#and she; having a completely black and white mentality; assumed both her friend and parents hated her and started to get nasty | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ilyrafe · 3 years

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𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒚 ✧ 𝒄𝒉 𝑽

pairing: charles brandon x duchess!reader

warnings: angst, a brief panic attack, forced kiss.

word count: 3,2k

taglist: @runawayolives @kmuir1 @marytudorbrandon @lharrietg @shittingdicknipple @alexa-fangirl-forever @mis-lil-red @amberangel112 @ohmygoodie @itmejado @radaofrivia @scarlets-widow @ragamuffin285 @thereisa8ella @titty-teetee @dropletsofkaisoo

a/n: shit goes down from now on just saying..........

redamancy masterlist | main masterlist

his guilt and conscience do not allow him to fall asleep and rest in his bed. if he wants to be civil and reciprocally, he needs to recognize when he is in the wrong and apologize. she didn’t do anything wrong, he shouldn’t have set such high expectations.

he puts on his robe and goes to the duchess’s chambers. strangely, he thinks it is a good thing that her room is far from his, just so he has time to think of the right words. it’s not the first time he’s been intimidated in her presence, and stuttering in front of her seems pathetic.

he takes a deep breath and knocks three times on the door. to his surprise, beatrice answers the door.

“your grace.” she bows to the duke.

as he steps into her room, he smells roses and cinnamon, a different combination of scents, but just as pleasant. he can’t help but look into the duchess’s main environment, which is lit by candles in certain places. there are books everywhere and flowers from the garden that he recognizes. her dressing table has few items, just a small jewelry box, a brush, and a few hairpins, but her desk has lots of papers and a small leather-bound notebook that looks like a diary. being the curious creature he is, he’s already starting to wonder if she writes about him.

“charles?” y/n’s voice calls out to him, and she looks a little confused as to why he’s in her room in his nightwear.

she runs to put on her robe, even though charles saw her more exposed than usual. sensing her presence is no longer needed, beatrice excuses herself and leaves the duke and the duchess alone. charles mentally thanks the young woman as she leaves, because privacy is what he wants the most right now.

“i owe you an apology.” he starts. “i admit i should not have been rude to you at dinner, i hope you will forgive me. it will not happen again.”

once again, she can hear the sincerity in his voice. perhaps the image she has of charles is twisted. what if she is wrong about him?

“i owe you an apology, too.” she admits.

“what for?”

“for the way i have been treating, or mistreating you these past months.”

seeing her in a position of vulnerability is nearly shocking. it’s not even that much exposure from her, but charles sees her as a tough person, and hearing her words comforts him, because just like her, he feels sincerity and honesty in her apology. more than anyone else, he knows how hard it is to admit when you are in the wrong.

“oh, do not worry. you have your reasons and i understand.”

“even so, i shouldn’t have been such a monster to you.”

“it is all in the past.”

a small smile appears on her lips. apparently a white flag indicating a truce had been raised. charles says goodbye and goes back to his room, no longer feeling the pain in his back as he is always tense in the presence of y/n. his shoulders are relaxed as is his posture. with a smile on his face, charles goes back to his bed and for the first time since he got married, he sleeps peacefully.

(...)

a few weeks have passed, the eighteenth birthday of king henry’s new wife, katherine howard, approaches. the friendship between y/n and charles just blossoms, which makes the duke happier. conversations over dinner gradually linger, and making her laugh is almost a duty he gives to himself. it’s the most pleasant sound, and he finds it adorable when she covers her mouth when she laughs a little louder than usual.

they have a quite a lot in common. contrary to what she assumed, charles is far from arrogant. in fact, he doesn’t seem so fond of so many formalities. the way he talks about his parents, who are sadly deceased, is a little disheartening. he seems to need approval from others constantly, something she can relate to.

little by little, y/n manages to humanize in her own head the man behind the broad, strong body that charles has. there’s a sweetness in his blue eyes that she has been allowing herself to notice.

it’s difficult to get more information about her, though. y/n is very reserved and still prefers to spend most of her time by herself, which bothers him a little, and he still notices a little sadness in her eyes. he’s almost positive that something still disturbs her and he tries to make her feel comfortable enough to open up, but all of his attempts have failed.

give time to time, he keeps reminding himself.

(...)

the birthday party is grand, something the court and guests await. king henry always goes out of his way to show off to his subjects. the royal castle is a dream of gold, the most expensive flowers are everywhere, only the best food is being served, and the guests wear their most sophisticated attire. the king is ecstatic over his sixth wife, he will never spare any effort to make her happy.

the carriages keep arriving and more and more people enter the king’s castle. in one of them is charles and y/n, and both are as well dressed as the others in the royal court. y/n’s dress is stunning, and it’s completely different from the ones she’s ever worn in public. its rich emerald tone compliments her entirely, and the pearls in her hair soften her youthful appearance. charles is as well groomed as she is, but he opted for a monochromatic black attire, which makes him look even more imposing. regardless, they look complementary to each other.

“do not be surprised if male attention is focused on you.” he comments with a subtle laugh.

her puzzled expression cheers him a bit. he knows what is said about him and his wife, both the nasty comments and the most lustful ones.

he helps her down from the carriage and, with arms entwined, they enter the royal castle. as they are announced, all eyes turn to the couple. the king, upon seeing his longtime friend, goes to meet him with a proud smile on his face. the duchess’s distaste for the king is clear, but she knows how to hide it, for the sake of etiquette. after greeting each other briefly, charles and y/n follow to the main table, where the king is reunited with his wife.

“oh, you must be y/n!” the queen cheerfully says, properly ditching said etiquette. “your dress is marvelous!”

“thank you, your majesty.” y/n smiles.

the bubbly nature of the queen is pleasant; even charles thinks she’s quite funny with her antics. the age gap between her and the king is quite alarming, but she seems to be what holds him down a bit.

the music is loud, and the guests are all over the ballroom, either dancing or talking. for some reason, y/n feels unquiet. maybe it’s the heat, the loud noises or the constant glares she gets from other women. they don’t even try to hide when they’re obviously gossiping about her. she’s not entirely aware of her ‘fame’, but she knows she’s the subject of many conversations.

enthusiastically, the king taps his cup with silverware, drawing the attention of all the guests.

“first of all, i want to thank you all for coming to my beloved wife’s birthday, your majesty, the queen.” he says and hears applause for the sweet queen katherine. “happy birthday, my love. may the next few years of your life be as beautiful as you are.”

katherine blows her husband a kiss and he raises his wineglass to the guests. everyone raises their glasses and takes a sip, celebrating the queen’s life.

“i wonder how long this marriage is going to last…” charles comments under his breath, only y/n is able to hear, and she chuckles in response.

“i give it a year.”

they exchange a look, and when the music starts to play again, a few of the guests begin to dance in pairs.

“would you grant me a dance?” he asks.

as she looks around, she sees that her attention is focused on the king and queen. a dance won’t do any harm, she thinks.

“of course.”

he takes her to the center of the room by her hand, and soon they stand opposite each other to dance. if his memory serves him, he’s never been this close to her, and he takes this moment as an opportunity to really get a closer look, maybe he notices a new detail on her beautiful face? if he could, he’d spend hours memorizing every detail of y/n, because she’s so stunning, and with every observation she makes—of any subject—she becomes the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

y/n, however, is fighting all of her instincts. she doesn’t quite allow herself to look at charles. even though they are in a peaceful territory, he’s still the man who has been with her friends, he’s still the man who accepted her father’s offer to marry her in exchange for a mere position at the court. she’s certainly noticed his looks, and can’t deny that he isn’t as awful as she made herself to believe, and now she knows he’s an excellent dancer.

he guides her so masterfully and firmly, she feels safe, even though she isn’t very fond of dancing. regardless, he makes it feel pleasant. his eyes doesn’t leave hers for a second, but she looks around every now and then.

that’s when she sees a very familiar face, amidst all these people. one she would recognize anywhere, but the spin of the dance makes her lose sight of the person.

“is everything alright?” charles asks.

“yes…” she replies, toneless.

the dance continues, faster now. small heels mark the final part of the dance, and the noise of several shoes on the floor makes her uncomfortable. who is that person? the rhythm of the music picks up, people are talking loudly, the dance gets more energetic, and all she wants is to recognize that face. it can’t be.

she keeps searching for that face, but there are so many people in that ballroom, it’s pointless. the dance is making her feel a bit nauseous, she even contemplates leaving charles on the dance floor by himself, but when he bows down to her, she realizes the dance is finally over.

finally!

when they return to the main table, henry calls them to introduce them to the duchess of jämtland. even from afar, y/n can see how different the duchess is. pale complexion, light, straight and fine hair, bright blue eyes. she can’t help but compare herself to her. beside the duchess is her husband.

james.

the face she had seen. it’s him.

“charles and y/n, i would like to introduce you to my friends from sweden, your grace annika and her husband, james.” king henry says.

with each step she takes, y/n’s body freezes more and more, her heart beats faster and faster, and her breathing gets shorter and shorter. james is not at all shocked, more like afraid. only he knows the reason for the terror on y/n’s face at that moment, as much as she tries to hide it, he knows her better than anyone else in that room. she cannot move a single finger to greet the duchess and her husband.

“it’s a pleasure to meet you, your grace.” charles says to annika and kisses the back of her hand.

when he turns his attention to james, y/n feels like fainting. as if her two worlds are about to collide.

“this is my longtime friend, charles, the duke of suffolk and his wife, y/n, his duchess.” henry says.

“it is an honor to meet you, your grace.” james says, repeating the same gesture as charles, but now with the woman he once promised to love forever.

y/n is unable to move throughout the entire greeting process, and the situation only gets worse when she notices the annika’s subtle bump, which she doesn’t seem to hide that she is pregnant, as she takes her belly in with her hands.

“they are here to visit my kingdom and james is possibly going to war with us. sweden is our partner against france.” henry informs charles, completely unaware of the history between james and y/n.

“my apologies,” y/n speaks, trying to regain herself. “i’m not-”

“would your grace grant me a dance?” james interrupts.

he looks at charles with a silent request, and the duke looks at his wife.

“she doesn’t require my permission.” charles explains.

“ah, of course! a dance! charles, take annika to dance, james, you take y/n to dance. let’s all dance!” the king shouts, clearly a little inebriated.

everyone gathers in the center of the room and starts dancing. y/n’s hands are shaky and a bit sweaty, and james tries to soothe her with his gaze. he tries to apologize, but knows she will never forgive him. after everything that happened between them… it’s almost impossible to believe it.

“i can explain.” he mumbles.

“don’t.” she simply says.

her odd behavior hasn’t gone unnoticed, though. charles has never seen her so pale before, almost as if she’d seen a ghost. he glances at them, and he knows she’s on the verge of tears. he isn’t dumb — it takes charles less than a few minutes to realize that james is the man y/n claimed to love, months ago. the way they’re looking at each other is more than enough proof.

“y/n, please.”

“she is with child.” y/n’s voice trembles with her own affirmation.

james is heartbroken, more than he was when they saw each other for the last time, over a year ago.

“we can still be together.”

his speech outrages her, and she is forced to withdraw. she runs as fast as she can to the large and vast garden of the castle, and hopes that no one will find her, but charles and james have gone after her, and a small commotion is caused in the hall, which is quickly contained. the poor swedish duchess is left confused.

she feels that the walls are getting tighter and tighter, or maybe it’s the dress that is too tight on her body that doesn’t let her breathe.

breathe.

breathe, y/n.

only when she manages to get out of the castle and into the huge garden is it possible to hear the silence and breathe fresh air, no matter how cold it is. it’s behind a big tree that she finally stops running. her chest is tight, beating faster than ever. it’s all so disappointing and confusing, she just wants it to be over.

she thought she had experienced pain before, but now it’s different. a mixture of hatred and disappointment washes over her like a wave, and she reduces herself to tears. the more she thinks about it, more tears roll down her face and her heart feels tighter.

she hears footsteps approaching, and to her surprise, james finds her. he looks just as haunted as she is, and he’s panting from running so fast to find her.

“my love-”

“no!” she protests. “you betrayed me, james! how could you?!”

“y/n, please…”

“how dare you?!” she inquires through her teeth, not even able to hide her anger. “how dare you come to me with a wife? with a pregnant wife?!”

“you must listen to me, y/n.” he says as he grabs her by her shoulders and forcing her to look at his eyes. “i could not get to you if i did not marry someone... important. i did this for you, my love.”

he pulls her against him and kisses her forcefully, but y/n manages to punch him in the chest and break free of his embrace. she pushes him away and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand harshly.

“don’t you dare touch me.” she barks through gritted teeth, her voice is full of rage. “you went to bed with her for me? how fucking stupid do you think i am, james? don’t you know me at all?!”

unbeknownst to them, charles is near, watching the fight, prepared to attack him if need be, but from what he sees, y/n is able to fend for herself. there’s no doubt he is the man she told him about, and charles can’t deny his jealousy, not even to himself. he’s never seen y/n so heartbroken before, and all of his instincts are telling him to intervene.

“i still love you!” james claims desperately.

“i suggest you leave her alone.” charles says with the calmest tone to his voice.

y/n is only able to breathe when she sees the duke, because he brings her a sensation of security. she’s even able to breathe a little better.

“who do you think you are to talk to me with this tone?” james challenges. “i couldn’t care less if you are her husband, your grace,” he says with a mocking tone. “we all know this is an arrangement. she loves me.”

“i am trying to be peaceful for her sake, but if you insist on testing me, i’ll lose my composure and end you.” the duke threatens, and his tone is as cold as winter nights.

both men are now face to face, close to each other, and the possibility of the fight becoming physical makes her desperate, as the last thing she wants is a scandal.

“both of you, stop! now!” she exclaims as she pushes the two tall, strong men apart. she knows james, and he can certainly be scary. he’s a tall, built man with fighting skills, but it seems that charles is his elevated match. “i will not tolerate a scene.”

“he started it!” james barks.

“stop it!” y/n protests. she regains a bit of control over herself and wipes her tears with the back of her hands. “leave,” she pleads. “we have nothing else to talk about.”

“y/n-”

“james, please! i do not want to see you ever again.”

outraged, james does as she says and leaves, but not before pushing charles with his shoulder on his way out.

“did he hurt you?” charles asks as he cups her face in his hands. the scary look is no longer on his face, as he is now concerned. her teary eyes break him completely. she looks so broken and hopeless.

yes. deeply.

“please, i must go home.” she begs and sniffles, never before having felt so small. “please, i am begging you.”

“yes, absolutely.”

charles takes her in his arms and soothes her before they leave. for the first time, they’re in each other’s arms, and both of them feel complete somehow. in this very moment, charles represents the security she needs, and she is the equivalent of what is missing in his life. the comfort she finds in his embrace is something she didn’t even know could be real. not even in james’ arms she felt such care.

did james care for her at all?

the most heartbreaking thing is that she can feel her love for james turning into absolute hatred and it is terrifying.

“i am here for you, y/n.” charles whispers before placing a kiss on the top of her head.

---

feedback is always appreciated!

#my writings #henry cavill #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfic #the tudors #charles brandon #charles brandon x you #charles brandon x reader #charles brandon fanfic

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omegasamwilson · 3 years

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I literally had a panic attack when I watched Ayo take off Bucky's arm. I was born without my left arm and see a lot of myself in Bucky. I have a prosthetic and had to stop the episode and watch it later. And it really hurt me to see your completely disregard that and say I have no right to be upset. It really pisses me off. I'm fully acknowledging that Bucky did a terrible thing, and he needed to be stopped. But she didn't have to remove his arm. He wouldn't have hurt her. To see you refer to his arm in the tags as a weapon further hurt me. It's not a fucking weapon, it's his fucking arm. You're trying to twist this into a race issue when it's about fucking ableism. I'm brown not black so I don't know if you'll accept my concerns with your post

Hi, one, I apologize for what is sure to be a very long and very frustrated statement. But I’m dealing with a lot of shit rn (actually related to race and ableism specifically) but I wanted to respond because my ADHD ass will forget otherwise.

Okay. One, you say “he wouldn’t have hurt her.”

We, the audience, knows that. Ayo did not. What she knows is that the man before her was an assassin and sniper, even before he was captured and forced to kill by HYDRA. He was a WWII sniper and seemed to be quite skilled (I’m going to assume that’s one of the reasons HYDRA tried to experiment on him and picked him to he the winter soldier.) In any case, this newly reformed (and at the time, just barely reformed. As in, he was healed a month, maybe two months before the events of infinity war. So he’s been healed for a whopping seven months.) This newly reformed assassin, who had been the victim of either chemical or otherwise mental subjugation freed a terrorist from prison.

Not only did he free a terrorist from prison, he freed a terrorist that was obsessed with HYDRA. If any terrorist knew a back door to unlock the winter soldier again, it would be Baron Zemo, who knew each and every one of HYDRA’s secrets.

While Shuri is definitely brilliant, it’s entirely possible that HYDRA buried a safety within their “asset” just in case he was able to break his programming. It’s entirely possible that it was so well buried amongst the labyrinth that is the brain that even Shuri couldn’t find it. After all, Shuri isn’t a neuroscientist, and the brain is largely regarded as the final frontier. So it’s entirely possible that she missed buried programming.

