinct smile back on her face. “Are you going to do marching band?”

Asuka shook her head. “No, I prefer playing with a full kit. That’s why I’m going for jazz ensemble instead. It’s what I did at my old school back east in Terahburg.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yep,” Asuka stated smartly. A new idea had emerged in her mind, one which didn’t seem like a half bad one. “You know, we should jam together sometime. Since we’re literally next door to each other.”

Rei said nothing at first, but Asuka noticed that the blue-haired girl’s eyes looked more distant now, practically looking straight past Asuka. She was tempted to turn around, to see if there was something behind her worthy of attention, but she somehow doubted there was. She’s probably just appraising the idea. She seems like the type of person who thinks things over. Thinks things over intensely, to be precise.

When the space between the two girls had lapsed into silence for approximately thirty seconds, Rei spoke up. “What type of music do you like?”

Asuka gave a small shrug in response to this. “The short answer is, I like a lot of stuff. I’m open to pretty much anything. And the long answer is, well, long.” She let out a little laugh to accompany her quip. “But, you might be able to tell,” she shot a pointed glance down at her shirt, which featured an image of a man removing his face from his skull to reveal a bundle of bandages beneath it, an action which was surprisingly depicted in a manner that wasn’t particularly gruesome (which she personally thought a rather unusual choice for a gothic metal album cover, but she enjoyed the art nonetheless, a fact evidence by her possession of the shirt), “I like metal.”

Rei’s eyes followed Asuka’s indication, and studied her garment, taking in the image. “That is interesting,” she commented, giving no real suggestion of her actual opinion of the artwork. “However, I’m not familiar with Lacuna Coil.”

Asuka curled her lips into a wry half-smile. “Not enough people are. They’re pretty awesome though. If you like gothic metal, that is.”

Rei nodded gently, in a manner that came across as fairly noncommittal. “I’ll have to check them out.” Her tone didn’t particularly evince true interest either, thought Asuka couldn’t say that it suggested the opposite for that matter. It fell in line with almost all of Rei’s speech, in that it was nothing if not neutral and more than a little ambiguous. I guess you could call it balanced. It could go equally toward either side.

“So,” Asuka began, “What about you?”

“As in, what type of music do I like?,” Rei countered, seeking clarification.

“Yep.”

“I enjoy instrumental music. Especially when the guitar is the main focus.”

“I get ya, that makes sense,” Asuka remarked with a nod .

“But, I am open to many types of music as well,” Rei added.

“That always cool. Variety keeps things entertaining.”

“Indeed,” Rei agreed, though her voice showed no particular enthusiasm. The sentiment more closely resembled an acknowledgement of a basic principle that could only be recognized as a fact of life, rather than an identification with a specific, shared perspective. After this observation, she fell silent once more. Asuka tilted her head to the side, waiting for the other girl to continue, but she did not seem eager to break the silence which had descended. Well, she basically avoided that question. Or at least, she avoided giving a direct answer to it. I could press the issue, or save it for another time. Oh come on, I’m not one to save things for another time. She doesn’t seem to mind me too much so far. I’m gonna roll with that.

Asuka decided to reiterate her point. “So, what do ya think?”

“About what?,” Rei asked, her eyes twitching momentarily.

“About playing together sometime?”

Rei tilted her head to the side, before righting it and nodding. “I think that would be a good idea.”

“Cool!”

“Yeah,” Rei concurred, the smallest vestige of excitement briefly filling her voice. Asuka picked up on the alteration, as quickly as it passed. That sounded encouraging!

“Well, hey, let me give you my number, so you can get in touch with me when you want to. That work for you?

“Okay.” Rei extracted her phone from her pocket, a movement which Asuka mirrored.

It was when she glanced down at her phone that Asuka noted the time. Her eyes widened for a brief second. Crap! It’s that late already! Seriously, I’ve been here that long? I probably need to actually try to finish unpacking at least some of those boxes today. If only so I can move across my room without climbing on top of them. Oh well . . . all good procrastination has to end eventually.

Rei cradled her phone in her hands for a few moments. Asuka got the impression that Rei was a little hesitant (for whatever reason) to hand it over for Asuka to put in her number. Selecting a different strategy, Asuka opened her contact profile and held the phone out for Rei to see. “Here, you can just copy off of that. If you don’t want me to put my number in yours, I mean.”

Rei looked at the offered device for another moment or two, and then nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Rei inspected the displayed information for a moment, and then quickly typed something into her phone. “Got it,” she announced.

“Awesome.” Asuka withdrew her phone and slid it back into her pocket. “Look, I gotta bounce. I still have lots of unpacking left to do.” She grinned and chuckled. “My room looks like a minor tornado or something tore threw it. So that’s fun.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Rei responded quietly, but the expression on her face gave the words weight. The impression of a smile that had lingered there for much of the conversation at the door had finally blossomed into something which could be firmly identified as a smile, even if it was a small, uncertain one.

“You too!,” Asuka agreed cheerily. Alright, now the question is, what will she interpret as a proper goodbye? This question proved unnecessary, as Rei gave Asuka another small nod, and then retreated into the house, closing the door behind her, in a startlingly swift burst of activity. Asuka blinked, shrugged mentally, and turned to go, trotting back out to the sidewalk.

Well, all things considered, I’d say that counts as an utter victory. Mystery guitarist turned out to be both under the age of thirty, and overall, pretty likable, at least, I think so. Not to mention I have someone to practice with already, and I’ve only been here a few days. And she lives next door. That’s a pretty great coincidence, I can’t lie. And best of all, I avoided unpacking for a solid half hour more. That’s the real success story here.

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

Rei didn’t leave after closing the door. She remained in the hall, watching the girl through the peephole as she departed. She couldn’t say exactly why she did it, only that it felt like the appropriate thing to do. When at last the redhead disappeared from her field of vision, she turned away from the door, and made her way to the kitchen. A strange sensation had developed in the pit of her stomach as they conversed. As with her logic for remaining at the door, the reason behind it barely escaped her mental grasp, as did an appropriate name for it. At best, she could characterize it as an unsettling experience, but not an unpleasant one. The feeling of a warbling tremor creeping up toward her chest, and then shying down and away once more. It played just beyond her reach, content to lurk there. Her first thought had been that perhaps food would lay the disturbance to rest. However, as she sat at the table and contemplated the granola bar she had retrieved from one of the cabinets that ringed the kitchen proper, she came to the abrupt realization that she lacked both the appetite and interest to eat it. Dropping the item in question back onto the tabletop, she tilted her head back to consider her kitchen ceiling. She decided that she preferred this view to the similar one she had observed earlier in the day.

There were fewer unpleasant memories wrapped up in this one. At least, that was the explanation she provided to herself, citing it as being the rationale reason for her mood. Because, clearly, it made perfect sense that studying the structure of the kitchen ceiling would fill her with a disconcerting, apprehensive excitement, but excitement all the same. Any other explanation would beg further questions. Questions she thought it was far, far, far too soon to be even touching upon. And that was without taking into account the fact that the excitement shied away from analysis. She suspected any efforts to investigate it would only yield confusing results. Results that led to the very same questions she wished to avoid. The safer alternative, then, was the ceiling. She was excited over the ceiling. Surely, if inspecting the ceiling of her bedroom could trigger a cascade of doubts and memories, inspecting the kitchen ceiling could make her feel giddy with an opaque happiness, until her brain was too muddled to focus on the shapes in the plaster and they meshed together into an indistinct collage of lines that made her eyes water when she tried to trace the maze she envision within it. Right?

#evangelion #neon genesis evangelion #fanfic #fanfiction #highschool au #asurei #asuka x rei #rei ayanami #asuka soryu langley

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amandadeibert · 3 years

Text

A Love Letter to Parents At the End of The Most Difficult School Year EVER

WOW, that was really something, huh?

It’s the end of the most difficult year school for all of us: teachers, parents, students… Hell, probably even the neighbors of parents and students. I would say “at least we survived!” but this has been more than a year of illness and mental health crises… not all of us did. Some of you are mourning those loses. I am so sorry.

As my daughter celebrates her final day of Kindergarten, and I celebrate my final day of supervising hours of zooms and packets full of work, of being her mother, teacher, confidant, chef, maid, PE teacher, and playmate… I have a lot of emotions. I’m sure you do too.

It was hard for those of us who, like my family, spent the entire year in virtual school: never meeting teachers or classmates in person. Those of us who spent so much of the year trying not to worry about excessive screen time while going against our intuition to coax children to sit up and pay attention to their computers.

It was difficult for families who did hybrid and had their bits of in-person “normalcy” sporadicly and suddenly turned to quarantines every time there was an exposure so that there could never be a true routine.

It was complicated for parents navigating this with multiple children who all needed different things at the same time. I know in my daughter’s own little kindergarten class we over-heard older siblings’ music lessons, younger siblings’ infant-wails, and parents trying to deal with their work zooms while 6 year olds struggled to concentrate on learning to read.

My heart especially goes out to the parents of children who need extra attention or services, some of whom lost out on months or a year of in-person therapies. This is unfair and horrible. This has been infuriating, unfair, and horrible. You have been dealing with far more worries than you should have had to and I am so sorry.

And then there’s work… whew. As a working mother who went to work in person in full PPE, then worked from home with endless Zoom meetings while my daughter put Elsa stick-on earrings all over my face, and then who lost my job due to pandemic related situations. I know it was difficult to work and teach and parent and be a child’s only friend and entertainment.

For those of you who are essential, for those of you who work in healthcare and mental healthcare… I just, I can’t even begin to tell you how much I admire you and also know my admiration doesn’t do a fucking ounce of good to help alleviate all you’ve had to juggle and endure.

So much has fallen disproportionality on mothers. We can see it in hard data. This will have ramifications for years to come. Just as it will on our kids… in ways we don’t even fully understand yet. Just while trying to write this essay…. my daughter and our kitten have crawled into my lap. They are both here right now.

And yes, I know plenty of amazing Dads who have been struggling right there with us. My dad-friends and I have leaned on each other TREMENDOUSLY this year, so please don’t think I don’t see you out there struggling through this too.

