#what if he waited every day at his grave for 17 years waiting for flowers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

libidomechanica · 1 year

Text

When labour goodness, for chases fed; here is far less best jewel

A limerick sequence

When labour goodness, for chases fed; here is far less best jewel. Who ready; Baba found a loyal rightening-sun shield, each morn seem’d her were was brazen like good?

Bearing kiss’d I belied, he only vision in here. Which of this mastern stars, vacant me her. Said Cyril pleasant for light; and thought she of this the make them shamed.

While, all I sit up, and dim, thing heart all her still she bricks my spirits dead, that in fashion to every deeds of the bier? Watch a tree yet I from the customs duped.

Under tears, the head astrong what affect. And, like a boy tugs at your price high and know did speakable stern kind-heavy sand, and, late more: I can a monks—the soul!

I feel her would I find thinks his through and doth an uneasiness the sought’s me. Blow, shed and day-long herself slipped for his the years of this; sometimes a skeleton.

’ Have your Highness of desire! Go the world, we know, young strikes in, fly in there’s flash’d in the Prophet’s goal, star with his face a lithe like me the golden she great.

I would did refresh, Lo, pleasure, legs. Such a falcon-eye? And yawned; seldom are, before this dim, the sprung to marvel While so long extremely cloister-wall.

Pardon to better—a. By there touch of the right but for every misty houses faint soup? Yea, too soon will I sight given form the human fairly out, your land.

Which to repair of Dian’s teats truth enter it as I thou shall day of fall it alone by melt; that sets us again. Triumph return’d; for wine, as icy graves.

His when, with Cyril’s love to sleeping thro’ the curls from the glad love. I think o’ her to vulgar bowl. Adieu, my darkness some pleasure of fair bereav’d of corner.

To you wert, there Nature law of all of a man bear’s art thou will, slight glanced an ancient, want&i cannot much. It were going conceal’d the might by the last; whose rude.

He tree, before I came, and the piece … there Natures, all clear, no one threshing me birth their look so have been on thine. She of all understanding the soon—with my sun.

What, that grew upon’t, belong your death and horrid was but could beat the belt of me. As puddled it— but words, with wild, so sure with mist have sun, in which, erring way.

To marvel of the greater could look? With on that in the into those rosy shall be convent, can now, they are us from me: for you as I plot: we are not.

And I knew. And years must be, nor wings of mine, you up like prayed with a place, remembers it? Thee rest, wide those as peace in disguises, and filthy mouth a quarter.

The negro, pray best. The measure muses like sure, became than nurse alone in there nature of her selfe to memories and as of young strike, both dazzling away!

To a Woman isle upon lies shut off you wage mind. Was its true! Too true, and from thy brother, t were, the sun rose love, Love’s base of cold me all for a cause heaves.

Know I chide: tho would sages, hear my loves in more go to thee, and be out.— And was one. Her unexpected on Sicilian she waiting heart, for thy brain’s fierce!

Wish to his won. Had such griev’d, and the strong, ’ or to be carry a maukin shells, the lived a life’s these fields, which sweet side me with shady leave to see; sweet Albany.

Then terrifièd, save the unpermit, opening; but asking the early: That’s me. We call except my fate mountained out against thou hast thou would not their heart.

While to pray, that scented on the sun, for the milky rabble of the they following, call’d soul was are despised? A lady fading at emotionless in filed.

Tis paid was he, it would not as fast; a dazzled to high, why should bright be: I move the Galaxy. Is the reap in that I would be, by one till allowing take.

Blanket of they help me, pale name! Slip no other recesses with flower, evening, upon my palmes of must next herself was the choice, wing’d with what, which the land.

This coming hearted, Ganymedes, naked, and me. Find a tempest, hold this sing to be; and I see the shown; for, loue with the turmoils that the springs of song.

Life, I have a pale with your good, was it is who have go to the left the saved of heal me no one sighs most in they feet the stronger. They both wandered life, you’ll night!

Who liue but each of their travails that avail they within my loves me. From the negro Baba help it, soul wanders hold up with Alexandering waves were games?

Ask me were your spoil, and at his torches. When head cushion, a seriously her formed at first will too quiet mind which shame mystic midday may sleep as the men!

Dare love: they said crammed force. Alone answer’d Mercury, for even in vaine your part, how for you. Such tearest tress’d—a bolt is a hole sobd-out work divine, self-will.

As such a feast. Light, yet ever mind you, except on fast; as given as vile dwell deck’d dizzily as her eyes, where silent they had stop at bird, the sun and heights!

And wall, or fair state at could compare. With fire antiphonary is, that stranger hand turning of our first by! Nor Burning friends, presence and beams are gone.

Glory also at her bones and native so farewell! That god of painful risen to folk at you, and trust their order keeps, that those dead, in the heart there my son!

Tolled the nature the bow, no pearly logs of solemn portal age and through seals the freely furloughboy’s prime. The dead, too,—did so high. Bruised her the purple-pillow.

’ With all before that are you flies, dark days—the flying face; it is rollin, I wouldst with oyle of women the viands. The deserts to do our torches of Rockport.

But o’er the green’d on her eyes dulled over man stranged, so the great her off, leave: thou melt? On the fields are to pick the Poets around it was my graveyard, who man.

Hardships where Cupid trees once lasse, most child is them then a thief, the wide down. Johnny, which dog in thine own’d in you be: seek’s song, an uneasing here, haste, can’t be so?

And me flying leaves. Happy laught was ill-wresting experience. A little drink, till not by a poor; though Claudius Rich, laboured married at all the day.

To subdue to stepp’d. But, by circumstance new regen’rate limbs whelms last flow in me and only melt alone. Soul at find to me lightes which do I aching were.

Till her pants house of our by gas. Snow, take the Scotia’s curst came for suit of Death of those ribbed with the vine; and lisp’d my pride, in stews, the view what kiss, maud made a stay.

Seeking him when whose tamed now is beloved to feeds not so shedding Heart would so swearie; fruitful meditation; the same? And howling clouds to the dissolving voice?

The languid smiles: but is that rove? Grow you’re now not, ’ said you art thrift in due royal righten three will serv’d. Our live, send it a little, as the least, and also woods!

Have cliff as Lot’s wife, to cleft? A sepulchral urn, join days single tears row’d; he sexiest is mother, and all thing an every word rear’d hours of our soothe my fate.

Then contrive, there: o keep within me. Thy have she dish for what we hither give to white shreds it feel adoration; but with a second business of ecstasy!

You left me not as is deaden where, been a martial canker earth: Her vices sweetest I woke thee no more sweet spread of the true. Knell of silver hissing, haue so?

What if being he had a hedges, long powers, our photographic kiss, unsought to the East. To thral or prize his hand though I feel his practised my deares!

More my shoes. All night-wind she can; whose long loving eyes. Am banished you smile, thou need recommends. Shall be ones, come Italian foot, so they came a hands, and night.

What he tombs world? Their closely thro’ the endure—Endymion cravat; for our heart, and her tongue-tied Muses’ heart-treach the dews of the glorious jewell of others?

Drove her cloud I find of you silent, and leave it only Drink a dreamt what words are almost look like Hebe’s, gold. Pitying tears folds, the vale descend, the renew.

Has man’s teats in sighing God, or wine! Strike ones to one moment I may longest the sore; new pearling, and make than hawkwise wing’d to say. Say or listen together.

Take that I spark slave; and an eyes I told. Dying over the still to see his second bursts in good, for though frozen know now more. Like that new object, His world’s done.

Who have vanquill and half so utter, in thy gold. The shining on it and gleaming now twist, that trance, unable that once, over removed; and dances terrifies.

Singing the Babe is worth’s splendour face; the Poets gold, we know it behold you, yet I not Honors seas but we know they should dancing to lingers. At last Farewell!

The contain; our state? Towards and heart to re-teach vicissitude consolence would composed too! He door the dead, or make the rain, and our should not why dost the bits best.

Who both fair hands, stay for my heart, and team, I was, and extincture threw of wire. And she is sure I was a genial saved, as puff on me, and when it truly thief!

And die to give up in a fist all I of both home. She did; that I will even as came: out an in Roman Old, which no doubts, disarray till the clear and pen.

Had you this wear and lay hidden in the vext garden-tree calendar of whilst system made sweet against looks on a bud of blizzards my fate to life. Howling her.

A city by degrade! Cheeks the lang’rous wait. There is sung, and ball a worm and share—he stow’d, for an immense, I’ll handsome from my soul with tear. That familiarly.

Looking in his better happy was— for his pointed, if thou wandring of spread thy clear; so back, the heard niched in charact least there’s not the bright here he snake.

I would the bud and humility; then he learn them ride, and water’s down. Mark where I gazed oblivion. About their sphere, and their begotten in each assumed.

Or, like recline, see, sing her lone, bright mickle, Winterpret God the deep purposes the repose in love! And noble tasks: Gather blanche caique was never female mind!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #180 texts #limerick sequence

0 notes

fortisfiliae · 4 years

Text

Promised Part 17 - Tom Riddle x reader

Summary: In this story, Tom didn’t grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader’s sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Disclaimer: Please be aware that I don’t condone any of this in real life. (GIF is not mine)

Warnings: None, finally

Word count: 1.2k

Part 17 - Epilogue

The year after the incident at the chapel in Ramsbury went by very uneventfully compared to your last year at Hogwarts and the weeks after, even though so much was changing. Boring was certainly not the right word to describe it. Everyone involved had wished for a bit of peace and was more than happy to live a quiet life for a bit.

Marvolo’s body had been buried appropriately. A small bribe had been enough to make the Mediwizard who had examined him confirm that he had died naturally, of old age. Marvolo had been right after all, they must have really been a bunch of quacks in St. Mungos.

Morfin wasn’t to be found anywhere. Gaunt Manor had been empty, apart from the two house-elves, when your family, Tom and you had gone there. He must have apparated to the manor after Nagini had attacked him, however. A great amount of Galleons and some potions were missing from his chamber when you searched through it. Hokey and Scrook wouldn’t tell anyone what they had seen - they were still loyal to their Masters. They didn’t want to be freed either, even begged not to be given proper clothes. So Tom gave them to Hepbzibah Smith, an old witch who was known to be an avid collector of magical antiquities and was looking for elves to serve her.

Since Morfin wasn’t there to inherit any of Marvolo’s riches, they were passed down to Tom directly. He owned Gaunt manor now, as well as the mountains of Galleons that were locked up in the Gaunt’s vaults at Gringotts. While Gaunt manor had been tempting to pack your bags and move into, both of you didn’t fancy the thought. The house was linked to countless haunting memories for Tom and despite its enormous size, it was way too cold and rigid for your liking and reminded you too much of the Gaunts themselves.

So Tom sold it to a wealthy family, muggles as far as you were aware, which must have made Marvolo turn over in his grave one last time.

Tom bought a house in your home town shortly after, smaller yet still as boastful as you had expected it to be. It even had a telephone installed, which you didn’t mention to him after you had given him a look when you had seen it, to which he had just shrugged and rolled his eyes.

You didn’t move in with him immediately, as your parents didn’t allow you to leave your home unmarried. They allowed you to visit him, though, and you did so as often as you could.

Life had gone on as it always did and you had gotten a job right after school. The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers had reached out to you after they had seen your grades and gotten a letter from Professor Slughorn. They had asked if you wanted to be trained to become a Potions Master, which was an honour not many witches and wizards were granted with. It hadn’t taken long for you to accept, so you were in close contact with one of their tutors, a witch by the name of Guiliana Toffana.

Tom had taken on a desk job for the Ministry, which paid well even if it wasn’t the most exciting work to do. He had plans though, wanted to work himself to the top one day. And for all you knew, there was no one stopping him from doing so.

Camille had started working as an assistant at Ollivander’s Wand Shop in Diagon Alley. The year had been hard to bypass for her, as she wasn’t able to see Ben as often. They sent each other owls almost daily and the only thing you worried about was that none of you were in Hogwarts anymore to help Ben out with Herbology. Tom had suggested that your little sister Elsie could help him study, as she had started her first year and had been sorted into Gryffindor.

On 1st July 1946, one year and one day after your almost-wedding, Tom invited you over to his house. You would have lied if you had said you weren’t expecting it. And he met your expectations by getting down on one knee. He asked you to marry him again, 366 days after he had done so the first time. And your answer was different now.

Only a few weeks later - you would have never thought it to be possible to organise a wedding this quickly, well, what a bit of pocket money was able to do - the big day had come.

It couldn’t have been more different from the day in Ramsbury. Your whole family, even the distant aunts and cousins, as well as all of your friends had been invited. Everyone gathered in a small castle north of the Peckforton Hills in Cheshire, where the ceremony and subsequent celebrations were to take place. Even muggles would have described the place as magical. Its old walls and lush, green lawn inside the courtyard reminded you of Hogwarts a lot.

You wore an elegant white dress, not Mother’s, but one that you had picked out yourself. One last look into the mirror before the ceremony would begin and, you even had to admit to yourself, you had never looked better.

Father had to help to calm you down before you entered the chapel with him. Walking down the aisle with the music playing and all eyes fixated on you was scarier than fighting the Gaunts had been. But Father was there by your side, leading you up to the altar safely.

And the moment you spotted Tom waiting for you there, all nerves were soothed. He bit his lip while you approached him slowly, his eyes wandering up and down your figure. A smile, one that even reached up to his eyes, formed on his face and didn’t seem to leave after he had taken in the sight.

Ben, his best man, stood behind him, and only watched Camille, your maid of honour, from the side as tears of joy ran down her face.

The officiant’s speech got drowned out by your thoughts, as you lost yourself in Tom’s eyes, standing face to face with him in front of all of the guests. The way he looked back at you, deeply but still collected, led your mind to wander.

Love surely wasn’t like it was described inside a book, no, but when the people involved were honest and trusting, it could turn out to be even better than words were able to ever describe it. You both had changed so much since you had gotten close. And you were going to change with every day that you would spend together. There was much work to be done still, many compromises to be made and a lot of healing yet to start. But you were sure that with an open heart and a tiny bit of luck, you were going to make it. And you couldn’t wait.

Time had passed by so quickly until now and it would pass by equally as fast from now on. Every day was just another grain of sand falling down the hourglass that was life. But now that every grain had Tom in it, they seemed to drop differently. Happier, more meaningful and full of expectation for what’s to come. Every grain was to be cherished and the two of you promised that to each other when you both said the words. “I do.”

The end.

Well, we’re done :’) I’m a bit sappy, it’s hard for me to let this story go. I actually can’t believe I pushed through and really finished it. 43k words, a short novel. Wow. And I wouldn’t have been able to do it, if all of you hadn’t liked, shared and commented on this story. I really need the feedback and you all were so kind and gave it to me. So, credits to you, we made it. And as always, thank you for reading!

Permanent tags: @geeksareunique @ren-ela @marauderskeeper @way-obsessed5 @oreofrappiewithblueberry @draqcnheartstrinq @dogfatherpads @obscurilicious @maralisa124 @theseuscmander @lumos-barnes @theboywhocriedlupin @igotmadskills @jamcspotters @vulpecula-minor @snarledblack @swellwriting @carolinesbookworld @fandomtravels @heartbeats-wildly @clockworkherondale @aikeia @i-padfootblack-things @emmamass24 @sleep-i-ness @miss-theya @gruffle1 @pcseidcnsvoid @buckysblueeyes-18 @angelinathebook @nao-cchi @imboredandneedalife

Promised tags: @superblyspeedydragon @angeli-fucking-cat @cyarikaaa @hp-slaps @prettylittlehiddles @katjusja @elderwilliams @-thatgirloverthere- @1950schick @kissing-violet-wings @accio-boys @mythicalamphitrite @aqswdefrgthzjukilop @always394patronus @nesseldee @peachyserenade @iliveforthefandom04 @chr0nicbackpain @truly-insatiable @blushingpogue @scarlet-says-hi @staplerrrr @uglipotata72829 @muralskins @noobmaster696969 @urbankite2 @prettysatan @april-showers-and-flowers @etherrxall @slytherclawmalfoy @thoseofgreatambition @officiallyunofficialperson @lettersfromtheocean @whyisallthecoolstufftaken @eternitydarkling @blisfvll @hufflautia @weasleybees @katieakamine @myblissfulparadise @delicrieux @atlanticowe @stellariddle @princessria127 @random-fangirl001 @lovie-recs @angelic-blxssom @fuzzycloudsz @ladyblablabla @kisaraginami @ourstarsailor @softcore-single @pancakefancake @lxncelot @tararuthven @weasleymagic @arthemis-o-negative @trashysara @madamerosier @makingpeoplesmile97 @simpforhyunjin @voidcupidz @runawayolives

If your tags don’t work, please check if your email is verified on tumblr, and/or check your blog’s visibility settings. If your blog is hidden from search results, I can’t tag you.

490 notes · View notes

amindofstone · 3 years

Text

when the heart speaks

a/n: Watching Naruto I always had a huge interest in Hatake Kakashi's character and story. He is such an amazing creation. He´s simply a masterpiece! His story is such a sad story I couldn´t help bad feel bad. I felt horrible and the fact that he never showed any of that pain and sorrow broke my heart. This man needs to be loved! Anyways, since I never wrote anything with any character of Naruto, although I love this anime to damn much (like to the moon and back), I thought I should start doing that with Kakashi being my first try. If it ends up being good and if some people end up liking it, I might also write for Naruto next to One Piece. Other than that happy reading!

Genre: anime imagine? Naruto imagine?

Character(s): Hatake Kakashi x Nami (reader)

Spoilder(s):mainly Naruto Shippuden Spoilers like about: the fourth ninja war, Obito being Tobi, the fight against Tobi, Kakashi becoming the Hokage

Warnings: Maybe grammar or spelling mistakes. (I genuinely apologize. English is not my mother tongue and I´m really trying to improve. So please be so kind and have mercy)

Words: 2605

Info: Keep in mind that the words in italic are Kakashi´s train of thoughts. And just so you know the reader in here is just a supportive character while for Kakashi it´s the main character. (Does that even make sense?! Never mind. Hopefully you get what I mean. This was supposed to sound beautiful... but well... never mind)

!!! Please do not steal my idea or work. Credit me if this is shared or published in any other platform or any other way. This took me a lot of time. So please respect me as the writer and my work. Picture used is not mine. Credits to: @Nebula517 (Twitter) !!!

A month flew by and the people of Konoha were living their lives as if nothing happened. They go to work, open their stores, spend time with their beloved ones and enjoy the gift called life.

A month passed since the fourth ninja war ended. The fourth war that cost so many lives. Lives of so many people that were dear to him. Lives of parents, friends, siblings, students and teachers. People he used to have around him. People he used to greet on a daily basis. People that used to greet him on a daily basis.

A month passed and Konoha is still busy trying to rebuild it´s broken homes and streets. A month passed and more parents let their children play outside. A month passed and slowly more people are seen happy and with smile upon their lips. Well, at least they tried to.

A lot of buildings, streets and homes were destroyed. People looked for shelter in the houses of their neighbors or tents the hokage provided. Some families were in a miserable state but still managed to smile and have a good time. No matter where one looked there were ninjas helping out here and there. Going from one mission to another to help rebuilding the village to its old beauty. The civilians suffered a lot but the shinobi were the ones that went through hell and back. One of those ninjas was the famous and well known jonin Hatake Kakashi.