So, we have a person that got rid of HYDRA’s programming seven months ago that just freed one of the only people on the planet that could have the information that could potentially reactivate the winter soldier. And THEN, we have a video of this man “acting” as the winter soldier in madripoor. This was uploaded on the internet and I’m assuming that Ayo saw it.

What proof does Ayo have that he won’t hurt her? That she won’t weaponize his arm and hurt her? What proof does she have that he’s not under Zemo’s control, that Zemo can’t control him in a second. The only thing she knows are that Bucky Barnes freed a terrorist that had access to all of HYDRA’s information, the terrorist appeared to control the winter soldier in madripoor, and it is entirely possible that there is buried programming designed to deactivate the winter soldier.

She deactivates it, realizes he’s fully in control of himself and says, “bast damn you, James.” As in, “fuck you for freeing a terrorist and acting like it isn’t a big deal. You are clearly acting on your own accord in this.”

And yes, it’s different being Black vs. being Brown. It isn’t to say that racism and ableism don’t intersect with Brown folks because obviously it does.

But l specifically asked for Black opinions bc of the demonization of Black folks, especially the trope of “big scary Black women” or “big scary Black men.”

It’s ironic I see this today when I have a story that is so relevant and anger inducing.

I work with white parents of Black children, usually through adoption since I work primarily with lgbt parents, but I do have some cis het white parents raising Black biological kids. One of the parents and friends got into it today because her autistic Black child got into it with their sibling (also disabled). The sibling intentionally triggered their older sibling and punched them and it escalated to the point where the bigger sibling finally reacted and shoved the younger sibling. It broke the younger kid’s glasses. The youngest is legally blind and needs very expensive and specific prescription classes to even have 20/40 vision.

The mom called the police on her child and the kid was arrested and charged. She is 15. Mom described the kid as aggressive and awful and terrible and all sorts of names. A ww called the police on her Black 15 year old child having a meltdown. And she played into stereotypes that Black people, Black women, are aggressive/scary/angry. A ww could’ve gotten her child killed for having a meltdown because she broke a white child’s disability aid.)

A ww couldve gotten her child killed because she played into anti-Black stereotypes. That white people need protection from them. Even when the white child was initially the aggressor in the scenario.

Sure, it’s different, but it plays to the same stereotypes. Poor white disabled person needs protection from the aggressive scary Black person, and we’re just going to assume that the Black person was being unnecessarily aggressive because it plays into all of the stereotypes about Black people. No, there’s no way that this Black person was making a decision based on a series of evidence that could point to them genuinely being harmed.

(By the way, in the scenario of the two kids, I think they both needed help and support, and that the police shouldn’t have been called period.)

Nope, it’s just an aggressive Black person being ableist.

The same systems that have everyone seeing Bucky as a cute little uwu cinnamon roll in need of protection are what caused everyone to see Ayo as an aggressive ableist Black woman. White people usually get the benefit of the doubt. The best intentions are believed even when the evidence clearly says otherwise.

The evidence Ayo had indicated that she had no idea whether the winter soldier could’ve been reactivated and whether or not Bucky could’ve been under zemo’s control. She had no idea. None. She made a decision based off that information. And the fact that Bucky didn’t react strongly indicated that he was acting on his own accord.

Mayhaps, Ayo might even have been trying to trigger the winter soldier. I just thought of this but it makes sense. That the WS would react very defensively and even potentially deadly to that level of fighting, even if his previous orders were different.

In any case, this situation isn’t comparable to every day disabled people because our disability aids to not double as weapons. Most people can’t do more harm with a prosthetic limb than they can with a regular limb. Bucky can. Bucky’s arm is also a weapon and that fact complicates matters considerably. If bucky’s arm were simply a regular arm with typical strength, it’d be a no brainer situation. But it’s not. We don’t know the wakanda enhancements of his arms, but we know in the comics, he could kill with a single punch using his arm. He uses his arm tactically to map his surroundings. He uses his arm to send off EMPs that can disabled weaponry. It even has a retractable blade for close combat. It is a disability aid that it also a weapon. It was designed to be a weapon. The normal conversations around disability aids don’t fit it because no one today has a disability aid that could kill someone in seconds and even cause larger scale damage with a targeted EMP.

And finally, I want to say this, I am truly sorry that you had a panic attack while watching the episode. That is never fair and it’s never fun to be triggered by television shows.

I do hope this helped to better explain and clarify my perspective.

#nonny mouse #ayo #tfatws #police cw #ableism #anti blackness

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bbyboybrock--archived · 3 years

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Happy New Year (Colby Brock Imagine)

Summary: *REQUEST* Can you do one where they are strangers and meet each other during a new years eve party and then end up kissing each other when the ball drops and make it super romantic (not in covid times) pretty please

Written: 2021

Word Count: 2,040

Warnings: Swearing, mention of being roofied, breakup

Masterlist

I sit in the uber, waiting for everyone to get out. Maybe they’ll be too excited about the party to realize that I went home. Maybe I should escape out the other door and disappear into the night. I didn’t even want to come out tonight in the first place. After the year I’ve had, going to an influencer party is the last place I want to attend. Unluckily for me, my best friends were tired of me staying in my apartment all day, every day, and refused to let me ring in the new year alone. Sadly, this meant that I had to go with them to a party because my apartment gave off “depression vibes” and that “wasn’t the move” for 2021. That’s the only thing that I agreed with them on, the vibe thing, not going to a party.

After nearly a year of quarantine and processing a breakup, my place is a bit of a disaster. If it wasn’t for Janie ambushing me every day last week to help/force me to clean up, my apartment would still look like that cave where the grinch lives— minus Max. There were various alcohol bottles collecting dust on the counter. Not in a “she’s spiraling very rapidly” sort of way, but in a way that you could tell that I had a rough few weeks and the occasional wine night with the gals. There were boxes, mostly from March and April, that I still had yet to throw out after impose buying a bunch of stuff. My closet had turned into my bed because that was the only safe space that wasn’t cluttered with food packaging or tainted by memories that no longer bring me joy. I hadn’t properly seen my floor in months until we pulled back the layer of filth. I forgot that I had carpet. Still, after all that, I managed to make videos every week without fail.

“Y/N, c’mon, you’re not escaping this time. Let’s go so you can forget that asshole and that backstabbing bitch.” Persephone begs as she pulls me out of the car. Once out of the car, she adjusts her long, dark brown curls and smooths out her dress before reconnecting to her boyfriend’s hip. They both match with their gold and black outfits. All of my friends and their significant others match. Ophelia and her girlfriend are wearing silver and blue while Janie and her boyfriend are wearing maroon and gold. They all look like gods and goddesses and here I am wearing green and sliver on my own. Could I be anymore single?

“I’m not going to do it, I was just thinking about it. Don’t worry. I have to get footage for the vlog anyway. Gotta prove that I did something other than stay home this year. My fans are getting concerned.” I pull out my camera and get a few clips of everyone.

“Might as well get some pictures then so people will believe you.”1 Ophelia winks before grabbing me and leading us to what I’m assuming is the designated photo spot. There’s even a line. This is going to be one of those nights.

****

“Aw, fuck…” I mutter to myself as my drink gets knocked out of my hand. This house isn’t big enough for the number of people that were invited.

“I am so sorry! Here, let me help you.” The guy who bumped into me extends his hand for me to grab. I’m sober enough to know not to take completely random strangers' hands at parties, especially in LA, but I’m also drunk enough to not care. He looks nice enough and I can spot Ophelia and her girlfriend Zoe keeping an eye on me from the corner of the room. I guess everyone is taking turns to make sure I don’t bail.

Against better judgment, I take this beautiful stranger’s hand and let him guide me out of the house to the backyard. It’s less crowded out here, maybe because there are more activities to do inside. Out here, I can actually breathe even though people are smoking and vaping out here. The music is quieter. The music is still loud, but like it would burst your eardrum like the music inside. I get a better look at the guy who brought me out here. He’s not bad looking, and I really hope that’s not the alcohol talking. He has the most relaxing blue eyes I’ve ever seen on a guy. His hair is dark brown with a bit of, I think, purple in the front. He looks as threatening as a pug, but looks can be deceiving.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get any on you did I?” He asks as he scans my body, not in a creepy way. Which is a nice change of pace.

“My feet but they’re just shoes so I don’t care. I call these my going out shoes, they’re made for moments like this so you’re all good. I’m Y/N by the way.” I stick my hand out for him to shake. He looks at it puzzled for a second before it registers and he grabs my hand and gives it a firm shake.

“Right— I spilled your drink on you and basically kidnapped you from the party and you don’t even know my name. It’s Colby, Colby Brock.” Colby shakes my hand a little too long before quickly pulling it away.

“I’m Y/N, you can get the last name later,” I bite my bottom lip, close my eyes, and mentally slap my head. “That was lame, wasn’t it?”

“It’s fine. It’s a thousand times better than anything I would have come up with. Just blame it on the alcohol.”

We both laugh before Colby singles that he’ll be right back. I watch as Colby disappears a small group of people. I take off my shoes and walk to the pool, dipping my feet in as I sit. The cool night air is soothing me. It’s a nice change from the stale scent of my apartment and the sweaty bodies inside the party. I look up to the night sky. The light pollution makes it impossible to see what stars and constellations are above us. Whatever I’m staring at right now feels peaceful, like they are aligned or not in retrograde. I have no idea what any of that means, but I do know that I’ve been around Ophelia too much.

Colby taps my shoulder when he gets back. He kicks off his shoes and socks before joining me in the pool, not even rolling up his pant legs. He’s going to regret that in a few hours. He hands me an unopened can of Truly. I take it from him and open it myself. At least I know he’s not a creep. He opens a can of White Claw and sips it before breaking the silence.

“I have to be honest, Y/N.” Colby looks forward, taking another sip.

“Oh no, what is it?” I ask nervously.

“The real reason I dropped your drink is because I saw some asshole slip something in your drink.” Colby finally looks at me and I can tell he’s serious.

“Wait…what? Someone tried to… Any you thought the best was to inform me was to spill my drink all over me?” I’m more taken aback by the idea of me almost getting roofied than anything. That would have been the perfect way to end this shit storm of a year.

“In hindsight, I planned to spill your drink. I didn’t mean to get any on you. I’m not a hundred percent sober right now so that was the downside of my plan. Don’t worry about the guy, my friend Corey went after him.”

“Wow— Uh, thank you. I mean it. I don’t think I could have dealt with… that on top of everything else I had to handle this year.” I take a sip of my drink and swing my legs in the water.

“Do you want to talk about it? I’m not big on talking about serious stuff with strangers, so I’ll understand if you don’t want to. However, we’re both getting hammered, if we aren’t already, so the likely hood of us even remembering this conversation tomorrow let alone who we are slim. So if you need to vent, vent.”

I weigh the pros and cons of actually venting everything to this beautiful stranger. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but I decided to say fuck it. The year is almost over anyway, might as well get rid of this baggage and start the year fresh.

“Long story short: after months of quarantining together Axl, my boyfriend of 10 years, cheated on me. The entire time we were in quarantine. With my younger sister, who I let quarantine with us so she wouldn’t be alone and not have to fly back home to be with our parents. And to top it all off, I found out about it on my birthday when I walked in on them fucking each other on my bed.” I take a larger sip of my drink before leaning back and staring back at the virtually starless sky.

“Holy fucking shit,” Colby leans back to join me in looking at the sky.

“Yup! We met in preschool and started dating when we were 13. She’s four years younger than us to that’s annoying.”

“Not to be that guy, but I don’t know what you expected when you started dating a guy named Axl.”

“… You’re right, that is a pretty douchey name. I literally ignored the biggest red flag in my entire life.”

Colby and I laugh again until it fades. I don’t think I’ve laughed this much, like actually laughed, in months. It feels good. Inside the house, the crowd starts counting down from 15. Colby must have heard it too because I watch him turn his head from the corner of my eye. I turn my head to face him. He really does have beautiful eyes. Like the ocean.

“This may be a dumb idea and I know we don’t know each other, but do you want to be my new years kiss?”

“I may regret this in the future, but what the hell.” We both sit up and adjust our clothes.

It might be risky to just kiss a random stranger at midnight, but who cares. We’re most likely not going to be in each other’s lives after tonight anyway. But by God, I could do much worse than kissing Colby. Unless I’m very drunk and the drunk goggles are seriously fucking with me. It’s not like I’m going home with him, my friends won’t let that happen. Maybe after this party, we’ll go our separate ways and never see each other again. Maybe we’ll run into each other in a random store in LA or at some creator convention.

The drunken yells of party-goers inch closer and closer to midnight.

“Three,” Colby whispers, moving his hair out of his face.

“Two,” I take one more small sip before finally setting my drink down. Colby does the same. My heart is beating a loud, steady rhythm in my chest like it’s about to burst.

“One,” We whisper at the same time before slowly leaning in.

As our lips touch, it felt like time had stopped. The beating intense beating in my heart only intensifies the longer our lips stay pressed together. One of Colby’s hands finds my face why the other reaches for my thigh, but I can only focus on how soft his lips are. My stomach starts forming knots as he tries to deepen the kiss. I don’t know if it’s everything I drank tonight coursing through my veins or the fact that I haven’t been kissed in months, but I slightly part my lips. The mixture of Colby’s scent and his body heat wash over me like they’re intoxicating my senses. The kiss ends just as suddenly as it started. We both pull away and just stare at each other in awe.

“L/N,” I breathe, fixing my hair.

“What?” Colby takes another sip of his drink.

“My last name is L/N.”

#colby brock #colby brock imagine #colby brock imagines #imagine #imagines #sam and colby imagines #sam and colby imagine #colby #fluff #fluff imagine #fluff imagines #colby brock x reader #sam and colby

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lily-mj-fae · 3 years

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Nesta and Elain

I’m going to add now: I recognize my own clear bias towards Elain. And in many ways, this post is in part to defend her, especially since now that fandom has more insight on Nesta, there’s been an increase in hate towards Elain, especially in regards to her interactions with Nesta. Some of these include expecting her to remain in a toxic situation purely because she “owes” Nesta. And so i want to discuss, why that mindset is wrong (which i’ve done a couple times in terms of morally/ethically) because they barely have a relationship anyway. Mostly, i just want to actually describe what we see of them. I’m going to try to stick to mostly just facts of what happens, with some inferences based on text on either side.

So there’s a lot of evidence to show, that while the two clearly clung to each other when their family fell, and that there’s obvious love on either side for each other, they do not have a strong relationship. Or a healthy one. Or a good one.

Not only do we have Elain mentioning that no one ever really listens to her (which is obvious it does in fact apply to her family as we see in canon a few times over, I’ll get to that). But you’d have thought that in ACOSF we’d see some kind of fond memories from Nesta about Elain. Some kind of fondness. Something that made us really believed and finally understand why she loved Elain so fiercely she would have ripped apart the world to defend her. Instead, we learn, Nesta has never told anyone she loved them until she said it to Feyre. And we do not see a single happy thought about Elain from Nesta. No happy memories. Nothing. But there was no explanation for WHY she felt so strongly for just Elain. And not a single thing to really support her feeling that way.

We’re led by Feyre to believe that Elain and Nesta are so close. And at first glance, sure, it’s easy to believe. They spend the most time together. They gossip and talk at dinner together. They have the matching iron bracelets (that I believe wasn’t a purchase made by both as Feyre seemed to think, but by Nesta, because Feyre mentions specifically how Elain had spent her money on gifts for her sisters, and I think if Elain had been involved, she would have gotten one for Feyre). Then throughout the series we see how much Nesta is willing to fight to protect Elain. How much she wants to keep Elain away from danger. We see her wanting to do things with Nesta, but not knowing how anymore because she’s becoming more distant. We see Elain even wanting to spend time with Nesta and trying to keep her included in things into ACOFAS.

To me, the illusion fades with that conversation with Lucien in the library. When Elain says that no one really heard her. And when you look at things, it becomes obvious. Most especially with Nesta. Feyre we know already knows little about her sisters. She assumed that Nesta hated her, and that her sisters would be glad to have her gone. And is surprised that Nesta would have gone after her. But with Elain we see this frequently. Elain wants to help Feyre. So she speaks up. Yes, it puts her relationship at risk. And yes, we know that Nesta takes over in an attempt to provide a buffer for Elain should Graysen find out, to maybe save her from the heartbreak of him leaving her for helping any Fae. But it doesn’t change that it was Elain’s decision. Elain’s desire to help. Nesta instead pushed her out of it wherever she could (IE taking over correspondence for them) in the name of protecting her. This is a problem. Because 1) Nesta is sacrificing her own feelings to do what Elain wants, which I think is wrong. Nesta didn’t want to help, and I think she should have stuck to that. Stuck to her own decision. 2) Nesta is preventing Elain from dealing with consequences of her actions (IE, if Graysen found out she was helping the fae). 3) This is disrespecting Elain's agency. She's not letting Elain be herself by constantly interfering 4) she then goes on to belittle Elain for those things, despite it being her decisions and actions to interfere. And we can recognize that her intentions are good all we want, it doesn't make the actions themselves good or even appropriate. Intentions only mean so much. They certainly don't excuse such detrimental behavior.