As I look back over this past school year (and the end of the academic year before) I am feeling sad for the milestones my child didn’t get to have. The things we didn’t experience as planned. The fond farewell to her preschool of 3 years we never had. The kindergarten teacher she never met in person. The first year at an elementary school where we haven’t yet been inside the building. I have so much dread for the coming separation anxiety after more than a year of never being apart. Hers and mine. This was not how things were supposed to be. No matter how you’ve experienced the pandemic, because we’re all doing it differently… this was not what we “planned.” It’s also not something anyone else alive has ever had to deal with before.

I want to stress that again:

No parent alive has ever dealt with anything like this. No one alive has experienced anything like this as a child. Bad things? Yes. Worse thing? Yes, even. But not THIS.

So if your parents/elders are giving unhelpful “advice” about how you should/should have handled things please remember THEY HAVE NO IDEA. None. At all.

This is one area where you can laugh and laugh and be like… “YOU HAD OPEN PARKS AND SCHOOLS AND KIDS COULD GO RIDE THEIR BIKES UNRESTRICTED. YOU COULD GO SIT IN CHURCH AND THE KIDS WOULD BE IN SUNDAY SCHOOL. YOU CAN NOPE RIGHT OFF.” Love them. Love their advice, but they don’t actually know what it is like.

I hope they are offering love and support. I don’t have living parents, but my grandmother is the first to say that even as a stay at home mom whose husband was away fighting a war, she can’t imagine being unable to simply take her kids to school or to run errands, or to let them play with other children. Her situation was very difficult and complicated. I don’t have it worse. Not at all. It’s just that this school year has been one hell of a weird one.

There have been bright spots. I loved getting to watch and experience my daughter learning in real time. Seeing the day-to-day progress and truly knowing what is going on in her classes. Again, that isn’t the experience for parents who have children unable to access their child’s IEP help in the way they should.

I love the extra time we’ve gotten together as a family. The movie nights outside and snuggles and lack of rushing around from place to place. I enjoy as an Angeleno not being stuck in traffic for hours. Not everyone has been able to work from home like my wife and I have mostly been able to do for much of this and I am grateful for that too.

My hope is that when this is truly over, when we get back to whatever new life looks like in the next school year, that some of the good will stay. That I will be more involved in our child’s education than maybe I would have been before because I know what it looks like. That we will spend more time as a family together just us. That I won’t say “yes” to things out of obligation that don’t add value to our lives. That we won’t be too busy.That’s probably naive, but we can sure try.

I hope that you have some bright spots to look back on from this past school year. I hope you can share them with your children and they can share theirs with you. Whatever you had to do to get through this, I am so outrageously proud of you. I am proud of me too. And wow, our kids. They’ve been through some shit. I’m super proud of them.

Please, please take some time to celebrate what you have managed to get through. I got cupcakes for the kiddo and some cocktails for grownups. Please do whatever version of that sparks some happiness.

PUNT THAT SCHOOL-ISSUED LAPTOP INTO THE SUN.

I mean, yeah okay, we’ll all responsibly return it fully charged and be so grateful to the school system that we didn’t have to use Mommy’s work laptop for it but you know… metaphorically it’s that scene from Office Space. (Your kids wouldn’t get this joke but this isn’t for them. JUST LIKE THE COCKTAIL/CHOCOLATE/BUBBLEBATH/WHATEVER YOU ARE GONNA DO TO CELEBRATE YOU )

Anyway, you are amazing. Maybe you don’t feel like many people noticed. I see you. I’m toasting you from this weird half-teacher’s lounge we share.

If you’d like to share some of your brightest spots, or most amazing, brilliant parent hacks from all this madness, I would love to read about it in the comments. We’ve got to hold onto the good.

#pandemic #Amanda Deibert #lesbian moms #LGBTQ+#parenting #pandemic parenting #distance learning #class of 2021

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ourloveisforthelovely · 4 years

Text

In Love and Death Part 12

Harry Potter AU

Link to Part 11

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader

Rating: M

______________

Regulus followed you upstairs to the bedroom with a pleased smirk on his face. He had wiped whatever bit of toughness that Harry had in him away. If the little git thought that Regulus cared for one minute what he had to think then the “chosen one” had another thing coming. At the moment, it was Regulus’ personal pleasure to make Harry regret ever being born. Sure they were on the same “side” but it didn’t mean that they had to like each other.

You closed the door behind you as Regulus gave you the small smile that he reserved for you alone.

“Why did you tell Harry to play in the street?”

You asked. Regulus shrugged.

“Well, darling, if he actually listens to me and goes to play in the street then he isn’t that smart is he? If he gets hit by a car...obviously he doesn’t know the concept of moving”

You shook your head, giving your boyfriend a disapproving mother-like expression.

“That’s mean, Regulus. I don’t understand why you two are so jealous of each other.”

Regulus sat down on the bed. He was not jealous of Harry and Harry was not jealous of him...well...maybe he kind of was. The only “jealousy” that Harry felt toward Regulus was because of the relationship that he had with you.

“He’s the jealous one. I’m just being my loveable self.”

Regulus attempted to justify it with a smile. He was pleased when you returned the smile. Shaking your head, you took your place on his lap with a leg on either side of his body.

“You’re only loveable to me.”

You replied as Regulus leaned forward for a kiss.

“Well then I am doing nothing uncommon now, am I? I’ll play nice when he does. The little git seems to fancy you in a less than friendly way. He’s lucky that I haven’t hexed him.”

You didn’t need much encouragement to eagerly kiss Regulus back.

“He’s wasting his time. I’m in love with you. The quicker that he realizes it the better off that he will be.”

You said, not pulling your mouth far from Regulus.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

This made you pull away and sit back up. Regulus immediately began to regret his decision on asking what was so important. He wanted nothing more than to have some private time with you. It seemed like the private time the two of you shared seemed to be a series of quickies when both of you could sneak off.

“Evan let it slip to my grandmother about the potion and what we are trying to do.”

Regulus immediately rolled his eyes. After his less than cheerful meeting with your grandmother a few months beforehand, he wanted nothing more to do with Mrs.Rosier.

“Of course, he did. What are her terms? I know that she has some.”

You nodded as you reached out and slowly unbuttoned a few buttons on Regulus’ shirt. He raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering why you were trying to undress him to give weird news? Would this require him getting “buttered” up to accept?

“She thinks that if we are going to be trying to have a child then we should be married. Reg, you know how old school my grandmother is.”

Regulus had to agree on that one. Mrs. Rosier was extremely old school. She was the reason that Evan and Emily were married so young when you were born. It only made sense that she would shove this old school belief on her granddaughter. Regulus internally smirked at the idea of Mrs. Rosier stalking about the Rosier manor mumbling about her granddaughter being pregnant with Regulus Black’s bastard child. He knew he didn’t have to envision it, it was probably happening as the two of you spoke.

“Love, you already have my ring. I told you before if that’s what you wanted…”

“Is it what you want though?”

You interrupted. Regulus gave you an annoyed look before continuing.

“I don’t go around trying to make a child with someone that I wouldn’t want to be in my life forever. Y/n, you know that’s what I want. I don’t know why you worry about such things.”

You quickly got off of his lap and went to stare at the street below. Regulus frowned. What was going on? You didn’t act like this.

“So, what else did grandmama say to get you in such a twist?”

“That was it.”

You replied. Regulus stood up, running a hand through his hair before joining you at the window.

“I’m not an idiot, Y/n. Something else is going on and you know how I hate being left in the dark.”

You sighed and finally looked up.

“I’m pregnant.”

Regulus blinked a few times.

“You literally took the potion less than an hour ago and we haven’t even done anything.”

“I was pregnant before I took the potion, Regulus! I didn’t know...Tonks had me take a test just to make sure and it came out positive...how I don’t know. I didn’t tell Tonks that it was positive. I pretend it was negative and ran off before she could ask to look at it. For the record, we have been doing it a long lot lately.”

Regulus’ mouth dropped as he took in your words. You had to fight smiling at the confused expression that had taken over his face.

“Please say something.”

You whispered. Regulus immediately smirked.

“You may want to call that healer and ask for our money back. I don’t want the old bat thinking she fixed something that she actually didn’t do.”

You gave Regulus a displeased frown.

“I tell you that I’m pregnant and that is your response? Lovely...excuse me.”

As you turned to walk out of the room, Regulus reached out and pulled your body back against his.

“Don’t get mad. I’m sorry. Y/n, I’m happy...I’m thrilled actually. It just shows that we don’t need some magical help to be able to take the next step of building our life together. Also, this is another example of there being nothing wrong with you. I promise I’m happy. What about you? How are you feeling about this?”

You laid your head against his shoulder.

“I’m very happy. I just don’t feel very well. I see why Tonks was throwing up in the neighbor's bushes when she was pregnant. Regulus, I’m not ready to tell the others just yet.”

Regulus gently ran his hand through your hair.

“We don’t have to tell anyone until you are ready or at least until you start showing. We won’t be able to avoid it then.”

The following weeks passed without much excitement. Both Regulus and yourself were keeping your “condition” as secret as possible. If you started feeling ill, you would find some way to slip out of the room without being seen. You were honestly shocked that Tonks hadn’t picked up on it yet. Normally, she would pick up on any secret that you had before you ever got the chance to say anything.

Of course, this is the one thing that she doesn’t pick up on.

You thought. Part of you was desperate for your best friend to “figure” things out. You wanted nothing more than to have another party in on the secret.

The house had been mostly quiet since Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned to school. Regulus’ jealous mood had eased and your lover was back to his reserved self. You dreaded the day that Harry figured out what was happening. That was going to be one hell of a disaster!

Sirius, meanwhile, was headed to his room to find something to harass Kreacher about. As he walked down the hall, he stopped noticing Regulus sitting on the floor beside the heating vent. The expression on Regulus’ face was unreadable. Shrugging, Sirius walked into the room and sunk down beside his brother.