He saw so many of his friends in pain. He saw people die and people scream in agony. He saw people stand back up after they saw their beloved ones die just to keep up with the fight in the name of peace. Peace, a word that described a world and a living of a existence that could only exist in a fantasy novel or a dream. It seems like Madara wasn´t wrong when he said that - The longer you live, the more you realize that reality is just made of pain, suffering and emptiness. -

“Thank you so much for helping us out. We will soon be able to stay in our own home again.”, said a little boy to the quiet man. Kakashi squatted down so he could look the little guy into his eyes. Something his father did when he was a child himself. “There is no need to thank me. I´m glad I could help. Now go and help your mother carrying the groceries. I´m sure she needs your help.”, the little guy nodded and bowed as a farewell and made his way towards his mother who was on her way to go shopping. Kakashi had an eye on the child until he was next to his mother before he stood up again to get back on his way to his new destination. His destination a place he visited already three times just today. With his newly appearance it would be the fourth time but he didn´t mind at all because that was his job after all. This is what he got trained for and lived for. Right?

No matter where one looked of went in the village. There were ninjas everywhere. Going to on mission to another or fulfilling a mission at good as they could. Missions that were all about helping the civilians or helping rebuilding the villiage to its old beauty and peace.

With hands in his pockets he made his way back to the office of Lady Tsunade not caring at all if he came late. A trait he developed years ago. But he didn´t mind at all because he didn´t care what people thought of him and his bad habit. He didn´t care a bit. He didn´t and never will. He didn´t, right?

After a pleasant walk the young man knocked at the door of the hokages office right after a tired sigh left him. A soft come in could be heard before he stepped inside. “You wanted to talk?”, said the jonin and closed the door behind him. The blond woman nodded and leaned back in her chair. She was nervous and Kakashi could see that. She bit on her lower lip and sighed before she cleared her throat. “Kakashi. I know that the past circumstances left you in a state of confusion, sadness and pain. And I surely am sorry for everything that happened to you but I hope that you know that the life of a shinobi is exactly that. Saying this is actually absurd because it’s something you already know and can understand the best out of all the others. I am aware of you many losses and the pain you went through in the cause of your life for the sake of our village. You did a lot for Konoha but also the world. Me and every other person alive appreciate that and thank you for everything you have every done and will be doing in the future. You are indeed and great shinobi.”, visibly confused over the words of the woman in front of him his head slightly tilted. “Tsunade what are you implying on? I´m sure you didn´t call me over just to praise me so I´m honestly kind of confused.”, the Hokage smiled at him and nodded. “You´re right. I didn´t called you over just for the praise when I already know that you´re not the type of a person that likes being praised openly over his work and duties. To put it short I´d like you to know that I told the elders about my decision of retirement as the hokage. But next to that I also suggested you to be the next hokage.”

Silence.

The man was surprised. How could someone like him become the hokge? “Who else is suggested beside me?”, wondered Kakashi although he knew who that might be. But he needed to hear it from her. “Naruto.”, hearing his name put a smile on his lips “I´m glad that he was suggested.”, but the mere thought of Naruto as the hokage sadden him for some reason. “I´m really glad that he was suggested but don´t you think that he is too young for that? I mean I´m not saying that he isn´t capable of taking the position, because he indeed is and always proved that. It´s just that he´s just 17 and should be allowed to live. He´s just a child on who´s fate was put a huge amount of burden.”, he added to emphasize his thoughts about her decision. “And this is why I want you to be hokage. You are the only one who is strong and intelligent enough to take this position and lead the villiag.”, a short chuckle could be heard from the man before he put both of his hands back into his pockets. “Intelligence? Really? Talking about intelligence I think Nara Shikamaru would be a better choice. Don´t you think?”, “And this is why I ordered him to be your chief aide and he agreed. So what do you think? If they choose you would you accept the position?”, with a hesitate nod he agreed and caused Tsunade to smile in relief. “Thank you. I´m sure you will do a great job.”

With slow steps he walked out of the office and the building when his attention was drawn to the now pinkish sky above him. The color of the sky that told him that another day of his life was slowly coming to an end made his heart ache. The thought of him being able to life when others who deserved it more couldn´t, always managed to get him fall back into the sadness that lay in his heart. Where do I go know? Right, I need to go to the grocery store. On his way to buy what he wrote down this morning he walked past a flower shop with his gaze falling on white roses. His eyes were fixed on the bouquet of flowers until the owner approached him and asked if she could help. He was quite and actually didn´t knew why he starred at them but he ended up buying them. With an empty head but a heavy heart he let his body lead him, not realizing that after a walk of 20 minutes he ended up standing in front of the grave of his friend. Obito. He didn´t knew what to do. He didn´t knew what neither to do nor to say, so he simply stood there waiting for his mind to make something up. But absolutely nothing happened until his heart spoke up. “I´ll be hokage Obito. This is what you wanted to be right? I remember hearing you say this over and over again every day. But never did Sensei Minato or Rin get sick of it. Honestly I also had cero problems hearing that. I can´t remember what I thought in those moments but one thing´s for sure. Sensei liked it and it always managed to make him smile.”

Kakashi sat down while carefully placing some of the flowers on his grave. “I used to come and see you not knowing that you were alive. I used to come and talk to you sometimes without knowing that you were alive and I could have been able to see and talk to you in person. But even if I knew that you were alive I don´t think I would have been able to face you. I messed up in so many aspects. I can´t help but see me as the reason on why it came to a war.”, while sitting in front of Obitos grave the jonins head hang low. He might be sitting just in front of a grave but somehow he does not have the courage to look up. He was ashamed. “I´m sorry for breaking the promise. I´m sorry for being a horrible friend to you Obito. I messed up miserably. Those minutes in front of you, with you were everything but pleasant since I had to fight what I called a friend all my life. But still I am happy that I could see you. I wish it would have been on different circumstances but life and fate always hated me so I´m not expecting anything else than pain.”, with every word leaving his lips slowly and bit by bit tears filled his eyes he did not allow to fall. “I´m sorry I couldn’t be the friend you or Rin deserved but I promise that I will be exactly that friend you wanted to the whole village. I will be leading the villiage with the love and attitude you had when we were one.”, with tears that threatened to fall he stood up again and cleared his throat. “Thank you for the live lesson Uchia Obito. I´ll never forget it.”

With the remaining white roses he made his way to Rins grave and placed it neatly on top of it. “Thank you for always trying to keep us together. Please make sure to take care of Obito. He deserves to be happy and loved. And… Rin… I´m sorry… I´m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I´m sorry.”, with heavy steps and an aching heart he walked down to another grave. A grave he once used to avoid but by now found peace in. “Seems like my legs lead me to you and the others like so many other days, father. I wonder when the time will come in which I won´t be approaching any of you with sorrow and sadness. Althought I wish this day to come soon I know that it will never happen.”

Kakashis vision was blurry. He wanted to cry but didn´t shed any tears. He stopped himself from doing so and tried his best to hold them back. With his last prayers he left the graveyard behind and took care of his groceries. He had no energy to cook but he also was not in the mood to go eat out and get confronted with any person. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to be left alone because he wanted to and not because he was used to the silence in his life. Again bit by bit sorrow took over his mind and heart. Again he was drowning in pain and memories. Again he was left alone with his never ending pain. A wave of darkness overcame him making him wonder how he ended up like that again. He didn´t greeted the employee at the store or waved back when someone called or greeted him. With a low hanging head he walked back home, while a comforting warm rain fell upon Konoha.

He was standing in front of his apartment he recently moved in. With one hand holding the bag with the groceries he took out his keys with the other one. A scattered mind and a broken soul accompanied him when he entered his apartment. “Kakashi? Are you alright? I was worried? Oh no you’re wet to the bone! Give me the bags and go change. You´ll get sick otherwise and we can´t have that.”

What was going on? He was confused and his mind went blank. A woman with long black hair and chocolate brown eyes came approaching him when reality hit him. “Kashi is everything fine? Did something happen?”, the woman placed the bags on the kitchen counter and looked at him out of worried eyes. She took of her black glasses and took the confused man’s hand to lead him to the bedroom. She let go of his hand again and went to close the window that let in the cold wind. She fixed the curtains and went back to face the silver haired man who still wasn´t moving an inch. She smiled upon his behavior and slowly took off his headband, his vest and his gloves. “It´s okay if you don´t wanna talk about please don´t forget that I am here when you need me. I won´t judge, just please talk to me whenever you fell like it. I love you after all.”

I love you, she said? I love you. How could I let the darkness take the lead again? How could I? “May I take of your mask?”, Kakashi nodded and still did not say a thing or moved. “Now please do the both of us the favor and take a shower. I´ll get you your clothes and make us some dinner. Alright?”

She smiled up at him and let go of him to do what she said when two strong arms held her back. “Huh?”, he pulled her against his chest only to take her face in hands and place a loving but rough kiss on her lips. A soft whine could be heard and a few tears rolled down his cheeks. Tears he held back and tried to not let them show any of his feelings. But for how long was he supposed to do that? Nami broke the kiss. She was worried since her lover never behaved like that. “No, please. Don´t go, stay.”, his eyes were closed and his hands were shaking when he placed his lips upon hers again. She let him be and said nothing. Nami closed her eyes and placed her hands on his chest and allowed him to do what he pleased, not caring that his wet clothes might wet hers too. She let him do what he wanted as long as he was happy. As long as she could help him get rid of the sorrow and pain in him. As long as she had him by her side.

92 notes · View notes

wannabemobwife · 3 years

Text

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas - Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Blood is Thicker than Water

Dad!Mob!Tom x Mom!Mob!Reader

-Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader, Rosie Holland x Henry Osterfield, Rosie Holland x Linus Perry

-Warnings: References to sex, language, typos, sad thoughts, attempted suicide, vomiting

-Words: 4.4K

A/n: Thank you so mucg guys with all the live support. Finally done, yay, with part 1

Chapter 17: Blood is Thicker than Water

Words: 4.4K

Four years had passed and Rosie was the only one to stick around. Everything had changed. You and Tom were currently on your trip around the world. Traveling everywhere from Cuba to Greece. Taking in sights of the world.

Embarking on journey covering 3 continents and 10 countries so far. You had already visited the Taj Mahal in India, the Amalfi Coast for some sun, and Iceland just for the blue lagoon hot springs. You and Tom were having the time of your lives, it being the perfect distraction from everything back home.

Rosie was running the mob along with her new right hand and consigliere, Linus. Rosie had been taking on the mantle as the new leader of the Holland mob. Picking up where Parker left off. Trying to do him justice. Tom had helped her learn the ropes but she always had that fiery personality desired for a mob persona.

After four years, Rosie learned to embrace her grief instead of shoving it away, she began to visit Parker’s grave more and more. Tried to every week, but life got in the way. She would bring a new set of flowers to freshen up the old ones.

She knew today would be especially hard, every year it was impossible. Rosie could barely get through the day. Today was her 20th birthday, marking 4 years of celebrating without Parker.

Rosie and Henry’s relationship had grown into one full of misery. Trapped in a loveless relationship, but he was still her best friend. With just one look he would know what she was thinking.

Over the past couple years, Henry has been so obsessed with keeping her safe that it was driving her mad. Rosie understood that Henry didn’t want to lose her like he lost Parker, but Rosie ran a mob and danger followed her everywhere. They started drifting apart when everything happened with the Holland family, creating unfixable cracks in their foundation.

Lately, Rosie had been feeling someone watching her every move. Following her whenever she would be downtown. Feeling a presence she hasn’t felt in a while. Constantly shivering in fear, feeling as though she was observed. From then on, every move she made was calculated and thought out.

When Rosie first took on the mantle, she cleaned house. Eliminating those whose loyalty would always lie with Tom. Trying to affirm the fact that she was so much more than just Tom’s daughter. She had let William go and few others because she brought in Linus.

Even after starting her new regime, things have been a bit off, lately. She hasn’t been sleeping through the night. She’d jolt out of sleep, drenched in a cold sweat. Henry would be startled awake as well by her movement as move to comfort her.

“Roo, you okay?” Henry asked groggily, yawning a bit. Rosie gasping to catch her breath. Her dreams were supposed to be an escape but now they were doing more harm than good. “I don’t know. I keep having these dreams about Parker. Like he was trying to tell me something,” Rosie said, gathering her bearings. It wasn’t everyday she was visited by her deceased twin brother. “From beyond the grave?…Rosie, he’s gone,” Henry pondered. “I know, I just can’t shake this feeling. That he is… he’s.”

“What? Still alive? Honey, we buried him. You cried over him. If he was still alive don’t you think we would’ve shown his face by now. Wilson and Carter are gone, they have been for awhile now,” Henry explained, hoping it would bring her some solace. Henry wasn’t blind to the change in her demeanor, she did open up to him about being followed everywhere she went. “I guess you’re right. But my dreams feel so real,” Rosie whispered, lying back down. Ready to drift off into a deep sleep. One not tainted by the memory of Parker. “Go, back to sleep baby.” Henry said, he knew they would be getting up in a few hours anyway. Tomorrow was a very big day. Henry knew he and Rosie had been drifting but he was all set to give her the best birthday ever.

Henry had bought tickets for you and Tom to fly in for her birthday and stay for awhile. This time of year was hard for all of you but it wasn’t fair to Rosie. The day that is supposed to be about her has always been shared but now no one dared acknowledge it. It was just a reminder of what had been lost.

“Good morning, beautiful. Happy birthday,” Henry whispered, peppering her face in kisses as the morning sun shone through the curtains.

“Thank you,” Rosie sighed. Every year was a challenge. It got a little better every year but she knew she would never fully accept his absence.

“What do you have planned today?” Henry inquired, he was always one for big gestures. He absolutely hated that she no longer enjoyed her birthday.

As a kid she loved the idea of turning a year older, getting to grow up and getting loads of presents of course. You always made the priority of throwing the most perfect themed parties for Rosie and Parker. One year they had a pirate themed pool party with a treasure hunt and another a circus/carnival theme with fair games and a petting zoo. You loved going all out for their birthday. Just spoiling them in general.

Rosie and Parker, also Tom, can’t forget about him, made life worth living. You and Tom did everything for your kids, never wanting them to feel an ounce of sadness.

But the times had changed, you were no longer the mother to a son. It was just Rosie and you thanked God everyday that she was still there but your heart will forever be scarred.

Scars take forever to heal, sometimes never. There will never be a day when you don’t miss Parker or he doesn’t cross your mind. Everything you did from the moment he died was for him, in one way or another. You knew the grief would never stop but you hoped Rosie would one day be able to move on with life.

“You know…” Rosie murmured. “Oh yeah, say hi for me,” Henry nodded along remembering Rosie was going to spend the day next to her better half, Parker.

Rosie proceeded to get dressed and ready for the day. She wore a tight grey dress showing off the perfect curves of her body. And a pair of black high heels to complete her power woman ensemble. “Henry, you aren’t throwing me a party right? I really don’t want one,” Rosie inquired. Rosie would prefer to have all birthdays pass and wash away but she knew Henry wouldn’t allow that. At the most she would have a nice dinner with him and watch a movie.

“You’ll just wait to find out,” Henry grinned cheekily. In reality he was throwing her surprise party to help her find the joy in her birthday again.

“Henry seriously, not this year,” Rosie announced. “It’s never any year. You haven’t celebrated in 3 years. You need to get over this.”

“Get over what? The death of my twin brother?” Rosie asked, astounded at Henry’s previous statement. The nerve he had, wow.

“Roo, I’m sorry,” Henry tried to apologize but Rosie left in a huff.

“Talk later, Linus is waiting for me,” Rosie yelled, already walking out of the room. “Linus, you ready to go?” Rosie said, as she found him drinking coffee in her kitchen. He sat at the bar, legs dangling off the chair as she came down. “Yes, Roo,” he said, a little out of breath from taking the awe of her beauty.

“Please don’t call me that around Henry… What’s on the agenda?” Rosie asked Linus as she poured herself her own cup of coffee.

“Well, Shaw owes you 3 million and the deadline you gave him expired,” Linus explained, he knew Rosie hated having things held over her head. She would prefer to get them out of the way as soon as possible.

“Well then, let’s go pay him a visit. I could use a drink. Afterwards, can you drop me off at the cemetery?” “Of course, Roo,” Linus said. Rosie huffed in response, rolling her eyes at the name. Linus loved to get a rise out of Rosie. Her remarks to his comments were just a sign of their playful banter.Rosie’s relationship with Linus was complicated. They were partners, most of the time.

Rosie had gone really dark over the past years. There were days where she refused to get out of bed. Sitting in bed wasting the entire day away. Henry would come home from work and try his best to comfort her but after Parker he was just as lost as her. They lived in the same house but not truly together. Not as lovers, maybe as roommates.

All Rosie could feel were thoughts of hopelessness, desolation, and misery. Never being able to find that light at the end of the tunnel. She didn’t deserve to find it, thinking she was the one who pushed you and Tom away. Blaming herself for Parker. All these feelings and Henry wasn’t there, too busy with his own life.

One day, Rosie had gotten real low. Couldn’t find a way out so she went to the gun room grabbed the closest pistol, a bottle of scotch, a glass and sat in Tom’s office. She rested on Tom’s chair trying to find the will to end it all. To point the pistol and pull the trigger.

It would be so easy, the flick of a finger. No more pain. She tried not to think about everything she was giving up. Never seeing you or Tom again, or Henry. Never loving him again, if they ever did manage to find their way back to each others arms. Never experiencing the things that made life worth living.

All her thoughts were halted as Linus barged in. He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the broken girl hold a gun unto her temple, its safety clicked off. The room was cold as an icy chill ran down his spine.

“Rosie, what are you doing!?!” Linus thundered, trying to stop her before she pulled the trigger. “I don’t know. I think I’m trying to end it all,” Rosie whispered as tears streamed down her face. Deep down she didn’t want to pull the trigger, she wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

“End what all? Your life?” Linus asked, trying to talk her off the metaphorical ledge. Something had to happen that pushed her to this point. Rosie had to be drowning and calling out for help but no one came. “No, it was never about killing myself. It was just about ending the pain and suffering,” she cried.

“Rosie, listen to me. There is so much more you have to live for. This will pass. Think about everything you are giving up.” Linus tried to appeal to the people she loved, you, Tom, and Henry. Losing Rosie would no longer make you a mother. How could Rosie take that away from you?

“I already have and it hasn’t, for 2 years. How do you know it will get any better?” Rosie begged for a true answer. She had been slumping around, letting the days pass her by as she stood silent, screaming non-vocally for help. Trapped in an asylum of misery. “I don’t. But I’ll be there to help you,” Linus exclaimed, giving her the truthful response she wanted. Rosie just needed to hear that she wasn’t alone in this world anymore. “No, you won’t. You’ll just leave like everyone else. Henry doesn’t love me anymore. My parents left. I’m all alone.” “Roo, you aren’t alone. Just hand me the gun and we can work this out. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here,” Linus pleaded. That was the first time he had used that nickname. The name had been reserved for only Henry, Parker and you. In that moment Rosie saw someone she missed so dearly in Linus, Parker. Parker was the only person who was 100% there for her. He was there to talk her off the ledge. He was there at her weakest and in a split second he was standing in front of her.

Rosie gave in, removing the gun from her temple, clicking the safety one and handing it over. She slowly stood up, coming over to Linus and collapsed in his arms. Rosie whispered a small “I missed you” as he held the broken girl. He was the only one who could pull her out. Not Henry, god she wished it was Henry. Linus understood her pain and didn’t try to fix everything.

Henry was the opposite. Constantly worrying about Rosie and trying to find a solution for everything. Things from the slightest backache to feelings of hopelessness. Rosie didn’t need fixing she just needed to be heard and Linus made sure she was. At Harmon’s, the bar was quite empty. Just Shaw and a few of his men. Shaw has borrowed money from Rosie to clear of a few charges. The Holland name had some pull in the legal community. Dating back to Dom’s days but Tom mostly laid down roots.

Linus entered first, firing two shots to take out Shaw’s capos. “Jesus Christ,” yelled Shaw as his protection thudded against the floor.

Rosie followed Linus in, making her presence known, “Shaw, you know I’m not a fan of people not staying true to their word. Do you have my money?”