Now could Elain have fought back? The black and white answer? Yes. But it's not that simple. Elain we know has been belittled from a young age by at least her mother (okay that's an assumption on my part. But with feyre's description of their mother and Nesta's memories, i certainly wouldn't be surprised if she'd said those things to Elain's face). And essentially raised to be pleasant and agreeable. A proper lady. Her confidence in herself doesn't seem very high. Not to mention, she's much quieter than Nesta. Imagine how exhausting it would be to fight your sister on every little thing you wanted to do. And we see this in canon. Every time Elain wants to help, she has to fight Nesta. I don't think this just magically started in acomaf. I'd wager its been going since a minimum of coming to the cottage (It’s part of why I think Elain doesn’t necessarily take up chopping wood when the request is there. i think she attempted once, and Nesta stopped her and wouldn’t let her). I personally think since their mother's death. Elain is also younger than Nesta, and we do have canon evidence of her having at least one memory full of complete adoration. And a respect for the art form and her sister's views on life. So her fighting back, isn’t as easy as fandom wants to think it is.

I also want to bring up someone once mentioning in ACOTAR when Elain and Feyre were talking, and Elain mentions that she feels awful to have her friends over because Nesta makes them uncomfortable, and how that’s so disrespectful of Elain. No it’s not. Elain is allowed to have friends over. And Nesta just glared at them. I’m not saying she had to like them (because I understand why she wouldn’t), but that was rude, and she could have easily been elsewhere, and let Elain have her friends and enjoy time with them. I also read it differently, in that Elain feels awful inviting her friends over because it’s upsetting Nesta too. Which isn’t fair to her either, given that Nesta has at that point begun isolating herself (and while we as readers become aware of why later, Elain has absolutely no idea. And already has said Nesta wouldn’t talk about it. Implying she tried reaching out too), thus leaving Elain feeling very lonely. Overall, Elain here is feeling the way she should. It’s like when you have company over and your parents start yelling at you, or just being anything less than polite and you have to deal with the awkward tension.

Then comes ACOSF. And i know i wasn't the only one hoping to find out more about their relationship. And i’m not the only one who was left disappointed that we still don’t get to understand Nesta’s behavior when it comes to Elain. In fact, if I had only read ACOSF and you had told me that before that, Elain seemed to be Nesta’s favorite sister, I’d call you a liar. I do not get a single ounce that Nest has a loving feeling for Elain in ACOSF. Certainly at the very least, not enough to justify the way she treated Elain vs. Feyre in earlier books. Not to mention, Nesta is under the very immature and inaccurate idea that Elain has chosen Feyre over her. As if it’s black and white. As if Elain can only love her or Feyre. And yes, it’s a sign of her mental illness with depression and trauma. That’s fine. But it still shows a very limited viewpoint. And really only shows a care for herself, no thought of Elain or Elain’s state of mind or even really any empathy for the fact that Nesta was the one causing the rift between them and how that was truly affecting Elain. (Again more trauma response. But my point here is that there is very little empathy towards the sister that we’re told she so vehemently loves).

Now onto the part that I know is my unpopular fandom opinion: Nesta dealing with Elain’s trauma vs Elain dealing with Nesta’s...and how their traumas were very different to deal with in the first place.

My unpopular opinion is that Nesta wasn’t doing anything to actually help Elain. She was doing everything to protect her. But was not interested really in her healing. Nesta isolated Elain, who had previously been social in many ways. We don’t ever see how she fought for Elain to eat or drink or have a will to live. We only hear her say that’s what she did. But fandom does need to stop saying that Nesta was with Elain every second of every day (i have had people say this in arguments. It’s a flat out lie. There’s far more textual evidence that Nesta left Elain alone throughout her trauma than there is that she was by her side constantly. And I don’t say she was never by her side). Because the fact of the matter is that isn’t remotely true. Perhaps of the first few weeks. Before Feyre returned. But after that? We hardly see Nesta with Elain. We instead see her keeping people from interacting with her. Keeping them from giving Elain choices.

And we can shout that she was doing what she thought was best, but it doesn’t change that the effect it had was Elain being isolated and underprepared. Elain had been trying to do her part to help since ACOMAF. And she was being blocked. Elain deserved that chance to go to the high lord’s meeting and share her story (especially since Nesta didn’t want to and wasn’t going to up until the last minute). And Elain should have been offered the same training as Nesta. Especially once they learned she had powers. Instead no one offered to let her help (even though she’d been wanting to help since Feyre first came asking). No one offered to train her. Because Nesta would have had their heads. Saying that it was to keep Elain from doing something she might not have been ready for, plays into the idea that Nesta is protecting Elain from growing. Learning. Protecting her from the consequences. Nesta refused to let anyone really near her beyond the necessities.

Speaking of: Can we please talk about something no one else does? The fact that Nesta just accepts the fact that Elain is mad. That she’s broken. The effect that could have had on her, is so detrimental to Elain’s mental health. The thoughts she was probably already dealing with and then to hear that from her sister? Like she refuses to accept that there could be another answer. And while we might agree and empathize why she would say that, it doesn’t change the effect saying it would have on Elain, who was already struggling heavily to deal with everything that had been thrown at her at once. And even once Elain became Lucid, and they identified the problem, Nesta (and Feyre) continued to try to leave her behind. Again, yes, in the name of protecting Elain. But Nesta never listened to Elain. Never saw that Elain improved upon being involved. That just that action of her wanting to do something, was making her Lucid and back to herself. Instead, Nesta ignored that. Which is why I say she wasn’t focused on Elain’s healing. That and the fact that she’s making assumptions that Elain is fine now.

Elain tried to stay involved with Nesta. No, she didn’t go outside her comfort zone and go into the places Nesta was spending time. But she was trying. I admit, the shot upon Nesta’s arrival is weird. I’m torn between thinking it was a legit, to help relax, or thinking it was something she was pouring as Amren said the comment and decided to drink it instead of giving it to Nesta. (Because yes, it would be easy to say as Amren spoke, elain had been pouring, but even without that, it doesn’t mean things aren’t happening at the same time). When that didn’t work, Elain agreed intervention was necessary. and I just made a whole ass post about why that wasn’t giving up on Nesta like fandom keeps thinking.

And of course, Elain is not perfect here. She has made her mistakes. Though hers are mostly in terms of words. At least the ones I could find textual evidence for when it comes to Elain and Nesta. And mostly done in terms of emotional response.

Now. I did not intend for this post to shit on Nesta. I’m afraid it feels like it has. So I am going to tag it accordingly. But this was more to bring to light the reality that Nesta and Elain aren’t that close. They don’t have a close relationship. They were more security blankets for each other in ACOTAR, and their missing foundation began to show in ACOMAF when Nesta was unaffected by Tamlin’s Glamour and Elain was. I do think there’s a lot of love to be had between them. (Honestly hearing Elain talk about Nesta dancing, and hearing her be happy that Nesta has the Valkyries, even though she feels like she’s been losing Nesta made my heart swell for the amount of love there). But I wanted to point out that their relationship was extremely surface level and nothing deep. That it’s certainly not what fandom acts like it is as they spin this tale of complete and utter evil Elain betraying Nesta and how Nesta has done so much for Elain. Nesta had never even told Elain she loved her. Ever. Which i think is telling about where they really stand.

So let’s please stop acting like Elain owes Nesta everything under the sun because of all the things Nesta did for her. Their relationship was never deep. And while Nesta’s protectiveness stems from a place of love, is actually more detrimental to Elain and her overall growth, than it is good. And Elain has done the things she considered to be best for Nesta, and tried to show love her way. Which is equally unperfect. Because neither of them are perfect.

#elain archeron #anti Nesta Archeron #anti nesta #acosf #acotar

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snelbz · 4 years

Text

What Happens In Vegas... {1}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Feyre x Rhysand, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Summary: For Feyre’s twenty-first birthday, her best friend took her to Las Vegas for a weekend of fun she could never forget. She’s going home with a lot more than memories.

What Happens In Vegas Masterlist

Fanfiction Masterlist

I decided on divorce while I was in the shower, practically slamming the door in my new husband’s face. I went over what I would say to him over and over and when I’d washed my hair for the third time, I knew I was stalling. This wasn’t something I could just pretend hadn’t happened, this was real.

Except maybe I could.

I had plans and life goals. I was only twenty-one. Surely he couldn’t have been surprised by my desire to make this disaster of a marriage go away. You don’t just meet a random person and get married in Vegas. You bring someone to Las Vegas and then you get drunk and get married. But drunkenly marrying an absolute total stranger, who’s name I still didn’t know? Not high on my list of personal accomplishments. I definitely wouldn’t be adding it to my resume when all of this was over.

My parents could never find out, they would kill me. I had plans and priorities. I was going to finish my degree and join my father’s architectural firm. Hell, I had a five- and ten-year-plan, and neither of them included drunkenly marrying a handsome stranger in Vegas.

No, we’d get this thing taken care of and I’d be back in my home town, and back to the life changing internship I was supposed to start in two weeks.

That was it, we’d get divorced and then I’d take this secret to my grave. I was sure my husband was thinking the same thing outside the bathroom door.

I dragged a hand down my face as I stood under the spray of the water and looked at the rock on my left hand. This thing must have cost a fortune. Like a legitimate down payment in a house fortune.

I froze. What if he was into something illegal? His clothes certainly didn’t seem like that of someone who had this much disposable income.

Marrying a stranger was bad enough, but marrying a criminal?

I suddenly felt the need to puke again, but reigned it in. There was nothing left in me to hurl up, anyways.

Attempting to shake the criminal thought away, I tried to take other possible theories into consideration. Maybe he was one of those rich kids that still takes his mommy and daddy’s money, even though he tries to pass off as normal so that he doesn’t have to go to go to all the boring events, full of other rich, snooty people. Or, maybe he had won the lottery and was using his winnings on his trip to Vegas, where he buys obnoxiously large rings for strangers that he marries.

Somehow the criminal theory seemed the most realistic.

A knock on the door had me jumping. “Feyre?”

Well, at least he knew my name.

I hollered back, “Just a second,” and quickly turned off the shower and got out. Wrapping a towel around myself, I looked for something to dress in, but my options were limited. I could put on my white dress, but it was now covered in puke, or the white t-shirt I assumed belonged to the man outside my door, still wet, hanging over a towel rack. I could only assume I’d puked on it, too. Or I could wear the towel.

Towel, it was, it seemed.

I cracked open the door. “Hi.” He was right there leaning on the door frame. I hadn’t noticed when we were sitting down, but he was quite a bit taller than me, a full head, if not more. And he was still shirtless, in those jeans, with those tattoos on display and I was too hungover to process how someone could look like that after a night of drinking.

“Hey.” He wouldn’t look at me, didn’t even seem to notice I was wearing only a towel, thankfully. “Listen, I’m going to have this taken care of.”

I blinked. “Taken care of?”

“Yeah.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes and he was staring at the ground. A scuff on his boots was clearly more interesting than I was. “My lawyers will handle it.”

“You have lawyers?” Criminals had lawyers. Shit. I had to get myself divorced from this guy now. “Yeah, I have lawyers. You don’t need to worry about anything. They’ll send you the paperwork or whatever. However this works.” He finally looked up at me, an emotion I didn’t recognize in his violet eyes, and grabbed his leather jacket from where it was laying on the bed. He shrugged it on, apparently deciding the t-shirt was a lost cause. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. If I were him, I’d divorce me and run as far away as I could. He probably thought I was going to puke on him again.

“This was a mistake,” he muttered, echoing my thoughts. Hearing him say it, though, hurt for some reason.

I breathed, “Oh.”

He looked up at me then. “What? You disagree?”

“No,” I said, far too quickly.

“Thought not. Wish we would have felt that way last night. Could have saved us a lot of trouble, yeah?” He headed for the door and said, “Bye, Feyre.”

“Wait!” I called and hurried to the door.

When he turned, I really wished I hadn’t seen the hope in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Here,” I said, already tugging the ring off my finger. “This is yours.”

He looked down at my fingers, gripping the ring, holding it up to him. He blinked, then his eyes narrowed. “Keep it.”

I nearly gaped. “It must’ve cost a fortune. I can’t keep this.”

He shrugged. “I don’t want it back.”

“Please,” I said, following him as he took a step toward the door. “It’s yours and I have no need for it. Take it. Please.”

The second please came out much more desperate than the first.

“Look,” he said, rubbing his temples as he turned around. “Sell it, pawn it, I don’t care. Keep it.”

“No,” I said, without any hesitation. “It wouldn’t feel right. You have to take it.”

“No, I don’t,” he said, voice low.

He didn’t give me a chance to reply, storming outside and slamming the door behind him. The painting on the wall lifted and fell as the force reverberated through the walls. He never even told me his name.

I was left staring at the door, mouth hanging open, the ring still in my outstretched hand.

I had no doubt that whether or not he did have lawyers, he would make sure we were divorced now. I slowly walked over to the undisturbed double bed, the scratchy comforter still in place, and sat down. I sighed and said a prayer to the Cauldron that that really would be the end of this fiasco.

As I sat there, still wearing nothing but my towel, I noticed that my right butt cheek, strangely enough, was aching, throbbing for some reason. I shook my head, not surprised in the least that I’d somehow ended up causing myself bodily harm last night. I stood and walked back to the bathroom after tucking the ring away safely in my carryon bag. I made a mental note to call Joey, who was absent from our hotel room, but she’d come to Vegas with a goal in mind of her own.

It didn’t include getting married, but did include some other activities that go hand in hand with it.

The thought gave me pause and I froze, halfway to the open doorway.

My ass was currently the only thing aching, so I could only assume that me and my soon-to-be ex-husband hadn’t consummated our marriage. I tried to ignore the disappointment I felt at that fact.

I may not have wanted to be married to him, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy doing other things with him. Things that didn’t end up in a legal and binding contract with the state of Nevada and the Man upstairs.

I knew this was a blessing in disguise. Thank god he didn’t want to keep this mess going, I don’t date bad boys. And that man was definitely a bad boy. I was more into the clean cut, college-educated, I have a 401K type of guy.

Had I ever dated that type of guy? No.

Had I even gone on a second date in the past three years? Also no, but that wasn’t the point.

I could already tell that man was nothing but trouble, and getting as far from him as possible was my best bet.

I sighed, walking into the harsh light of the fluorescent bulbs over the bathroom mirror, wanting to inspect the damage to my ass. I turned and stood on my tiptoes, looking backwards at myself in the mirror. I wondered if it would end up bringing a scrape or a bruise. I hadn’t felt anything while I was in the shower, nor did I remember falling last night — not that I would have anyways. I cringed, hoping my husband hadn’t-.

Black ink and hot pink skin. All the air left my body in a rush. There was a word on my left butt cheek, a name:

Rhysand

I spun and dry-heaved into the sink.

———————

“How, after nearly twenty years of friendship, is your music taste still this horrible?”

Joey was scrolling through my saved songs on Spotify, sharing one of my ear buds. She had, indeed, succeeded in completing her goal last night. She finally stumbled into our hotel room, still orgasm drunk a mere two hours before our flight was scheduled to take off. Thanks to my overwhelming anxiety, I had everything packed and ready to go, sitting by the door when she walked in looking like exactly like she’d spent her night in someone’s bed. Rather than waking up on a clammy bathroom floor.

I thought this was supposed to be my birthday trip. How did I end up with the shit end of the stick.

“If you wanted to listen to your own music, you should have remembered to charge your phone before you slept with our waiter from last night.” It came across with much less sarcasm as was intended, and anyone else would have thought I was being an absolute bitch, but as she watched me swallow the rest of the shitty, airplane coffee, she knew I’d had a rough night.

She went on, ignoring me. “Have I taught you nothing?”

I snorted. “Not to drink tequila.”

With a roll of her eyes, she opened her mouth to reply, but the dinging of the PA above their heads rang out and she paused. The seatbelt sign lit up and we both re-fastened the belts across our laps. She said, “I’m trying to help you and your horrific music taste. Here.” She scrolled through my saved artists and found a band I hadn’t even noticed was on the list. It had a singular song saved.

A screaming electric guitar and aggressive yelling filled my head and I yanked the earbud out. So much for my headache beginning to fade. I was convinced my brain was leaking out of my ear, she’d turned the volume up so loud.

“How do you even listen to that?” I asked, rubbing temples as I began to feel my heartbeat behind my eyeball.

“It’s Illyrian Leathers,” she said, as if that was explanation enough.

“And they're lovely,” I said, taking my phone and pausing the song before unplugging the headphones. We’d begun our descent and would off the plane in a matter of minutes. “But, you know, maybe another time, after you didn’t pour twenty tequila shots down my throat.”

She scoffed, “It was only four, you took the rest of your own accord.” I could vaguely remember Joey putting back to back shots to my lips and tipping them back before I could stop her. Twice.

That vague memory was on the short list of things I could remember.

All I knew now was that I couldn’t wait to get home, climb into my bed, and forget about everything that happened in Vegas. For the first time in my life, I finally understood the popular phrase, What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

It would be easier to forget, though, if I hadn’t spent the entire flight trying to get comfortable in my seat with my throbbing asscheek.