“We used to spend a lot of time sitting by this vent. I don’t think mum and dad ever realized we could hear right into their bedroom. We heard all of the yelling and screaming”

Regulus, just realizing that his brother was in the room, blinked a few times. He had been lost in his own world for the past hour and a half. For the past few weeks, Regulus had been watching you get sicker and sicker. It was beginning to wear on his mental state. He couldn’t help feeling a bit selfish for wanting a baby with you so bad that you had to be ill for it to happen. Sure, that was what most women experienced but you weren't most women. You were his and Regulus didn’t like seeing you ill.

“We never heard anything romantic”

Regulus finally replied. Sirius made a repulsed expression. The last thing that he wanted to think about was his parents having sex. Granted, if Walburga and Orion didn’t have sex neither Sirius nor Regulus would be in existence. That fact, however, didn’t make Sirius any less repulsed by the knowledge of his parent’s sex life.

“First, gross. Second, I think that stopped after you were born. I meant overhearing what they were talking about. We could hear what kind of trouble we were in when we misbehaved and come up with a joint story.”

Regulus remembered those days well. Those were the days when he and Sirius were best friends and caused joint chaos. For example, the day Regulus caught the drapes on fire and Sirius blamed it on Kreacher. Walburga believed the elf over her two children.

“One would think that they would have figured it out. Do you think that I will be a better father than our father?”

Regulus didn’t turn to meet his brother’s confused then stunned expression. Sirius blinked a few times before his mouth dropped.

“Is Y/n pregnant?”

Regulus nodded, not realizing what he was doing. With one nod of his head, he told the secret that he was supposed to be keeping to himself.

“I’m not supposed to tell you but yes….yes she is.”

Sirius was stunned. He didn’t expect it to happen THAT quickly!

“That didn’t take long. That healer knows her shit. Is this why you are sitting by the vent looking lost?”

“That could be the reason. The healer and her potion also did nothing. Y/n was pregnant before she drank the potion. She took a test the day that she drank it and it was positive. The doctor that we have been seeing also confirmed that she was pregnant so there is that too.”

Sirius couldn’t help but be a tad bothered that neither Regulus nor yourself had said a word to him. He figured that he would be the person that the two of you would come to first. As much as Sirius wanted to make a comment on it the expression on Regulus’ face stopped him. His little brother looked lost and close to losing what grip on sanity that he had. Regulus didn’t need to be talked down to like a child and Sirius didn’t want to end up being hexed for making a snide comment.

“Reg, you’re not dad and Y/n isn’t mum. You’ll do just fine”

Regulus finally turned to his brother.

“What if I mess up?”

Sirius smiled at that one.

“All parents mess up. Turn the control freak perfectionist off, Reg. Just do what you think is right. You know that I am here for both of you. So is Remus and Tonks and all of the others...they just don’t know it yet. How far is she?”

“3 ½ months”

Regulus replied, quietly. Sirius held a hand up.

“You meant to tell me that she has been pregnant that long and no one has figured it out? Neither of you had said a word?!”

Regulus smiled.

“We are good about keeping our mouths shut when we need to.”

Sirius crossed his arms over his chest like an impatient child.

“But I wanted to know. This is a big deal. I need to brush up on my being an uncle skills”

Regulus rolled his eyes. He wasn’t surprised by Sirius’ dramatic reaction. Regulus had already mentioned it to you about telling Sirius before anyone else. His older brother would probably be ecstatic to be the first one in on the secret.

“You know now. Don’t tell anyone else yet. Y/n won’t be able to hide it much longer. She’s starting to show. I figure if she can make it until Christmas that will be the time she says something.”

“But she not been sick or anything”

Sirius commented as he tried to think about any weird behavior that he missed. He couldn’t think of anything that raised alarm bells in his mind. You seemed like normal Y/n.

“Again, we keep our mouths shut when we need to. She’s only been ill a few times. I consider it lucky. She’s not felt well but none of the actual vomiting.”

Sirius leaned his head back against the wall.

“Wow, I am totally shocked by the level of sneaky that the two of you have reached. I won’t say anything.”

(meanwhile)

You stood in the kitchen “attempting” to prepare a chicken for dinner. Molly and Arthur were due back in a few weeks and you couldn’t be more ecstatic. You missed Molly’s cooking. Most of all you missed Molly doing the cooking. Cooking had to be one of your least favorite activities and clearly you had no talent in it. There had been many nights that you just threw out whatever it was that you tried to make and ordered take out.

“God, this is so gross.”

You muttered as you pulled the skin off of the chicken. A wave of nausea washed over you as the slimy skin came halfway off.

“Oh, fuck no.”

You snapped and threw the chicken down to wash your hands and possibly throw up in the sink.

“Are you okay?”

You quickly looked up to see Evan standing in the doorway. He was looking at you with a concerned expression that he seemed to be wearing a lot lately. Evan had calmed down his super sassy “I hate all of you” attitude and was somewhat tolerable.

“Yes, I’m just fine.”

You lied, swallowing back the urge to gag. Evan raised an eyebrow and looked over your shoulder to the half skinned chicken. Shrugging, he stepped into the kitchen and sat down in one of the chairs.

“I’ve never seen someone almost vomit from cooking a chicken. You’ve seemed ill a lot lately. Maybe you should see a healer?”

You shook your head.

“Nah, I’m good...just fine actually.”

Evan nodded and turned to a magazine that was on the table. He knew exactly what was going on.

“I know that we haven’t had many chats that have gone well. Whether you like it or not, you are still my daughter and I know a lot about you.”

“That’s nice.”

You commented, practically begging Evan to keep yapping. The more that he talked then you could focus on that and not your churning stomach.

“You should try peppermint. It works well for an upset stomach.”

You breathed in, hoping a nice deep breath would help your current condition.

“My stomach is just fine.”

You knew that you were being stubborn but you couldn’t help it. What if you started caring for Evan and he just disappeared or became a death eater again? You wouldn’t be able to handle that.

There was also the knowledge that you would have to explain to your child one day why their “grandfather” looked the same age as mummy and daddy. That was going to be one awkward conversation!

Evan, meanwhile, put the magazine that he was holding down.

“When your mother was pregnant with you, she would vomit anytime someone came near her with a raw chicken. She was sick all the time. It didn’t matter how many times I asked her if she was ill, she would always say no.”

Evan fought the urge to smile as you began to resemble a petrified deer.

“You’re pregnant, Y/n and I am just curious does Regulus know?”

________

@amelie-black

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@knight-of-gleefulness

@shitfaceddaniel

@wontlookaway

@mycuddlycorner

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onyxiana-is-obsessed · 4 years

Note

Never again part 2?? Very angsty btw 😩😩 I love your work ❤️❤️

I tried my best! No happy endings! 😈😈 Thank you so much love 💕 Pronouns used: She/her (but like... twice) Length: 1.5k Warnings: Angsty; like I said, there is no happy ending.

Never Again (part 1) here!

Fool

It had been about four days since you’d spoken to Denki. Those days were grueling and difficult. Every day felt so gray; you felt drained and exhausted, you just wanted to lay in bed and do nothing. But you knew that wouldn’t help. Laying in bed and doing nothing meant letting it affect you and hurt you more because all you would do is think about it. You never really realized how much of an impact Denki had in your life until you let go of him. Everything you looked at reminded you of him and you hated it.

He was such a big part of your life that it felt as if you’d torn yourself in half. The bed, the couch, the TV, the kitchen, the dining table… everything was just… Denki. He would hold you on the rough nights on your bed or on your couch. He would play the best movies for you, you loved every single one of them. He’d make you snacks, he even set up this beautiful candle lit dinner for you once.

Your house felt like it also belonged to Denki and it was just too much. You packed a bag quickly, trying your best to stay calm and gathered all your money. You immediately threw everything into your car and went to a decent hotel and booked a room for a week. You just needed to get away from him.

***

Denki wasn’t doing all that great either. The second he got home, he broke down to pieces. He fell to the floor clutching his chest, and crying out pathetically. He cried all night until he was too exhausted to keep crying, then fell asleep right on the floor.

The next day he spent at home. He didn’t talk to any of his friends and that was an immediate concern. Denki always talked; he never shut up. So when his friends hadn’t heard from him after he said he was going to go meet up with you late at night, they got worried. Mostly because they didn’t hear from you either.

Bakugou, Kirishima, Sero, and Mina immediately showed up at his house, with Midoriya showing up after he’d checked your agencies. Bakugou and Mina had a set of keys to Denki’s apartment and let themselves in. He didn’t even bother moving from the couch when they burst into his house.

“Oi! Pikachu! What the hell?!” Bakugou screamed as the group saw Denki. However, all of that anger melted with one single look from Denki.

“D-Denki?” Mina mumbled. There was nothing behind those beautiful golden eyes. Denki, himself, wasn’t even there. He was a hollow husk of his former self and it was heartbreaking to see. Mina moved towards him, while the others stayed frozen where they were. She sat on her knees and frowned, leaning her head on his shoulder. “What happened?”

“She’s gone.” His broken, quiet reply told them everything they needed to know.

***

Bakugou was ready to give Denki an earful, but they were still good friends. Great friends actually, and Bakugou knew Denki was already punishing himself. Telling him “I told you so” would fix nothing and would just break him further- if that was even possible. No one had the chance to ask what had happened, they just decided to help make Denki feel a bit better.

Mina and Midoriya tried to reach out to you, but they didn’t hear anything back, so they let that go for a little bit. Bakugou made lunch and dinner for all of them, while Denki and the others watched movies. Denki never spoke after mentioning you had left him. No matter how hard everyone tried to get him to talk.

They knew how much you meant to him. Just because Denki wasn’t in love with you, didn’t mean he didn’t love you at all. He did, he really did. In fact, he cared about you so much, everyone genuinely though he might’ve been in love with you. They noticed how he’d stopped flirting with other girls and seemed so determined to have you. Denki spent the entire night and drive home wishing and praying he could just… fall in love with you.

Why didn’t he see the signs earlier? Why didn’t he see you’d fallen so in love with him? Now that he thought back to everything, he could see it in the way you just looked at him. The way you smiled, the way you’d lean into his touch, the way you’d glow every time he called you a term of endearment. Why did he do that? He… he knew. There was no way he didn’t. Denki was stupid, but he wasn’t that stupid.