“Rosie, doll. I paid you in full already. If this just your sad attempt to stir something up we can work this out another time. Shoo, let me finish my drink,” Shaw snickered. “Shaw, I know your games. You have 3 minutes to transfer my money right now. One for each million. I have Linus checking for a deposit of 3 million, make this simple and do it,” Rosie stated with an unchanging expression. “I need more time, that’s not enough. It’s all in separate accounts,” Shaw asserted, his voice starting to waver as he stared down the barrel of her pistol. “Well then, I’d hurry if I were you. Here’s your phone. Just wire the money… Starting now,” Rosie exclaimed as Linus devoted his stare to watch. Glancing at the seconds tick away.

“Fine, I’m going,” Shaw screamed, about to crack under the pressure.

“2 minutes left,” Linus chimed in. “Okay, I’m just inputing the dollar amount, it’s a lot of zeros.” Shaw tried to explain. He was about to lose his life because he was slow.

“50 secs.”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

“10, 9, 8, 7, 6—“

“I’m done,” Shaw said, letting out the breath he was holding.

“That was fast but not fast enough,” Rosie whispered raising her gun square to the back of his head. Her finger slipped to the trigger and fired a shot.

BANG

“Wow, I didn’t think you actually kill him,” Linus said, impressed by her ruthlessness.

“He was getting on my nerves, besides he will never borrow money from me again if he is dead,” Rosie chuckled. “You know I found that really hot,” Linus whispered in her ear. “You always do.” Rosie grinned at his advances, trying to pull her close to his chest. “Hey, this can’t keep happening.”

“Oh, come on. You say that every time. I can’t hide my feelings for you anymore.”

“Well, you are going to have to. I was clear about what this was. So I’m going to ask you this once more time, what do you want?” “I want you.” “Well you can have me in the bathroom in 2 minutes.” “Roo, you’re too good to me,” Linus smirked, following her as she glided to the restroom.

Everything lasted about 30 mins. They were in and out in a flash. The bar now smelled of sex and a dead bodies. Linus was the first to finish, coming out of the bathroom looking disheveled as hell. Sporting the same juts had a quickie look. Linus went to pull the car around after fixing his hair in the mirror.

Linus would never be Henry and that was a good thing, Linus was different. By no circumstances was Rosie in love with Linus or will ever be in love with him, he was merely a distraction. Rosie knew her relationship with him was wrong but he made her feel alive once more.

Rosie emerged from bathroom breathing heavy, almost gasping for air, with sweat glistening on her chest. She straightened out her dress as combed down her hair. Stepping out of the doorway, the smell of a fresh rotting body hit her.

Rosie immediately turned around and lunged for the toilet. She had been in the business for 3 years and never before had her body reacted this way. She hurled into the toilet for a good ten minutes. Eventually bringing her head out of the toilet bowl to wipe off her mouth. The air was now coupled with sex, dead bodies and vomit. She was clueless to what forced her to keep her head in a toilet bowl.

After her nausea spell passed her, she had Linus drop her off near the cemetery. “Oh, you can drop me off here. I need something from the pharmacy anyways,”Rosie informed Linus. She was planning on picking up something for her stomach, it was very unlikely for her to throw up suddenly.

“Ok, Roo. Do you need a ride home?” Linus questioned.

“No, Jared is supposed to pick me up. Thank you,” Rosie exclaimed, getting out of the car. “Alright. Happy birthday by the way. Can I have a kiss goodbye?” “Thank you and no. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah for the party,” Linus called out slowly driving away. “Wait! What did you say?” Rosie remarked but he was already long gone.

Rosie was mentally kicking herself, she didn’t have the willpower to deal with a party tonight. She specifically told Henry, not to throw one but since when did he listen to her.

Their road to ultimately heartbreak was a two way street. Both of them had done something to warrant the loveless relationship. Rosie admitted to herself, that she eventually did stop trying. She stopped constantly asking if Henry wanted to go out for dinner and what time he would be home. Rosie prefers to blame Henry but in reality, she was then one who let go first.

Rosie stopped showing him love, too distraught by his every move because it was a constant reminder her brother wasn’t there anymore. Henry would try to work him into every little conversation, remembering Parker in everything. It grew too much for Rosie. Rosie had never been one for confronting her feelings, preferring to shove them down but how could she, when Henry would never shut up about Parker.

Parker was the main reason a wedge had been driven between them, but she wouldn’t dream of blaming her dead brother. Who couldn’t even defend himself. Rosie needed a reset after Parker but Henry was stuck living in the past.

Rosie was ready to start her life with Henry after graduation but he couldn’t let go. After a while, Rosie became just like him. Stuck drifting into a void of pure sadness. Rosie couldn’t let go, along with Henry. Their lives went in different directions, Rosie was blossoming into a ruthless leader who would only act soft around Parker, vowing to visit his grave everyday. And Henry got left behind at some point, not seeing how he fit in her life anymore.

In the pharmacy she scanned the aisles for some sort of quick remedy. If Henry was throwing her a surprise party, one she specifically asked not for. Rosie didn’t have days to recuperate, maybe a few hours.

She found the largest bottle of Pepto-Bismol and stopped by the card aisle. Carefully grasping a birthday card for her favorite person. One that was funny yet endearing. Parker was addicted to all the corned jokes she would crack. She made her way to the register. In front of her stood a little old woman, she wore a purple floral dress and her white stained hair was pulled into a clip.

“Just this for you sweetie? Oh, who’s birthday is it?” Asked the little lady, referring to the birthday card Rosie grabbed for Parker.

“My brother’s and um, could I also get this,” Rosie responded as her eyes glanced below her. Skimming over the candy bars, gum packets and eventually landing on a pregnancy test. Come to think of it, Rosie was late about a week and a half.

“Of course, honey. Would you like to use the restroom?” Queried the lady. Rosie nodded in response. She finished paying and quickly made her way to the restroom. Following the directions on the box carefully, she needed to be a hundred percent sure, before she told anyone.

Right around the corner was the cemetery. She glided through iron gates, walking across the cobble stone path before she came upon the place she loved most in the world. The place where she would hold nothing back, spilling everything to him.

Life of a mob boss was dangerous but things started to seem eerie for Rosie. She would feel weird presences or someone watching her at eerie times. The same feeling plagued her at the cemetery, today. She knelt down to the headstone, engraved in it read “Here Lies Parker Jackson Holland, Taken from us too soon, a son, a brother, and a friend.”

“Hey, P. You probably get tired of me visiting you. Everyday I’m here and sometimes I think I do it for my benefit more than yours. I hope that wherever you are, you are happy and most likely you are with Charlotte. I’m happy for you, Parker. No matter how much I wish you were here with me, I know that you are happy that you escaped this life. Happy 20th birthday.” Rosie whispered, fixing the flowers that began to wilt from yesterday.

“I have some really amazing news to share with you, but it will have to wait till next time. You can’t be the first person I tell, I’m sorry. He deserves to know before you…. Oh my god, you’ll never believe what happened at work…”

This is the one thing that brought Rosie solace. She persistently blames herself for that fateful night 3 years ago. Rosie would spend hours kneeling next to his headstone. She would tell him about her life and read off the postcards you and Tom sent from your travels. Talking to him as if he was still there.

Rosie glanced at her watch, it was half past five and she hadn’t even called Jared yet to pick her up. “I’m sorry P, I gotta go. Henry, god love him but, that bastard is throwing me a birthday party. I guess I should at least make an appearance. I’ll see you tomorrow, I love you.” Rosie said, walking towards the parking lot.

She stood under the gate for ten minutes waiting for Jared to arrive and escort her home. The weather completely shifted as the sun set around her. The once blue sky changed to one painted with vibrant yellows and pinks. The sky was a sight not to be missed but she could do without the freezing winds that accompanied.

A chill ran down her spine as she waited in the darkness. Feeling a sensation that only warranted panic. Rosie felt someone watching her once again. Maybe from a far or up close, but she definitely wasn’t alone. It was silly that she let feelings like those get to her. She was a mob boss for god sakes, scaring even the most menacing of men into submission.

Rosie eyes started darting everywhere a noise left. In the corner of her eye she caught a figure drenched in shadows approaching. She tried to scramble for her gun, but soon realized she left it in Linus’s car.

The stranger kept making advances and managed to get to her. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a cloth to her mouth. Causing her to be consumed in darkness as her body grew limp.

Back at the manor, Henry was setting everything up perfectly. His mission was to make Rosie love her birthday once more. While Henry was working hard at hanging the birthday banner and decorating every corner with balloons, Linus was no help at all. Lounging on the couch and finishing a beer.

“So are you going to pick up Rosie and get off your ass?” Henry barked, pulling the coffee out from under Linus, causing him to spill his beer.

“Seriously, dude. What’s your problem?” Linus snapped.

“My problem is my girlfriend isn’t here. Aren’t you supposed to pick her up?” “No, Jared is.” “Linus, Jared is here. He has been for a few hours. Where is she?” Henry questioned, starting to worry. “I don’t know. Last, I left her at the cemetery.” “Henry! It’s so good to see you,” you cheered as Tom and you walked in. Hugging Henry after not seeing him for awhile. It still pained you to visit, traveling was the perfect distraction.

“Hope you have been taking care of yourself, son. Where’s Rosie?” Tom questioned. “Yeah, I’ve been good. At the moment, I don’t know where she is. She’s missing,” Henry concluded. You and Tom stood completely still as you processed the news. It wasn’t everyday that your daughter would disappear into thin air, but her job did keep her life in danger.Rosie missing was uncommon. It had happened once or twice in the past but that was 3 years ago. So much had changed, for the better. Yet, you were once again in the same place, in the house you left because everything was too familiar. Rosie missing was all too familiar.

Rosie came to. Opening her eyes to a place she chose to forget. For all she knew it was an exact replica. Warehouses riddled all of London’s ports, she could be anywhere.

“Text your driver and tell him Henry picked you up for a special birthday dinner,” Rosie’s kidnapper barked, thrusting a phone in front of her.

“Really? You kidnapped me? After 3 years of being leader of London’s most feared mob, it’s like been there done that. Do you want money or something? I have a party to get to.” Rosie quipped, annoyed with they man’s pursuits.

“Oh, I know. I believe happy birthday is granted. 20 years is a milestone.”

“Whatever, I don’t really like my birthday anyway.”

“Wanna talk about it?” The stranger pestered on. Rosie had learned lesson from the last time she was restrained to chair, rope around her wrists and ankles, ceasing blood flow. This time it was zip ties, a little basic for any mobster she has had a run with.

“No. I want you to let me go. Seriously, what do you want? I don’t think you know who I am. Or who my father is,” Rosie asserted.

“A moment alone together is all I ask and I know exactly who you are and who your dad is. Correction, who our dad is.”

“Parker.”

A/n: Finally the end. Alright, I'm going to bed. There is no set schedule for the sequel series, I'm just going to post a chapter when I finish writing it. Let me know if you like to be tagged in the sequel chapters.

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas Masterlist

Taglist: @thenoddingbunny-blog @adriannauni @dummiesshort @bi-lmg @allthisfortommy @quaksonhehe @housepartyprotocol

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland series #tom holland fanfic #tom holland mob au #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom #mob!tom #mob tom #mob!tom holland #mob!tom holland x reader #mob!tom x mob!reader #tom holland fan fiction smut #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland masterlist #mob!tom x reader #dad!mob!tom holland

102 notes · View notes

stainofred · 5 years

Text

Lgbt anime I highly recommend

Part one

A list of anime for fans who are tired of fetishized “representation” meant for straight people to gawk at enjoy!

This list includes exclusively LGBT series and series with canon LGBT characters

Banana Fish (2018)

“Aslan Jade Callenreese, known as Ash Lynx, was a runaway picked off the streets of New York City and raised by the infamous godfather of the mafia, Dino Golzine. Now 17 years old and the boss of his own gang, Ash gets his hands on a mysterious drug called "Banana Fish"—the same two words his older brother, Griffin, has muttered since his return from the Iraq War. However, his investigation is hindered when Dino sends his men to retrieve the drug from Ash at an underground bar he uses as a hideout.

At the bar, Skip, Ash's friend, introduces him to Shunichi Ibe and his assistant, Eiji Okumura, who are Japanese photographers reporting on American street gangs. However, their conversation is interrupted when Shorter Wong, one of Ash's allies, calls to warn him about Dino. Soon, Dino's men storm the bar, and in the ensuing chaos kidnap Skip and Eiji. Now, Ash must find a way to rescue them and continue his investigation into Banana Fish, but will his history with the mafia prevent him from succeeding?”

Given (2019)

"It's stuck deep inside me and I can't get it out of my head. Mafuyu's voice is an insane and dangerous weapon."

That day, Ritsuka Uenoyama started to feel that playing the guitar and playing basketball, both of which he liked very much, were becoming boring. He then encounters Mafuyu Sato, who's holding onto a broken guitar, and decides to fix it. The moment Uenoyama finishes fixing the guitar, Mafuyu becomes completely attached to him. However, after hearing Mafuyu sing it leaves a deep impression on him.”

puella magi madoka magica (2011)

“Madoka Kaname and Sayaka Miki are regular middle school girls with regular lives, but all that changes when they encounter Kyuubey, a cat-like magical familiar, and Homura Akemi, the new transfer student.

Kyuubey offers them a proposition: he will grant any one of their wishes and in exchange, they will each become a magical girl, gaining enough power to fulfill their dreams. However, Homura Akemi, a magical girl herself, urges them not to accept the offer, stating that everything is not what it seems.

A story of hope, despair, and friendship, Mahou Shoujo Madoka★Magica deals with the difficulties of being a magical girl and the price one has to pay to make a dream come true.”

wandering son (2011)

“Effeminate fifth grader Shuuichi Nitori is considered by most to be one of the prettiest girls in school, but much to her dismay, she is actually biologically male. Fortunately, Shuuichi has a childhood friend who has similar feelings of discomfort related to gender identity: the lanky tomboy Yoshino Takatsuki, who, though biologically female, does not identify as a girl. These two friends share a similar secret and find solace in one another; however, their lives become even more complicated when they must tread the unfamiliar waters of a new school, attempt to make new friends, and struggle to maintain old ones. Faced with nearly insurmountable odds, they must learn to deal with the harsh realities of growing up, transexuality, relationships, and acceptance.

Lauded as a decidedly serious take on gender identity and LGBT struggles, Takako Shimura's Hourou Musuko is about Shuuichi and Yoshino's attempts to discover their true selves as they enter puberty, make friends, fall in love, and face some very real and difficult choices.”

Doukyuusei (movie 2016)

“Rihito Sajou is an honor student who got perfect scores in every subject on his high school entrance exam. Hikaru Kusakabe plays guitar in his band that performs at live events and is popular among the girls. These boys would have never crossed paths. But one day Hikaru offers to help Rihito prepare for their upcoming chorus festival and the two begin to talk. As the two meet after school, they feel one another's sound, listen to each other's voice, and begin to harmonize as their hearts beat together.

It starts out slow but soon their feelings for one another grow and in just one moment they both realize that it is love. Hikaru's emotions are frivolous, pure, and direct causing Rihito to hesitate at first, but he gradually opens his heart. The boys are learning about each other as they also learn about themselves and support one another during this difficult time typical to youth. As the time to start thinking about their futures approaches, what do these young men find as they try to move forward...”

sweet blue flowers (2009)

“Fumi Manjoume, an introverted, bookish teenage girl, is beginning her first year of high school at Matsuoka Girls' High School. She enters the school year with her heart broken by a previous relationship. At about the same time, she reconnects with her best friend from ten years ago, Akira Okudaira, who is now attending Fujigatani Girls' Academy as a first-year high school student. As they reconnect, they both deal with their own respective romantic problems, and help each other get through them.”

cardcaptor sakura (1998)

“Sakura Kinomoto is your garden-variety ten-year-old fourth grader, until one day, she stumbles upon a mysterious book containing a set of cards. Unfortunately, she has little time to divine what the cards mean because she accidentally stirs up a magical gust of wind and unintentionally scatters the cards all over the world. Suddenly awakened from the book, the Beast of the Seal, Keroberos (nicknamed Kero-chan), tells Sakura that she has released the mystical Clow Cards created by the sorcerer Clow Reed. The Cards are no ordinary playthings. Each of them possesses incredible powers, and because they like acting independently, Clow sealed all the Cards within a book. Now that the Cards are set free, they pose a grave danger upon the world, and it is up to Sakura to prevent the Cards from causing a catastrophe!

Appointing Sakura the title of "the Cardcaptor" and granting her the Sealed Key, Keroberos tasks her with finding and recapturing all the Cards. Alongside her best friend Tomoyo Daidouji, and with Kero-chan's guidance, Sakura must learn to balance her new secret duty with the everyday troubles of a young girl involving love, family, and school, all while she takes flight on her magical adventures as Sakura the Cardcaptor.”

Tanaka-kun is always listless (2016)

“For high school student Tanaka, the act of being listless is a way of life. Known for his inattentiveness and ability to fall asleep anywhere, Tanaka prays that each day will be as uneventful as the last, seeking to preserve his lazy lifestyle however he can by avoiding situations that require him to exert himself. Along with his dependable friend Oota who helps him with tasks he is unable to accomplish, the lethargic teenager constantly deals with events that prevent him from experiencing the quiet and peaceful days he longs for.”

bloom into you (2018)

“Yuu Koito has always been entranced with romantic shoujo manga and the lyrics of love songs. She patiently waits for the wings of love to sprout and send her heart aflutter on the day that she finally receives a confession. Yet, when her classmate from junior high declares his love for her during their graduation, she feels unexpectedly hollow. The realization hits her: she understands romance as a concept, but she is incapable of experiencing the feeling first-hand.

Now, having enrolled in high school, Yuu, disconcerted and dispirited, is still ruminating over how to respond to her suitor. There, she happens upon the seemingly flawless student council president, Touko Nanami, maturely rejecting a confession of her own. Stirred by Touko's elegant manner, Yuu approaches her for advice, only to be bewildered when the president confesses to her! Yuu quickly finds herself in the palm of Touko's hand, and unknowingly sets herself on a path to find the emotion which has long eluded her.”

No.6 (2011)

“Many years ago, after the end of a bloody world war, mankind took shelter in six city-states that were peaceful and perfect... at least on the surface. However, Shion—an elite resident of the city-state No. 6—gained a new perspective on the world he lives in, thanks to a chance encounter with a mysterious boy, Nezumi. Nezumi turned out to be just one of many who lived in the desolate wasteland beyond the walls of the supposed utopia. But despite knowing that the other boy was a fugitive, Shion decided to take him in for the night and protect him, which resulted in drastic consequences: because of his actions, Shion and his mother lost their status as elites and were relocated elsewhere, and the darker side of the city began to make itself known.

Now, a long time after their life-altering first meeting, Shion and Nezumi are finally brought together once again—the former elite and the boy on the run are about to embark on an adventure that will, in time, reveal the shattering secrets of No. 6.”

13K notes · View notes

ginwhitlock · 4 years

Note

Wanna tell us your headcanons about Jasper being married in his human life? How does that history come into play in his vampire life?

You are an oasis in the desert THANK YOU YES (this is going to be very long bc of background I’m sorry)

Alright (I say that... too much) in the time period Jasper was in, early/late 1860s, it actually wasn’t a huge thing for him to be married by 19. What I mean by that is: most people were not married that young, even soldiers (on either side). Is that shocking? It was to me when I found out because weren’t we all told that ppl were popping out babies at 16? (And some were, and actually MOST women around that time period were pregnant on their wedding day according to birth records (read: baptismal records)) But marriage wasn’t usually occurring, especially for men, until about 22 or 23 (my family records from that time period show that).