I stared out the window, watching my hometown slowly fade into view as the plane descended in the sky. I made a vow then and there that I would never leave the comfort of Adriata again. I had proven to myself that nothing good happens when I leave the city limits.

“So what did you end up getting into last night?” Joey asked, gathering her dark hair and piling it on top of her head. “Aside from the toilet bowl.”

“That’s pretty much it.” The less said, the better. The less people that knew, the better. The sooner she was off this plane, the better.

“What a boring birthday weekend,” she scoffed.

We were quiet the rest of the short ride, my stomach mercifully survived the landing, though it did lurch once. After grabbing our bags from the overhead bin, we disembarked the plane, and I was very grateful that we had only brought carry ons.

In no time, I would be on my way home.

The thought had me almost smiling, but the nausea kept that smile at bay.

We exited the plane, past the smiling flight attendants, and exited into the tunnel that would lead us up into the terminal. Joey rambled on and on for the entirety of our walk, but I rarely made out a word she was saying. My head was back to throbbing, and I was counting down the distance that would lead us into the parking garage.

I could see the sign up ahead that pointed to baggage claim, and thankfully we wouldn’t have to wait for any bags, but what we did run into past that sign was much, much worse.

The second we stepped into view, flashes of light were blinding me.

“What’s going on?” I asked, lifting up on my toes, trying to catch a glimpse of the chaos ahead.

“Must be a celebrity on board or something,” she mused, glancing behind us, just like the people in front of us were. I followed suit, only to find the people behind us staring in front of us.

Then I heard it. My name. Being said by about twenty different people.

“Feyre, when’s the baby due?”

“Why didn’t Rhys fly with you to Adriata?”

“Is it true the band is breaking up?”

“What do you have to say about the allegations that you’re sleeping with the other members of the band?”

“Will you be having a second wedding?”

“When is Rhys coming to meet your parents?”

I was frozen, my heart had quit beating and I was pretty sure my stomach was in a puddle in my Vans.

An endless barrage of questions and flashes and my name and his over and over and over.

Joey gripped my hand and pulled my hood up my hair. “Keep your head down and don’t stop walking.”

She began forcing herself through the crowd, shoving one man and his camera out of his way as we hurried through the busy airport and jumped into a waiting taxi, cutting a line of nearly a dozen people. I couldn’t be bothered to care as the paparazzi descended on the cab.

“Drive!” Joey shouted at the man.

He blinked and said, “Where?”

“Anywhere!”

He stepped on the gas, just as I dropped my face into my hands and groaned. My mind was whirling. It made sense, but at the same time, I couldn’t comprehend it.

Rhysand.

The name tattooed on my ass.

My apparent husband.

He was...famous?

Not a criminal. Not some fake rich kid. Not a lottery-winner.

Famous.

Famous enough that paparazzi were greeting his new wife as she got off the plane, anyway.

“Feyre.”

By her tone, I assumed it wasn’t the first time Joey had said my name. My hands dragged down my face as I hesitantly met her gaze.

I blinked.

“What the hell was that?” she asked, her voice raising.

I looked out the window behind her head. We were exiting the airport, and I didn’t even bother to announce that my car was still in the parking garage.

“I…” I began, but my words fell short. I didn’t know. Yes, I did. But I didn’t want to, wanted to pretend that I didn’t, because this could not be my current reality.

“You didn’t happen to get…married while we were in Vegas, did you?”

“I… Yeah. I, uh, think I did.”

She blinked. “Wow.”

And then it just all blurted out of me. “God, Joey. I screwed up so badly and I barely even remember any of it. I just woke up and he was there and then he was so pissed at me and I don’t even blame him. I didn’t know how to tell you. I was just going to pretend it never happened.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work now.”

“No.”

“Okay. No big deal. So you’re married.” Lauren nodded, her face freakily calm. No anger, no blame. Meanwhile, I felt terrible that I hadn’t confided in her. We shared everything.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I whispered. “I should have.”

“Yes, you should have,” she sighed. “But it’s okay. I know now. So,” she said, crossing her leg and looking at me. “Who did you marry?”

“Rhysand,” I said, and she blinked at me.

“It’s not Rhysand Lunasa, is it?”

I shrugged, I hadn’t even known his name until I found it branded on my asscheek. “Maybe? It sounds familiar.”

“Where exactly am I taking you ladies?” The cab driver asked, glancing at us in his rearview mirror.

Joey glanced at me and said, “Feyre?”

I turned around, seeing the cars still following us. “My parents,” I breathed. I really didn’t want to lead them right where I lived, but it wouldn’t have surprised me if they already know.

Joey nodded and said, “Good call, your dad has a gun.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head as she rattled the address she’d had memorized for years off the driver.

She sat back against the cracked leather seat and took my hand. I looked over at her. “I’m so sorry I didn’t say something. I didn’t mean to get married. I don’t even remember getting married. I don’t even know how this happened. This is such a…”

“Clusterfuck?” She provided.

I snorted and said, “Yeah, that’s a good word to describe the situation.”

She squeezed my hand and said, “You’re right. You really shouldn’t drink tequila.” I could only nod, my head pounding. After a second, she asked, “Do me a favor?”

“Mm?”

“Please don’t break up my favorite band.”

My eyes widened as I realized all at once who my darling husband was. “Oh, my god. He’s the guitarist from that band.”

“Illyrian Leathers,” she said, smirking as she looked over at me. “And yes, he is. Guess you’re going to have to listen to his music after all.”

I didn’t bother to tell her the obvious: no, I would not. This nightmare of a marriage would hopefully be over before I’d have time to search and find one of his records.

I smacked my forehead. He’d been plastered on Joey’s bedroom wall since we were sixteen, when Illyrian Leathers had formed. How could I have not recognized him? “It makes sense how he could afford the ring.”

“What ring?”

I hesitated before fishing the giant rock out of my pocket. When I held it up, Joey’s eyes widened.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I know.”

“It’s massive!”

“I know,” I repeated, still amazed at the size of the diamond.

“I mean, it’s-.”

“I know,” I interrupted, exasperated. “You can’t freak out, alright? I’m already freaking out, and we both can’t freak out, because that won’t work.”

“Right,” she said, quietly, clearing her throat. “Sorry, I just…holy shit.” She took the ring into her fingers and examined it as if it was a long lost family treasure. “How much does something like this cost?”

I shrugged. “No idea. A fortune, I’m guessing. And I really don’t want to guess.”

She was looking at it and suddenly her eyes were on mine. “We should sell it and take a world wide cruise! Probably take a couple laps on the bad boy. I wonder how many carats it is?”

I took it back from her, tucking it safely away in my pocket again. “Five, and no, I need to get it back to him. There’s no way I can keep this thing.”

She sighed, letting her head fall back against the headrest. “I know, but you could have let me imagine it for a few minutes.”

I snorted but didn’t say much else.

“Congratulations,” she said as we got closer to my parents’ house. “You’re officially married to a rockstar.”

I dropped my head into my hands again. “What the hell am I going to do?”

She chuckled. “I have no idea, but I have to tell you, you exceeded my expectations.”

My eyes slid to her. “What do you mean?”

“When I told you I was taking you to Vegas for your birthday, I was hoping you’d let your hair down and let loose for once. Get a life and give mankind another chance. But this is a whole new level of crazy you’ve ascended to. Do you really have a tattoo?”

“Yes.”

“Of his name?”

I sighed and nodded.

“Where, might I inquire?”

I shut my eyes tight. “My left asscheek.”

Joey lost it, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her face.

I’m glad one of us found my current situation funny.

Because as my childhood home came into view, already surrounded by paparazzi, I knew that my life as I knew it was over.

My father was going to kill me.

#snelbz whiv #snacmc #snelbz tacmc collab #what happens in vegas #feysand #feyre archeron #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas

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jenonctcity · 4 years

Text

My Responsibility - Part 1

Differences - Huang Renjun

Part of the Bad Boy Series - Differences.

Badboy!Au, Parent!Au

Warnings: Mentions of mental health problems, dark themes, explicit sex (choking, oral, rough sex), mention of drugs.

Word Count: 6.1k

When Huang Renjun first started having sex, he couldn’t stop. He became almost addicted to the mind-blowing feeling all – well most, of his sexual encounters gave to him. Although he doesn’t like to talk about the time he hit his head against one of girlfriends’ shelves whilst he had her bent over her vanity table at 4am. That’s a story he wished he’d never shared with his friends, because even to this day, a year and a half down the line, they loved to remind him of it. Not like Jeno, Jaemin, and Haechan didn’t have their own embarrassing sex stories, he assumed. He’d never actually asked.

He dated multiple girls at one time and soon got the label ‘fuckboy’. It was around this time he moved into a shared apartment with the previously mentioned friends, none of them bothering with further education after they left school, and they paid for their rent doing less than legal activities. He’d previously been living in a small apartment his parents rented for him whilst he studied in Korea. His parents soon cut him off after he told them he didn’t have plans of going to university, and he hadn’t been back to China since he left almost 6 years prior. Haechan was quite good at selling drugs, his handsome looks and charming personality making many girls throw money at him for even the smallest bag of whatever it was he was selling at the time. When he wasn’t selling drugs, he was working at the local mechanics with his uncle. Jeno, well he was good at…being Jeno. He found out his raging temper meant he was good at picking fights, and winning fights. He soon started participating in underground street fights and earning cash that way. He got in big trouble with the law, but that’s a story for another time. Jaemin, the cheeky boy with a killer smirk that had girls dropping their pants with one single wink. Jaemin had a talent for racing, and earned his money taking part in illegal street racing in the dead of night.

And finally, Renjun. Renjun was good at stealing, he made a lot of money by stealing cars and selling them on. He’s not particularly proud of it, but he needed to make money somehow. Something else Renjun was good at, fucking . He soon ended up with one girlfriend after he got one too many slaps around the face when his girlfriends found out about his infidelity. She was a sweet girl, and the best part was she didn’t mind when he went out with the boys, smoking and doing drugs all night. Well…she didn’t actually know that he did that, he managed to keep it a secret from her. When she found out, he found himself being dumped. A month later, she asked to meet up with him, where she dropped an absolute bomb of news on him that changed his life forever. That’s how he found himself holding the 8-month-old baby girl currently in his arms as he walked up the stairs of his shared apartment.

Huang Jiyeon had no idea that her father wasn’t ready to be a parent when she was brought into the world. In fact, Renjun was still struggling with balancing being a father and being a teenager. He had only just turned 19 when she was brought into the world and shoved into his arms. He never told anyone, but he had tears pouring down his face as he held the tiny little human he had made. Jiyeon’s mother had no interest in resuming her relationship with Renjun, and she swore to him if she ever found out he was under the influence of drugs or alcohol when it was his turn to have Jiyeon, she would make sure he never saw his child again. Renjun made a promise to never do something as irresponsible as that, and since her birth, he’d had her Thursday – Sunday every other week. His roommates had been his support throughout his entire journey, and although none of them had any clue how to look after a baby, they helped when they could. They also reduced the amount of illegal activities they did when she was under their roof. Since then, Renjun hadn’t had a girlfriend and the amount of sex he got was very limited. Although he couldn’t deny the stares, he got from women didn’t make him proud. Obviously, women must like to see a young man with tattoos, dressed in dark clothing, holding a baby dressed in a duck onesie.

“Why can’t I ever find my fucking keys?” He often found himself talking to the infant, despite the fact she couldn’t do much more than crawl and cry. He held the baby girl on his hip, her dark hair pushed back by a pink headband that had a flower on it to match her pink dress, struggling with finding his keys as he tried to juggle holding his baby and all the shopping bags he held. “Hey…don’t repeat that word…especially not to mummy.” He hadn’t quite gotten used to not swearing yet, but he was working on his habit. Jiyeon just stared up at him, then changing her gaze to look at his hand where it was riffling around in his pocket. He let out a sigh and a groan. “Don’t judge me for this okay. And don’t go anywhere.” He dropped the bags to the floor and then gently lowered the baby girl to the floor, sitting her on the doormat outside the door as he used both hands to find his keys. “Got ‘em!” He pulled them out and as he was about to unlock the door, it swung open. Haechan stood on the other side of the door with a raised eyebrow, his stare slowly moving from Renjun to the baby sat on the doormat.

“Dude…you put your child on the floor?” He reached forward and picked up Renjun’s bags for him and Renjun quickly swiped Jiyeon off the mat.

“I couldn’t find my keys, don’t judge me.” He grunted back, entering the apartment and kicking off his shoes. He often found himself telling people not to judge him nowadays, especially as he was still learning how to parent. Jiyeon gave Haechan a toothy smile when she saw him, kicking her tiny legs out in excitement at her favourite uncle. Haechan quickly threw the bags onto the floor without a care.

“I’m not judging you, just questioning your parenting.” He shrugged and patted Jiyeon on the head, taking her little hand in his own before completely snatching her out of Renjun’s arms. He started to talk in baby language with her, leaving Renjun and disappearing into the living room. Renjun followed him and gasped when he saw Jeno lounging on the sofa with a lit cigarette between his fingers.

“Ya! Lee Jeno smoke that on the balcony!” Jeno rolled his eyes but wordlessly moved onto the balcony to continue with his actions. “My life is so hard.” Renjun groaned, running his hands through his thick black hair and back over his face.

“Has anyone told you that you’re starting to grow a mullet?” Jaemin piped in from across the room, an amused smirk on his face as he spoke. Renjun’s jaw clenched and stared at Jaemin.

“Just fuck o-” He was interrupted by a knock at their front door. He let out a sigh to compose himself and without another word he went back to the door he’d just came through. He opened the door and was taken aback to see a beautiful girl stood in front of him. He would describe her to have a casual, girl next door kind of style. Her jeans and jumper combination surprisingly causing a stir in his stomach. ‘God I need to get laid’ he thought to himself as he stared at her.

“Hi! I just moved into the apartment opposite you and I thought I’d just introduce myself to you so at least I know someone in the building! I’m (Y/N).” You chirped, hiding the butterflies you felt in your stomach as you stared at the handsome young man in front of you. The first thing you noticed was his slightly long, black hair. Then you noticed the tattoo that started on his left hand and disappeared up the sleeve of his dark denim jacket. He was wearing black skinny jeans but had on pink socks, a complete contrast to his entire aesthetic that you could see. When you’d knocked at the door opposite your own, you’d hoped that an elderly lady lived in the apartment, knowing you’d easily get along with someone like that. So, to see a devilishly handsome man had you nervous. His lips curled up into a smile and he closed the door slightly behind him as he held a hand out to you.

“Hey, I’m Renjun.” He bowed his head to you and looked you up and down once more. Your curiosity got the best of you and you asked your next question without even thinking about it.

“Do you live alone?” You mentally slapped yourself for being so nosey, keeping the smile plastered on your face instead of cringing at yourself.

“Oh, no there’s three other guys here too, Jeno, Jaemin, and Haechan. I’m sure you’ll meet them at so-” He was cut off by the feeling of the door no longer being on his back, Haechan’s voice cutting into his own.

“Who’s this?” Renjun watched your eyes widen as you laid your eyes on Jiyeon. You also noticed that the man had a similar style to Renjun, his white t-shirt tucked into his black sweatpants. He had a slit in his eyebrow and a graze across his right cheek. The baby in his arms stared at you with a look of bewilderment swimming inside her almost black eyes.

“You have a baby!” Your smile widened and Renjun started to feel his palms go clammy.

“Haechan, this is (Y/N), (Y/N) this is Haechan, and Jiyeon, his daughter!” As soon as the words left his mouth and he saw the look of confusion on Haechan’s face he knew he’d fucked up. Haechan raised an eyebrow and then put on a big smile, turning to face you.

“Pleasure to meet you (Y/N).” He bowed his head to you, playing along with Renjun’s lie despite not knowing the reason why he’d decided to lie to you.

“You too, wow she’s so beautiful! How old is she?” You titled your head, your curiosity piqued about the whole baby situation, considering both of these boys looked like they lived wild lives. Haechan’s mouth opened, his mind completely blanking out as he had no idea about how old the baby in his arms was.

“8 months.” Renjun answered, even though you’d aimed the question at the young man stood beside him. Renjun turned to Haechan and gave him a wide eyed look that you couldn’t see, silently telling him to go away.

“She needs…feeding? Goodbye (Y/N).” He fake a smile and quickly disappeared back into the apartment, leaving you and Renjun stood together.

“She’s adorable…anyway, I’m gonna er, go now. It was nice meeting you.”

“You too.” He smiled, shutting the door as you disappeared into your own apartment. When he turned around, Haechan was stood behind him with a smirk on his face.

“What game are you playing Huang?”

“I’m…not sure yet.” He admitted with a shrug, holding his arms out for Haechan to transfer his daughter back over to him. He pressed a kiss to her head and spoke quietly so only she could hear him. “He’s not your daddy, please never think he is okay my princess?”