Or maybe he was. He was the idiot everyone called him. He never listened to anyone’s warnings. He thought he was untouchable? Maybe he was… but you weren’t. You were so important to him, probably the most important person he’d ever have. But look at how that turned out. He didn’t just screw himself over, he destroyed all of you in the process.

What kind of hero was he? A hero was meant to protect people. They were supposed to be shields for the weak. But Denki took a powerful hero, stable and confident one, and brought her to her knees. He was a disgrace. A disgusting, pathetic, pitiful excuse for a hero. He was a stain on the name hero. He might as well just quit because he wasn’t saving anyone.

No one saw it, but right in that moment, whatever was left alive of Denki after you left, died. The last piece of him shattered as well. There was no one that could help him, not after what he’d done. If there was a god out there… even he couldn’t save Denki from his own wrath.

***

“(f/n)?” You looked up from your computer screen towards your door. For the last three days, you’d been living at the hotel. You’d requested to take time off from your hero work and did nothing but watch movies to distract yourself. You only ate junk food and refused to talk to anyone. That was until you heard your friend on the other end. Yana.

You stayed quiet, continuing to eat the chips from your bag as your glossy eyes returned to the movie. However, you were interrupted again when Yana knocked again. And again… and again. Finally, you stood up and walked to the door and opened it.

“Go away.”

“No.” Yana pushed past you and let herself in, while you shut the door and returned to your bed which was covered with unhealthy snacks. “Don’t tell me this is where you’ve been for the last week.” You shook your head.

“Just three days.” Yana sighed and shut your laptop screen and looked at you.

“What happened? You and Denki just up and vanished. Did he do something to you?” Did he? If you had never brought up your fragile, pathetic feelings this wouldn’t have happened. All Denki did was tell you the truth, he never physically hurt you. There was complete silence in the room before you opened your mouth to speak.

“I… I confessed to Denki.” Yana’s eyes widened.

“You what?! Why?!” Her eyes met yours and she frowned. “No… (f/n) no. You know what kind of man Denki is! He’s not reliable, he’s not trustworthy, and he’s a playboy! He does this with everyone!”

“I… thought I was different.” Yana let out an exasperated sigh and covered her face.

“What on Earth made you think that? He flirts with every girl he meets!” What did make you think you were different? That one stupid comment? The one where he kinda admitted he wanted a woman like you but not actually you? Weren’t you an idiot.

If anyone was at fault here, it was you. Literally everyone warned you about Denki. Not out of malice, but out of respect. They knew Denki. You knew Denki, yet when you started to feel different, you never took any steps to distance yourself from him. You fell deeper and deeper and now you were here. Broken hearted. You had every warning you could possibly get and yet you chose to ignore it. Now you were here punishing yourself and your friends.

He really turned you into a fool, demanded you dance, and you danced for him. The tears returned once more and immediately started flooding down your cheeks. Yana hugged you, but it did nothing to ease your worries. How could it? The one person you wanted was the one person you couldn’t have. You couldn’t allow yourself to have him because all he brought was ill fortune. All Denki had for you was heartache. You’d learned your lesson too, but in turn, you lost everything as well.

What a fool you were. People often called Denki an idiot, but the true idiot was you. The stupid hero who was repeatedly warned about someone, yet you chose to ignore them.

A brainless, moronic, laughable fool.

#mha #bnha #mha imagines #bnha imagines #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero imagines #boku no hero x reader #denki kaminari x reader #denki x reader #denki kaminari imagine #bnha denki #bnha angst #mha angst

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elyvorg · 4 years

Text

“Well, they’re more like a mom and dad who have a... hands-off approach to parenting.”

“That sounds... awkward. I don’t know if that’s better or worse than never knowing your parents at all.”

“Yeah... me neither. I’m lucky to have my uncle, at least.”

“...Hey, Kaito? You’ve been quiet for a while. Is something wrong?”

“Hm? Oh, nah, it’s nothing. Just spaced out for a bit, that’s all. My bad.”

“You know, Kaito... you live with your grandparents, right? And you never talk about your parents. It... it might not be any of my business, but I couldn’t help but wonder... are you... like me? Or... perhaps a bit like Maki, and you don’t even remember them?”

“Huh? N-No, it’s... neither of those.”

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to—”

“Hey, it’s fine. I... I guess I don’t mind telling you guys. They... my parents died in a car crash when I was ten.”

---

@trainingtrioweek Day 5: Family

Instead of an art today, some rambly thoughts that this prompt gave me the perfect excuse to bring up. (If you’re finding my blog through this event: as well as arts, I also do quite a bit of meta and not-quite-meta rambling such as this kind of thing on here, usually still about the training trio!)

It’s only especially relevant in non-fiction AUs such as UTDP where everyone’s families are actually real, but – can we talk about the fact that all three of the training trio, in very different ways, are lacking in parents with both the qualities of being alive and being decent parents?

Shuichi

Shuichi’s parent issues are only mentioned briefly in one of his FTEs and don’t get nearly as much focus as his detective-related issues caused by that one case that traumatised him. But it’s possible that they could actually explain quite a bit about him.

It seems to be only in fairly recent years that Shuichi’s parents moved to work overseas and he was sent to live with his detective uncle. However, his bitter comment about his parents’ “hands-off approach to parenting” (that part of the line I wrote here was taken directly from his canon FTE) implies that they weren’t particularly there for him even when they were his primary caregivers.

He also mentions in this FTE that he became an apprentice to his uncle “as thanks for looking after me”. Which, like… that shouldn’t be necessary? Having someone take care of you is a basic human right for a child. But apparently, being properly looked after is not something Shuichi takes for granted, to the point that he feels like he needs to repay the person who does it for him. Ouch. Poor Shuichi.

Thinking on this, it feels like Shuichi’s distant parents could be a big part of why he grew up so anxious and insecure, and why he instinctively seeks out people he can depend on wholeheartedly and latches onto them when he finds them, like he did with Kaede and Kaito. And most likely with his uncle too, for that matter.

I can definitely imagine Shuichi managing to pick up on the clues about Kaito that suggest things aren’t great regarding his parents, and quietly wondering if they’re the same – maybe even sort of hoping they are, so that he’d have someone who really understands. And, well, turns out they aren’t quite the same after all, but nonetheless, knowing that Kaito’s gone through something similar and can relate on some level would still help Shuichi feel less alone with this.

Kaito

Meanwhile, what happened with Kaito’s parents probably also played a bit of a role in shaping him into the person he is, but in more of a positive way.

I’ve seen some people assume that the deal with Kaito’s parents is that they’re shitty parents kind of like Shuichi’s are, and that this is why Kaito talks himself up to be so super awesome all the time, out of a desperate need for the validation that he never got from his own home. But I don’t think that fits. While the stress of the killing game and his illness begin to really get to him and gradually break down his self-worth, it absolutely reads to me like Kaito’s confidence in himself at the beginning of the game was completely genuine. I don’t believe – at the start – that he needed validation from anyone else to know that he was the awesome person he said he was.

So, I believe Kaito’s parents must have been great and supportive parents. They’d need to have been, for Kaito to be able to grow up with so much real confidence, so unashamed of being bombastically himself all the time even if everyone else thinks he’s a ridiculous idiot. But then, if those lovely parents had died all of a sudden when Kaito was young (young-ish, but old enough to properly remember)… that would also have helped shape him into the Kaito we know, in that it’d make him even more determined to live his life to the fullest and not waste a moment of it.

[There’s more than just these general unsubstantiated feelings about Kaito’s overall character that make me sure his parents died, though – there’s also a few canon lines that I believe are deliberately subtly hinting at it. If you want to see which lines and what I think about them, I’ve compiled them in a section at the end of this post.]

Of course, Kaito losing his parents would have been an incredibly difficult and painful experience at the time. But with his grandparents’ support and his own natural resilience and optimism, Kaito appears to have dealt with it as well as any kid losing their parents could be expected to. He’d be determined to use it to push him forward rather than let it hold him back, and it definitely seems like he succeeded.

(Even so, it’d still hurt sometimes. He still misses them, even if he mostly does a good job of not dwelling on it or letting it get him down.)

Unlike most of his other “weaknesses”, Kaito wouldn’t ever try to outright hide or lie about what happened to his parents. He’s come to terms with it by now, and he’s not and never was ashamed of it – every kid’s expected to grieve for their parents, after all – so I don’t think it’d quite set off his hero issues and make him afraid of letting his sidekicks down if they found out.

But still, I imagine Kaito wouldn’t bring it up unless specifically asked about it. No matter how much he tries to focus on the positives and assure people that he’s okay with it now, it… tends to make people feel sorry for him, and he doesn’t like that.

However, after being prompted to talk about it during this conversation with Shuichi and Maki about their parent situations, Kaito would come to realise that maybe that’s not such an issue with them. Maki and Shuichi each have their own painful lack-of-parents problems that they’ve had to get used to, so they’re not going to be unconsciously pitying Kaito for his. That’d make a refreshing change from most people.

Maki in particular must have known some kids at the orphanage who’d been in Kaito’s situation, in that they used to live with their parents and had to go through the grief of losing them. From this, she’s able to tell that, while it’s partly because he was lucky enough to still have his grandparents, Kaito really does seem to have dealt with losing his parents remarkably well. Kaito already knew that – his grandparents would have told him how proud they are of him for coping so well – but it’d help to know that someone from outside the situation thinks the same thing.

(He still wouldn’t quite bring up the moments where it still hurts and he finds himself missing his parents terribly, because that’s weakness, isn’t it? But at least, knowing that his sidekicks understand this kind of pain, albeit in a bit of a different way, would help it hurt just a little less whenever Kaito can’t help but feel like this. He wouldn’t tell them, but he’d be really glad to have that.)

Maki

Maki’s probably actually the least interesting one to talk about here, because she grew up in an orphanage where not having parents was normal and never felt like the odd one out, and she never even knew her parents to have any feelings about them in particular. It seems she had more just a general fantasy of what having parents would be like which she could share with the other kids there – she talks in one of her FTEs about how she and her best friend played House in the role of the parents and just had to make it up. Then, of course, Maki gained much worse things to be dealing with and shaping her into the person she is than a simple lack of parents.