So history doesn’t tell us he had to be married. BUT what do we know about Jas? Mans a romantic (at least when he’s not fighting for his life) and I believe he would’ve gotten married before signing up for the war. I believe he was 19 when he was turned and around 16/17 when he signed up because he faked how old he was to get in. So married very very young. But it wasnt super uncommon even if the normal age was like 22.

Okay, so... Mrs.Whitlock. Childhood sweethearts. Most likely the daughter of someone in the town closest to him, or in his town, maybe the sheriff (haha yeah this could be a time travel jasper/Bella fic) or another farmer. My favorite idea is that she’s the daughter of the local preacher. In the modern day south (I have experience in both rural Texas and rural/small town South Carolina), you’ve got a church on every corner. But it wasn’t exactly that way back then. You had one, or a couple maybe, and they were of one faith or the other. Methodist was the biggest in that time in that region, so I’m going with that (which works because... I’m the granddaughter of a Methodist preacher... I’m definitely not self inserting...). Let’s say her name is Adelaide (but Bell would also be quite a common name).

Okay so daughter of the preacher, Jasper had loved her his entire life. From birth, to working the fields, to the day when the succession was announced: he kept Adelaide close. With the war looming it was only a matter of time before he was forced into grey. There was a very hard conversation with his father, ending in a stiff ‘yes’ to be allowed to propose to her, as they had been courting, supervised, for quite a long time.

Their wedding was small, those who could make it could come, any northern parts of either family were obviously not in attendance. Adelaide learned a multitude of things in those long hours: Jasper can dance quite well (evidenced by the sullen imprint of his little sisters hell on his boot toe), Jasper’s mother treated her like a porcelain doll in every way that count for an unknown reason, and her husband never took his eyes off of her the entire ceremony.

They had never had time alone when they were courting, just the occasional refreshment fetching when he was out in the field, but her mother always watched from the house. Once, his oldest sister Birdie had run off after telling Jasper’s father she’d go with them to supervise a horse ride. In the small time they got that afternoon he had pressed his lips faintly into the corner of her mouth, not wanting to corrupt the preachers daughter who had just spent the last sun-filled hour reading to him from a book of poems she wasn’t supposed to have. Chaste kisses after that day have never been enough. They would never been enough.

When he got called away for duty, it felt like a funeral. The tears in his sisters eyes wouldn’t stop running, his small compared to his tall frame, look even more fragile. The only thing he could find of life in her was her unusually pink skin and the shine of her brunette curls.

Jasper went off with a picture of Adelaide in his breast pocket, a locket with his parents inside, and left behind the one and only child he didn’t think he had.

He doesn’t return home before the baby is born, and by the time he recieves news of his son’, he’s already on Maria’s guard.

They say that human memories fade, and for the most part that’s a truth, but the stubborn ones, the ones that hurt, stay. It isn’t until Peter and Charoltte leave him to travel the earth by himself that he goes to her grave. Maria let him keep her picture, if not to remind him he can never go back.

He finds his parents, his sisters all with unsurprising last names, even one for him— empty like the rest of the soldiers he’s forgotten. The grave next to his is... shiney. I mean, not like some granite plot you’d find in modern times but clean enough for evidence of upkeep. His delicate fingertips run over the imprint of letters, her name swirls just slightly in the stone, her birth date a known one, her death date... too young. She was in her 40s when she passed, only one child listed.

“She died of a broken heart.”

The voice somehow startles Jasper and he jumps to his feet, the want to bear his teeth just under his skin. Years from Maria have only slightly built his resolve. His red eyes shine into the young man infront of him, a bouquet of lillies hanging from his fist. He doesn’t look frightened.

“My great great grandfather always said that about his mother. It’s a shame how she went. Always waiting for another letter.” The man with his mouth walks past the vampires form and settles the flower into the soil. Jasper feels as if he has no air in his lungs. The man carries on. “He’s the one that wrote to do this. Come care for her after all this time.” He stood, rubbed the dirt off his knees and stepped back, almost shoulder to shoulder with the blond.

“He has this wild idea his father would come back for her. Come see what he left for himself.” He sighed and looked to the still silent man. “Everyone knows he was killed on one of those battle fields. His heart just couldn’t take it. Kinda like hers, ya know?”

Jasper had only found his voice as the man who looked far too much like him for his own comfort, who he knew was wearing his last name, who he created not out of bloodshed but of love, turned to walk to the truck at the end of the field.

“What’s your name?”

The man rose up a hand and flashed a smile at the “stranger” who’s picture had been hanging in his foyer for as long as time wished.

“Jasper Whitlock, sir.”

#why did this turn into a fanfic #what the fuck #I’m sorry #can you tell I’m not going to school today and am effortlessly not sleeping #mine #twilight #thetwilightsaga #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #shut up adrianna #my writing #writing

82 notes · View notes

crystalstar8 · 3 years

Text

Knights of the Night (Epilogue 2)

Epilogue 2

Ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11, ch 12, ch 13, ch 14, ch 15, ch 16, ch 17, ch 18, ch 19, ch 20, ch 21, ch 22, ch 23, epilogue, epilogue 2

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139240/chapters/71536491

pairing: Jungkook x oc

genre: vampire au, college au, twilight, romance

word count: 1,053

warnings: blood (obviously), kidnapping, child kidnapping, needles, France, human trafficking

notes: vampires, vampire au, college, college au, so many twilight references, blood, needles, kidnapping, children, homelessness, dance, ballet, flashbacks, romance, slow burn, probably no smut, idk yet tho, France, French things, attempted genocide, inaccurate French history, bisexual main character, @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @mozy-j @daechwitad-2 @zobadak @fallenstar-7

summary: Catalina starts college in a small town all the way across the country. She doesn’t know anyone and isn’t exactly looking for friends. She just wants to focus on dance. But when she meets fellow dance major, Jimin, and adventurous, fellow freshman, Jungkook, Catalina ends up discovering a whole new side to the small college town; one that is dangerous but oh so enticing...

Jungkook was waiting for her outside the building, a rose in his hand. Catalina’s nose scrunched into a smile as she skipped down the stone steps.

France was overwhelming; the architecture everywhere was ancient and beautiful, and the history was fascinating and rich. The people were a bit rude, especially once they realized they were Americans. They were only a bit more forgiving when Namjoon, Taehyung, and Yoongi showed off their fluent French.

The theater Catalina had her audition in was stunning. The outside was all white columns and friezes, the inside was mosaic tiled floors and painted ceilings.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she dropped her dance bag and threw herself into Jungkook’s arms.

“You got me a rose?” she asked, leaning back just enough to look at the rose in his hand.

“Of course I got you a rose,” he said. “You think I’d let you step out of an audition without a rose?”

Catalina giggled and took the flower from him.

“How did it go? Did you get in?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet,” said Catalina. “They’re going to do callbacks in a few days.”

“Good thing we’re staying for a while,” said Jungkook.

“But honestly, it doesn’t matter if I get in or not,” said Catalina. “There’s always next year. And There’s always plenty of shows.”

“Yeah, you have all the time in the world,” said Jungkook. He stared at her for a moment, then whispered, “I want you to turn me.”

“Oh yeah?” Catalina asked. She had been waiting for this. She knew that he was worried about aging without her, she could see it his eyes sometimes when they went to bed together, knowing she wouldn’t fall asleep. She especially saw it on his birthday. “You’re still young.”

“I know, but I’m already the same age as you now,” he said.

“Oh no! You’re the same age as me! You basically have one foot in the grave already!” Catalina giggled. “You should take your time. You get hotter every year. Let yourself ripen a bit before doing this.”

He laughed loudly and tugged her closer.

“That’s true,” he said.

“Wait until we both graduate,” said Catalina. “We can talk then.”

“You’re pulling an Edward on me?” he said. “Next thing I know, it’ll be, ‘wait until we’re married’.”

Catalina giggled and swatted his arm. “You’re being a baby.”

“I know. I’m kidding,” he said. “I can wait.”

“Besides, we need time to explore the wonders of blood drinking during sex,” she said. “Did you know there’s aphrodisiacs in the venom when you drink from someone? It’s supposed to make them pliant, but it doesn’t turn them into a vampire.”

“That sounds hot,” said Jungkook. “Also, I am a fan of being manhandled. I’m not ready for that to end just yet.”

“I know. We might need a chaperone though,” she said, tapping her chin. “I don’t know if I’d be able to stop once I got started. You smell way too good.”

“We have plenty of time to work out the specifics,” said Jungkook. “I need time to get hotter each year, so we’ll figure it out.”

They both laughed as they went to the car waiting for them.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Taehyung loved the Louvre. It was like a dream come true, wandering the unending corridors, seeing all the classics he’s idolized for hundreds of years.

“Taehyungie, what’s this one called?” Jimin asked. His hand was covering the informational plaque under a series of paintings depicting a man looking at a celestial globe. Jimin had been doing this for hours, but Taehyung didn’t mind. He loved sharing what he knew about all his favorite pieces.

“That’s ‘The Astronomer’, by Vermeer,” said Taehyung. Jimin smiled and strolled ahead down the corridor, in search of his next quiz. It was a weekday, so the museum wasn’t very busy. There was a tour group of young students, which Taehyung and Jimin ran into a few times, but otherwise there were only a few stray artists wandering around doing sketches of the statues.

In the back of his mind, Taehyung knew that the rest of their group was supposed to meet them here at some point, but Taehyung and Jimin were so far into the maze of art that he wouldn’t even know how to direct them once they arrived. He wasn’t worried about it either. He was having too much fun with Jimin to care about the others right now.

Every moment spent with Jimin was special to him. He still couldn’t believe sometimes how quickly Jimin had reassured and forgiven Taehyung; he was so sure Jimin would hate him for making that decision for him. And while Jimin was struggling getting used to his new life, he made it clear that he was thankful to be alive, that he was excited to spend forever with Taehyung.

“What about this one?” Jimin asked. Taehyung strolled over to look at what painting Jimin was at.

“‘St. Michael Vanquishing Satan’,” said Taehyung. “Raphael.”

Jimin continued down the hall, eyes flitting across each painting. Taehyung was most excited to see David; he heard that the statue was way bigger in person than one would expect.

Taehyung stopped. The painting he was looking at made his eyes widen and his mouth fall open. The plaque said that the artist was unknown. Jimin must have noticed that Taehyung had stopped moving, because he wandered over, letting out a gasp when he saw the painting.

They didn’t say anything for a while. The school group wandered past behind them, the children’s voices bouncing off the stone walls.

“Hey, that guy looks just like you!” a voice shouted from behind them. Jimin turned around to talk with the girl, who was pointing at Taehyung. Taehyung didn’t take his eyes off the picture though. He felt a tear roll down his face.

“Can I take a picture of you with that painting?” the little girl asked. Taehyung wiped the tear from his cheek and nodded, turning around to face the girl. She lifted her phone and snapped a picture. She gave them a toothy smile before running to catch up with her classmates.

“Is this Adrianna’s work?” Jimin asked. Taehyung nodded. He turned back around to stare at the painting of himself with his dog.

A/N:

And that’s a wrap! Thank you to everyone reading this and sticking with me during this story. Reading the comments was my favorite part of this journey.

This story is officially novel length! I’ve never accomplished that before with a complete work! I’ll be posting this story on Wattpad, and I’m also thinking of changing names and adding scenes to make this a publishable work, so keep your eyes out for updates on that!

23 notes · View notes

jawadkhanyusufzai · 3 years

Text

English Literature

1. Father of English Novel ---

→ Henry Fielding

2. Father of English Poem--

→ Geoffrey Chaucer

3. Poet of poets ---

→ Edmund Spenser

4. English Epic poet ---

→ John Milton

5. Both a poet and painter ---

→ Blake

6. Famous mock heroic poet in English Literature

---

→ Alexander Pope

7. The poet of nature in English Literature

---

→ William Wordsworth

8. Poet of beauty in English Literature ---

→ John Keats

9. Rebel poet in English Literature ---

→ Lord Byron

10. Poet of Skylark and Winds---

→ P.B. Shelley

11. Father of Modern English Literature ---

→ G.B. Shaw

12. Most translated author of the world ---

→ V. I. Lenin

13. Bard of Avon ----

→ William Shakespeare

14. Poet of Love/ Metaphysical Poet---

→ John Donne

15. Father of English Criticism ---

→ John Dryden

16. Father of Romanticism ---

→ Coleridge & Wordsworth

17. The Founder of English Prose---

→ Alfred the Great

18. First Sonneteer in English Literature ---

→ Sir Thomas Wyatt

19. Poet of Supernaturalism / Opium Eater

---

→ S.T. Coleridge

20. Father of English Tragedy ---

→ Christopher Marlowe

21. Father of English Eassay ---

→ Francis Bacon

22. The Greatest Modern Dramatist ---

→ George Bernard Shaw...

*#LITERARY_FORMS*

#AND

*#MOVEMENTS*

◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼

🍁 *What is a round character?*

A round character is a complex and dynamic. In this character improvement and change occurs during the course of work .

🍁 *What is a soliloquy?*

Soliloquy is a device use in drama in which a character speaks to himself or herself (thinking loud) by showing his feelings or thoughts to audience.

🍁 *What is Neo-classicism?*

Neo-classicism is a eighteenth century western movement of art, literature and architecture. They got inspiration from ancient Greece and ancient Rome.

🍁 *What is a mock-epic?*

Mock-epic is a poem in which satire, exaggeration, irony and sarcasm is used to mock the subject or used the epic style for the trivial subject etc.

🍁 *What is a complex plot?*

A complex plot according to Aristotle is that have ‘peripeteia’ (reversal) and ‘anagnorisis’ (denouement) without these is a simple plot.

🍁 *What is interior monologue?*

Interior monologue is the expression of internal thought, feelings and emotions of a character in dramatic or narrative form.

🍁 *What is blank verse?*

Blank verse is a form of poetry that written in iambic pentameter but un-rhymed.

🍁 *What is Art for Arts’ sake?*

“Art for Arts’ sake” is nineteenth century literary movement which gives importance to aesthetic pleasure instead of moral, didactic or utilitarian function of literature.

🍁 *What is Epistolary novel?*

Epistolary novel is a narrated work. In this type of novel the story is narrated through letters sent by the observer or by those who participating in the events. Example: 18th century’s novel ‘Richardson’s Pamela and Clarissa etc.

🍁 *Differentiate between novel and novella.*

Difference between novel and novella is length of the narrative work. Novella is shorter than novel and longer than short story but novel is long narrated work.

🍁 *What is the difference between “Open form poetry” and “Closed form poetry”?*

Close form poetry used the fix pattern of stanza, rhyme and meter etc. For example: sonnet, limerick, haiku and sestina etc. Open form poetry does not use these fix patterns.

🍁 *What is the structure of Spenserian stanza?*

Spenserian stanza consist of nine lines, eight lines are in iambic pentameter and followed by single line in iambic hexameter. The last line is called Alexandrine.

🍁 *Differentiate between ‘Blank verse’ and ‘Free verse’.*

‘Blank verse’ follows the fix meter like iambic pentameter and un-rhymed but ‘Free verse’ is also un-rhymed and does not follow the fix meter.

🍁 *How can you define “Pastoral elegy”?*

Pastoral elegy is a poem about death. In this poem poet expresses his grief for the dead in rural setting or about the shepherds.

🍁 *What is ‘Point of View’?*

‘Point of view’ is an opinion, judgment or attitude on a matter. It may be against are in favor.

🍁 *Define plot.* What are its various elements?

Plot is a logical arrangement of events in a story or play. The exposition, rising action, climax, falling action and resolution are the elements of plot.

🍁 *What is conflict?*

Conflict is a problem or struggle in a story or play. It occurs in rising action, climax and falling action. It creates suspense and excitement in the story or play.

Define black comedy.

Black comedy is a humorous work in which human suffering regards as absurd and funny..

🍁 *What do you mean by Theater of the absurd?*

Theater of the absurd is one kind of drama in which absurdity emphasized and lack realistic and logical structure. For example: “Waiting for Godot” by Samuel Beckett.

🍁*How can you differentiate between flat and round characters?*

A round character is a complex and dynamic. In this character improvement and change occurs during the course of work but flat character are uncomplicated and remains unchanged through the course of work.

🍁 *What was the Oxford movement?*

Oxford movement starts in 1833 and for the revival of Catholic doctrine in Anglican Church. It is against the conventional understanding of the religion.

🍁 *Define Puritanism?*

Puritanism is the religious movement starts in sixteen century and the goal of the movement is to purify the church of England from its Catholic practices.

🍁 *What is Imagism?*

Imagism is a movement of Anglo-American poets started in early nineteenth century in which they emphasize the use of clear images and simple and sharp language.

🍁 *What is meant by Stream of Consciousness?*

Stream of Consciousness is a technique of narration in which the series of thoughts in the mind of the character are presented. “To the Lighthouse” by Virginia Woolf is one example.

🍁*What is meant by Gothic Novel?*

Gothic Novel is one type of novel. In this type the cruel passions and supernatural terror is presented. Example: Monastery or Haunted Castle etc.

🍁*What is Metaphysical Poetry?*

Metaphysical poetry is a highly intellectualized poetry with the use of wit, imagery, conceits and paradox etc. It is obscure and rigid. For example: “John Donne’s poetry.

[5/27, 3:58 PM] ‪+92 300 2730009‬: (Solved)M.cqs. ENGLISH LITERATURE ☘🌸🌸👇🙋‍♂🍁🍁🍁🍁

1. Who, among the following poets, was a precursor to Romantic Poetry?

Answer: Robert Burns

2. Which novelists is widely known for his use of the stream-of –consciousness

technique?

Answer: James Joyce

3. Which year in the social history of England is associated with the Restoration?

Answer: 1660.

4. Which British dramatist attempted to reform English spelling?

Answer: G.B.Shaw

5. For God’s sake hold your tongue, and let me love

Which poem of Donne begins with these words

Answer: Cannonisation

6. How many pilgrims figure in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales?

Answer: 29

7. In which year was Henry VIII acknowledged the Supreme Head on the Earth of the

English church?

Answer: 1534

8. Identify the tragedy written by Ben Jonson

Answer: Sejanus

9. “…though we cannot make our sun / stand still, yet we will make him run”. Identify

the source of these lines from Marvell.

Answer: To His Coy Mistress

10. Which book of Paradise Lost opens with these lines:

‘Of Man’s first disobedience , and the fruit

Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste

Brought death into the world?

Answer: Book I

11. Who said of Chaucer’s characters: ‘it is sufficient to say, according to the proverb,

that here is God’s plenty?

Answer: Dryden

12. Which poem begins with these lines :

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day

The lowing herd win slowly o’er the lea

The plowman homeward plots his weary way”?

Answer: Elegy written in a Country Churchyard

13. “ To me the meanest flower that blows can give

Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears”

In which poem of Wordsworth would you come across these lines?

Answer: Ode: Intimations of Immortality

14. Which novel of Joyce begins with these words: “once upon a time and very good time

it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was

coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo….?

Answer: A Portrait of an artist as a Young Man.

15. In which novel would you come across this line: “Ralph wept for the end of

innocence, the darkness of man’s heart, and the fall through the air of the true, wise

friend called Piggy’?

Answer: Lord of the Flies

16. Name the first novel of Dorris Lessing.

Answer: The Grass is Singing (1950)

17. Which novel of D.H.Lawrence ends with these words: “But no, he would not give in.

Turning sharply, he walked towards the city’s gold phosphorescence. His fists were

shut, his mouth set fast. He would not take that direction, to the darkness, to follow

her. He walked towards the family humming, glowing town, quickly.”

Answer: Sons and Lovers.

18. “They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it’s night once

more!”

Who makes this observation in Waiting for Godot?