---

It had been 3 weeks since you moved into your new apartment, and since then, you’d seen the men who lived in the apartment opposite you plenty of times. You’d met Jeno when he was collecting the mail in the entrance to the apartment building. He didn’t seem like a man of many words, but you’d introduced yourself and he’d mentioned that Renjun had told him about you. You couldn’t help but think about how good looking Jeno was. His bleached blond hair giving his dark look a sharp look. You noticed how when he smiled, it barely reached his eyes, almost like it was fake. But you then saw how bloodshot his eyes were, so you assumed either he was super tired, or super high. You pretended not to noticed how scabbed over his knuckles were, obviously damaged from his fist flying into something. Your meeting with the final boy had you feeling uncomfortable. Jaemin had shamelessly flirted with you in the hallway after you came back from work one night. His eyes raking up and down your body shamelessly, but then he simply said bye and disappeared into the apartment.

A week ago, you’d bumped into Renjun in a nearby coffee shop. He suggested you both sit together so you did. He was wearing a black hoodie with black skinny jeans, his hair tucked underneath an adidas baseball cap. As you sat with him you both idly talked about your lives. Although you felt yourself being the one who talked more than him, you found out he was born and raised in China, then he came over to Korea to study in high school. He’d told you he was raised by wealthy parents, but that he has nothing to with them anymore because they didn’t support him with his choices. In turn, you’d told him about your life. You had a normal 9-5 job working at the local pet store. It wasn’t anything special, but you could live off of the wage. You told him about your parents and how they were very loving and helped you moved into the city when you’d told them you wanted to. He listened to you with a soft smile on his face, nodding his head along to show he was listening.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He asked out of the blue, his head tilting slightly as he waited for you to reply.

“No, I’ve only ever had one relationship and that last for around 5 months.” You shrugged, pretending as if it didn’t matter, when in fact, your previous boyfriend had lied to you about being married. It had torn you apart when you’d found out by seeing a text on his phone from someone under the contact ‘wife’. He’d admitted everything to you, also telling you that he lied about his age, and he was in fact 26, not 21 like he’d told you. You didn’t hesitate to break it off with him.

“Would you maybe want to go on a date with me sometime?” He looked confident as he asked you out, a slightly smirk on his lips as if he knew what your answer was going to be. You smiled and said yes, exchanging phone numbers with him.

Two nights ago, Renjun had taken you out for dinner at a local restaurant. It was nothing fancy, but you thought it was the perfect setting. The date went really well, and you found out a bit more about Renjun’s life. However, he still neglected to tell you he was a father and part-time thief. Instead he told you about his little job that he actually did have on the side. He worked with Haechan on Mondays and Tuesdays, stripping down the cars he’d successfully stolen to sell the parts. It actually did bring him in a lot of money, so he only did it two days a week. Although, he told you that he worked there Monday-Friday. In his mind it was just a tiny lie. You went back to your apartment building after walking home hand in hand with him, and he gave you a soft kiss on the cheek as he bid you goodnight. You went to sleep that night feeling giddy about your new love interest.

It was getting late, and you decided it was the perfect time to settle down for bed. But first you wanted to cleanse yourself of your day before climbing into your freshly made bed. You turned on your shower, testing the temperature and letting out a sigh when it just continued to run freezing cold.

“Damn it!” You groaned, shutting off the water and drying your hand on your jean leg. So much for your evening cleanse. Just as you exited the bathroom to write a note to remind yourself to call your landlord in the morning, the world around you went dark, all your lights fading to nothing. “Fuck!” You let out a shout, not caring if your neighbours heard. Was it a power cut? Was it just your apartment? You needed answers. Without thinking, you navigated your way through your apartment, occasionally bumping into random items of furniture as you went. Once you made it to the door, you opened it and stepped outside into the hall, leaving your foot on the door so it didn’t fully shut. You glanced down the hall to see if you could see any light coming from anyone else’s doors. You squinted into the darkness and took a step further into the hall, completely forgetting about your door until it clicked shut behind you. “Fuck!” You whisper shouted, stamping your foot on the floor as you realised you were now locked out of your apartment in what seemed to be a power cut. What made things worse was you left your phone and keys inside your apartment. “I’m screwed.” You sighed, rubbing your eyes and walking across the hall to apartment opposite. You knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer, and you prayed at least one of the four boys were actually in. The door opened and you had to squint to avoid being blinded by the torch of an iPhone being pointed at you.

“(Y/N)?” The torch lowered enough for you to see Renjun stood in the doorway. “What’s up?” You noticed he only had on a pair of sweatpants, his chest bare and you could finally see the rest of the tattoo he had on his hand, it travelled up his arm into a sleeve that finished at his shoulder. You couldn’t make out what it was a tattoo of though because of the dark. You were glad he couldn’t see how your cheeks heated up at seeing him with no shirt on.

“I’m locked out of my apartment and I didn’t know what to do so…” You rocked back on your heels hoped he understood what you were getting at.

“Oh! Come in.” He smiled, moving out of the way to let you in. You entered the apartment and waited for him to shut the door to lead the way. You hadn’t actually been inside of his apartment yet, so you had no idea where any of the rooms where. He took your hand in his own and pulled you through to the living room.

“Is anyone else home?” You questioned when you failed to hear anyone else.

“No it’s just me, we’re alone.” He smiled, sitting down on the sofa and pulling you to sit beside him. “What do you want to do? Normally I’d ask if you wanted to watch a movie or something but well, we have no power.” He laughed softly, his hand coming down to rest on your thigh. You noticed a candle burning on the opposite side of the room, but it only gave off minimal light. Your eyes widened and you were thankful it was so dark so he couldn’t see your reaction to his simple touch. You panicked and just started to talk about your day, asking him about his own. He let out a soft laugh and humoured you, sparking up a conversation about what he did with his day. In your nerves at being alone with your new boyfriend, you just kept talking. And an hour later you found yourself slouched with him on the sofa as you were still talking. You paused and let out a sigh, finally out of things to talk about. “You’re adorable…” He whispered with a small smile on his face. He reached out and cupped your cheek in his palm, tilting your face to his own. Your felt your stomach erupt in butterflies as he stroked his thumb on your cheek. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss to your lips, letting his lips linger on your own once he realised you were kissing him back. He continued to kiss you for what seemed like forever, his tongue evading your mouth and pushing against your tongue. The kiss got hot, and you felt like you were having a hot flush as he moved to trail his lips down your jaw to your neck. His hand came to rest on your thigh once more and he rubbed circles against fabric of your jeans.

“Oh…” You let out a breathy moan, his lips attaching to your neck as he sucked at your hot skin. He smirked against your neck, licking at the fresh mark he’d just made on you to mark you as his.

“Can I fuck you?” He was straight to the point, his words causing a searing heat to rush to your centre and causing you to leak with excitement at his filthy words. When you didn’t verbally respond to him, he pulled back, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “If you think it’s too early then you can say no. We can take it slower. I just really want to be buried inside of you; I want to make you feel good baby.” You gulped and let out a soft whimper when the dirty words left his lips.

“Fuck me.” You whispered and without needing anymore prompting, he scooped you up into his arms and almost expertly carried you through to his bedroom in the dark. He threw you onto his bed and you landed perfectly with your head on his pillows. You smiled at his silhouette in the dark, feeling comforted by the smell of him on his bedding. He crawled over the top of you and leaned in for another tongue filled kiss, using one of his hands to travel underneath your t-shirt to your breast. He gave it a squeeze over the cup of your bra and bit at your bottom lip, letting out a husky growl as he tugged your lip with his teeth. You cupped his face with your hands and pulled his lips back to yours, initiating another kiss. He reluctantly pulled away from you and smirked.

“How much do you like this t-shirt?” He tugged at the material, pecking your lips once more. You furrowed your eyebrows at him, confused as to why he was asking that all of a sudden.

“Erm it’s just a t-shirt?” Without giving you a reply, he gripped the material with both of his hands, tensing up as he pulled at it, the fabric ripping from his strength. You gasped and your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. You also felt a rush of arousal leak from you at how turned on that made you. “Jesus.” You moaned when he ducked down, kissing at the top of your breast. He trailed his tongue over your skin, blowing onto where he’d left his spit on you. His caused shivers to cascade down your spin, your head tilting back when he pulled your bra down, his tongue swirling around one of your sensitive nipples. He closed his mouth around the pink bud, sucking and shutting his eyes momentarily as he felt closer to you. Renjun loved sucking on women’s nipples. He had a slight kink for it that he couldn’t shake and loved more than anything to just suck at a nipple until he fell asleep. He once googled ‘why do men love women’s breasts?’ and he was pleasantly surprised to find out that it actually makes the bond between men and women stronger.

“Fuck.” He moaned and moved to give attention to your other nipple. He felt restricted as his cock got harder in his boxers. He grinded his hips against your thigh, biting your nipple and tugging at it gently before letting it go and moving to kiss down your abdomen. He sat back and pulled his sweatpants and boxers in one go, kicking them off of the bed before hurrying to pull your jeans off of you. He couldn’t wait any longer. He hadn’t sex in about two months, which was almost an eternity to him. “God, I want to taste your pussy baby, but it will have to wait until next time; I just need to be inside of you.” You spread your legs for him as he pulled your panties down your legs. You bit your bottom lip, a cool feeling spreading on your folds as the air hit your dripping hole. He groaned as he reached out two fingers, rubbing from your hole up to your clit, spreading your arousal over you before circling them around the bundle of nerves. “Fuck it.” He leaned down and flicked his tongue against your clit, pressing a kiss to it before trailing his tongue up and down your heat, a moan leaving his chest at how good you tasted. You let out a squeak in surprise, automatically winding your hands into his thick hair and pushing his face into you.

“Feels so good.” You whispered, two of his fingers sliding in and out of your repeatedly. He curled them up and sucked on your clit as he rammed his fingers into you faster. Your chest started to move faster as you struggled to steady your breathing, soft moans falling from your parted lips as you felt the heat rising inside of you. He took you all the way to the brink, just to withdraw himself from you all of a sudden.

“You’re gonna cum on my cock baby girl, not my fingers.” You couldn’t see because of the dark, but you would put money on it that he was smirking as he said that. He blindly fumbled around in his drawers for a condom, letting out a sigh when he couldn’t find one. “Hang on.” He jumped up from the bed, about to leave the room when you spoke up.

“I’m on the pill, just pull out.” You needed him so desperately that you weren’t too bothered about him going in raw. You couldn’t see, but he winced and let out a soft groan.

“I’m not risking another baby.” He mumbled quietly.

“Huh?”

“Nothing, it’s okay I’m sure Jaemin has some.” He left the room without another word. You heard things clatter and him let out a yelp in pain once before he came back into the room. “Got one!” He wasted no time in rolling it onto his leaking cock, pumping it multiple times as he climbed back onto the bed. He crawled over you, pushing your legs up to his waist as he slowly pushed his cock into you. You held your breath as he filled you up slowly, his lips finding purchase on your neck as he started to thrust in and out of you. His hips built up a steady rhythm, and he removed his lips from your neck to press his forehead there instead. You closed your eyes, your hands gripping at his back and a burning sensation inside of you at how good he was making you feel. His pace quickened and he breathed puffs of air against your skin, little grunts leaving his lips every now and then. He pulled out of you and rose to his knees, using his strength to flip you over onto your front. He manoeuvred you so you were on your knees with your elbows laying against his bed, then he slammed his dick back into you without warning.

“Fuck!” You whined and pushed back against him, his hips pounding against your ass with one of his hands coming down to slap the soft flesh of your ass. “Again.” You whimpered into his pillow, biting at it as a coping method for the ecstasy he was causing you to feel. He smirked, bringing his hand down against you one more time before leaning over you, his lips now next to your ear as he whispered dirtily.

“You like baby? Does my dirty girl like being spanked?”

“Yes, oh fuck right there!” The angle his hips were in was causing the head of his cock to brush against you g-spot perfectly. “Fuck!” You whined as his hands tangled in your hair, dragging you up so your back was pressed against his chest. He wound his hand to your neck, holding you by it with ease but very carefully putting pressure on either side of your neck with his thumb and fingers. You didn’t know you had a choking or spanking kink until Renjun had done both to you. He was making you feel so good, there was little you wouldn’t let him do to you. The knot inside of your stomach became bigger, his pace speeding up until it snapped suddenly. You let out a choke whine, your body convulsing as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

“Good girl.” He pushed you forward onto your hands again, pulling out of you and taking off the condom without a care. “On your back.” His voice held an authoritative tone, slapping you on the ass when you didn’t comply to his demand straight away. You gasped and rolled over fast, spreading your legs for him instinctively. His hand started to work over his cock fast, his breath becoming laboured until he let out a long moan. That’s when you felt his hot cum spurt onto your lower abdomen. He tried to catch his breath as he milked his cock onto you, finally letting go of it and letting out a long sigh. He then let out a soft laugh, leaning over you and placing a kiss to your forehead. “Stay here.” He left the room, coming back a minute later with a wet cloth. He ran the cloth over your body, cleaning you up before tucking you into his bed.

“Thank you.” You whispered with a giddy smile on your face. You felt like you had a new bond with Renjun, despite having only known him for a short period of time. You didn’t want to jump in too quickly, knowing the last time you did that you got hurt. But Renjun made you feel all gooey inside, like a pre-teen girl going crazy over her crush. He opened his curtains, the light of the moon flooding into the room and making visibility better. He opened up his window and lit a cigarette, taking a long drag before letting it out with a sigh. He smiled at you, the sight of you in his bed making him feel a spark of happiness rush through him. It had been a while since he’d felt this way towards another woman, the last woman probably having been Jiyeon’s mother. All the other women he’d slept with meaning absolutely nothing to him.

“Stay with me tonight?” He asked after taking another puff of his cigarette. He finished it off and closed his window, coming back to you and snuggling up to you in his bed. You wrapped an arm round him, laying your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he breathed in and out slowly. He pressed another kiss to your forehead and then let out a gentle laugh. “Sorry if I rushed into this too quickly, I just couldn’t help myself. You’re gorgeous and you really turn me on.”

“It’s fine, I would have said no if I didn’t want to.” You shut your eyes and smiled, enjoying the soft flow of conversation you were having with him. You took a deep breath and found the courage to tell him about your last relationship. “My ex-boyfriend hurt me badly…he made me fall in love with him and then I found out he’d been lying to me. He was married and he’d lied about his age too.” You still had your eyes shut, so you couldn’t see how Renjun’s eyes widened in surprise and worry. He instantly knew he’d fucked up with lying to you.

“Oh…what a prick.” He murmured, pretending to be sleepy so that he could get out of the conversation, the guilt weighing down on him now. Renjun wished in that moment that he was like his old self. The Renjun who would date multiple women in one go without any remorse or guilt. But since becoming a father, his point of view had changed, and he knew if anyone like himself dated Jiyeon then he’d beat them until they couldn’t breathe.

“So please never lie to me, even if it’s a big deal then I’d rather you tell me. I just wanted you to know that before he took this any further.” The more you spoke, the more Renjun could see how big the hole he had dug himself was, and it kept getting deeper. He didn’t reply to you, pretending to fall asleep until eventually he did.

---

It had been a whole week of Renjun avoiding you. Sure, he’d texted you and even facetimed you once. But every time you’d tried to make plans with him, he’d lied and told you he was busy. The guilt sitting on his shoulders like a heavy weight, and the more he lied, the heavier it felt. He’d bumped into you in the hall a day ago when you were coming back from work, but this time he actually was busy, he had to pick up the big lie he’d told you about, as it was his weekend to look after her.

“That’s all you are Jiyeon…one big lie.” He let out a sigh, his baby girl sat on his lap facing him. She was fiddling with her plush giraffe and not really paying attention to her fathers rambling. “Actually, that’s mean, you aren’t a lie. I’m sorry.” He groaned and picked up her bottle from the sofa beside him. “What do I do Jiyeonie? I’ve lied to her about you, and I don’t know how to tell her the truth. What if she doesn’t want to date a dad?” Her innocent brown eyes lifted to look in his, her mouth hanging open as she listening to him. “I really like her, what shall I do? Do I break up with her or do I tell her the truth?” He ruffled her hair, a soft smile on his face as he looked at the little human he had made. “Drink your juice.” He lifted the bottle to her lips, but she whined and turned her face, her little hand coming out to push the bottle away. “Ya! Look if you don’t drink your juice, then you’ll get thirsty, then you’ll get dehydrated and die, and then your mother will kill me, and I won’t be around to kick your future boyfriends ass!” His widened his eyes at her and then furrowed his eyebrows. “Well I guess if you died then you wouldn’t have a boyfriend so that doesn’t really make sense, just forget I said that!” He groaned loudly and let his head tip back. “I don’t even care anymore, do what you want.” He threw her bottle onto the sofa and then lifted his head up quickly. “No I’m sorry! I didn’t mean I didn’t care about you dying, I do! Fuck.” He felt guilty, almost as if he’d offended her despite the fact, she had no idea what he was saying. She smiled widely at her dad, showing off her little teeth as he had a mini breakdown. “Parenting is hard…”

A throat cleared from behind him and he turned his head to see Jaemin stood in the doorway with an eyebrow raised. “And I thought I had problems; you’re talking to a baby like she’s going to just tell you what to do.”

“Well can you do any better?”

“Tell her the truth man, but you did fuck up.” Jaemin shrugged and left the room, leaving Renjun with his own thoughts.