Still, being at Hope’s Peak (or whatever other school they’re at together in this non-fiction AU) and suddenly being surrounded by other kids who constantly talk about their parents like it’s normal… it probably feels vaguely alienating for Maki, on top of every other reason she has to feel like she doesn’t belong.

But at least Shuichi and Kaito understand, in a way. They know what it feels like to hear the other kids casually talk about doing things with their parents while only being able to wish that were normal for them. Maki’s not so much of an outsider, not when she’s with these two.

And in that same way, Kaito and Shuichi would feel less alone in this regard when the trio are together. All three of them have learned to live with their situations and not complain, but it must be nice to have someone else – two someone elses – who know the kind of feeling they’re going through and can relate, even if it’s rather different for each of them.

They’d be able to bond over this – and not just as hero and sidekicks, but as equals, because this is something even Kaito isn’t completely okay about. They are friends.

(Or, maybe, they’re also like a found family? Shuichi and Kaito are certainly the closest thing to a family that Maki’s had in a long time.)

---

[appendix: why I’m sure Kaito’s parents died]

First off, there’s the possibility that Kaito’s grandparents are the subject of his motive video simply because he never knew his parents at all, a bit like Maki. But that can’t be the case, based on this line from his second FTE:

Kaito: “When I was a kid, I’d go to my gramps’ place to play sometimes…”

If he considered it his “gramps’ place” at the time and only went there sometimes, he wasn’t living with them back when he was that young. So apparently, his parents were still around at that time.

Which means that something else happened with Kaito’s parents to make his grandparents the most important people in his life. There are pretty much two possibilities for this: that Kaito’s parents died sometime after those stories he told in his FTEs, or that Kaito’s parents are just assholes and so he prefers his grandparents to them.

With regards to the possibility that his parents are assholes: aside from how I don’t think that fits because Kaito’s confidence is too genuine until the killing game beats it down, there’s also one line vaguely relevant to this topic that suggests they aren’t. In UTDP, in a scene where he’s being pestered by Kokichi:

Kaito: “You’re still like this at your age? Doesn’t it make your parents cry? Do you even visit?”

Kaito automatically assumes that Kokichi’s parents care about him, even though it could potentially begin to explain a few things about Kokichi if they didn’t. If Kaito’s own parents sucked, you’d think this’d make him likely to consider the possibility that Kokichi’s might do too. Instead, though, that option doesn’t cross his mind, so it seems like Kaito unconsciously sees parents being decent as the norm.

Meanwhile, there are a few subtle bits throughout the story that indicate Kaito might have some experience in dealing with grief prior to the killing game. At the end of trial 1, after suggesting Shuichi visit Kaede’s lab to help come to terms with her death, he says this:

Kaito: “Understand? There’s only one way to get through this awful feeling. No one’s gonna be able to console you if you’re just sitting here alone. If anyone’s gonna help you, it’ll be her… in your memories.”

This really reads to me like Kaito is speaking from experience – that he’s saying this because he found that something similar helped for him when he was going through a similar kind of pain.

Then there’s the part in trial 3 where he’s encouraging Himiko to face up to Tenko’s death:

Kaito: “Our only option is to face her death head-on!”

Himiko: “…Nyeh? Face her death?”

Kaito: “Himiko… I understand what you’re going through.”

It’s a little oddly specific of Kaito to say that he understands what Himiko’s going through when he hasn’t personally lost anyone he was especially close to in the killing game like she has. And Kaito is absolutely not the kind of person to lie or exaggerate about something this serious and personal to somebody else – this moment is about Himiko and her feelings, and Kaito knows that and wouldn’t try to artificially make things about himself. So this strongly suggests that Kaito does in fact have some idea of what Himiko is going through and is thinking about a loss he suffered outside of the killing game. Facing it head-on sounds like just the kind of thing Kaito would have tried to do for his own grief, doesn’t it?

Then, only a few lines later in that same conversation, Kaito says this:

Kaito: “Abandoning someone who died and only thinking about your own survival… That’s just as bad as a hit-and-run! I won’t forgive something so messed up!”

Which would be an extremely weirdly-specific thing to say in this situation… except that it makes perfect sense if you assume, based on his earlier lines, that Kaito was already thinking about how he felt when he lost his parents.

So, yeah. When I wrote that Kaito’s parents died specifically in a car crash, that wasn’t pulled out of nowhere either. I really believe that’s what the writers had in mind as the truth about Kaito and deliberately hinted at here.

(It does make sense that Kaito would have lost his parents to an accident like this rather than to something like illness. It’s statistically more likely that he was raised by both his parents, and if that’s the case, an accident is something that could take both of them from him at once where illness most likely wouldn’t. Plus, if he’d lost his parent(s) to illness, spending the days and weeks leading up to their death(s) knowing he was going to lose them, you’d think Kaito would have ended up better at psychologically dealing with his own deadly illness than he actually is.)

There’s also a few lines Kaito has here and there about making the most out of the time you’ve got:

Kaito: “If you’re not going to get yourself in gear now, then when!? Now’s all you’ve got!”

Kaito: “Life is short! I don’t have time to waste loafing around here.”

…which, granted, is a very Kaito-like sentiment in general. But it does suggest that he might have learned first-hand that life is short, like he could be thinking about how his parents’ time got cut off abruptly when he’s saying this kind of thing.

The only part of this idea I pulled somewhat out of thin air for this post was that the accident happened specifically when Kaito was ten, but I think something around that age range seems right. Based on the fact that it’s so relatively hard to spot the signs of this in Kaito’s behaviour, it feels like losing his parents wasn’t so recent that the wound is still raw, and also not so early on in his childhood that it would have left a huge, noticeable scar on his psyche. Kaito’s long since managed to come out on the other side and develop a healthy, positive way of dealing with grief that he can try to pass onto both Shuichi and Himiko during the game, such that doing so is the only real noticeable sign that he even went through anything painful himself at all.

#danganronpa v3 #danganronpa v3 spoilers #kaito momota #shuichi saihara #maki harukawa #training trio #friends #training trio week 2020 #ramble

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twixtandshout · 3 years

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Tagged by @pidgeonpostal! And not tagging anyone else because I have SOILED the original template (soiled it!!) in deference to my [brushes off skirt] mostly clean public-facing appearance.

...I’ve been making a lot of Spongebob memes lately for someone who has not seen Spongebob.

How many works do you have on AO3?

71!

What’s your total AO3 wordcount?

...306,834. Jesus.

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Uh. Many! I do a lot of one-offs (and/or start long things I never finish) in many different places. My top three fandoms by fics written are RWBY (29), Undertale (25), Gravity Falls/Transcendence AU (4).

Bet you can’t tell where my hyperfixations have fallen.

I’ve also got some Pokémon and Sonic the Hedgehog fics back on my ff.net account, or I think I still do, anyway, but let’s never go back there pls

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Sweeter Than Honey (Undertale): Taking a Completely unsurprising first place, with over 600 more kudos than the runner-up, the haphazard Underswap fic featuring a post-college self-insert I wrote just after high school! I shake my head some at how overblown and ridiculous the gap between this and all my other stuff is (c’mon, guys, I’ve written way better fics), but this is also the fic which prompted me (and at least one other person!) to start using they/them pronouns. I’ve gotten a lot of really sweet comments about how seen and appreciated it’s made people feel, so I can’t get down too far about it.

2. To Be A Hero (BNHA): I don’t count myself as part of the BNHA fandom, for a number of reasons, but for something that’s arguably the main motivation for the entire plot, Midoriya’s quirklessness is something I’ve never thought has been handled well. This fic marked the first time I (somewhat tentatively) claimed the disability label (thanks again to Sweeter Than for prompting that realization) to hold that lens over canon. It also really shot up my chart, dang! It’s the only thing here I’d consider “recent.”

3. Three-Sentence Shipping (Undertale): Self-explanatory.

4. Brothers Beyond Bonedaries (Undertale): Ah, the way-overcomplicated AU³ I got nowhere close to finishing. One of the things I really like about Undertale is the interface screw, how Toby Fox uses the medium of the video game to pull off crazy things and enhance his game, but most of the fic written for the fandom seems dedicated to explaining it away, grounding it, rather than taking it to the next step and messing with the medium of fanfiction when you keep the story going. I tried to do something cool like that here, playing with questions like narrator and authorship and breaking the fourth wall, even taking the “final boss” fight to a “totally separate” fic reached through the first by link – but, well, then I never finished it, which probably didn’t make anything less confusing for the poor folks who missed the intent.

5. Spirit and Such (Gravity Falls: Transcendence AU): A whole fic written to line out a particular image I had, which, naturally, never made it to the page. I consider it a bit of a cautionary tale for myself when it comes to writing (near-)original content; there’s a lot I look back on and cringe. I still love the characters, though – well, the important ones – and I think just stepping away from the tried-and-true Mizar formula nets it a star sticker here.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

>w>; I try, but a lot of the time I just don’t have anything to say? Like, oh, you liked it? Neat. There’s not much to respond to in comments like that, and then I’m weighing falling down on an ~obligation~ to respond to every message in my inbox vs annoying people with copy-paste fluff responses all down the page. Plus I know I make more of an effort to comment on things that didn’t get the attention I feel they deserve, so if I’m driving up my own comment count with nonsense, am I preventing myself from being in a position to receive more comments later? And then if I do comment, am I being too effusive or running people’s ears off explaining things they don’t actually need to know? Sometimes people just want to express interest or admiration and don’t necessarily want a whole peek and guided tour behind the curtain.

Can you tell I have anxiety? x3;

Anyway, I do respond when I can. And I keep most of the comments I’ve gotten to go back and reread.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hm, hmm. Lots of stuff in the TQ Nonsense series would probably qualify! I’m thinking of Unfixable, Wolfsong, and Ethanol. And there’s Bursting Through A Blood-Red Sky (I Can Live, I Can Breathe), of course, but that was always intended to have a fix-it epilogue. It’s just that I wrote it in a couple of hours day-of, stared at it, and decided I didn’t wanna just then. But now that’s As Long As You’re Still Burning Bright (I’m Still Awake), and that’s probably the best romance I’ve written, so that one worked out.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve ever written?