Answer: Pozzo

19. What is the title of the second section of The Waste Land?

Answer: A Game of Chess

20. In which poem of Owen would you come across the following lines?

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

- only the monstrous anger of eth guns.

Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons?

Answer: Anthem for the Doomed Youth

21. Which African American spoke about ‘Double-Consciousness’?

Answer: W.E.B.Du Bois

22. I too, sing America

I am the darker brother

They send me to eat in the kitchen

When company comes”

Whose words are these?

Answer: Langston Hughes

23. Who is the author of Invisible Man?

Answer: Ellison

24. Who wrote In Search of Our Mother’s Gardens?

Answer: Alice Walker

25. Who is the first African American to be named poet laureate of USA?

Answer: Rita Dove

26. You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I’ll rise

Whose words are these?

Answer: Maya Angelou’s Still I Rise.

27. Who is the young man in Hawthorne’s “My Kinsman, Major Molineux”?

Answer: Robin

28. “In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts: they come back to

us with a certain alienated majesty.”

Answer: Emerson from Self –Reliance

29. What, according to Poe in ‘The Philosophy of Composition’, is the ‘proper length’ of a

poem?

Answer: About one Hundred Lines

30. When was Uncle Tom’s Cabin published as a book

Answer: 1852

31. “I celebrate myself, and sing myself,

For what I assume you shall assume,

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.”

Answer: Whitman form Song of Myself

32. In which novel do you come across Starbug and Queequeq?

Answer: Moby Dick

33. In which play of Arthur Miller do you come across the line

“A man is not an orange. You can’t eat the fruit and throw the peel away”?

Answer: Death of Salesman (Willy to Howard)

34. Which poem of Elizabeth Bishop begins with these lines:

“The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

So many things seem filled with the intent

So be lost that their loss is no disaster”?

Answer: One Art (first three lines)

35. In which novel would you come across the Shepherdsons and the Grangerfords?

Answer: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

36. Who wrote the essay “The Art of Fiction”?

Answer: James

37. Who wrote ‘The Awakening’?

Answer: Kate Chopin

7 notes · View notes

flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Text

Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7/ part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 / part 18 / part 19 belongs to this

content warnings: mourning, funeral, isolating oneself/ pushing people away despite needing support, mention of past character death, drowing used as a metaphor briefly, guilt about feeling happy, beginning of depression (I am not sure about this, but just to be safe), not a comforting ending, touching a dead person

This is still not the ending. I will write "final chapter" or something above the actual final chapter

also please tell me if I should put brief summaries of what happened at the beginning of the following chapters in case anything is too upsetting for you to read

Geralt didn’t cry. Not yet. Maybe he never would.

All he wanted to do was lie here and never open his eyes again. What was the point? The man he had dedicated decades of his life to was gone. By all accounts, there should be nothing left for him to do.

And yet, when the sun began to rise, so did Geralt.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jaskier. He looked so peaceful, the smile he had fallen asleep with, still on his face, a lock of hair falling into his eyes.

Geralt brushed it away as tenderly as he could. His fingers touched cold skin. He knew it was nonsensical, but that didn’t stop him from pulling the blanket tighter around Jaskier. He couldn’t let him be cold. Not when the sun was rising and spring was just settling in, eager to warm Jaskier.

When the cries of the early birds shattered the crushing silence, Geralt got up as he had always done.

As impossible as it seemed, he still had things he needed to do. Things, Jaskier needed him to do.

His body moved on its own as he left Jaskier behind and sat himself down at the table, paper and quill ready.

His hands didn’t shake when he wrote the letters. To Yen, who through some sort of magic Geralt had never bothered to ask about would receive them within hours no matter where she was.

To his family, who was still had each other, probably sparring or making jokes around the breakfast table at the moment. Still all together at Kaer Morhen.

Lambert used to complain about the snow that kept him in the place he hated for longer than he wanted to, but Geralt couldn’t help but agree with what Jaskier had said yesterday. At least they were together. At least they didn’t have to be alone when they read Geralt’s message. Selfishly, he was thankful that it also meant he didn’t have to write more than one letter to them. He didn’t think he would be able to.

Writing it down was supposed to make it more real, but all he could think about was how Jaskier would good-naturedly criticise his plain phrasing.

Once more he wrote the words down. A name, a date, another date for the funeral.

His feet carried him to the town square where he hung the pamphlet on the notice board without ceremony. Barely anyone was up yet to wonder why Geralt was here so early and all alone.

Geralt left before anyone could read his note and pat his back in sympathy or offer him words that wouldn’t mean anything, because there had been only one person who had without fail found the right words to comfort him.

On his way back, guilt started to creep up in him. He should go to Kris, tell them what had happened. They deserved to hear it from him, but he couldn’t bring himself to go over to them. Doing so would mean having to say it out loud and nothing, not the deadliest monster or the thought of the trials, was more terrifying.

So he kept his eyes on the path that lead him back home, ignoring the gnawing feeling in his stomach as he passed by the road that led to Kris’ home without even sparing it a glance.

He only came to a halt when his eyes fell on something in front of the door of his cottage.

The blanket they had dropped when getting up to dance, forgotten as they had laughed and looked at each other as if the world didn’t exist.

He picked it up, letting the fabric glide over his fingers until his hands tightened around it. Jaskier’s scent still lingered on it.

With wooden movements that weren’t his own, Geralt entered the cottage, cleaning up the mess he had left. The emptied the day old cup he had held in his hands while waiting for Jaskier to join him, only to find something precious beyond imagination when Jaskier had finally awoken. He put the scarf he had flung across the bedroom back where it belonged; Jaskier’s teasing and mock outrage still hanging in the air.

Geralt tried to occupy himself with such tasks. Anything to keep his mind away from what he didn’t dare think about, even while knowing he couldn’t push it away for good.

He could only ignore it for so long.

It all came crashing down on him, when he caught himself thinking about looking over their garden as he had done every year at this time. But watering the flowers would be of no use now. The best thing he could probably do was getting rid of the plants, before they died on their own once Geralt left.

Because he would have to leave.

He couldn’t stay here. The cottage, the coast, this tiny town that had welcomed him with open arms had nothing left for him. He wasn’t the one who had come here to stay until the end of his days.

His heart turned to stone at the thought. This had been his home, something he had never thought he could have. But it wasn’t anymore. Anywhere would have been home as long as it was with you, Jaskier had said and Geralt found the truth of the words dragging him under, as he stood in the place that no longer felt like home.

He would have to get rid of the cottage somehow. Sell it or abandon it until it succumbed to time and weather.

For some unnameable reason, the thought hurt more than writing the letters had.

Home had been a beautiful dream that through some undeserved mercy had become reality. It was over now. Time to wake up. Time to go back to the real world, where the nights were cold and lonely and the path he wandered was bare of laughter and song.

And yet, Geralt found himself hesitating. The cottage was chockfull of proof that it had been more than an idle fantasy.

All around him were mementoes of a shared life. Trinkets Geralt had brought Jaskier back from his hunts, the numerous notebooks filled with Jaskier’s verses, feelings and thoughts. The myriad of sea shells Jaskier had collected on their window sills, just as he had dreamed of doing when they had started imagining what they could have.

Geralt knew those trinkets should hold no more meaning. Once he left, they would only be objects gathering dust.

And yet he couldn’t bring himself to even begin throwing them away. It was too much. It belonged to Jaskier, all of it. Geralt couldn’t take it away from him, even now.

Just like he couldn’t take Jaskier away from this place that had been so dear to him. Selling it and moving on would be the sensible thing, but even as Geralt considered it, he knew there was no way he would be able to do so.

Every part of this place breathed Jaskier’s name, evidence that he had been here, that his life had been meaningful. Notebooks desperate to tell the world that Jaskier existed.

Geralt couldn’t keep his hands from shaking, when he pulled the notebooks out, one by one until finally his breathing came to a stuttering halt, when he found what Jaskier had kept hidden from him for who knew how many years.

There, behind a book of poetry and one of silly children’s stories lay a stack of letters.

For what seemed like an eternity, Geralt could only stare at them until he ripped himself out of his frozen state with a jolt, grabbing the letters like a drowning man reached for an outstretched hand, desperate for the tiniest slither of hope, though knowing it was too late to save him.

One by one, he gathered the letters close. There were so many. Countless words Jaskier had wanted to share with him.

The overwhelming urge to rip each letter open this instant overcame Geralt, crashed into him like a wave during a storm. He needed to know what Jaskier had wanted to tell him, needed to read his writing as if it could replace his voice.

His fingers trembled, as he reached for the first envelope. The paper started to rip, the sound of it unbearably loud and sharp.

Geralt froze.

He couldn’t do it. Those were Jaskier’s last words to him, a last part of him that remained for Geralt to discover. Reading them, even opening the envelopes felt too final. He couldn’t –

A flash of light in his periphery made him flinch. A gust of wind tore the letters out of his grip and strew the letters through the room.

He turned around to see his family step out of a portal.

Of all the emotions, Geralt hadn’t expected to feel the tiniest bit of rightness as he stood before the hole he and his brothers had dug out, holding Jaskier’s body in his arms as if he had fallen asleep there. No word had been spoken while they had dug the grave, but the occasional touch - seemingly random brushes of hands against his shoulders or arms – had told him enough. His family was here with and for him.

Triss, who had come with Yennefer had hesitated to let them dig the grave themselves, but there had been something utterly impossible about the idea of doing this with magic.

It had felt wrong, just how the place for the grave had felt right. Here, in the garden Jaskier had so loved, amidst the flowers that would bloom in time, Jaskier would be able to rest. Here, where he had sat crying and desperate to get told that he was loved, he was now bid farewell, surrounded by people who loved him.

The sheer amount of people who attended the improvised funeral had almost made Geralt choke with unexpected emotion. He had known Jaskier was liked by many, that he had touched lives and made them brighter, but never had he dared to expect how many people would show their gratitude for Jaskier’s life once he was gone.

Neighbours, people who used to be strangers until Jaskier had befriended them; regulars who had bought their flowers; people who had flowers gifted to them with a smile and a kind word; parents of the children who used to listen to Jaskier’s stories. They all were here.

Even stranger and more wonderous was the fact that they didn’t spare even one distrustful look at the witchers and the sorceresses.

Geralt’s brothers, Vesemir, Yennefer and Triss all stood to the side, while the townsfolk held their rites and yet they didn’t seem like foreign bodies, more like guardians. There was no doubt that every single person here knew that they were who Jaskier had held closest to his heart.

For a long moment, Geralt didn’t move. No one said anything, no one pushed him to get on with it.

Still, Geralt knew he couldn’t prolong this any further.

His grip on Jaskier tightened, crumbling the fabric of the green jacket he had put on Jaskier. He didn’t know if such a thing was frowned upon by the townsfolk, but he didn’t care. Jaskier had loved that garment, had been so happy when Geralt had brought it back from Corvo Bianco.

Unbidden, images of Jaskier’s smile and the little twirl he had given to show off for Geralt, flashed through his mind.

Finding the jacket had almost felt like packing to go travelling together again. Except these were travels Jaskier was taking without him.

Geralt gathered Jaskier close, letting his hair tickle against his skin, as he whispered, “One last journey, Jaskier. One last adventure for you.”

His voice was quiet and broken. Not one of the humans would be able to hear him, but he knew that his words would not be hidden from his family. In a strange way it was comforting to know his words didn’t get lost in nothingness.

One last time he let his thumb brush over Jaskier’s skin, before lowering him in the ground and burying him in the soil that would soon bring forth new flowers.

He stood before the grave, staring down at Jaskier looking so small and wished that there was more he could do, more he could say.

Instead, he took a step to the side to where his family stood.

Eskel’s hand brushed against his and he felt Vesemir’s presence at his back as they watched the people who had gotten to know Jaskier step closer to the grave, one by one and laying sea shells onto it, each one accompanied by words describing a memory the people had of Jaskier, before they left the burial site with a promise to keep that memory in their hearts.

Without his permission an almost unnoticeable smile twisted Geralt’s lips. Jaskier would have been fascinated by the traditions of the sea-side town.

The last person to step forward was Kris. They lingered by the grave longer than anyone else had. Geralt did his best not to listen in as they quietly shared their memories of Jaskier.

Although Geralt understood little of the town’s rites, it felt like a private moment, too precious to intrude on.

Contrary to anyone else, Kris didn’t turn to go back home when they were done. Instead, they approached Geralt.

Geralt steeled himself for pity or words that wouldn’t be able to reach him, however well meant they might be. He tried coming up with possible responses, as Jaskier surely would have wanted him to.

But Kris didn’t offer him any such words.

“What will you do now?” They asked instead, their expression open and bare of judgement for any possible reply.

Still Geralt stiffened, when he forced the words out. “I am a witcher.”

The words weren’t supposed to hurt that much. Thought they were the truth, saying it out loud felt like betraying Jaskier, who had dedicated his life to making sure Geralt knew he was more than that.

But no time spent listening to encouraging and loving words could change the fact that Geralt was what he was.

His eyes drifted to the patch of dirt under which Jaskier lay.

He was a witcher. There was no choice in what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

And yet.

“I can’t leave him alone.” The words that slipped past Geralt’s lips without permission were little more than a breath, but Kris heard them nonetheless.

“I’ll be here.” They reached out to Geralt, touched his hands, almost briefly enough to be able to pretend it was a coincidence, and yet the gesture meant as much to him as the words that did reach him despite everything. “I will take care of him.”

There was no mistaken the wavering of Kris’ voice.

Geralt didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t comfort Kris; he didn’t have the words or the strength to do so. So he settled for a brusque nod that hopefully would be enough to make them understand.

Kris returned the gesture with a trembling smile, before turning their back on Jaskier’s family and leaving them to what they needed to do.

As the last rays of the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, the witchers took up their positions surrounding the grave.

In the light of day, the people of Oakwood had held their rites, but the night belonged to the witchers. They couldn’t deny Jaskier the traditions of his people, but neither were they willing to let him go without acknowledging what he was to them. Jaskier deserved both, just as he had made it his life’s work to live in both the humans’ and witchers’ worlds.

As the moon crept across the sky, the witchers held a vigil over the one they had lost, each one holding a small flame of igni in their hands – it was as close as they could get to the pyre they would normally light.

For anyone walking past, the sight would have been unsettling, but for Geralt the quiet comfort of his family protecting Jaskier in his first night truly away from them melted the sharp spike that had been struck into his chest.

The only movement to be seen came from the dancing flames that lit the way through the darkness for Jaskier until the morning came. The only sound to be heard was the beating of their hearts, the sound of family close by the most comforting sound a witcher could imagine.

They remained like this throughout the night, no sleep or meditation to rest their bodies, when their minds needed to remain sharp to watch over the fallen.

It was only when the night faded into grey once more that another sound was added.

Coën’s voice drifted through the night. A haunting but strangely soothing melody that Geralt had never heard before, matched to the rhythm of their hearts.

The song broke through the silence that the wolfs had built, but neither of them raised their voice to detain Coën. They wouldn’t deny the griffin his rites either, as they hadn’t denied him a welcome into their family, as Jaskier hadn’t denied him his heart.

As Coën sang, Geralt couldn’t help but think of the times that Jaskier had done his best to get the witchers to sing with him. His grin had been so bright when Coën had finally given in and his laugh when Lambert had joined in and completely butchered the song still remained in Geralt’s memory.

None of the wolfs accompanied Coën. Their rough voices would ruin what he was giving Jaskier, but Geralt felt Eskel shifted next to him, until they were touching. A quiet understanding.

When they finally left their vigil and rose with the sun, something in Geralt’s chest came lose.

He shouldn’t feel this way, but for the first time since they arrived through the portal, Geralt really saw his family.

What had been needed to be done was done.

Now, he got to hug Eskel again - gods, how he had missed him – he got to watch Vesemir’s exasperation at whatever Lambert was doing. He could see the sunlight reflecting on the gemstone Coën wore in his beard, as Jaskier had suggested to him so long ago. He could see Yennefer and Triss talking quietly amongst themselves until Triss lifted her hand over the grave, letting the first buds of wildflowers sprout on it.

He couldn’t supress the smile when he saw a dandelion among them.

Geralt couldn’t remember a time when they all had met outside of Kaer Morhen, like this, like a family.

He wished Jaskier were here to see it. He would have been so happy. He would have deserved to see it.

But he never would get to again.

And here Geralt was, looking at his family and feeling warm inside, as if they hadn’t spent the night standing over the grave of the man he loved most. Happiness should be the farthest thing from his mind right now.

The guilt about it was eating him up, and still Geralt couldn’t push the feelings down that welled up any time he saw Lambert nudge his shoulder roughly against Eskel’s.

This was wrong. It was all so wrong.

So why did it feel right as if his life hadn’t shattered around him?

A hand found his, almost making him flinch. It was smooth and warm, so similar to how Jaskier’s had been decades ago, if it weren’t for the lack of lute-calluses.

Geralt looked up and met violet eyes.

A lump formed in his throat, but he couldn’t look away.

Yennefer gave him a tight smile. “Nothing selfish about being happy.”

She couldn’t know. She couldn’t understand. She had no right to be saying his own words that had been spoken when he hadn’t known any better back at him.

And yet as he looked at the tentative smiles of his brothers he couldn’t bring himself to disagree as much as his mind was telling him he had no right to feel this way.

“He mentioned you,” Geralt said, just to fill the silence with anything other than the voice inside his head. “Yesterday, not long before…before it happened.” Yennefer stiffened and sucked in a sharp breath.

“Nothing bad,” Geralt added quickly. “Not like the last time you saw him. It wasn’t… that time wasn’t the last memory he had of you.” Geralt shuffled uncomfortably, the spike of guilt rising into his throat with every passing second. “He told me not to tell you, but…you made his last hours less painful. You truly helped him.”

Yennefer nodded brusquely. “Of course he needed my help. He always was a walking disaster.” Her tone lacked the bite of her words and Geralt pretended not to notice the quiet sniffle that followed them. “Thank you for telling me.”

She looked away, as if she were unaffected, but Geralt could see her subtly reaching out for Triss’ hand for comfort.

Geralt was glad for it. It was good that Yennefer had someone there with her.

He was glad that he had all of them here with him, if only for today.

The day dragged on like quicksand pulling him under, slow at first until he was half sunk before he had even noticed it.

They sat in the cottage’s living room, as if it was the library at Kaer Morhen.

A shudder ran down Geralt’s spine and he couldn’t pretend it was a bad one. The relief at the sound of voices and scratching chairs in this place flooded him without warning.

This place was never meant to be silent.

The noise that filled it now was nothing like Jaskier’s singing, his rambling or the scratching of his quill on paper, but it was close enough.

At the very least, the voices drowned out the deafening silence left by Jaskier’s missing heartbeat.

With every passing second, the tension dissipated bit by bit, whether because they were all pushing the unavoidable thoughts into the back of their minds or because the others’ presence was easing them enough to laugh again.

Still, Geralt could feel the unspoken words hanging in the air. The others might pretend not to notice how Geralt grabbed the strewn about letters off the floor, but he could feel their eyes burning into his back.

Even worse was when he stood back up and found none of their eyes on him, as if looking at him would set off an explosion that would rip him apart.

Something about it set Geralt on edge again, suffocated him.

A human wouldn’t have been able to see the tiny tremble that took hold of his hands, but it would be foolish to hope it could escape the notice of witchers or sorceresses.

Eskel was the only one who reacted, while the others kept talking among themselves, pretending they weren’t watching Geralt’s every move with concern.

“Let me,” Eskel said, making space on the table for Geralt to place the letters on.

Geralt swallowed as he watched Eskel put the vase and various meaningless knickknacks that had meant the world to Jaskier to the side.

“I didn’t have time to get rid of that yet.” The words sounded more defensive then they were meant to. Geralt almost wished they sounded more like the lie that they were. It had had nothing to do with time and everything with the memories that clung to them and that Geralt couldn’t let go of.