“Don’t tell mummy about daddy’s mental breakdown.” He deadpanned to Jiyeon as she pulled a face of concentration. “…You’re pooping, aren’t you?...is this your way of telling me that my life is shit?...you’re a genius baby!” Every cloud has a silver lining he guessed.

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cowperviolet · 4 years

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A Guide to Medieval Childhood

Our popular imaginings and depictions of medieval childhood tend to be somehow both scarce and bleak. It’s often supposed that childhood as a category didn’t really exist until the twentieth century, and that even the highborn children before that blessed time were regarded as basically inconvenient mini-adults until they were old enough to fight or marry, respectively.

The sources we have tend to favour the royal families and the high aristocracy with some wealthy merchants thrown in the mix, so, unfortunately, the information below would mostly be concerned with these groups - although I’m going to do my best to include some facts about the lives of children from lower social strata, too.

Infantia, or infancy

As Maria von Trapp used to sing in technicolor meadows, let’s start at the very beginning - it is, after all, a very good place to start.

A mother rarely gave birth unattended - and I’m not talking about medical professionals; more often than not, these would be represented by a sole midwife. However, having a close friend or a relative with you as you are waiting for the baby to arrive was a practice well-established by the early fourteenth century even among royal women, whose births, marriages and deaths alike were always ruled by strict ceremony.

In their case, as in the case of all great families of the land, the practice also had a purely pragmatic side - additional companions mean additional witnesses who would be able to swear, should a scandal arise, that the little heir really arrived in the lawful way and had not been, say, smuggled into the bedroom in a pan. (In the case of the British royal family this precaution eventually led to the Home Secretary being obliged to attend all royal births, and was only done away with in 1930, when the late Princess Margaret was born).

Of course, for all the companionable support, the birth was not without its risks - for the child even more so than for the mother. It was for that reason that, uniquely, the Church allowed the midwives to baptize newborn - or unborn - babies in case they don’t survive by the time the sacrament in question could be performed properly by a priest.

If everything went well, it was the time to prepare the child for an ‘official’ baptism in the local church, which was going to not only save his soul for the world to come, but to help his standing in this one - after all, being baptized in a particular church meant being integrated into the larger community of the parish. The mother could rest - she was not required to attend the christening (or, rather, she couldn’t, as she would only be able to enter a place of worship again after being purified via a brief ‘churching’ ceremony on the fortieth day after giving birth). The child’s godparents would have been there to stand in her stead.

In fact, many contemporaries considered that a woman needs at least a month to properly recover after birth. Nor was it supposed to be a time of solitude - receiving female visitors was both allowed and encouraged.

Meanwhile, the child would be transferred into the care of a wet-nurse. Breastfeeding your baby yourself usually signified that you simply cannot afford wet-nurse of good character. The good character part of the job description concerned itself both with the purely physical characteristics - the wet-nurse had to be a little below thirty, to have white teeth, sweet breath, and a child of her own not above eight months of age, otherwise her milk could be considered stale - and the moral ones. It was believed that virtues and vices both could be transmitted through milk, and thus it was imperative to choose a wet-nurse both sensible and respectable.

Once hired, she rarely left the baby’s side - contemporary writers acknowledged that leaving an infant to cry is harmful for the child’s health, both mental and physical, and therefore a nurse should always be at hand with either her breast or a lullaby. In the highest households of the land, such as that of the royal children of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, one or two women were also employed as specifically the child’s rockers, tasked with, well, rocking their little charge to sleep - though not too quickly or too harshly, ‘for fear of making the milk float in [her] stomach’.

Every medieval baby, regardless of his family’s income, was swaddled from birth and until he was about eight or nine months of age: not only would he be kept warm, the parents judged, but it’s also going to help his limbs grow straight. A ‘breechcloth’ – essentially, a premodern nappy - was a piece of easily-washable linen, doubled over and then fastened into place with pins. Then a linen shirt would be gently placed over the infant’s body, after which the swaddling bands proper – sometimes three yards long – would come out. They were long, narrow pieces of – you guessed it - linen.

This swaddling part was universal for everyone; however, even here, before the child could partake in any fashion proper, the class divides came out to play. Babies from wealthier families could sport crimson mantles and bands decorated with gold embroidery (sometimes coordinated with that on their mothers’ outfits, like on the famous Cholmondeley Ladies painting at the top of this post).

Another – perhaps, more familiar to us – sphere of baby-related conspicuous consumption was the cradle. When, in 1494, the son of Beatrice d’Este and Ludovico Sforza was born in Milan, the proud father presented his guests a four-poster cradle covered in white satin, where the little heir now lay. When Lucrezia Borgia gave the d’Este family an heir, she splashed out on the cradle for the little Ercole even more. According to contemporary witnesses, the cradle was located under tent-like Moorish-style silk draperies done in the Este colors. It was on a platform encased in a great carved and gilded canopy, six feet long and five feet wide. The cradle proper was curtained in white satin, with the sleeping baby covered with cloth-of-gold.

The weaning tended to come, by our standards, rather late: some contemporary arguments recommended three years for boys and two years for girls (the former, after all, were expected to lead more active lives, and thus needed their mother’s nutritious milk more). Even then, hard food was to be introduced gradually – starting, for instance, with a chicken leg the child could chew on.

Once out of swaddling, the boys were dressed in smocks, and the girls in gowns – not that there was much visual difference between the two, mind. Regardless of their parents’ social standing, they all also wore tight linen caps that bore the charmingly hobbit-y name of biggins.

Naturally, the higher one stood upon the social scale, the more ornamental these gowns and smocks tended to be. The toddler Princess Elizabeth, who was the daughter of Henry VII and thus the aunt of her much more famous namesake, was dressed on separate occasions in a green velvet gown edged with purple tinsel and lined with black buckram, a dress of black velvet edged with crimson, or a kirtle of tawny damask and black satin. Admittedly, these were mostly for ceremonial occasions, and in the privacy of her yellow ochre-coloured chambers even the princess probably tended to wear something more comfortable. In winter, she was kept warm with furred robes fastened with silver buttons and caps trimmed with peacock feathers, and, regardless of the time of the year, indulged with sweets made from sugars flavoured with rose and violet, as well as with fruits from sunnier climes like pomegranates, quinces, and almonds.

Royal families were never noted for modesty of consumption in any era, but even the middling merchants of Florence were often criticized for spoiling their children with fine clothes. Fra Dominici wrote scathingly about parents who dress their children in ‘fancy garments, stamped shoes, short waist-coats, tight and fine-knit hose’. Neither did he approve of toys like “little wooden horses, attractive cymbals, imitation birds, [and] gilded drums,” recommending instead more virtuous playthings like “a little altar or two, … little vestments … little candles … [and] little bells,”, so that the children could pretend they were acolytes or priests. Three guesses no prizes as to which category ended up being the more popular one.

Some types of toys would have been surprisingly familiar to us – for example, doll furniture. In Germany one could find whole doll kitchens with dishes, meat plates, cutlery and furniture since the 1550s at the latest. Wealthier girls were also bought so-called fashion dolls that showcased, you guessed it, the latest fashions in the land.

Of course, poorer children had to make do with dolls stuffed with straw, and play with such props as animal knucklebones or wooden wheels. However, it doesn’t mean that their lives were completely devoid of fun. Contemporary paintings, such as Peter Brueghel’ Children’s Games (1560), show children playing blind man’s bluff, ‘paper, scissors, stone’, roll hoops and rock barrels.

Pueritia, or childhood

A child’s education started with learning his (or, rarer, her) letters. A rather charming contemporary advice recommends the parents to do it by carving each letter on a piece of fruit, and reward the child with the fruit in question if the letter is correctly identified. These kinds of basics could be learned at home (though, if you decided to choose the method above, better do it specifically in the kitchen) – however, once the rudimentary parts were done with, the paths of learning could branch wildly.

The wealthiest families hired tutors for their children, and these posts, prestigious and coveted as they were, could sometimes become subjects of competition. For example, when the future Elizabeth I grew old enough for her first lessons, it was assumed that these are going to be provided by her aunt and godmother, Lady Troy. However, the less highborn, but more ambitious Katherine Champernowne had other ideas; Henry VIII ended up being impressed by reports of her as a woman of good education, and appointed her to be his daughter’s governess in 1536. She held that post until 1544, when her precocious charge overgrew the standard highborn lady’s curriculum that consisted of reading, embroidery, music, riding, falconry, and chess. After that, the scholar William Grindal became the princess’ tutor, introducing her to classical authors such as Plato.

Latin and, to a lesser extent, Greek literature was not exclusively the preserve of the upper-class education. The cathedral school of St. Paul’s, for instance, taught children from middling walks of life - such as one Geoffrey Chaucer, the son of a wine merchant - and placed a great emphasis on the learning of Latin. The recitation of the Latin alphabet started with the sign of the cross and ended with ‘Amen’: quite a sign of respect, coming from a religious institution. The school’s library was full of books on logic, law and medicine, as well as such still-popular classical hits as Aesop’s Fables.

The boys (unlike in the more flexible world of private education, school pupils were invariably male) also owned some books of their own: contrary to a common misconception, even before the invention of printing press books were not necessarily objects of luxury. For example, when in 1337 John Cobbledick left twenty-nine books to Oriel College, each of them was priced at about 6 shillings. Two centuries later, when William Chatsworth sent his beloved wife Bess of Hardwick gifts during his sojourn in London, he included some learning materials for their children: three French grammars, a copy of Cosmografie de Levant, and psalms in French.

Charitable institutions could sometimes take care of the education of poorer children: for instance, in 1542, the Alderman William Dauntsey of London directed in his will that his executors should build a charity school of eight chambers (one of them for the schoolmaster) in West Lavington, Wiltshire.

Boys who could boast some musical talent had an unusual route for both education and promotion: chapel choirs. Many noblemen - and noblewomen such as Margaret Beaufort, the mother of Henry VII - engaged in cultural patronage, supporting at times dozens of choristers. Margaret herself had hired a composer, Robert Cooper, who was entrusted with finding gifted boys for her chapel from ‘London, Wynesore and in the west country'. She also made sure that, apart from musical education, the boys in her choir received tuition in Latin: in January 1506 the same Cooper was responsible for purchasing five 'gramer bokes ... for the chyldryn of the chapell', costing 4s 3d. Their education ensured that, after growing out of their roles in the choir, the boys would be able to continue academic studies. One Thomas Freston left Margaret’s chapel at the age of 13 to attend Winchester College, while the 1460 statute of Tattershall College specified provision for ‘four poor boys’ who were 'teachable in song and reading, to help the choristers, each of whom is to have commons and clothing and all else that the choristers do'.

Girls could be educated in convent schools; some, though by no means all, later chose to enter these nunneries as actual novices (they couldn’t legally make such a decision until the age of twelve, however, just as they couldn’t legally consent to marriage). Within the convent walls, as outside them, their comforts depended a lot on their parents’ standing - if their entry fee was generous enough, the girls, whether they came as pupils or little novices, could count on having a bedroom to themselves, a generous provision of wood to burn in their fireplace, and rare foodstuffs for their tables. When Edward I’s daughter Mary entered the convent of Amesbury as a novice in 1285, at unusual (and frankly illegal) age of seven, her lifelong allowance included an annual provision of twenty tuns of wine from the Bordeaux claret merchants and forty oaks as kindling for her fireplace.

Convents were supposed to foster the life of prayer and quiet contemplation, which was even harder to get used to for her teenage novices than it were for the secular boarders, who weren’t, after all, handled as strictly. However, even in a nunnery, there was a certain softening of the rules when it came to young girls. For example, at the Feast of St Nicholas, the patron saint of children, the youngest novice was named the Girl Abbess and allowed to lead the community in dancing and revelry.

Adolescentia, or adolescence

This stage of life was thought to start at about fourteen and end in one’s early twenties. Highborn children of both sexes were usually sent to foster at the homes of friends or relatives of equal standing, both to finish their education and to establish useful connections. When the teenage Jan of Brabant was sent for foster at the English court, he devoted his years there to perfecting the arts of jousting and hunting with falcons, as well as the less official, but nonetheless useful skills of party planning, people-charming, and careful gambling. His future bride Margaret of England, meanwhile, was improving on her feminine arts of weaving and embroidery, often spending substantial sums on gold thread and silks of different colours.

The machinery of altar diplomacy was already in full swing by the time they reached that age, even though marriage proper - with the consummation implied - was usually still a few years in the future. The fate of Margaret Beaufort, who gave birth to her first husband’s son at age thirteen, was considered grotesque and frankly unsafe; after all, it’s no coincidence that she could have no children after. For instance, Thomas Aquinas cautioned in his Mirror for Princes that consummation should be delayed until the woman had reached the age of eighteen, and the man twenty-one.

The complicated diplomatic and legal negotiation process behind such agreements was left to the heads of the families and their respective employees, without the involvement of the betrothed ones themselves. After all, it included such charming tasks as drawing a complete summary of all villages, farms, rents, forests, and windmills belonging to the future groom’s family which would be able to provide the income for the bride’s dower, or widow portion, in case she outlives him - a pretty significant possibility, considering.

Lower down the social scale, marriage arrangements were not so pressing a concern - urban artisans, male or female, often married only in their mid-twenties. When their children reached adolescence, they usually worried about arranging an apprenticeship for them rather than a betrothal.

A child could be apprenticed to a master who practiced one of the trades regulated by the guilds of the town. These included mercers, grocers, fishmongers, drapers, tailors and even artists. The training usually took seven years, during which the master in question was obliged not only to educate the apprentice, but also to feed and clothe them and generally treat them like a member of their family (which usually also meant having them help around the house). This way, the future artisans spent their adolescence in a situation of indenture and completed their training in their early twenties. The ultimate dream after that was becoming a master in their own right and acquiring one’s own workshop; but, like people in their early twenties everywhere, most were too broke for that, and ended up working as journeymen in their master’s workshop for some more years - or sometimes for the rest of their lives.

Although the most prestigious trades, such as those of mercers or goldsmiths, only admitted men, others - the tailors, the bakers, the printers, the bakers, sometimes the painters - were open to apprentices of both sexes. Female artisans often ended up marrying their colleagues from the same guilds, and then keeping workshop together, but sometimes they kept their trade and conducted their business separately.

At this point, gaining the trappings of trade and marriage, they progressed into the adulthood, and thus beyond the scope of this post.

Sources:

Devices and Desires: Bess of Hardwick and the Building of Elizabethan England by Kate Hubbard

Daughters of Chivalry by Katie Wilson-Lee

The Lives of Tudor Women by Elizabeth Norton

Chaucer: A European Life by Marion Turner

Kisby, Fiona. “A Mirror of Monarchy: Music and Musicians in the Household Chapel of the Lady Margaret Beaufort, Mother of Henry VII.” Early Music History, vol. 16, 1997, pp. 203–234

The Early Modern Italian Domestic Interior, 1400–1700: Objects, Spaces, Domesticities by Erin J. Campbell et al.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing ref #writer #writeblr #writer's problems #fantasy guide #writing resources #writers resources #writers reference #middle ages #medieval #history #medieval history #historical guide #writing community #writeblr community

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jihyuncompass · 4 years

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The Best

This is honestly probably my favorite thing I’ve written so far. There’s a little bit of angst at the end, but it’s not much, I promise.

Stay safe, stay healthy, and remember to wear a mask!

Mysme Week 2020 Day Five ( @mysmeweek2020 )

Quarantine

V/Jihyun Kim x MC

Word Count: 3.8K

Summary: You and Jihyun do the best you can, for the world and each other.

Tying the ends of your mask you made certain that it was properly tightened. It was easy for it to slip down your nose if it wasn’t right so you had to be sure. Pulling on it just a little you deemed it tight enough for your face. Checking the time on your phone a rush of panic went through you. Even though you had carefully planned out how much time you would need to get ready you were already running late.

Leaving the bathroom you went on a quest to find your boyfriend, hopefully he had been more aware of the time than you had been and was ready to head out the door. You called out his name a couple times, to no response. With a groan you went about the apartment opening doors.

You found Jihyun in the small home office the two of you shared. It had originally been a storage room and a place where Jihyun would work on paintings if he couldn’t go to his studio for whatever reason. However, after Quarantine went into place and you started working from home you both decided to convert it into a workspace for you.

Jihyun stood in front of a canvas, the end of his paintbrush touching his chin. He looked to be deep in thought and concentration. He also was wearing a pair of earbuds that made it impossible to hear out of. It was no wonder he couldn’t hear you calling his name. In an attempt not to make him make a mistake on his canvas you started flailing your arms to get his attention. You must have looked silly because when Jihyun finally noticed you he started laughing.

Pulling the earbuds out of his ears he stopped his laughter to speak to you. “Are you alright my love?” You tried to ignore the way his laughter still gave you butterflies.

“I was trying to get you attention, you can’t hear anything with those in.” You explained. A tinge of red went to the tips of Jihyun’s ears.

“Ah.” He exhaled. “I’m sorry.” After setting down his paintbrush he rubbed the back of his neck. Looking at him you could assume he also hadn’t been paying attention to the time.

“Jihyun do you know what time it is?” He had a moment of confusion and looked to your computer where he could see the time. Now the red had also spread to his cheeks as he realized just how much time has passed.