Now and then! When the urge strikes. Uhhh, I’ve got a series of Doctor Who x Undertale crossovers I actually made a whole dang verse for that never made it to print. Get a couple great comments on that every few months or so. I think the World Trigger x Undertale crossover is probably weirder, though, by virtue of WT being a very small fandom. My enthusiasm kinda sputtered out on that one.

Mostly I just daydream crossovers with whatever happens to catch my eye at any given moment. I have a lot!!!! Though odds are out on whether I manage to remember any of them once the initial thought’s passed, lol.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Gotten a couple eyebrow-raising comments, but I think mostly I’m just too small a writer to draw that kind of attention.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t? think so? Think my tastes are a little niche for most people to bother ^^;

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I had someone apologize once for any language mistakes in their comment cause they had to run it through a translator! That’s not what you asked (the answer is no), but it’s very flattering to think that someone liked my fic enough to read and comment despite the language barrier.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! :D @pidgeonpostal was gracious enough to agree to co-write Five Nights at Denny’s with me off an idea about shoes. This has fulfilled a long-held dream of mine (collabing with someone, not the shoes) and also introduced me to some lovely people.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Who has time for just one? ;3c Honestly, I care more about the characters and how the relationship – any relationship – between them changes them than I do about ~A Ship~ as a solid, bounded noun-object. I’ve got characters I like more and less and feelings about who does and doesn’t have chemistry in which directions with whom, but finding anything that agrees with those preferences is hard, harder when you take alloromanticism into account. I’ll play in any sandbox with cool toys, especially if other folks have already built sick sandcastles there.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

[kicks every single unfinished fic further under the bed] What nooo no WIPs here, everything on my account is either finished or does not exist

I’ve got a couple extra chapters of Sweeter Than floating around unposted, but 1. that fic’s a mess 2. high school Twixt and post-college Twixt are different people and trying to contort myself into three other me-shapes just cause people Like this fic is not something I’m super interested in 3. it’s headed for an emotional dip and I’d rather leave it where it is than post two chapters, stall out again, and leave folks with a bad end.

As for other fics... it’s looking more and more likely that v7 of my Yellow Brick Road AU will never actually make it out. >w>; I’ve got some really great ideas, but not enough to make me feel like I know what I’m doing, and that’s a big roadblock. Plus trying to engage with RT’s Atlas-Mantle worldbuilding in any serious capacity is... a headache. I can’t recommend the Happy Huntress Cinematic Universe enough, but it leaves some pretty big shoes to follow! And I’ve got small feet. <w<;

What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue’s fun, probably as an extension of characterization. I love tearing into what makes people tick, especially against the backdrop of their environment, the story they’re in, and the people they’re up against. Voice is a double-edged sword; I’ve been told my writing is really recognizable and individual, but on the other hand, I’ve been growing frustrated with with the limits of my narrative ability. There’s a strong rhythm I keep when I write (you might notice it here, even) but that leaves me feeling predictable and stale. I’m not sure I’m great at setting as a matter of course, but I’m pretty good at describing setpieces where the need comes up; that comes from my background in poetry, as does the fun I have with sublimating and abstracting complex imagery. And I think I bring some needed nuance to the universal. For good or ill, I don’t do what “everyone else” is doing.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Well, writing, for one thing. If I don’t know how something’s going to go and don’t have the urge to write it, it isn’t getting done, which means there’s a billion things that will never see the page and a few hundred more that are never getting finished. I lose momentum easily and have a hard time getting started, and I put way too much standing on finding a foothold with other people; as critical as I am of my work, I have high expectations for the stuff that passes muster, and it never seems to measure up. I’m also really uncreative. Yeah, I can mix up elements and extrapolate events, but coming up with things wholesale is really hard, which is why I avoid it wherever possible and steal/reskin stuff from other places instead.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Something along the lines of “Hoo boy, I am Not qualified for this but hopefully it’s decent anyway.” Maria’s Spanish lines haven’t been a big deal – I’ve used it sparingly and, as a Latin language, it should be easy for English-speaking audiences to pick up on the gist – but I’ve had a harder time with Tai’s Chinese, both because I have Even Less background there and because it is, of course, an entirely different language system. If I write it out in English or Romanized italics, am I colonizing it or changing the meaning? If I write it out in the presumed-original characters (presumed because it’s Google Translate and who knows if I’m even barking in the right forest), am I confusing or alienating my presumed-majority-English-speaking audience? Where should I put the translations? Should I put the translations? And for Frisk’s sign language, thinking back, are the brackets I used instead of quotes alienating/infantilizing? I like that different characters give the text between a different feel, but I’m not an ASL speaker – and I’m pretty sure the word is “speaker,” which would only reinforce that that demographic would rather I didn’t do that. It’s important for all these characters, I think, that they use non-English language where it makes sense; it’s part of who they are. But as a white monolingual English-speaker, I don’t think I can really weigh in.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Thaaaat’d be Pokémon, followed closely with Sonic the Hedgehog. Whether those fics are still on my ff.net account or not (pretty sure I’ve purged them, but you never know) I’ve still got a couple saved to a folder on my current laptop, ostensibly so I can look back and see how far I’ve come and more practically to allow for the possibility of furthering group cohesion through public shaming.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I still like the idea behind The Man Who Is Atlas, and Burning Bright (Still Awake) gets props for being my current fic, though it’s currently in that spot where I’m excited to get new chapters posted but also quietly marking everything up in red pen. I think Harbinger gets the crown here, at least for now.

#answerin' stuff

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musette22 · 4 years

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Just some shipping & fandom things

So, these past few days, I’ve been getting and seeing some messages and posts about shipping culture and fandom/standom culture in general that have been bothering me a little, so I just want to make a quick post about it, and then I want to move on to all things lovely and beautiful again! ❤️ This is going to be a long one, so bear with me, and I’ll be pinning it to my profile somehow or at least refer to it whenever I get asks about any of this, because I am getting mighty tired of repeating myself all the time (and I’m sure most of you guys are getting tired of hearing me repeat myself too :p)

First of all, I want to make it clear that I am fully aware that Sebastian and Chris are actual, real-life people, and that they are strangers to me. They do not know me, and I do not know them, nor do I profess to know what they are really like in their private lives.

I understand that it can get confusing sometimes in the case of RPF, because a lot of the time, we speak about them in a way that makes it seem like they’re our friends, or we have all their secrets figured out. Obviously, we don’t. But to point that out with every single post we make would suck all of the fun out of stanning and shipping, as I’m sure everyone would agree.

But let me just say it here again: there is a reason I tag all my Evanstan posts with ‘rpf’ (real person fiction). My fics are fiction, as are my headcanons, which are mostly just a continuation of my fics. If I make an Evanstan post or answer an ask about Evanstan, my comments and answers are usually based on the speculative assumption that they are together. That is obviously something that I do not have any proof for and which might not be true. It is just something that I would really like to be true. Not saying it isn’t or can’t be true, just that I have no way of knowing this for sure and as such I am – for the sake of argument, for the sake of having fun within the safe space of fandom – only postulating that they are, because I enjoy thinking of them as being together, as I know a lot of you do too. And I don’t believe there is anything wrong with that, as long as we keep discussions based on that assumption within the fandom.

I do understand that some people will say this kind of behaviour is problematic, because what if the boys find out about what we’ve been saying about them and get uncomfortable, or what if they get girlfriends and people will start hating on those girlfriends because they believe they are getting in the way of ‘true love’ etc?

To that I would say: we are all responsible for our own behaviour. I am responsible for myself only, and I, personally, would never do anything with the express purpose of making the boys aware of our shipping activities. Shipping (including fic and fanart) is for us, and us only, and the vast majority of shippers I know understands that. I also would never harass, hate on or speak disdainfully about the boys’ loved ones, and that includes any past and future girlfriends (unless they turn out to be Trump supporters or animal abusers or what have you, in which case all rules are out the window, obviously :p) Moreover, I respect that the boys have private lives that I have no say over, and am in no way entitled to, and someone simply “getting in the way of my ship” or doing something that doesn’t fit my Evanstan headcanons/narrative will never be a reason for me to hate on them. I respect that their private life is private, and I am aware of the difference between my (hopeful) fantasies and reality.

If other people are not, or they can’t respect their faves personal boundaries and harass the boys or their loved ones for whatever reason, or they ask them improper or invasive questions at cons or show them fanfic or fanart, then they are crossing the line and that really sucks, but that is not my responsibility. Everyone is responsible for their own behaviour, and I don’t think it’s unreasonable of me to assert that I am not going to let other people’s behaviour dictate mine.

Shipping aside, I just want to say that just as I am aware that Chris and Sebastian are real-life people (as opposed to my personal dolls, my babies, my responsibility, my friends), I also know that they are human. Like every other human, they have flaws. They are not saints and I am not and never will be their apologist if they ever do something that is clearly wrong. Having said that, I do not see the point of purposely looking for flaws in other people and putting them under a magnifying glass. I genuinely don’t. What good is that going to do? We’re all just trying to live our lives as best we can here, and of course we’re going to make mistakes, but, even though I’m not religious in the slightest, I guess that Jesus guy had a point when he apparently said that thing about casting the first stone…

As some of you will know, I am a person who likes to have a positive outlook on life and give people the benefit of the doubt, because in my experience, more often than not people can learn from their mistakes and grow. That includes me, by the way. I am so far from flawless, but I do try to learn from my mistakes and use instances where I am wrong to grow and become a better person, instead of letting them turn me bitter or spiteful. Needless to say, I’m not a fan of cancel culture either. Of course, sometimes people’s behaviour is inexcusable, for instance when they do something that is genuinely harmful to others, or they keep repeating the same mistakes, showing that they just don’t care enough to change their toxic behaviour. Those people are truly problematic and I will treat them as such.