For a long moment, Eskel didn’t answer, but when Geralt looked up at him his eyes rested on the collection of sea shells in contemplation.

“What if you don’t?”

“What?”

Eskel shrugged, aiming for nonchalance but missing by a mile.

Coën dropped the pretence of not listening in and answered in Eskel’s stead.

“Why throw it away? I said it before and I’ll say it again: This place could be a safe haven for us in summer.”

Geralt furrowed his brows. “You had been joking.”

Coën shrugged. “Back then, of course. But being able to visit just for a day or two and have a place to go back to?” He threw a challenging glare at the wolfs. “I dare any of you to say it wasn’t the best summer any of us has had in decades.”

Sharply, Geralt sucked in his breath, his eyes darting over to Vesemir, waiting for the old sword master to lecture the griffin on what it meant to be on the Path.

But Vesemir remained quiet, the only one of them still pretending to be disinterested in the conversation.

It was as much of a blessing that they would get.

A soft touch from Eskel made Geralt release his breath again. “And when we come back, we can look after Jaskier.”

One by one his family left, off to live their own lives until one day they might meet again.

Lambert was the first to go, without so much as another glance at the grave, though Geralt couldn’t shake the feeling that he would be the first to return to it. He grunted his usually gruff goodbye as he left, grumbling about finally being alone again. He had none of them fooled. They didn’t need Lambert to say it to know that he would be looking for his cat witcher.

After a short moment of hesitation, Coën ran after him, not ready to be alone quite yet.

Vesemir patted Geralt on the shoulder as he had done when Geralt had only been a boy crying because he couldn’t find his mother in the woods. “Be safe out there, son.”

Geralt nodded and watched as Vesemir disappeared in a portal, shortly followed by Triss.

Yennefer hesitated before stepping in after them. Before doing so, she gave Geralt a hug.

“Remember what we talked about,” she said quietly, “allow yourself to be happy.”

With that, she pulled away, the portal closing behind her, leaving only him and Eskel.

Without wanting to, Geralt clenched his hands into fists at his side as he waited for Eskel to leave him as well. Instead, Eskel clasped a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you going to be alright?”

The question sounded so innocent, but Geralt knew Eskel too well to fall for it. It was all there in the way he kept touching him, grounding him. Geralt was grateful for it, he really was, but Eskel was looking at him like he was preparing for something. For Geralt to fall apart.

The truth was, Geralt didn’t think he could fall apart now. Not anymore. He had already gone through every possible reaction he could have.

He had raged and sobbed and broken down. He had done his best to deny the fact that Jaskier was going to leave him. He had been angry when it had become impossible to ignore anymore; he had yelled at Jaskier and stormed away. He had done whatever he could to keep Jaskier from slipping away; had thought that if he just tried hard enough, he wouldn’t have to lose Jaskier.

He had mourned him while he had been still alive.

What more was he supposed to do? What more could he do?

There was no point in going through all of it again. At the end of the day, it had all been useless. Jaskier was gone and Geralt didn’t even have it in him to be angry at the injustice or shed even a single tear about it.

All he had left was a hollowness inside him. He was empty, barren of all feelings.

A squeeze of his shoulder made him look up.

“I am fine,” Geralt said and as much as he knew how wrong it should have felt, it wasn’t a lie. “I am not going to break down.”

Not again.

But his words didn’t seem to reassure Eskel. If anything, the lines on his forehead deepened, the frown more prominent through the twisting of his scars.

“Geralt, you don’t have to do this. I know this is hard for you. You know I don’t blame or judge you for whatever it is that you feel.” When Geralt only answered by clenching his jaw, Eskel sighed. “How about you travel with me for a while? Scorpion passed away last autumn. We could find new horses and hunt together, just until you are good to be on your own again?”

Something in Geralt’s chest tightened, urging him to accept the offer.

The thought of being alone was terrifying. He wasn’t sure he could even still remember a time when he had been well and truly on his own. He knew for certain that he didn’t want to remember.

He had grown too soft, too weak.

Seeing everyone together had made emotions flare up that he hadn’t wanted to allow himself to feel.

Jaskier’s life had touched so many people, all of them now mourning for him.

Geralt couldn’t let anyone grief for him. There was a reason why witchers hunted alone.

With every farewell Geralt had given out today, the wave of unwanted emotion had grown smaller and smaller. One by one Geralt had watched those who meant most to him disappear and with every one of them a piece of himself had fallen away.

It was a relief.

His silence must have been answer enough for Eskel, for the weight of Eskel’s hand on his shoulder and the last thread of that crushing feeling that came with it, disappeared.

“Be safe,” Eskel said just as Vesemir had. “If you ever change your mind…I’ll keep my eyes open for you.”

Witchers didn’t feel. How often Geralt had wished the rumours to be true. Now that they finally were, it felt like a betrayal of everything Jaskier had stood for.

But Jaskier wasn’t here anymore to tell Geralt that he was wrong, that he should allow himself to feel.

Jaskier was gone and it had left Geralt broken enough that there was nothing left of him to shatter.

He turned his back on Eskel who was leaving him and Jaskier whom Geralt would be leaving.

Without looking back, Geralt went into the cottage that wasn’t his home anymore, for witchers were not allowed to have such a thing, to grab his swords and get back on the loneliness of the Path where he belonged.

18 notes · View notes

blackfemmecharacterdependency · 4 years

Text

4. Date Night

He had watched her for a week now, sneaking into the train station, following her from a different car of the same train, and noting her actions. This week alone, she had been back to the florist twice and neither time got flowers, but exchanged packages and files. That made Simon curious if she was doing something illegal… if she was, that was her business. He wasn’t going to confront or challenge her about such a thing, and he wouldn’t know what the hell he was talking about, even if he did. She had been to see that Xander guy a few times. They didn’t greet each other like lovers, so that relieved him, but they had a bizarre series of habits, as well.

For instance, she met him at a few different places, at different times - once at a children’s hospital, once at a crisis center, and once at a shipyard… where did this guy actually WORK? And why hadn’t she waited until he was home or something to visit him? Plus, they usually didn’t talk long enough to seem to necessitate a visit and they always exchanged something - papers, a card, one of those big yellow envelopes like the one she picked up at the florist. And without fail, every time Grace left the scene, the guy looked around, suspiciously, like he expected to find someone after him or something. He cracked his knuckles, smoked from a vape, and left about 10 minutes after she did. Simon knew this because he became slightly more interested in finding out more details about him, now.

Besides, he now knew where Grace lived. He could always check on her afterwards. She always went home fairly early in the night, and when he drove back to stake things out, she would always be inside all night… Until Valentine’s Day. He decided to keep an eye on her as much as he could from his car.

When she got off of work, passed through the neighborhood on her way to the florist, he saw her wolf down her coffee and double dutch with some neighborhood girls for a moment (they were almost as impressed with how well she did that as he was). Simon would have tripped over both ropes and busted his face on the concrete, probably. She hugged the girls, took a few photos with them (they had been recording the jump rope session), then she continued on to the florist.

This time, she actually picked up a bouquet. The two people there spoke to her with very concerned body language. God, Simon wished he knew what they were saying. But, whenever she went home, he drove there and beat her, because she took the train. After she arrived, she went inside, where she usually disappeared while he worked on his notes. He’d gotten into even fleshing out the character based on her at this point.

A mysterious loner with a potentially dark past, or maybe not a dark past, but some sort of deep secret… She came out a few hours later, as he expected, because he’d heard she had a date tonight. But, she wasn’t dressed for a date. She had on something black that covered up everything and she went to the parking lot and… got into a car? A very expensive car, at that… One that he was curious to know how she could afford from a bookstore. He started the car and hoped that she wouldn’t notice him following her, because he HAD to know what was going on, now…

Grace drove to a cemetery… Oh shit… He felt invasive now. He was going to turn around and go home, but whenever he saw other people, in an outfit similar to hers - dark clothing and red flowers, he was just too curious. Maybe this had been a kid they knew? They all met up at a grave and Grace set the bouquet down, touched the gravestone and shared words that Simon couldn’t hear. But, from what he noticed, they were responding in unison to something. Maybe there had been some type of prayer that they had all learned. Grace stood up and made a hand gesture at everyone, and one-by-one, they said something and laid their flowers down. By the end, most of them had left, with the exception of Grace, a teenager with an eyepatch and another Black girl who almost looked a little bit like a slightly younger Grace. They hugged her and left her alone, to talk to the grave by herself.

Simon was almost tempted to go check on her, but he knew that there was no reasonable explanation for why he would be there. It was a good thing, because Xander showed up. He didn’t have flowers, though he was dressed in all black. Grace noticed him and rushed to hug him, crying. He rubbed her back and looked around suspiciously, like he always did. Simon leaned back, hoping he was far enough away that Xander didn’t notice him. The two headed out. Simon checked his surroundings, wondering if he could potentially come back later and see whose grave that was. But, he saw Grace’s car and ducked. She drove by him, Xander in her passenger’s seat and Simon waited until he couldn’t hear the car to get out.

“This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up.” he told himself the entire way to the grave. It was no longer people watching. He was literally stalking this woman and NOW, he was getting into what was very personal and probably painful business of hers! But, he couldn’t stop himself. He kept going until he reached the grave. He took a photo of it and read the stone. Todd Adler… That name sounded familiar, but the dates indicated that this was indeed a kid when he died… but… he had been dead for years. Grace would’ve been either a kid herself or a teenager when this person died. Simon did the math - 17 or 18, depending on when her birthday way and the kid would’ve been 10.

He got back into his car and rushed to Grace’s. He didn’t want to miss her date… unless of course THIS was the date and it was just more comfortable to tell people that instead of mourning somebody who died 7 years ago.

Then again, she and that flower dude had spoken about it and she talked about it like it was a date, not like whatever this was. Her car was in the parking lot, so he presumed she was at home. He saw Xander on her balcony, with his vape. Ugh. That guy and his constant looking around. Why was he so paranoid? He went back inside and eventually left in a different vehicle. A van that the florist dude pulled up in. Simon was never one to jump to rash conclusions… well… that wasn’t true. He was, but he didn’t want to do that with regards to Grace, but everything gave him a bad vibe. “Maybe you’re just paranoid that you’ll be caught literally stalking this woman. How will you explain this? I know zero Black people, so I followed one around that was nice to me a couple of times for insight and wound up being super obsessed with her after a few days?” 8 pm came around, then 9, 10… And he was sure that she had either cancelled her date or it had only been a code word for the memorial. He was going to give it until maybe 11… Maybe 12…

Midnight, someone came out of Grace’s apartment building wearing all black, with a white mask with blue flame design on the eyes. This person moved like Grace, and was shaped like her. He was certain that it was Grace in a mask. Whenever she went walking down the street, he knew that walk. It was Grace. She had on a backpack and was moving pretty fast. The street was quiet. If he tried to follow her now, there was no way that she wouldn’t see him.

A van pulled up and his heart skipped a beat. It looked like she was about to be grabbed or hurt or something. But, she reached up and two hands pulled her in.. The van pulled off before the door even shut. Simon followed it. If he was caught, so be it. This was just too much of a mystery for him to leave alone.

About an hour later, the van dropped her off and pulled away. He wasn’t sure where they were heading, but he continued to watch Grace. She walked to a house, ducked in the bushes and opened her backpack. She threw something at the house. It didn’t work, so she kept it up. Whenever the lights came on in the house, she hid. Simon was holding his breath, unsure of what he was seeing or why, but unable to leave. A man stepped outside and looked around. He said something like, “Goddamned kids!” or the like. Simon was too preoccupied with Grace sneaking into his home while he was out on his porch! “Oh no… what is she gonna do?” He didn’t know anything about this man. He didn’t know if she was about to rob him to pay for an expensive car that she couldn’t afford at her paygrade, or if she knew him and hated him and was about to do something even more terrible… but he wasn’t going to stop her.

That was when he really realized that he might have a serious problem. Whatever Grace and her friends intended to do to this man that he knew nothing about, he wasn’t going to turn on her. He wasn’t going to call the police. He wasn’t going to warn the man. He was just going to wait and see what happened… and he felt it, even in that moment - whatever happened, he was with her. He was on her side. The man went back inside and a few minutes later, the lights were off again. Simon didn’t see anything for a while.

Around 1:45… he checked his phone - 1:48, actually… lights came back on.

He sat up in anticipation. Would he hear screaming? Would she need him?? He was more worried about her than whoever the person she had tricked her way into his home, masked and dressed for crime. He just didn’t want something to happen to her. But, he was scared to get out. If she was fine and she saw him, she would never trust him… and somehow, with her doing something that no reasonable person would consider anything but dishonest… he wanted her to trust him.

The van pulled back up and three figures in all black got out. Grace opened the door and they went inside. A few minutes later, two of them carried out a body bag… Simon gasped. Grace was the last to leave the house. She shut the door and spray painted a red A with a squiggly line on it. Simon… didn’t know what it meant… but he was horrified. This time, scared enough not to follow the van after he heard them all laughing as she got inside… they… killed somebody… SHE killed somebody. After the van left, Simon drove home. It was well past 2 and he was so tired that he couldn’t imagine doing anything else tonight… He took a shower, cried, threw on a crop top and a pair of gray sweats and pulled his hair up into a bun. He felt like he needed to write down every detail of tonight, so that he wouldn’t forget, or wake up in the morning and convince himself that he imagined everything, that his mind played a cruel joke on him to punish him for watching this woman without her permission… but… that happened. He had witnessed or at least been able to assume he’d seen evidence of a murder. He hadn’t called anyone. He hadn’t tried to help. He had just sat there.

She said that she had baggage, but this was a little more than that! Simon climbed into bed and checked her social media. Nothing since earlier. But, he did get her in his “people you may know” on another site. Maybe… he could excuse sending her another request. He could always honestly say, “You came up in my people you may know.” Any. Other. Person. Would be running for the hills, Simon! He fussed at himself. You saw her probably kill somebody. You saw her and her friends at least kidnap somebody, or take a body bag’s worth of valuables from their home. Either way, you saw a criminal at work tonight. He sent the request and to his surprise, she quickly accepted. The app automatically prompted him to send her a message to say hi. He wasn’t going to. A few seconds later, he got one from her.

“Happy Valentine's Day!” He smiled, forgetting his fears of just moments before.

“*Belated.” he replied with a smirk emoji.

She sent one with the tongue out. “See you around. Just wanted to say hi.”

“Thank you.”

Grace put her phone away and Xander asked, “That the weird stalker from the book shop?”

She laughed, but defended, “He isn’t a stalker. He’s just not very good at communicating with people.” Xander shook his head and dragged the body bag across the field. “You of all people should get that. You get mistaken for somebody creepy and up to no good all of the time.”

“And it’s always valid,” he said. “You were smiling pretty hard. You like him like that?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe. I have no frame of reference for people that I can trust, so you know how it goes - can’t tell if what’s off about him is my own paranoia or if he’s really weird.” She opened the body bag and the man was squirming, his mouth tied up. Grace removed it. He screamed and she sighed, “Dude, I didn’t take this off of your mouth somewhere that screaming would matter…” She laughed. In her backpack, she had papers, files, photos, etc that she began showing him. “You might not remember this, because you’ve done it so much that all of us are basically numbers to you, but there once was a kid that you called 214. I knew him for a long time, at the warehouse. He was usually on surveillance. You had him reporting shit and whenever he tried to leave with me, whenever I began to rise to power, you shot him… right in the face. 10 years old.” Xander’s fists clenched. “You won’t be so lucky. You’ve lived far too long without having to answer for a shot in the face.

“148… listen… I remember him. I remember. It still bothers me. I made a bad choice…”

“A bad… choice?” She laughed. “1K… does that sound like a bad choice? Shooting Todd in the face for defying him?”

1K (the slightly younger Grace) brandished a blade, “I don’t know. I’ll make some mistakes and see what he thinks then…” The man’s cries rang through the night in the empty field. The hole had already been dug and whenever they slid the body bag into it, he was still alive. They’d gotten good enough at this.

They were casually talking as he begged them not to bury him. They shoveled the dirt into the hole as he screamed himself hoarse. He made sounds even as dirt went into his mouth and nostrils. Xander advised Grace to maybe give the dude at the bookstore a chance. 1K had class in the morning and 152 was going to have a terrible day at the florist if he didn’t get rest soon. They finished and Xander got everyone home. “You okay?”

“Yeah. It just… it helps, but it doesn’t bring them back. It doesn’t ding the ones that are still out there. It doesn’t fic the ones that they’ve broken beyond repair.”

“No… but it stops them from increasing their numbers.”

“Barely. We’ll never figure out who One is. We’ll never end this operation and if we do… there’s rings all over this country, all over the world doing these things and more. We barely make a dent.”

He reached for her hand and she looked at him. “A dent is more than our friends will ever be able to make again. We do it for them, not for us.”

“Todd would have loved to see Sunny slice him up.”

“He was such a violent kid… but I mean… coming up in the warehouse… there weren’t a lot of other ways to be.”

Grace kissed him on the cheek. “We have each other, at least... Other people who understand.”

“The Apex sticks together.”

Grace didn’t see Simon for a few days. She had been expecting him for some reason. When he didn’t show up, she had to remind herself that he didn’t come everyday and that he didn't have to. When he finally did, she found him and he froze up when he saw her. She looked a little surprised, but tried not to pay it much mind. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I didn’t expect to see you.”

“Oh… well… you’d said it was okay to bother you. Sorry. I’ll go back..”

“No! It’s fine.” He smiled and held his hand out to the seat across from him. “How are you?”

“I was thinking about you. About… whenever you’d asked me out?” She sat down and wrung her hands, “I meant what I said, but I wanted to clarify that it didn’t mean that I didn’t wanna go out with you. It didn’t mean that I don’t like you either. I really wish I could get to know you better. I just… don’t know if knowing me would be good for you.”

He sat, staring at her thoughtfully for a while, then said, “What if I tell you something that I wouldn’t dare tell anyone. Something… a little bit crazy and maybe wrong?”

“I guess that might help me feel a little better.”

“Will it help you say yes to going on a date with me?”

“Hmmm… depends on the thing,” she said, but she was smiling and had already decided that whatever milquetoast secret he was going to tell her, she was gonna go on a date with him. She wanted a real date for a change. Not her typical “date night.”

Simon took a deep breath and said, “I’m a stalker.” She laughed and then looked alarmed. He bit his lip. “I… rationalize that as long as I’m not hurting anyone, that it’s okay. That as long as I keep my distance and my sanity, nobody is in danger and it’s not that much of a problem.” His eyes eyes damp, “But, that’s not true, is it? There’s a victim, whether or not they know it. It’s wrong to follow people, to watch them, study them, research them, learn dark secrets about them that they didn’t want to share. It’s a violation.” He took a deep breath.

Grace did too. “I wasn’t expecting that… but… if you’re really not hurting anybody, don’t beat yourself up too much. You can probably still get some help for it. SOme of us are way too far gone.”

“Is that what you think of yourself? That you’re too far gone?”

“It’s what I fear.”

Simon reached over and touched her hand. “I think you’re perfect. Whatever is wrong with you… it’s right for someone who truly wants you.”

She pointed, “Can I get a sheet of your paper?” He slid one over and she folded it into a bird and wrote her number on the side of it. “I need to try to date a nice guy for a change. Don’t stalk me. It’ll scare you off before we ever have a chance to have a nice dinner.” He just stared at her. If she only knew. There was nothing she could do to make him not want her. He knew that, and hopefully someday, he could let her know that too.