“I must have lost track of time.” He muttered, mostly to himself, pulling off his painting smock; he wiped his hands off on a spare towel he kept next to his paint pallet. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready to go.” Stepping aside to let him leave the room he made a beeline for the bathroom.

While you waited you checked on everything you needed to take with the two of you. You both tried to avoid going out as much as possible but today you had a few places you needed to go.

Before everything went into lockdown the RFA had started meeting in person once a month. Partially as a way to get everyone together but also to be able to go over party plans together. Since you were instated as the party coordinator and Jihyun returned to his position as the leader and Representative the group decided it would be a good idea to branch out and expand. Hosting more events and more often. As great as this was for your organization it also meant more meetings would need to be held to go over details.

After lockdown began you all decided to do virtual meetings instead. It was rocky at first, Zen had to use his phone since his computer was ancient, and no matter how hard Jumin tried he could never get his webcam to work properly. The Choi twins and Yoosung were really the only members who knew what they were doing.

During the virtual meeting a week prior you all ended up going on a tangent about the current goings on in the world. Zen vented about how he wasn’t able to work, and how Jaehee’s cafe was struggling, the twins both tended to be homebodies anyway but it wasn’t hard to see how much Saeran was struggling with his mental health, and Jumin and Yoosung just seemed rather lonely stuck at home. While the meeting had been cathartic for all of you it planted a seed in your head, a seed that you and Jihyun spent the past week growing.

Together the two of you created care packages for every member of the RFA, each one personalized for its recipient. There were homemade treats and snacks, a personalized mask that Jihyun made, handwritten cards, and small trinkets. Skincare masks for Zen, a Steam gift card for Yoosung, a matcha tea set for Jaehee, a book and homemade cat treats for Jumin, a long cat pillow for Saeyoung, and a cookbook and aloe vera plant for Saeran. The two of you even put together a package for Vanderwood, which you would give to Saeyoung to pass on. Even if it wasn’t much you both thought it might be a nice way to cheer up your friends and let them know you were thinking of them. After finishing putting them together last night you both agreed to take them today.

Jihyun met you in the living room wearing fresh clothes, his face mask was one he made himself, a white cotton fabric with a cactus pattern. “Ready to go?” Jihyun asked.

“Sure am, you take half and I’ll take half?” He agreed and you both grabbed your share of packages, balancing them in your arms as you both made your way to the front door.

Earlier in the day you both mapped out the best route to take the packages in. Everyone lived pretty scattered about so you planned it strategically. The twins lived the farthest away so you wanted to go there first, then to Jaehee who would be at the cafe doing takeout orders. Then to Zen and Yoosung who actually lived fairly close to each other, and finally to Jumin who lived in the heart of the city.

You texted Saeyoung once you were about twenty minutes away from their place. After reuniting with his brother, the two had decided to move into a different place that was less of a doomsday bunker. The place was still pretty much a fortress but it also had windows to let in natural light, and space for Saeran to grow a garden.

Approaching the door slowly you used the code phrase Saeyoung gave you to let you knock on the door. You may have cursed a little at having to memorize the Arabic phrase but thankfully the system didn’t seem to care that you butchered the pronunciation.

Setting down the free packages you both kept a safe distance from the door. Saeran answered the door wearing a black face mask. Saeran you knew had a particularly weak immune system so both of the twins were completely stuck at home. You couldn’t read his expression too well but considering the raise in his eyebrows he seemed happy to see you both.

“Our parents are here!” Saeyoung shouted once he got to the front door. Calling the two of you his parents began as a joke that had sort of evolved into a habit. It annoyed the hell out of Saeran and made you and Jihyun laugh.

“We thought you guys could use some care packages.” You said. “There’s one for each of you.” You could see both of their eyes light up as they picked up the boxes and looked inside.

Saeyoung looked up first. “This is so awesome!” He pulled out the long cat pillow and held it close to his chest, practically bouncing on his feet. Saeran held his little plant in his hand.

“Thank you.” Saeran said, you could see the sincerity in his eyes. He wasn’t one for many words but you could tell he was happy.

“That third one is for Vanderwood.” Jihyun said. “We don’t know where they live so could you pass it on?” Saeyoung looked down at the last package.

“I’ll make sure it goes through the God 707 Postal Service to one Mary Vanderwood III.” Saeyoung loudly joked. Jihyun looked at Saeran who was rolling his eyes.

“Saeran?”

“I’ll make sure it gets to them.” Saeran answered.

After catching up for a moment you and Jihyun said your goodbyes and got back in the car to your next destination.

You stopped inside Jaehee’s cafe, it was a little strange seeing the chairs stacked on the tables and the marks on the floor to indicate six feet of distance. You couldn't stay long but she greeted you warmly. After opening up her package she thanked you for the treats and for the matcha kit.

“I’ve been considering getting one of these for myself. Thank you both.” Jaehee said, you saw her place the kit next to the coffee grinder Zen gave her before she opened her cafe. She sent you off with two coffees and pastries for the both of you. She had offered it as a gift but the two of you had insisted on paying it yourself.

Zen was next, he had been hit particularly hard by the lockdown. With all of the shows cancelled he had lost almost all his work. To try and make up for some of the lost work Saeyoung had helped set up a way for him to do livestreams. It wasn’t much but it helped Zen’s confidence and made up for some of the lost income.

He gave a big wave to the two of you. You and Jihyun sat at the top of the steps that lead down to Zen’s basement apartment. Zen looked up to you both while he opened up his box. The snacks in his box were more healthy than the other boxes on purpose. He seemed to notice this when he thanked you.

The three of you spent some time talking and catching up. Zen talked about the livestreams he’d been doing. He started taking song requests where people could pay him to sing whatever they wanted. You and Jihyun had both watched whenever you had the time (and maybe requested a few songs for fun). He asked you and Jihyun about your lives and careers. You were still able to work and Jihyun was still able to paint, he had even started selling more of his works to support the two of you and to donate to good causes. In truth you had never seen him more determined and motivated.

Yoosung was next, all his classes were online now which was quite the struggle for him. It was hard to think about doing coursework when LOLOL was right there. His studio apartment was also tiny which you knew made the lockdown worse.

His relationship with Jihyun was still fairly rough. Still it was a thousand times better than it had been in the past. He seemed genuinely happy to see the two of you, but even happier to see the package that you brought for him. His package had a lot more essential items mixed in with the treats.

Again you could only stay for a few minutes, but you talked about his classes and how he was doing. You could see how he was deflecting from talking too much about school but you both encouraged him to do his best and offered any help you could provide.

Jumin was the last person on your list. You both kept in good contact with him, he didn’t say it but the both of you worried about him. He had Elizabeth the 3rd to keep him company but it wasn’t enough. The penthouse was a big and lonely place when Jumin was alone like this.

The two of you also prepared some extra treats for the security guards at Jumin’s penthouse. While he had less staff than before he still had a couple that worked for him. The security thanked you graciously and let you into Jumin’s penthouse.

Keeping a safe distance Jumin seemed very happy to see the two of you. Jumin, kind of like Saeran wasn’t one to show a lot of outward emotion but you could see a spark in his eyes that made him look more content.

The cat treats were hit. Considering the way to Jumin’s heart was through his cat, seeing Elizabeth the 3rd pleased was more than enough for him. He also loved the cat paw print face mask that Jihyun made special for him.

Considering it wasn’t a safe idea to share a bottle of wine, Jumin settled for giving you a bottle to have at home. With the bottle you also made a promise to video chat soon and drink together. The two of you spent more time with Jumin than you did with any of the others. And leaving Jumin’s was by far the hardest, Jihyun dragged his feet with leaving, coming up with more conversation topics to keep you both there, to spend a little more time with his best friend. By the time you actually left there were tears you saw welling in Jihyun’s eyes. Heading back to the car you held his hand to comfort him.

“Are you okay my love?” You asked him standing beside Jihyun’s car, he took a deep breath in and wiped his eyes. It was muffled by the mask but you heard a sniffle come from him. Before he could answer your question you brought him into a tight hug, one hand was rubbing his back and the other running through his hair.

“I think so.” Jihyun said. “I’m sorry for getting so emotional.”

“There’s no need to apologize Jihyun, the RFA is our family and it’s hard not being able to be around them. There’s no shame in being sad about it.” Jihyun let out a shaky sigh. You held each other for a little longer before letting each other go. Though you couldn’t see through the mask by the look in his eyes you could tell he was smiling.

“Thank you my love, I don’t know what I would do without you.” He said holding your hands in his. “It’s probably time for us to get to the community center right?” You checked the time and nodded. You spent more time with your friends than you planned so you needed to hurry.

At the start of the lockdown the two of you both struggled with feeling helpless about what was going on. It was overwhelming seeing the news and feeling like there was nothing you could do. Trying to find something to do to fill your time the two of you started volunteering at the nearby community center, serving meals and giving supplies to those who were struggling to keep afloat. It was only a few hours a week but it helped the both of you with feeling just the tiniest bit better.

After signing in as volunteers and getting your temperature taken, the two of you put gloves onto your hands and got to work. Today you were both assigned to fill and hand out cups of hot soup to those who came for a hot meal.

Working together the time seemed to go fast, you greeted each person with a smile, making small talk with some of those who came by. After a few weeks you started to recognize some of the people who came frequently being able to greet them by name.

One of the regulars, Ji-young approached the two of you with a wave, she was an older woman who you had grown pretty fond of. And she seemed to be pretty fond of the two of you.

“Hi Ji-young, how are you doing this evening?” You asked her.

“Getting by, you know how it is.” She shrugged.

“I do know, Do you want some soup?” You motioned to the pot on the hot plate next to you.

“Always. Thank you dear.” You pulled out a cup and used a ladle to pour the soup in, taking care not to drip or spill. Adding a lid to the top of the cup Jihyun tapped your shoulder.

“The pots are almost empty, I’ll be right back with some more.” You nodded and watched him head to the back of the center. Turning back to Ji-young she was watching him walk away.

“You know I’ve been coming here for the past few weeks and I just keep thinking about how cute the two of you are together. I miss being that young and in love.” Watching her Ji-young had this look of nostalgia in her eye. You could feel a blush in your cheeks where your mask covered your face.

“Thank you, Jihyun’s one of the good ones.” You smiled, it didn’t matter how much time you spent together talking about Jihyun still made you smile and blush like a middle schooler with a crush.

“Well, he’s got a good person by his side. You two are lucky to have each other.”

“That’s very kind, thank you.” You said.

Jihyun returned with a big pot held with two oven mitts. You removed the empty pot from the hot plate so Jihyun could put the fresh one on.

“Did I interrupt something here?” Jihyun asked, he seemed to notice the blush that was probably visible on your ears.

“Nothing much dear, just talking about you.” Ji-young teased. Jihyun looked over to you with his brow raised.

“All good I promise.” You said, waving him off with a wink. Now the both of you were flushed behind your masks. Smiling, you said goodbye to Ji-young so you could fill more cups.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur, you hadn’t even realized how tired you were until you both got back to the car and you sunk into the seat.

“Home?” Jihyun asked.

“Home.” You confirmed. Closing your eyes to get a little bit of rest on the way home.

The first thing the two of you did when you closed the door to your apartment was take off your masks taking in a fresh breath of air. Going to the living room, you collapsed onto the couch and turned on the TV while Jihyun went to take a shower.

The first thing on the TV was the news, too tired to try and change it you just let it play. As much as you tried not to pay too much attention to the newscaster it was hard to ignore. The newscasters listed endless numbers of new cases and deaths, and played frustrating interviews with politicians who gave no good answers, doctors who were begging people to be safe, and of course the people who claimed that the doctors were lying.

Listening was overwhelming but you couldn’t force yourself to stop. Shouldn’t you know what’s going on? You should be paying attention to the news, but it all just felt.

Too much.

“Love?” Jihyun stood in front of the bathroom door, his hair was still dripping from his shower. He approached you slowly, looking at the TV. Realizing what was going on he took the remote and shut it off leaving you both in silence.

“I hate this Jihyun.” You said staring at your shaking hands. Jihyun kneeled down to look you in the eye and took one of your hands in his.

“I know.” He said, his voice coming out just above a whisper.

“I miss the RFA, I miss going out, I miss the RFA parties, I miss travelling.” You said, your voice breaking. “I miss everything.”

Jihyun squeezed the hand he was holding and with his other he wiped away the tears slipping out. “I miss all those things too, but this isn’t forever. We’ll be able to do all those things again, but I know it’s hard right now.”

“I wish I could do more, I feel so powerless.” Sobs racked your chest, you could barely see Jihyun through your teary eyes.

“You’re doing more than enough my love.” He moved up and wrapped his arms around you holding you tight. You clung to him trying to stop your hands from shaking. “I know how easy it is to put the weight of the world on your shoulders and think you have to fix it all.” He held you tighter, his own voice breaking. “I used to think that I had to fix everything by myself, even the things I had no control over.” Slowly he leaned back so he could look you in the eyes, his thumbs brushing tears away. “But then, like an unexpected miracle from heaven, you came into my life. You taught me that I don’t have to fix everything and that I don’t have to carry my burdens alone.” He kissed your forehead, then moved back to look at you.

“Jihyun.” You whispered.

“The truth is, this isn’t something you can fix by yourself. This isn’t something any of us can fix on our own.” Jihyun said.

“Then what do we do?” You asked him. He leaned forward and enveloped you in a warm and gentle kiss. He pressed his forehead against yours. Whispering his next words.

“We do the best we can.” You brought him into another hug. You felt yourself grow calm, now just tired, your eyelids were growing heavy.

“I love you Jihyun. Thank you.” He rubbed your back turning his head to press a kiss to your temple.

“I love you too. Why don’t we get you cleaned up and go to bed? We’ve had a busy day.” Still holding him, you nodded and let him lead you to the bathroom, holding his hand tight.

A week later you went to get your mail. Finding five packages waiting for you and Jihyun. Thank you cards, and care packages from your fellow RFA members. A smile crossed your face as you carried them all up to your apartment to open with your boyfriend.

You, Jihyun and the rest of the RFA keep going forward. Jihyun worked with some of his fellow artists and old photography friends to do a virtual charity art show with the proceeds going to research. You and the rest of the RFA plan a socially distant RFA charity drive for those in need, partnering with C&R to gain more attention.

You all take it day to day, one step at a time, and together,

You do the best you can.

#mysmeweek2020 #mystic messenger #mysme #jihyun kim #kim jihyun #mysme v #v #jihyun x reader #jihyun x mc #v x mc #v x reader

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sebastianshaw · 3 years

Note

Shaw & Skadi for the kid meme!

Name: Sigvid Skadisson Shaw. I know it should be Shawson BUT FUCK THE RULES. “Sig” is a pretty standard prefix for a lot of Norse names from the word “sigr” meaning “victory” and “vid” from the Old Germanic “widu” for forest. Gender: Masc and male-presenting but beyond that I’m not sure? Trans man? AMAB non-binary? Look, he uses he/him (maybe they too) and people THINK ‘man’ when they look at him, that’s all I know General Appearance: Tall and beefy, he couldn’t NOT be. Medium pale skin that gets even paler in winter but tans easily in summer. Black hair, or so dark brown it might as well be black, and very dark eyes. His hair, unlike both parents and most of his Asgardian brethren, is actually kept short, and while he has a beard, it’s not the big one. The reason for this is functional; short hair is better if you’re spending a lot of time in the wild. Stuff gets stuck in long hair, it can get tangled in branches at the worst times, it’s hot in the summer, and it can literally freeze in the winter if it gets wet. His attire is very much out of a Viking fantasy, but less on the “heavy armor” end of things and more on the “wearing lots of furs and skins” side. He doesn’t look like someone you want to fuck with, but he also doesn’t look like he’s going to war. He carefully avoids any kind of dangling amulets, charms, or other jewelry that could get caught on anything, but he’s got a sort of leather toolbelt containing various survival tools made from wood, bone, etc. Personality: Sigvid, as you might guess from his attire and the reasons for it, is an outdoorsman. Not as a hobby, not as a lifestyle, but an EXISTENCE. He thrives in the natural world as Sebastian does in the business world, finding ways to survive in even the most adverse of situation. Whatever Mother Nature is doing around him, he can not only make it through it, he can work it to his advantage. His closeness to the natural world, his close observation of it, means that he sees both the facts and errors in his father’s mentality. He sees that the strongest predators will pick off the weakest prey, that the winter will take those who do not prepare, that mother animals will neglect and even devour their young if they’re sick or runty. He also sees that prey are more aggressive than predators, how some creatures will adopt and nourish infants that are not their own or even their own species, how some will share their kill with no benefit to themselves, and how even the smallest and most humble animals can make it through things that the larger, so-called stronger ones did not. Sigvid is very pragmatic, like his father, very practical, very self-preservationist. He has to be. But he’s also very spiritual, not in a way that connects to some distant god, but the world around him, to earth and nature. Not some idealized hippie-dippie conception of nature as a loving mother that is always in balance, but an acceptance that it is a greater power that he cannot control, he can only hope to survive at best. It keeps him humble. It also gives him a much wider, more relative perspective on things that is not human-centric, or Asgardian-centric for that matter. My Shaw often says that he admires human accomplishments above all else, that no other animal has built cities, computers, cars, and so on. And he is correct in this. But Sigvid always points out, how many termite mounds has man built? How many times do humans migrate thousands of miles using an innate sense of the Earth’s magnetic fields? How many fish have we hunted by literally sensing the electricity in their bodies? Yes, humans are “the best” if we judge them by standards HUMANS MADE. Judge us by the base standard of any other species, and we flop. Same for judging any species by the standards of any other. Nothing is “more” or “less” evolved than anything else, more complex does not mean better, and nor does being bigger, stronger, meaner, or even smarter mean a species is “better” or “more evolved” either. Survival of the fittest is not about that, nor about individuals; it’s about how well a species fits its environment and niche. A slime mold is just as evolved as a person. Sigvid is very passionate about this, though he’s not the type to speak up most of the time; he’s stoic and saturnine, used to keeping his mouth closed and his thoughts to himself, because most of the time there’s no one to talk to. And that also means he’s learned to exist without the validation and approval of others---ironically, something that is much like his father, learned in a completely different environment.