Clearly, however, this is not the case for Chris and Sebastian so far. They have shown themselves to be decent people over and over again, so unless/until they do something that’s genuinely problematic, I am giving them the benefit of the doubt. Because that’s what they deserve. That’s what everyone who tries to be a decent human deserves, actually, not just “my faves.” This does not mean I’m bending over backwards to justify their behaviour – it simply means that most of the time (such with the facemask or the Paul situation) I genuinely don’t see anything wrong with their behaviour. And when I do (yes, it happens!) I try to approach the situation with an open attitude (as I would for anyone else) to see if that behaviour was the result of ill judgment, or stupidity/intentional malice. So far, it’s been ill judgement every time, in my opinion.

Now, not everyone has to agree with me, of course. Like I always make a point of stressing, everyone is entitled to their own opinion, as long as it’s not harmful to others, or posited as The Truth, which would give people a carte blanche to play judge and executioner over other people. That’s not cool.

Literally everyone on this planet is unique. We all have our unique outlook on life which shapes our unique opinions. Most people agree on some things, and not on others. That’s fine. I have made it a point with this blog, within fandom, not to publicly pass judgment over other people. Sure, I have my private opinions just like everyone else, but I am not and will never openly shame or hate on people for liking something or shipping something, even if it’s not my cup of tea. If you want to fantasise about being with/having a relationship with Chris or Sebastian, that’s great, you do you! As long as you don’t start to confuse fantasy with reality (which most people won’t) there is nothing wrong with that. Likewise, if you want to ship Stony, I am not going to tell you it’s wrong or you can’t, but please extend me the same courtesy and don’t come into my corner of the fandom to tell me I shouldn’t ship Stucky, either. Ship and let ship.

We each enjoy fandom in our own ways. It’s not a competition. There is no right way, and we should stop acting like there is.

If I see something I don’t like or don’t agree with, I scroll past it or ignore it. If I still can’t let it go, I will talk to friends about it in private. If it’s something that I believe is genuinely problematic or toxic, I try, if possible, to create awareness and understanding of that issue in a way that will actually help people learn and grow.

So, this is my long winded way of saying that it would be so nice if people could stop policing the fandom. Being hateful, condescending, or making generalizing statements such as “the problem with this fandom is…” isn’t actually helping. It’s not changing anything about the situation you believe to be problematic, it’s just adding negativity to it. Instead, why don’t we all just devote our energy to spreading positivity and being kind to others? Generally speaking, hate begets hate, and kindness begets kindness. Mind you, kindness does not equate to weakness. It’s possible to be kind and strong, as I believe Chris and Sebastian both prove.

#fandom rant #shipping #don't really know what else to tag this with #because I don't want to start new discussions #this is just my personal take I felt I needed to share with you all

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xbellaxcarolinax · 4 years

Text

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 25- Trust Issues

Pairing: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 3498

Warnings: Ivar being an ass.

24- Let Them Come

...

It was eerily quiet, not at all like the yelling from earlier.

As soon as they entered the hall, Ivar stomped over to his council chambers without a second glance at anyone, Bjorn following behind him. Hvitserk remained with his two brothers as a sort of peacemaker.

The rest stayed out in the main hall, keeping warm by the large fire pit in the center. There was an awkwardness that lingered about, and Artemis wanted to defuse it immediately.

"You may sit by the fire if you'd like. Get yourself and the children warm." She says to Torvi. The older woman nods, guiding her babbling children to sit upon the floor. Artemis sighs, turning to see Ubbe hesitating to say something, his lips parting and closing like a hungry fish.

"Artemis," He says finally, "It is good to see you."

"Likewise." She replies with a small smile, and he nods, the corner of his lips curving upward. Even after all this time he seems to have retained his gentle heart. Before she could say anything more he heads down the corridor and into the council chambers.

Heahmund remains out in the hall, leaving the brothers to themselves. He calls for the thralls to attend them, bringing out food and drink for the children and their mother.

"Ubbe is kindhearted." Torvi speaks against the silence, though she made no movements to indicate a start to a conversation. She keeps her hands up towards the fire to eliminate the chill, "I sometimes think it'll kill him."

"Ubbe is the kindest of all the Ragnarssons," Comments Artemis, "I hope that does not change." Torvi stays quiet for a few moments before deciding to speak again.

"Lagertha used to express her regret giving you to Ivar," Her voice was soft, almost melancholic, talking of her former queen, 'What were the odds that the girl would be a blacksmith?’ is what she would say," Artemis thought she heard amusement in her tone. "She thought you'd hinder a weakness in him." Artemis scoffs, shaking her head at such a ridiculous notion. Ivar was never weak.

"But you weren't Ivar's weakness. You only fueled him. It was indeed Lagertha's weakness." Torvi continued, rubbing her hands together to rid the chill. Artemis casts a glance at Heahmund and then Tordis before stepping close to Torvi and her children. She gently sits beside the older woman, keeping her eyes on the flames.

"I will not deny you nor your children the hearth," She says quietly, "But why are you here?" From the corner of her vision she sees Torvi turn towards her. The blonde clenches her jaw and swallows thickly before answering.

"Help."

"Help?" The children began to play with the growing kittens and the large mastiff, emitting giggles and little shouts of glee. So innocent.

"Our plan was to take Hedeby, but we had very few supporters and not enough men to take it."

"Did you know a shieldmaiden named Dabria?" Artemis asks suddenly, turning sharply to look at Torvi. The fair haired woman wrinkles her brow in confusion, eyebrows almost touching together as she searched her mind for any memory of the name.

"Dabria..." She repeats, before her eyes widen in sudden realization, "Yes, I knew her. She was a shieldmaiden serving Lagertha back when she was the Jarl in Hedeby. She fought against your husband in the war. I assumed she was killed. Why?" Artemis shrugs, noticing how both Heahmund and Tordis watched them carefully. Geirdis saunters to Heahmund with a horn of mead, and they both smile at each other. She'd inquire about that later.

"Ivar thinks perhaps Bjorn had sent her."

"So what, you're saying is that she's not dead?"

"She is now," Artemis shrugs, "She attacked me. Wanted to kill Ivar's Queen in return for killing hers." Torvi frowns.

"She had no allegiance to us." Artemis only hums in response. This was perhaps the first conversation she's had with Torvi as their other encounters were wordless, mostly due to their different stations and status. Torvi seemed calm, despite their reasons for being in Kattegat.

"And what did you hope to gain by coming here?" Torvi accepts mead from Aria, who then places a gentle touch on Artemis's shoulder before standing with Geirdis.

"As Bjorn says. An alliance."

"Ivar would never give it you."

"We know," Torvi says with a sigh, "But you are his Queen, and if anyone could get through to him, it would be you."

"You want me to convince Ivar into forming an alliance with you?" Artemis could have laughed, and she almost did, cracking an amused smile, one that Torvi did not appreciate.

"Look," The shieldmaiden says, "Ragnar was avenged. Lagertha had gotten her revenge on Aslaug and Ivar on Lagertha. This game is over. What we need is an alliance and an army to help us gain control of Hedeby. Ivar has the means, and you have his ear."

"And is that what they speak of in there?"

"I imagine."

"And what does Kattegat gain in return?" Artemis asks. She was not one for political negotiations, but it was a start.

"Protection against attack, men for war and raid if need be. Trade, of course. And," Torvi looks intently at her," A marriage between my children and your future heirs to strengthen the alliance." Artemis felt her cheeks burn at the word heirs. It seemed that the gods were postponing any heirs, no matter how heated their chambers had gotten with activity. The thought made her cheeks redden more, and she had to place a cold hand on her skin in order to focus on Torvi.

"How are we to trust you? How am I to trust you?"

"I can see why you wouldn't, but I take you for a smart woman," Torvi grabs hold of her youngest daughter who had been running round in circles with Heracles stomping behind her. The girl screeches in delight, falling into her mother's lap as she fought against her mother's kisses.

"My children need a home, Queen Artemis," The blonde says after a moment of coddling her child, "And although you wouldn't believe it, Ubbe has spoken fondly of you. Even Bjorn. They believe you have the power to sway Ivar's fickleness."

"Ivar wouldn't forgive any of you so easily. He wears his hurt like armor." Artemis says with a sigh.

"Your Christian ways give you a soft heart. Help him to forgive whatever transgressions he feels we have commited. Is it not the Christian way to forgive?"

"There are no Christians here besides Heahmund," Artemis mutters, jerking her head towards the bishop now in deep conversation with Geirdis.

"Oh?" Torvi blinks, "You are no longer Christian?"

"You sound surprised."

"Should I not be?" Torvi answered, "Last I saw you, you wore a cross on your neck. Everyone was surprised Ivar let you keep such a thing." Her blue eyes shift down to Artemis's collarbone, finding not a cross, but Mjölnir, hanging from black cord, "But...his fondness for you was no secret. You follow our ways for him."

"I have my own reasons why," Artemis says, "And I am still learning your ways." Torvi smiles at this.

"I made you out to be something useless in my head," She admits, and laughs when Artemis scoffed, "I always thought ill of you, though I had no real reason other than you being a Christian."

"You sound like Floki." Artemis mutters.

"Will you help us take Hedeby?" Torvi had expectant eyes twinkling like little sapphires. Artemis stares at her, not fully trusting her, but the plan sounded decent. Bjorn could rule over Hedeby in Denmark, while Ivar ruled in Norway, far enough away from each other to avoid personal conflict, but close enough to help each other as allies.

"I need to know I can trust you." She says firmly, "I do not wish to be betrayed or made a fool." Torvi nods in understanding, letting go of her daughter and reaching to pull off a silver ring from her finger. Taking it gently in her hands she holds it out to Artemis, the silver shinning brightly.

"This ring has been in my family for over 3 generations. It was my mother's, and her mother's before her," She motions for Artemis to hold out her hand, and when she does, Torvi places it firmly in the middle of her palm. "A symbol of trust and loyalty. I shall like to be friends one day, if the gods see fit. You are an extraordinary woman."

It was Torvi who Artemis regarded as an extraordinary woman. She was a fierce shieldmaiden and a mother. There was nothing extraordinary about a foreign blacksmith. Artemis stares down at the ring in her palm, admiring its beauty. She bites her lip, closing her hand into a tight fist.

"I swear upon the gods," Torvi finishes, putting her hands over Artemis's fist.

"I accept your oath, Shieldmaiden," She says firmly, "I will bring it to the King's attention."