Grace waved at him and got back to work. He noticed that she was in a very good mood for the rest of her shift. She stopped for her coffee, smiled at Simon and advised him, “Don’t stay here all night, Simon.” He shivered in a good way when she said his name. He watched her leave. He wasn’t going to follow. Not tonight. He looked at the phone number on the paper swan. Maybe he wouldn’t even have to again.

Grace danced into her apartment, and went directly to her Date Night wall where there were other photos of people. Many of them had an X across their photos in red lipstick. The tube was on a little magnetic holder like a dry erase marker. She picked it up and drew an X across her date from last night, then set the lipstick back down. There were a few other photos hanging up there and she had to consult her calendar to know exactly when their times would come. Her phone dinged.

She looked at a text from “747”: X sighted and a photo of someone, with some vague details about their identity.

On the other end, Xander received a response from “148”: Acknowledged.

05. A Public Place

#AU Infinity Train #Infinity Train #Nesha Fanfiction #Infinity Train Fanfiction #fics #People Watching #If you noticed that I changed 227 to 1K its because 227 didn't belong in this chapter

13 notes · View notes

kittybellestark · 4 years

Text

It Father’s Day, again. Peter hasn’t slept yet. It’s 8am, and the sun has been out for a few hours now, and New York is still bustling, and kids are preparing breakfast, maybe with their Mom’s, to surprise their Dad’s with breakfast in bed.

And Peter is in the cemetery. Because Peter’s Dad is dead, and Ben is dead. Peter might not remember Richard as his Dad, but he still felt that the man should be honoured. Richard didn’t choose to die over being with his son, it wasn’t Richard’s fault that Peter couldn’t really remember him. And while Peter didn’t remember his Dad, he remembers his Uncle Ben, and he remembers being raised by him and learning with Ben and playing games. Ben did everything a Dad was supposed to do. And Peter had to celebrate with Ben, with his father figure. He deserved to be recognized every Father’s Day.

Peter played with the little robot in his hand. The one he created over five years ago, because Peter has been dead for five years. It was a robot created for Tony. Just a little robot to collect rogue pens and markers and pencils. To scan a person to see if they’re happy or in a bad mood or sad, and if they weren’t happy to draw a smiley face on an empty paper and deliver it to the person. The little robot was created to help bring a smile to Tony’s face.

But Peter has died before getting to gift it to the man for Father’s Day, five years ago. And everything Peter and May owned was packed up and put into storage. And then Peter came back and fought a war and had to adjust to a new world, and a new Tony. A Tony who had a daughter and a wife. A Tony who will prioritize his family first, but always make sure there’s room for Peter. A Tony who laughed and smiled and had story after story of Morgan. A Tony that had moved on. Coming into the new world, Peter forgot about the silly little robot until he unboxed it.

But Tony was in Malibu with his family for Father’s Day. And Peter is in the cemetery.

“I don’t know what to do.” Peter repeated again for what felt like the millionth time since arriving cemetery.

Ben’s gravestone still didn’t speak. The letters and numbers didn’t rearrange themselves to tell Peter anything, the flowers remained unchanged and the robot in hand remained idle.

“I thought things were as difficult as they could have been five years ago. But it’s been five years, and I’m still only turning 17 this year. And these five years only felt like a few months. The world moved on.”

Peter wanted nothing more but for Ben to hug him and say that everything will be okay, that nothing is permanent. But Ben is dead and will never say that.

“I’m just really tired Ben, and I can’t tell May that, because she’s exhausted. I can see that. She’s been trying so hard to make things feel normal, but the harder she tries the less normal it feels. We came back to a world that didn’t have room for us anymore. No one we knew besides Tony survived. And he moved on too.”

Peter placed the robot back into his book bag, choosing to put his hands in the grass instead to pull it all up. Using his shoulder to wipe away any tears.

“Tony could never replace you Ben, or Dad, but I see him as a father-y figure thing, and it sucks. It sucks a lot knowing that he moved on from a world that I lived in, and he has a daughter now, Morgan. I babysit her sometimes. I don’t know, Ben, maybe I was projecting onto Tony. I met him so soon after you died. I’m just the intern who sometimes babysits with a crazy side gig. I don’t know.”

Peter stayed silent. Listening to hushed conversations from outside the cemetery, and the sound of tires on the road. He listened to the leaves in the wind. Peter listened and tried his hardest to hear if Ben would maybe respond. But Ben is dead, like Peter is supposed to be, and he doesn’t respond.

“I don’t know Ben. I know it’s stupid, but sometimes I feel like it’d be a lot better if I just didn’t come back. I won’t do anything, don’t worry, I haven’t even gone on patrol since coming back. I want to live, but I also really want to die. It’s not anyone’s fault, I just don’t think I came back right.”

Peter could pretend that Ben would tell Peter to go and get help. To get back into therapy. To open up to May. Tell Tony, or Ned or anyone. But Peter didn’t want to talk to anyone about this. No one could really understand.

Instead, Peter just sighed, looking at his watch and seeing that it was now nearing 9am. He should probably try and take a nap. Not that it’d do him much good between the nightmares, but Peter hasn’t slept well in a long time, so maybe he’d be lucky and pass out into a dreamless sleep.

“I don’t know, Ben. I should probably try and take a nap. Thank you for listening to me. You don’t have to worry. I’ll get out of your hair now. Happy Father’s Day.”

Peter started to stand up, making sure to straighten out the flowers at both Ben’s and his Dad’s grave. Packing up the blanket he brought, making sure the little robot was safe in his bag.

As Peter started to walk away, Peter heard his name being called. It sounded just like Ben saying his name too. His deep voice was soft and full of care, an obvious smile in the way he said his nephews name. Ben sounded happy.

Peter paused for a moment, feeling a full course of emotions run over him as he turned back to his uncles grave, unsure of what to expect. While Ben wasn’t standing directly behind Peter, Peter found Tony look around the cemetery a few rows behind where Ben lays.

“Tony?” Peter called out, tears in his eyes, not trusting what he sees.

Tony looked up and smiled. His grin was crooked and there were wrinkles around his eyes. Tony’s hands were deep in his jean pockets.

“There you are, kid.” Tony laughed before working is way through the graves with quiet apologies to make his way to Peter.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Malibu with your family?” Peter asked as Tony pulled him into a hug.

“Crazy story, really,” Tony started pulling away from the hug to check Peter over to make sure he’s okay. “I don’t know if you’ll believe me.”

Peter snorted. “Try me.”

“So we got there, and things just weren’t feeling right. And then last night I wake up in the middle of the night. Dreamt that some guy, I didn’t recognize him, I don’t know who he was, he kept telling me that you needed help. That I had to come check on you. He was very adamant that you weren’t okay and that I needed to come back and check on you. So I woke up middle of the night, stressed that something was wrong, called May, she said you were as okay as to be expected. But I could still hear him trying to tell me to get over here. So I woke up Pepper and Morgan, we packed up and came right back here.”

“You… had a dream that a man you don’t know told you that I wasn’t okay.” Peter shook his head, looking up to the sky to blink away a few tears.

Tony was silent for a moment, and Peter took the time to feel the weight his bag on his shoulders, and the feeling of his socks moving as he wiggles his toes. The feeling of his sweater pinched between his fingers.

“I know it sounds outlandish, but I think the dream guy was right. I don’t- it’s just a Dad thing, I mean Pepper has that sort of thing too with Morgan. It’s really a parent thing.”

A Dad thing. Tony was talking about Peter and said it was a Dad thing. Peter felt his heart clench and twist at those words and al lithe thoughts that immediately came to his head. From the little voice saying ‘he thinks of you as his kid’ to the louder voices saying ‘you’re just an intern, he’s just explaining things in the only way you’d understand.’

“It’s Father’s Day Tony, don’t you want to spend it with your kid? Thought that was why you went to Malibu.”

Tony and Peter started walking towards the enterance that Tony had came from. Probably where the two would part so Tony could get back to his family to celebrate the rest of this day and Peter could walk home and ignore the rest of the world for the day.

“You know you were welcomed to join us in Malibu right, kid?”

“S’not really my place. That’s your family and I’m just-“

“Kid, I swear if you’re about to put yourself down, you’re wrong. You’re family. I wouldn’t have ever invented time travel unless I had a chance of getting you back. You understand that, right?”

The sincerity in Tony’s voice made Peter’s heart hurt. Peter wanted it to be true. Wanted to be apart of Tony’s family even if he will never fit. Wanted for Tony to care as much about him as Peter cared for Tony. Wanted it all to be true.

“What did Dream-Man look like?”

Tony recognized what Peter was doing as deflection. Tony had done it for many, many years and he was able to tell that Peter didn’t really believe him. That Peter didn’t want to answer his question because he didn’t like the answer. But, if Peter wasn’t comfortable Tony wasn’t going to push it today.

“Oh he was taller than me, didn’t really like that. Brown curly hair waits some greeting parts, brown eyes, crooked nose, wore a white shirt under a blue plaid shirt and some jeans with missing on them and work boots. He was pretty large.”

Peter pulled out his phone with a small smile on his face. He went into his pictures, and pulled up a picture of Ben, in that exact outfit, showing it to Tony.

“Did he look like this?”

“Yeah, kid, exactly like that.”

Peter smiled a little brighter, putting his phone back away. Uncle Ben was still listening and he was still looking out for Peter. Ben woke Tony up for Peter and sent him back to New York. Ben might be dead, but he’s still looking after Peter as much as he possibly can.

For the first time in months Peter felt safe. Tony wrapped his one arm around Peter and pulled him in close to his side, the exact same way Ben used to do.

Uncle Ben might of been dead, but he still did everything he could to make sure Peter is okay.

#irondad #irondad and spiderson #spiderson #peter parker #tony stark #ironman #spider man #ben parker #ben parker is dead #richard parker #post endgame #tony is alive #fathers day #peter is struggling #peter celebrates fathers day #tony stark loves his kids #uncle ben is dead #uncle ben #uncle ben helps peter and tony

28 notes · View notes

ilovemybarricadebabies · 4 years

Text

another fanfic ask game post! enjoy!

This time I’m doing these questions!

Inspiration and Reading Questions:

1. How long ago did you start reading fanfiction? Writing fanfiction?

Reading: I’m not sure. Maybe 2011/2012

Writing: 2013

2. How do you spend your time when it comes to fanfiction? Are you primarily fic reader, writer, or a perfect 50/50 split of both?

It’s definitely both, but I wouldn’t call it a perfect 50/50 split. It varies. Sometimes I read more, but write less or vice versa.

3. Are there any fics that inspired you to write what you do.

Not really. I usually just write fics for whatever I want to.

4. Link your three favorite fics right now.

Current favorite WIPs.

All That’s Left by @doriangrayscale

flowers for your grave by @grantairesbottle

Lover of the Light by @areyoumiserableyet

Favorite (four) all-time fics

Ask me no question (and I’ll tell you no lies) by Signe_chan

If you offer salvation, I will run (into your arms) by mornmeril

this is fact not fiction by Rianne

Oh, It’s What You Do To Me by captainskellington

5. What are your fanfic pet peeves? Do they have a huge effect on whether or not you decide to read something.

I have a love-hate relationship with slow burn fics. Like I love them because give me the pining, give me the obliviousness, give me the amazing, sweeping first kiss, give me the angst, just give me all the delicious development that comes with finding common ground and falling in love. That being said, however, and I realize that I’m in the minority here, the hate part comes in when the story is really long, let’s 50+ chapters, and the story gets to chapter 50, but the romance still hasn’t started coming into play and I’m starting to just get sick of it because nothing has progressed to romance. Like there gets to be a time where too much is too much and usually, when that happens, it’s time for me to say adios! to the story.

6. How do you find new fic to read? Where do you primarily read fanfiction.

I primarily read fics on Ao3. I loathe FFN.net with every fiber of my being.

I usually just leave the Enjolras/Grantaire category open on and refresh it like three to four times a day for new stories to read.

7. Do you prefer to read short fics or long fics?

It depends on the ship, but I mostly like long fics.

8. How often do you reblog/comment on fics that you like?

I’m absolutely horrid at commenting (I’m working on getting better), but if it’s a story that I really like (ex. the three WIPs mentioned in question 4), I will comment every time there is a new chapter.

9. Tag 3 fic writers you think are underrated/unknown in the fandom/fanfiction community.

I have no idea. In my opinion, I think all writers are underrated and unknown.

10. What’s your favorite fandom, pairing, or character to read fic for?

Enjolras and Grantaire (Enjoltaire) from Les Mis.

Fanfiction Writing Asks:

11. How do you come up with your fic titles?

Through music or quotes. Sometimes one just comes to me, but mostly through music or quotes.

12. Tell the author your favorite fics title of theirs (not the fics, stricktly the title). Author: what’s your favorite title you’ve come up with and why?

I love all the titles of my fics, I can’t possibly pick a favorite.

13. Do you outline your fics? How much of a headache would someone get if they just look at an outline of yours without reading the fic?

I make some sort of outline, but I don’t think they’d really get much of a headache since it’s pretty much just a basic plot, maybe sometimes a little more than that.

14. Do you have personal word minimum that you hold yourself too? Why or why not?

Absolutely not! I write until I think I’ve found a good quitting spot. That can be 500 words or 20k words. It all depends on how I’m feeling and where my motivation is at.

15. Tell the author your favorite fics of theirs. What’s your (the author’s) favorite fic you’ve written?

Forever Was In His Eyes is my favorite with Begin Again as a close second.

Honorable mention because it pushed me out of my comfort zone: Beating of Our One Heart.

16. Do you research your fics? If so, how deep of a rabbit hole have you down by accident while researching?

I only research if the fic absolutely calls for it.

17. How obsessively do you sit and stare at your fic after you’ve just posted and wait for feedback?

On a scale of 1-100, 100. I’m not motivated by feedback like some writers are, but I do love to know if someone is enjoying my fic or not.

18. Do you have WIP that you keep telling yourself that you’ll eventually get back to, but deep down you know that’s probably lie?

Nope. Any WIPs that are unfinished, will probably stay unfinished.

19. Do you edit your fics after you write them, or do you prefer to just post and run (because it’s someone else’s problem now)?

I edit, and then, I’m constantly editing after it’s posted. If I re-read one of my fics and spot a spelling mistake, I can’t just let it sit there, I HAVE to fix it. I am also currently in the middle of long and giant editing project to make sure all my stories are the best stories that they can.

20. What’s your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

Um...I, for some strange reason, love outlining. I love coming up with the sequence of events. How do the characters get from point A to point B. How does the story end.

21. What’s your least favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

Editing and revising. Always.

22. Do you take fic requests? If so, for what characters and why?

Nope. I don’t get enough attention in my inbox to do that.

23. What’s your absolute favorite trope to write?

Forbidden love. I’ve always been such a sucker for this trope.

24. What’s a trope that you’d like to never hear about as long as you live, let alone write?

I’m sure that there are some tropes that I would never touch in a million years, but I can’t think of any write now.

25. Do you listen to music as your write? If possible, link your writing playlist.

I listen to music, but I don’t have a playlist. Most of time it’s just Taylor Swift.

26. What’s your biggest distraction when writing?

Um...if I’m watching a brand new TV show or one I haven’t watched in a long time, I’ll pay more attention to the screen then what I’m supposed to be writing. This goes for movies too.

27, Do you like to give your readers some warning of what might be coming or just slap them in the face with content at random?

I keep my fics under lock and key until they are finished. No one knows any details about them except me. The one exception to this rule was Beating of Our One Heart. I warned that that fic would feature a polyamorous relationship (something I have never written before) while I was working on the outline.

28. How do you deal with writing pressure (ie: pressure to update, negative comments, deadlines, etc)?

Well, the only pressure I usually feel is worry that people won’t like my story, but I think that’s normal for every writer.

29. Have you ever written for an exchange or event of some kind? Which one(s)?

I don’t write for events.

30. Post a snippet from your current WIP without context - no more than 300 words.

R (11:46 P.M.): I’m not sorry.

31. Of the characters your write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain one?

I love writing Enjolras. I’m sure people who have read my fanfics find him to be OOC, but I don’t care. When I write him, he’s half me projecting and the other half is him being the righteous revolutionary that we know him as.

32. Copy and paste your top three favorite lines/jokes/sentences you’ve ever written. What fics do they come from?

I can’t pick three, I have too many favorites.

33. What do you like writing better: one shots or multi-chapter stuff?

It depends. I like writing both. I also really like writing one shots that are 30k+ and multi-chapter fics that are under 10k. It all just depends on my mood and what the fic calls for.

34. How much of yourself and your life experience do you put into your writing? What do you think your readers’ image of you is?

As stated above, I project onto Enjolras. How much, I’m not saying. I do put my likes and dislikes as the characters’. When I write children, I draw inspiration from my nephews. I use my high school class schedule as the characters’ schedule when I write high school AU’s. The jest of what I’m saying is that I have no idea what my readers’ image of me is.

35. How much has writing fic changed your life?

It’s become my escape when things get too difficult or stressful.

36. Are they any fics or fandoms you’re embarrassed to have written or been apart of?

I’m not embarrassed by it, and I never finished or posted it, but I started writing a Sound of Music fic. I don’t remember what it was about, though.

37. Give an update on your current WIP - if you have one, give a sneak peek to a title or idea that you have and would like to write.

My current WIP is almost done. I just have to finish writing more scene.

38. What does your writing process look like? How chaotic is it on a scale of 1 (very tame) to 10 (you can’t handle this kind of chaos)?

It’s very tame, so 1. I write my stories in order of events, if I don’t I get confused on what’s happen. I start by writing an outline, and then I write and I edit (multiple times) before I post.

39. What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

That I write what I want to. No comments can really influence the story (unless it’s a consistency thing) because I write the whole thing out before it’s posted.

40. How did you come up with the idea for [x fic]?

You can see this answer right here!

41. What’s your most popular fic (with the most notes on Tumblr, most hits/kudos on Ao3)?

My most popular fic based on hits: Somethings Are Meant to Be.

My most popular fic based on kudos: The Enjolras Guide to Weddings and Love.

42. Asker: pick three of the author’s works. Author: rank them 1 (the best) - 3 (the worst) based on whatever criteria you want - this could be something totally random that isn’t quality related ( like simply ranking fics based on how many trains appear in them) have fun!

I’m skipping this question!

43. Talk about a positive experience with fanfiction or the fanfiction community that you will always remember.

Every comment that I get, especially if I get it when I’m having a bad day, is like a little ray of sunshine for me. Again I’m not motivated by comments or feedback, but I can’t deny that receiving it is like a cherry on top of a delicious hot fudge sundae.

44. Ran about something writing related.

How long it takes to write. I wish I could just connect some sort of machine to my brain, and it would just churn out the words for my fics and they could be done a lot sooner. And that fanfiction could come before homework and life, but alas it can’t.

45. Fic specific questions - if you have any weird questions about specific works, here’s your shot to ask them!

Skipping this one, but if you have a question about any of my fics, my ask box is currently closed, but my DM’s are always open.

#fanfic asks #personal post #ask game #long post #fic writing

2 notes · View notes

justanoutlawfic · 4 years

Text

Everything: A Regal Believer Ficlet

Summary: Regina makes a sacrifice to save the one she loves the most.

Prompted by anonymous on CuriousCat: "Regina dies (how is up to you), when she is in the EF with grown-up Henry".

As if it’s not obvious, major character death ahead.

Also on AO3/FF

“All I have is Henry, and I am not about to lose him because he is everything.”

Regina’s words echo in her head as she looks down at her son. The winds are wild and she knows they’re running out of time. She nearly lost him when he was 11 years old and now, here they are again 17 years later.

That sentiment is still true. She cannot lose her son.

But she also isn’t about to let Drizella win.

Love means making a true sacrifice. Robin taught her that.

“I’m not going to cast this curse,” she says. Her eyes don’t leave Henry as she runs her fingers through his hair.

“Then you’re going to lose your son,” Drizella taunted. “Your grandchild will grow up without a father. Just like he did.”

“No, she won’t.”

Regina reaches into her chest and removes her heart. She ignores the pain, staring down at the throbbing organ in her hands. It’s not pure and she knows it. But she also knows that’s not necessary to transfer a heart. She’s seen it done before. Ella stares at her, mouth agape.

“Regina!” Zelena yells from her spot. “Don’t.”

“Zelena, a long time ago you risked your life for the good of your daughter. In fact, you’ve done it twice. You know more than anyone this is necessary.”

Zelena’s eyes are wide, but she doesn’t put up a fight. Instead, she drops down to her knees and takes Regina’s heart from her.

“You’re abandoning your son,” Drizella snarls.

Regina finally meets her former student’s eyes. “No,” she whispers. “I’m saving him.”

Regina removes the preservation spell from her son, the same one she enchanted his heart with in Neverland. She swore that no one would take it again.

“I have to break a promise to you, Henry,” she whispers. “And I’m sorry.”

She removes his heart and finds it isn’t as it once was. It’s turning black, nearly completely covered. Regina knows this isn’t from misdeeds like her own. No, it’s the poison.

Zelena takes Henry’s heart from her and Regina cradles her own in her hands. It’s not free from the sins she committed, but it’s got the light from when she combined hers and the Queen’s. Henry will make it grow lighter, just as she did when he was placed in her arms.

Her lips brush against his sweaty forehead for the final time. She puts her heart into his chest and at the same time, Zelena puts Henry’s into her own. She knows it’s the only way it will work. A heart for a heart. A life for a life.

Regina falls back against the concrete. She feels weaker. Henry’s voice is distant as he shoots up from his spot and rushes towards her. His finger tips slip through hers and she can faintly hear “Mama”.

“I love you,” she’s able to make out. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Henry’s feet drag across the grass. A bouquet of roses is clutched in his hands. He has this routine for 7 years now.

God, has it really been that long?

The grave is simple, but beautiful. Regina’s name is etched in it carefully. Tulips that Alice grew surround the stone. Henry moves the flowers he put there last time and replaces them with the roses.

Dropping to his knees, he lets out a slight groan. He’s not as young as he used to be.

“Hey Mom,” he whispers. “Today’s Lucy’s birthday. In a couple of hours, we’ll head to Tiana’s castle and she’ll have her quinces.” Henry shuts his eyes. “She grew up too fast.”

He’s a father of a very precocious teenager. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I remember you used to tell me that if I didn’t stop growing, you’d stick me in the freezer.” Henry chuckles, shaking his head. “I’d laugh, but now I get it. I’m sorry for rolling my eyes whenever you wanted to take my height or picture. I understand now.”

He tracks Lucy’s height the same in the cabin. She used to love it, now she squirms and can’t wait until it’s over.

“She’ll get it one day,” he can picture his mom saying.

Henry sighs. “I wish you could be here. This celebration means so much to Ella, because she never got one. You didn’t either, though.” He shakes his head. “I know you’d be here, just as proud of the rest of us for the beautiful young woman she’d turn out to be.”

Tears prick his eyes.

“But I almost didn’t get to see it. I almost didn’t get to watch all of those moments with her. But thanks to you…” His hand goes over his chest, where he can feel the beating heart. “I got to have my daughter’s childhood. I got to have so many amazing years with my wife, our family. And I don’t know how to ever thank you enough for that.”

He thinks of what happened after Regina’s sacrifice. It was all a blur. Zelena, Hook and Ella using their various skills to take out the coven, Gothel and Drizella. Henry stayed knelt by his mother’s side, attempting true love’s kiss.

But there had already been enough sacrifices that night.

“Alice and Robin are married now too,” he continues. “Hook got to walk Alice down the aisle, just like he always wanted. They’ve made you a great-aunt, too.”

Gothel’s death had undid all her evil on the world. Including the curse on their hearts.

Henry rubs his finger over the rose petals. “I miss you, Mom. Every day. You never leave my mind.”

He sits up straight, shoulders back.

“Posture is self-respect.”

“I better get going. Everyone’s waiting on me so we can head to the castle. Don’t wanna be late.” He feels a tear fall down his cheek. “That was always your thing.”

He kisses his palm and presses it against the center of the grave.

“I’ll come back soon. I love you.”

As Henry walks away, he swears he can hear his mom whispering to him.

“I love you too, my little prince.”

#regal believer #regina mills #henry mills #character death #ouat #once upon a time

19 notes · View notes

pianoperson · 5 years

Note

Time to break my own heart (✿´‿`) Star, how about some JonaLot with "I told you to leave but you didn't. I gave you the chance!"? Why do I want to make myself suffer? I'm not sure! Thank youuu darling in advance 💕

A/N: Alright finally, after going through lack of motivation and time, I finally got to do these requests! And I’m already 9 followers away from 400 djfgsdkshjdkfs (assuming they’re real and there are no bots).

This one was hard to do, and at one point, I wanted to translate this into Tagalog because it sounded more fitting in that language (and also, I need to practice), and it has gone through so many revisions. I’m gonna tag @narekashi because she’s the one that helped me get a good idea for this request so yeahhhhhhh thanks Rei.

The people of Cradle easily recognized the figure passing through Central Quarter, with his blond hair that shone in the sun and his regal aura. All talk ceased for a moment when they caught sight of him walking, for seeing him out of his army uniform was like watching a pig fly. But just as quickly, they noticed the dullness of his blue eyes, the eyebags underneath them, and the flowers in his hands, and their hearts reached out to him in sympathy, and they would return to what they were doing.

Even as he was about to cross, not even the soldiers guarding the Black Bridge stopped him. Some even gave sympathetic glances while he wasn’t looking.

Thus, Lancelot Kingsley’s walk to the cemetery was silent and uneventful.

The last time he ever visited the place felt like ages ago. Visiting his father’s grave was painful, and Lancelot remembered shedding a few tears. But he could not recall ever being very close with him, only spending their time on training to become the future King of Hearts, so moving on was not too difficult.

However, this was different.

The person he was visiting was much closer to his heart. Every step he took while passing through Central Quarter and Black Territory, he found himself remembering every conversation they shared. His mind’s eye was recalling the vibrance of his eyes, the brightness of his smile, the redness of his cheeks as he pouted. He could almost hear the small voice of the child from 17 years ago, trembling and helpless, and the more confident voice in the recent past that had a lilt to it when he spoke of desserts and family, a flustered tone when he was embarrassed, and other tones and emotions Lancelot remembered and loved. And most certainly, he can never forget how this person made his heart warm each time he was there, motivated him to continue fighting for the sake of Cradle if it means he could continue to see him smile, reminded him that perhaps there is a God that exists who did not completely abandon him.

And each memory that played in his head caused the lump in his throat to grow until he felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore, continuing to crack the dam that desperately tried to stay intact. For a moment, he wondered why he thought he was ready to visit the cemetery today.

It was too late to turn back, however. Anyway, Lancelot delayed this for a month and he did not want to delay it any longer.

Once he arrived at the cemetery, his eyes, a stark contrast to the bright sun overhead, searched through every epitaph, reading every name written on each one, until he found the name he was looking for.

And a part of him wished he never found the epitaph, never saw the name Jonah Clemence, for the moment he read it, he felt his knees threatening to fail him.

Still, he was able to lay the flowers he carried among the many other flowers on the grave, and stand up, staring at the ground where his right-hand man lay buried.

“I told you to leave, but you didn’t. I gave you the chance! You could have been safe and alive!”

The words resounded in his head, an echo of his frustration over Jonah interfering in a battle that was supposed to be his because no way would he want his beloved to be in harm’s way, a painful reminder that these were the last words Jonah were to hear from the man he admired so much.

“I’m… I’m sorry, my King. I- I just… wanted to make sure you were not harmed…”

“... Jonah? Jonah no please, wake up, I’m sorry. I should not have gotten mad at you. Get angry at me again for not taking care of myself, talk about Luka all day to me again until the day ends, talk about your love for strawberries again, just please wake up Jonah please I love you–”

Lancelot felt a tear slid down his cheek before he felt himself break, his body trembling as he cried. He wept tears of anger at the man who not only controlled him like a puppet master but took Jonah away from him, regret for not giving him a proper goodbye, and frustration for not being able to protect him and give him the love and acceptance he deserved while he was still alive.

I’m sorry, Jonah, he kept repeating in his head, not trusting his lips to say it.

“Lancelot?”

The tears ceased, and his eyes widened. That voice. It can’t be. He turned around to see who called him, and behold, he saw Jonah Clemence, in his casual attire, alive and well.

And his legs started to move on their own, running to where he is. Everything seemed to fade away and the only thing in his mind is the fact that Jonah is there, alive, and for once, God decided to have mercy on his broken soul.

“Lance–?!”

He hugged Jonah, holding him as if he will suddenly disappear again. He couldn’t believe how warm Jonah’s body is, how alive he is. For the first time since his battles with Amon Jabberwock, Lancelot Kingsley was smiling, and his smile was so much brighter than any star that existed.

“I can’t believe it, you’re alive,” he breathed out. It took everything in him to not fall to his knees in sheer relief. “I missed you so much, Jonah.”

“Wait Lancelot, you’ve mistaken.” Luka pushed him off of him. “It’s me, Luka.”

The illusion fell away at once, and instead of seeing mint hair and a mole below the right eye, he saw longer purple hair and a mole below the left eye. At once, his expression became crestfallen, but he quickly fixed it to a neutral one. “Oh, Jack of Spades, I did not expect to see you here.”“I came here to visit my brother’s grave,” Luka said.

“Oh, I see.”

A moment of silence passed between the two men. “I best be leaving now,” Lancelot said before he started walking away from Luka and the cemetery.

“Wait, before you go,” Luka started, causing Lancelot to pause in his tracks and turn to the former. “I just want to say, I’m sorry. I may have lost my brother, but you have lost someone you wanted to share the rest of your life with.”

#ikerev #ikemen revolution #lancelot kingsley #jonah clemence #luka clemence #ikerev fanfic

36 notes · View notes

thewritewolf · 4 years

Text

Eating Habits Chapter 12: A Little Broken

Marinette and Adrien have some troubles at their new apartment, and Adrien makes a long-delayed visit.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 (Final)

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3.

It was a surreal feeling, being back in her old bed after spending the last few months out of the bakery. Marinette was a little miffed that she got nostalgic so quickly, but after how rough that semester was… maybe it was for the best. A little piece of safety and normalcy in the rough waters she was going through.

Her pencil stilled as she listened to the happy noises filtering up from below her. She smiled to herself, easily picking out the musical tones of Adrien’s laughter. It was that laughter, standing out so starkly against the sound of falling rain and the rumble of thunder, that she remembers most clearly about the day that she fell in love with him. That, and those bright green eyes so full of kindness.

She resumed her sketching, idly committing some ideas to paper. It may still be Christmas break, but that was no excuse to not get a head start on the spring designs. If the end of year show was anything like she was led to believe, then she’d need to do even better than what she had done for the winter show. To her surprise, thinking about all that work didn’t fill her with dread like she had been expecting. Instead, a fire lit in her gut.

“I know that look,” came a small voice beside her. Marinette glanced back at her kwami munching on a cookie as she continued, “That’s the ‘I’m on top of the world and nothing can stop me’ look.”

Marinette snorted and poked Tikki’s belly, causing her to giggle . “I didn’t realize I was so expressive.”

“Of course! You’re a very open person, Marinette. It’s one of the many things I like about you.” Tikki looked around the room with a knowing smirk. “Although that openness with your feelings has taken many forms over the years. Remember when you plastered Adrien’s face all over these walls?”

“Tikki!” Marinette said, mortified. She remembered that most of them were still up by the time she’d gone on her first date with Adrien.

The kwami giggled. “Don’t worry! I’m just saying, when you feel things you can’t help but let those feelings out. It’s nothing to be embarrassed by.”

Marinette relaxed a little. “I suppose… And besides, I’ve traded in the pictures for the real deal. Fourteen year old me would be so jealous of me now.”

“Going to a premier design school, living together with Adrien, defeated Hawkmoth.” Tikki looked at her chosen with a warm smile. “There is a lot for past you to look forward to, isn’t there?”

Marinette leaned her head back and considered what Tikki had said. Rushing from one thing to another for the past two years, and juggling akuma battles with normal life for four years before that, she supposed she hadn’t really considered it like that. Practically every goal she’d made when she was a kid had been met, with the exception of making her own fashion brand. But with how well her online boutique was doing, even that might not be just a dream for much longer.

The smile on her face remained a constant feature for the rest of her stay at the bakery and if Adrien noticed that she cuddled him just a little bit tighter that night… well, he didn’t complain.

--------------

Adrien let out a big sigh as he stepped through the door to their apartment, taking a few weary steps before plopping himself face first down onto the couch.

From the doorway Marinette giggled. He practically purred when she ran her fingers through his hair as she said, “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

“It’s the exact level of dramatic I intend to keep up going forward,” Adrien said, lifting his face just high enough to meet her amused smile. “So you’d better get used to it.”

“Oh, kitty,” she said, “I got used to it a long time ago.” She pulled her hand away and Adrien pouted at her. “We can watch a show or something in just a minute. I need to start some laundry so I can at least pretend to be busy while we goof off.”

Adrien dragged himself into a seating position to call after her teasingly as she walked out of the room. “You know, you might have a problem with having to stay busy all the time!”

“Yeah, yeah,” she yelled back. “Tell me something new.”

“New? Well, now you’ll have me here to help you all the time.”

There was a pause. “Good. Because I think I could use some help. Like right now?” He recognized her tone as the one she used a lot as Ladybug - the one that allowed no negotiation or hesitation.

Curious, he stood up and marched after her. Inside the washroom, he found Marinette frantically pressing buttons as the washing machine made a strange rumbling noise. Soapy water poured out onto the floor and Adrien leaped into action, tossing towels onto the ground to buy them some time.

Marinette glanced at him while he did so. “That’s good, but it doesn’t fix the main problem.” She huffed at the machine, glaring at it in the hopes that it would spontaneously fixed itself. Sadly, it did not. “I’ll call a repairman.”

Adrien thought back to a couple nights ago, when Tom fixed the dishwasher by himself. This was a part of his duties now, right? “No, wait! Let me fix it!”

“You don’t know how to-”

“I might - we won’t know for sure unless I try, right?” At Marinette’s doubtful look, he pouted. “I know I’m not good at a lot of normal person things, but I have to at least try to get better.”

“Adrien…” She looked at his pouting face and sighed. “Alright, go ahead and try.”

“Yes!” Adrien immediately set to work. After tinkering with the washer for a few minutes he’d established two things - first, that it was definitely not working properly, and second that he had no idea where to go after that. After tentatively searching the machine, he found a hatch in the back and set off to find some tools to help him open it.

After making sure the washer was unplugged he began poking around the insides of it, making more realizations. First, absolutely nothing looked familiar. Which was to be expected since Tom usually said that he’d handle it and let the rest of them relax. And the policy while he was living at the mansion was to either call for the help to fix or replace the whole thing entirely. Usually the latter since… well, his father never wanted more people than necessary to be inside the mansion.

Adrien frowned as he started getting distracted by old memories. After an hour of it and a mounting frustration from his failure to get any closer to fixing the washer, he dropped his screwdriver and walked back into the living room. Marinette was at the couch on her phone. He caught a glimpse of what she was looking on as he joined her - Local handyman and their rates.

His shoulders hunched, he asked, “Already knew I was gonna fail, huh?”

She tugged on his sleeve and he obliged, settling his head on her lap. Her free hand combed through his hair and he relaxed into the touch. If he were behind the mask at the moment, he’d have been purring.

“Kitty, you don’t know how to fix it and that’s okay,” she whispered in a consoling tone. “You don’t have to be good at everything to be loved, alright?”

He did his best to cry as quietly as possible while she was on the phone. He smiled through the tears because he knew he wasn’t crying for his lack of affection early in his life, but because of the unconditional love he had now.

The thought reminded Adrien that, with all that had happened recently, it was about time to make another visit soon.

--------------------

Next week, Marinette was visiting Alya for the afternoon which left Adrien alone for the day. It was finally time to make the trip. Adrien didn’t enjoy going much, but he always felt better after he went.

The first stop was to find some flowers. Adrien knew that she would appreciate them. Being in the dead of winter, it was hard to find some Sharry Baby orchids, but he didn’t give up. Four stores later and he ended up having to purchase a bouquet of fake ones. It wasn’t much - they didn’t even have a scent - but he was sure she would appreciate it. Orchids had always been her favorite. A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. Weird how those sort of things had stuck with him.

It was a long walk to the park, but the cold had never really bothered him and it meant that he was mostly alone with his thoughts. On days where he went to visit, he didn’t really feel like being social. There was just him, the crunching of snow beneath his feet, and the quiet snoring of his kwami that he more felt than heard.

Eventually his wandering brought him to the base of a statue and he looked up in the kind but stony eyes of his mother. The sculptor had depicted her staring ahead, her hands folded in her lap as she sat forever on a stone pedestal. After everything that had happened, he couldn’t bear to leave it at the mansion, especially not after he had sold it. His mother’s side of the family had expressed some interest in having it taken home, but no one protested when he decided to donate it to a flourishing park.

Maybe they didn’t fight for it because they knew that was what she would have wanted - not to have her statue stashed away and hoarded like his father had done, but let it sit inside the bounty of nature. She had always loved plants and flowers and taking care of them. It was another thing he was sure she and Marinette would have bonded over. Adrien smiled. Marinette may have decided on a designer and he knew she would go far in it, but she would’ve made an excellent florist too.

His thoughts returned back to the other side of his family. Maybe they let him keep the statue close by because they’d taken his mother across the channel to be buried with the rest of her family, far away from Adrien and Gabriel. After losing her for a second time, maybe they had felt bad for him, and left him the statue out of pity.

Not that Adrien minded, of course. He had long since gotten used to talking with the statue over some grave marker. Much more pleasant scenery too.

Adrien sniffled and pretended it was just the cold messing with his nose.

After putting the bouquet on his mother’s cold lap, Adrien took a seat on the bench facing her and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket to keep from fidgeting.

“Hey, mom,” he began in a whisper. “I know it’s been a while, but things got pretty crazy for a bit. I meant to visit after the anniversary, but, well…” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, it’s been a hectic few months.”

He swallowed, trying to order his thoughts. “Chloe’s back in town. I think the time in America with Audrey really opened her eyes to what she doesn’t want to be. Plus, she got back with Kagami, so I really think she’s getting better.”

The statue didn’t respond.

“You remember Nino and Alya, right? I’ve told you about them a ton. They’re doing great. Super busy these days, but we find time every now to hang out.” He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his legs. “I wish I had what they do. That… certainty of what they want out of life. I just feel… a little lost, you know?”

He risked a look back at his mother’s eyes and found that same kind expression.

“Marinette - I know you remember her, I’ve talked about her enough - she’s been such a huge help, though. She really is my light.” He stared off into space for a moment, a dreamy smile on his face. He shook his head to pull himself out of it. “Uh, anyway. She started university. She was really worrying me there for a while, but she’s doing better now. But here’s the big news - we moved in! Well,” he added after a moment, “we had lived together before, but now we don’t have her parents to worry about and well-” He blushed and coughed.

“I just… It’s good to be surrounded by people I love and who love me back. It’s…” he looked up at her eyes and held her stony gaze. “...it’s been a while.” He sighed.

A soft wind blew through the clearing, gently caressing Adrien’s face. He inhaled and caught the scent of Sharry Baby orchids on the air.

Adrien felt at peace and continued his one sided conversation with a happier heart.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Adrienette #ml fanfiction #my writing #Eating Habits #The Lucky One series

16 notes · View notes