Torvi smiles brightly, and that alone made Artemis's mood lift.

...

"No."

"But-"

"No, I do not wish to discuss it any further." Ivar grunts out, already annoyed at the stubborn look Artemis was producing.

"Ivar, I have the right to speak."

"Yes, my love, you do, but not on this matter." He rolls over onto his stomach, one eye peeping at his wife putting on her nightgown, quite angrily if possible.

"You're stubborn." She mumbles loud enough for him to hear.

"You think this is the type of talk to be had after sex?" His voice is muffled from shoving his face into a pillow. Artemis's eyes lingered on his bare back, noting how his skin glistened in the candle light. His muscles were lean and tight, and not what she should be thinking about at the moment.

"I think it's a good start, yes." There was a smile in her voice, Ivar could detect it.

"No."

"Ivar." She whined, moving away from the window and jumping upon the bed, her fingers already gravitating to touch the tight lines of his back.

"Artemis, do you intend to torment me as much as my brothers? Come, lay beside me." He lifts an arm up, still laying on his stomach, but turns his head slightly to pop open an eye, using it to convince her. It was enough. She sighs, snuggling in under his arm. She turned her head to gaze at his tired features, the one eye already drooping in the tell tale sign that sleep would soon evade him.

"My love," She says softly to him. He frowns, though his eyes still remained shut, "Will you not at least negotiate?"

"Stop. You sound like Hvitserk," He whines, "He is the last thing I want to think about in these moments."

"Your brother is smart."

"He is a fool. Nostalgia eats away at him."

"He misses his family," Artemis frowns, "I can relate."

"I'm sure you are not related to any traitors as I am."

"Well, what if it was your mother who had killed Lagertha, and Bjorn were to take revenge on her? Would you not have defended your mother?"

"That is not what happened." Was his simple reply. Artemis rolls her eyes.

"But what if?" Ivar remains quiet, feigning sleep, and doing a very bad job of it. His lashes flutter slightly until finally he peeks up at her. She was frowning and he sighs.

"What would you have me do, hmm? This isn't a simple matter. This is about power, Artemis. I will not risk being made a fool nor betrayed over a failing town."

"A failing town that could rise into prominence with our help! Hedeby has some advantages, does it not?"

"Mmm, I don't care," He groans out, frustrated, "How do you know so much about Hedeby all of a sudden?"

"I talk to the people, and the people talk to me."

"Well, don’t ." Ivar says stubbornly now rolling on his back, as if his missing touch would keep her quiet. He stares up at the slanted roof of their chambers in silent thought before speaking.

"I did not marry you for any political reasons, nor did I marry you for the supposed strategies of politics you think you possess. I married you because you have a pretty face and look lovely as a Queen. You are just a blacksmith, not a dignitary." It was quiet for a few moments, and Ivar knew the wheels were turning in her head, but he did not bother to turn towards her.

She says nothing still, quietly getting up and wrapping herself in her furs before leaving their chambers in silence.

...

"Where's your shieldmaiden? You shouldn't be out here on your own, it's dangerous." Artemis scoffs, turning to look over her shoulder. Bjorn put his hood over his head to block the cold, though he made no movement to approach until she allowed him too. She jerks her head so that he may come closer.

"Dangerous? You are already here, that is the only danger I need to be worried about." He chuckles, smiling as he leaned against an ancient tree and crossed his arms. They were near the entrance of the Great Hall, which is probably why Artemis decided it was fine to be alone. He takes note of a hammer hanging on her side from a belt around her waist. Ahh. That was why.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Artemis."

"I would hope not, I'm trying to help you despite our history." She replies. She doesn't turn round to look at him, her focus taken up entirely by the full moon that shone over Kattegat.

"So you'll help us?" She could hear the snow crunching under Bjorn's boots as he goes to face her, "You've spoken to Ivar then?"

"I've tried..." Artemis sighs, tightening her cloak, "But he won't have it. He'd rather insult me." She could taste the bitterness of the words on her tongue.

"My little brother has a way with words. That should not have escaped you." Bjorn says just as bitterly. She sighs again, placing a cold hand on her brow at the oncoming headache. She sniffled, and a few tears escaped her eyes but she quickly wiped them away, not daring to cry in front of Bjorn. If he noticed then he did well not to mention it.

"I am well aware of Ivar's attitude," She says before clearing her throat, changing the topic, "How is the cabin I had prepared for you all? I hope you are comfortable." Bjorn smiles. She was acting every bit a queen.

"It is quite comfortable despite all the guards. We thank you. I came hoping to speak with Ivar again, but-"

"Try your luck tomorrow, he will not hear you now."

"Or ever," Bjorn mutters, and Artemis cracks a smile.

"I...am sorry about your mother," She says to him, "I seemed to have been involved in her death." The words came out awkwardly as she realized how horrible the situation was. He makes a noise before replying.

"I saw you shoot the arrow," He says, and he almost smiled at the look of horror on her face, "I heard you are quite impressive with a bow," His eyes shifts to the weapon on her waist, "And skilled with a hammer, of course,"

"Bjorn..."

"It was fated by the gods," He interrupts, though he swallows thickly, "Let us speak of it no more." Artemis eyes him wearily, but nods.

"Why don't you come and visit the cabin? I'm sure you're tired of the bishops company." He offers.

"I don't think that's wise, Ivar-"

"Hvitserk is already there. You can bring the shieldmaiden if you'd like." Artemis ponders for a moment. Perhaps it wasn't that bad of a suggestion, and she really didn't want to be under the same roof as Ivar anyway.

Let him sleep alone for the while.

...

"Ivar sent scouts searching out for weeks," Artemis says. She sat close to the fire, Heracles laying beside her. In her hands was a warm cup of mulled wine she had brought for them, "Where did you go?"

"Perhaps it isn't wise to reveal such information, in case we need it again.” Mutters Torvi beside her, gently petting Heracles's wrinkly head.

"Does he follow you everywhere?" Ubbe asks, eyes glued to the giant beast. He's never seen a dog of such build before.

"Basically," Hvitserk answers for her, "He killed Dabria."

"Dabria?" Bjorn perks up at the name, stepping over to him, "My mother's shieldmaiden? I thought her dead."

"And we thought you might have sent her. She attacked me." Artemis replies, turning her gaze to him, "There are those who still support your mother even in death. That is why Ivar doesn't trust you."

"Because he thinks we rally supporters." Ubbe finishes with a sigh, sitting beside Torvi and placing an arm about her shoulders. Both Hvitserk and Artemis notice this but say nothing of it.

"It is a rational thought, I suppose, even for Ivar." Bjorn says, rubbing the stubble of his shaved yellow hair.

"Too much has happened between all of you for Ivar to willingly offer assistance," Artemis says, "He would need something to prove your loyalty. All of you."

"Like what?" Asks Torvi.

"I've been studying with Headmund." Artemis begins, the tone in her voice has everyone on edge.

"And what has the bishop been teaching you?" Hvitserk asks with narrowed eyes. He was civil with Heahmund, but did not trust him as fully as Ivar did.

"The laws of governing in Wessex."

"You don't mean to rule Kattegat like those foolish kings of England?" Bjorn snorts with a shake of his head, "Ivar would never allow it."

"No, no, nothing of the sort," She says quickly, watching everyone grow weary, "It is only to understand their ways for any plans in the future. Ivar still controls York, meaning we will encounter the King at one point."

"You clever girl," Hvitserk grins, moving from the table to ruffle her hair like a child, "You have the makings of a queen." She slaps his hands away, producing a smile, but it falters, remembering Ivar's words.

"At least you think so." She says quietly.

"So what do their politics teach you?" Ubbe asks.

"You won't like it," She answers, turning to look at both Torvi and Bjorn before continuing, "When kings and noblemen demand loyalty to be proven from an enemy, a ward is issued...like a hostage."

"What are you proposing?" Torvi demands, losing interest immediately in the mastiff. Artemis stays quiet for a moment, her eyes shifting between Bjorn and Torvi again before landing on their youngest daughter, sleeping soundly beside her brother. Everyone's eyes follow hers.

"No, no, I forbid it!" Torvi yells, though low enough to not wake the children.

"You mean to make Asa a hostage?" Bjorn demands, crossing his arms. He too was angry, though he did better to control his anger.

"How can you propose such a thing?" Hvitserk shakes his head, "To take a child from their mother?"

"You had no problem taking me from my father," Artemis snaps, her eyes flickering over all of them as they fell silent at her word. "Just listen to my reasoning." She commands, her voice more stern than ever before. Ubbe reaches over to place a hand on her shoulder in comfort. Even after all this he wished to show her kindness.

"We're listening," He says, sighing when Torvi shrugs his arm off her shoulders.

"If Ivar were to take Asa as a ward, she would be under my care. She will be safe with me. Unfortunately, it is the only other way I can think of, and I believe there is a chance Ivar would agree to it."

"Holding her hostage would be holding us hostage. He'd have us by the throats." Comments Bjorn, turning to walk to the farthest corner of the cabin.

"Any word of disloyalty and betrayal, any wrong move, and you risk her life." Artemis says, lowering her eyes in shame. It was not something she wished to propose, but it was the only option she could see succeeding.

Suddenly there was a pounding on the door, and Torvi rushed to the children in case they woke in fear.

"My Queen, it is the King and his men." Tordis says hastily.

"It was a matter of time before he came for you," Bjorn says, "Go, we will discuss this further in the morning." Artemis stands with a sigh, Heracles already jumping to his feet, his eyes glued to the door. He recognized the sounds of Ivar's crutch and braces, and it made his tail wag in excitement.

"Will you come, Hvitserk?" She asks him, and he nods, downing his wine before making any movements. He goes to hug his brothers and Torvi, and Artemis nods her farewell.

"Have a goodnight, Queen Artemis." She hears Bjorn say before opening the door.

...

@heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @leilabeaux @jzr201 @inforapound @a-mess-of-fandoms @rastakami23 @ostra814 @zumzum96

#vikings #ivar #ivar imagine #ivarfanfiction #vikings ivar #ivarxofc #alex hogh andersen #ivar the boneless

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