A lot of this, obviously, comes from Skadi. He was at side her since infancy learning to hunt and track, learning the difference between wood sorrel and white clover, how to tell when a moose is about to charge, and what it means when the woods go quiet. This connects deeply to Skadi’s Jotunn side in particular, which in Norse lore are thought to have symbolized the inherently chaotic and uncontrollable nature of, well, nature! Though Sigvid would not, nature it’s chaotic, it’s actually very ordered, people just don’t bother to understand what’s inconvenient to them. But where he differs from Skadi is that he’s not a Disney princess. Animals don’t hang out with him. He doesn’t nurse injured creatures back to health. He doesn’t keep pets. He does not see them as friends. They are not less than him, but they are not allies, they are beings he co-exists with, avoids, or eats. At least, until a thylacine started hanging out with him. Yeah, a thylacine. The extinct Tasmanian tiger. Who knows where it came from or why he’s attached itself to him, but he’s very adamant she’s not a pet and he hasn’t named her, but she is THERE. Sometimes. She isn't at his side like a dog, it's more she's following him from a distance and she pokes her head out from the trees somewhere. She's not a pet. She's more a parasite. But unlike Shaw, Sigvid doesn't use that term in a bad way, and he's fine with her presence. He's just curious where the hell an extinct Australian animal came from? Obviously, Sigvid is not interacting with people a lot, but when he does, he’s far less awkward or boisterous than people expect. He doesn’t have the overt weirdness people expect from a hermit, nor the bombastic warrior cliché of an Asgardian, or the vicious stereotype of a Jotunn. He has a quiet but overwhelming elegance, not like an aristocrat but like a great stag emerging from the forest. He chooses his words carefully, and can say much with just a few. He walks the middle ground between judging by individuals and judging by species; he does a little of both. He has preconceptions and generalities that he believes in about each group, but also believes in room for exception. After all, he’s not what a lot of people expect, is he? Despite this, he’s frequently misread as disliking people, but he doesn’t. He is utterly neutral on them, he just prefers his own way of life. Likewise, he tends to be very neutral towards individuals, and this also is often misread as dislike. One thing he does dislike though, is when people try to endear themselves to him by talking about how they agree animals are better than people, or say stuff like you know only man kills for pleasure. . . .this actually just annoys him. Firstly, a lot of animals do kill for pleasure. Secondly, when people say animals/nature is better than people. . . .they’re forgetting that people---humans, Asgardians, Jotunn---are animals too. This is just another way people, of any sort, try to insist they’re something special and different, whether in a negative or positive way. It doesn’t impress him. What impresses him tends to be how well people work within their niche, whatever niche that is. Like Shaw, he doesn’t really judge in terms of conventional morality, but a person’s success----Sigvid’s definition of success is just much wider. Like, maybe you dive for a living---are you a good diver? A great cafeteria worker? The best toilet cleaner in the tri-state area? He admires that and he commends you. When he is angered, he stays quiet, and his response is swift and physical; he either leaves or strikes physically and then leaves. When he feels sufficiently bonded with someone. . . he is still quiet. He appreciates a person who doesn't need to be filling the silences between them to feel comfortable and kinship. And kinship for him is rare, but he's not lonely----just also not adverse to it, as many assume he is. People assume a lot about Sigvid, and most of it is wrong, but he's also very chill with it. Sigvid is a very chill guy.

Special Talents: Besides the obviously mentioned talents for hunting, tracking, foraging, survivalism, and nature knowledge? Many people think he’s some kind of seer because he’s good at predicting storms and such, but actually he’s just very good at reading the signs most people aren’t attuned to. He also presumably has the attributes of Asgardians and Jotuns (super strength, etc) but if he has a mutant power, it has yet to manifest. Also cannot assume a Frost Giant form. Who they like better: Skadi, though eventually he does respect his father for performing so well at what he does

Who they take after more: I think both equally in different ways Personal Head canon: -He really likes amethyst geodes. -He finds a lot of manufactured foods, like chips or snack cakes, to be WAAAAY too strongly salty or sweet for him to stomach, is allergic to Red Dye #40, and he finds the taste of domesticated animals to be weird. - Not much of a dairy person, but ghee is good -Dislikes when people stereotype hillbillies as stupid; as in like, people who are genuinely living in the hills and mountains of the American Southeast, they're an interesting people with their own unique culture like any other group that lives off the land in isolation---which he respects---and not interchangeable with typical rednecks. -He doesn't typically carry anything with him that's not a necessity, if he knows he's going to be seeing people soon, he will pick up knick-knacks he finds in abandoned places and distribute them like a weird Santa Claus. Who, he's met, by the way, and according to him, Father Christmas is something of a badass. - He will always buy your homemade soaps, and I have no idea what he's doing with them. Yes, maybe he's using them in the normal intended way but IM NOT SURE?? - Pops up in art museums. People never expect him to be here, in these cathedrals dedicated to human creation, but he is. I think he views art a bit differently than the average person, but he's there all the same. - He's an Aquarius but there is a LOT of Saturn in his chart - The first Midgard movie he saw was Forrest Gump. He was expecting it to be about something else because of the title, but he enjoyed it and LEARNED THIS DANCE Face Claim: n/a

#sigvid #kids #kid meme

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #400

“it’s an age-old story: the first will be last, and the last will be kings / the small will be great, and the great will be weak”

Who was the last person you sincerely thanked? My mom; I thank her every time she cooks for me/us, and I really do mean it. What’s the longest you’ve ever stayed as a guest at someone’s house? Somewhere around a month. What was the last thing to really surprise you? My brother has a fiancee and is having another son! :') Have you ever found out that you have been sleep walking? No. Have you ever tried making something from one of those short cooking videos? How did it turn out? No. Have you ever written a review for a product you bought online? No. What was the last thing you had the urge to do? Idk about anything notable. Is there anyone you feel that takes you for granted? No. What is the last thing you had a craving for? A donut. Do you ever read the comments on social media posts? Sometimes. What was the last thing you felt like you wasted money on? It's so rare that I buy things with my own cash that I really don't know. What was the last thing you wanted to buy, but couldn’t afford? Venus' terrarium on my own. Mom has to help me with buying it. What is a recipe you’d like to try to make for yourself? I don’t cook, so. What goes through your mind when you look back at old photographs of yourself? More than anything, I get sad over how much weight I've gained. I was so healthy once upon a time. It also just makes me miss my childhood. What was the subject matter of the last email you sent? I believe it was about setting up an appointment with my therapist. How do you get your news? Facebook articles, really. What do you think about lizards? I love them! I was that kid that always tried to catch them when I saw 'em. Now I just observe because I don't want to terrify them by trying to pick them up. Have you ever done consumer testing (testing products before they come out on the market)? If not, would you ever want to? No, but sure, I'd do it. Have you ever received anesthesia or morphine? Both. The time I received morphine, it did jack-all for me. If you had to choose which video game to be in, which would it be? Hmmm... I would say Azeroth from World of Warcraft, but too much shit goes down, ha ha. Perhaps the top of the temple in Shadow of the Colossus? So long as I could have someone I love with me, I'd be in Heaven. Although... I doubt there's WiFi there, so I might drop that answer, lmfao. I really don't know. Between the two, would you rather live in a place where it’s only night or where it’s only day? Day. I need the natural light of day sometimes, and if I wanted to sleep, I could just find shade. If you had to be an actor/actress in a movie, what genre of the movie would you be best at? Fantasy. Out of fire, earth, water, wind, light, and dark, which element appeals the most to you? Dark. What’s one thing that you wish was real? Friendly dragons, haha. Is there anything (show, comedian, etc.) that you constantly quote or make references to? No. What’s your favorite Disney Channel movie? I have absolutely no idea. I don't even remember almost any of them. What’s your favorite holiday? Christmas. Do you ever have to do yard work? No. Do you have any live versions of songs in your music software? Yes. Did/do you listen to Britney Spears songs? Yeah, sometimes. I genuinely don't mind her. Do you still make Christmas lists? Yeah, because I'm asked to. Do you watch the show Dexter? Never seen it. Which musical instrument do you think sounds the prettiest? I'm torn between the violin, harp, and piano. Is your mom or dad the older parent? Mom, by a year. Do you and your parents like any of the same bands/singers? A lot, actually. Is there any food in your bedroom? What? I have these tictacs I keep in my purse in case of a dry mouth. Medication makes me have that severely, and my psychiatrist recommended me to always have a hard candy available to suck on since it forces salivation. Do you know anyone who has road rage? Who? My younger sister, badly. How far away do your grandparents live from you? They're all dead, but they lived in far away states. Do you know anyone who wants to be the president one day? No. What kinds of chips are in the cupboards? None. It's a bad idea to keep chips in this house, haha. Do you have your mom's or dad's hair? Well, I was born with dirty blonde hair like my dad, but my hair is thick and more similar in color now to my mom's before the cancer completely drained the color. If you were going out with your celebrity crush, what would you wear? OH MY GOD LA;KSDJFAKLWJE I DON'T KNOW I LOOK AWFUL IN EVERYTHING. Have you ever cried when a teacher retired? Teared up, yes, multiple times. Do you swear and yell while playing video games? I might swear under my breath, but that's the extent of it. If you were adopted, would you want to know? At this point in my life, I don't really know. I kinda find myself leaning towards no. Has a best friend ever ditched you for a girlfriend/boyfriend? Pretty much. Do your pets chase after bugs? Roman sure does. When’s the last time you were so excited you couldn’t sleep? Why? I want to say that was the night before I was getting my tattoo redone. Do you own any flip-flops? Yeah, considering they're like... all I wear, ever. Did you ever really believe that the stork brought babies? I don't believe so, no. Have you ever had a dream about sleeping with a celebrity? (You don’t have to give details.) It was the only lucid dream I've ever had and I'm not complaining about it lmao. Have you ever had a dream that upset you or made you cry? Oh I'm sure. Has anyone ever told you that they needed you? Do you think they meant it? Not to my recollection, no, and I don't believe you should ever adopt that mentality and say that to someone. Do you own a laser? No. Is there anything you like to put on a sandwich, that some might find odd? Nah. I do enjoy a layer of potato chips on some sandwiches, like ham and cheese, but I know that's like an actual thing some people just like. What colour are the shoes you wear most often? They're black flip-flops. When was the last time you were required to put on a mask? In the morning when I go to the TMS office. And what colour was the last mask you wore? It's one of those normal blue and white medical ones. The last time you were in a queue, what were you waiting for? To see the woman who would give me my APAP mask. Have you had your Covid vaccine yet? Which one, if you have? Yes, Moderna. If you've had your vaccine, did you experience any side effects? None for the first shot, but my second shot bruised badly and I felt seriously shitty the following day. I was perfectly fine afterwards, though. Can any of your friends sing well? Which one has the nicest singing voice? Sara has an AMAAAAAAAAAAAZING voice. When was the last time you wore make-up, if ever? What shades/colours? I don't even remember, but I'm sure it would've been black. What is something that seems popular, but doesn't interest you personally? Fashion, various TV shows, etc... Are you clumsy or graceful? I am STUPID clumsy. Like it's just ridiculous. Do you like gloves? I like fingerless gloves. Does your sibling(s) have braces? My older sister did as a kid. Do you ever say "OMG" in person? No; it's a random pet peeve of mine, "Internet talk" irl. What was the last thing your parents got mad at you for? Dad, no idea. Mom, uhhhh. Not "mad," but "annoyed" probably better fits how she felt about me leaving the heating pad I use for my cramps on the floor. Do your pets have favorites? I'm definitely Roman's favorite seeing as he is my literal shadow, and I'd assume Venus trusts me more than anyone else, but realistically, she's in contact with almost no one else, so. Who was your first boyfriend/girlfriend? Why did you break up? The first guy to have the title of "boyfriend" was Aaron, and I broke up with him 'cuz I just wasn't as romantically into him as I thought I might be. It was puppy-dog love, and I feel I knew that. My first *real* boyfriend was Jason, who broke up with me because my mental illnesses began to affect his wellbeing. Which I now accept is fine, but he seriously coulda gone about things differently... When was the last time you got a new bed? Is your bed comfy? Late into my teenage years; idk the exact age and don't feel like doing the math. Teddy kept peeing on the bed to where it was just unrecoverable and needed to be thrown away. My current bed is comfy enough. What kind of games did you play on the playground when you were younger? My absolute favorite was digging tunnels in the sandbox, pretending to be a meerkat. The only trend I ever created, haha, seeing as my classmates got into it with me, allowing us to make huge tunnel systems. It was really cool. I also liked playing 4 Square (which I now don't even remember the details of) on the basketball court. Do you remember the first time you ever drove a car? Who were you with? Yeah, my driver's ed instructor and the guy who was on the same route as me. What’s your favorite thing to do when drunk? Would you do this sober? N/A Are you a fan of dogs? Do you have any as pets? I'm picky with dogs. I like interacting with any dog, but I don't plan on ever owning another. I don't like how hyper they can be, and I prefer more independent pets, like cats. Basically, I'll be hyped to meet a random dog on the street and give it some loving, but I don't want to take it home to be my own. Are you an elitist (even a little bit) when it comes to anything? What? No. I cannot stand elitists. Is just being fond of something enough, or does it take more than that to be a ‘real fan’? And I hate gatekeeping in fandoms even more. There are varying intensities of "being a fan," but regardless, if you like something, congratulations, you're a valid, "real" fan. What type of fabric is most comfortable for clothing? I don't pay attention to this, honestly. If you wear one – bras with or without a wire? I'll wear either, but without is way more comfortable. If you wear one – are you able to find cute bras in your size? God no. What length do you like your shorts to be? I don’t wear shorts. What was the last disappointing movie you saw? Warcraft, but not because it was bad. I've talked before how in the theater, the orcs' voices were just so fucking baritone that I couldn't understand almost ANYTHING they said. Kinda ruined the experience for me. What was the last disappointing book you read? Don't recall. Do you ever watch compilation videos? Of what? Very rarely. If I do, they're mostly of animals being silly. Favorite Disney character who isn’t royalty? Probably Dory, but idk. There's WAY too many options to fish through.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''this is the kingdom'' by skillet

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let-me-write-shit · 4 years

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Somebody To You: 24

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Word Count: 4,942

Warning: Angst (don’t hate me -it’ll be fine!)

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CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

She felt it in the air the second they exited the plane. Vacation was officially over and the heaviness of the ‘consequences’ from the events over the past week bore down on her shoulders like a fifty-pound boulder - not unmanageable, but annoying enough to notice. She knew she should call Harry and let him know she landed safe and sound like he asked. She knew they should have a conversation about their mindset on where their friendship stands. But none of that seemed important right now. It was late. All she wanted to do was hug her parents and go to bed.

Zoey’s mom practically balled at the sight of her eldest daughter, elated to finally have her home after being on the other side of the country for four months, though she knew the reasoning for her visit wasn’t a pleasant one. Her dad, on the other hand, was more empathetic. He was always the voice of calm and reason, and he always did his best to put himself on her level. He didn’t need to say anything. His hug said it all. All-encompassing, warm, and tight. It made her feel safe and understood. It made her feel loved. The only time an embrace made her feel like this in the past four months was when she was with Harry. The realization would have been enough to make her cry if she had the energy.

During the whole ride home their mom blathered on about how happy she was to have them home and asked about every little detail of their trip to Rome but gave them no room to speak as she carried on talking. Zoey and Katie shared a look with their father, who glanced at them in the rearview mirror, and they could see the corner of his mouth twitch upwards in a knowing smile at their impatience as the red brake lights from the car ahead of them illuminated on his face, making them stifle a giggle.

Their mom was still talking by the time they reached home. Their dad collected their luggage from the trunk and followed the girls inside, flicking on the landing light. She would have stayed up all night talking to her daughters if he hadn’t stopped her.

“Mary, they’ve had a long flight. We should let them get to bed,” her dad sweetly said, leaving their bags by the coat rack beside the front door.

Their mother halted her talking, turning her head to see her daughters standing slouched, eyelids fluttering in an attempt to stay open while deep, dark circles formed under their eyes. Mary’s hands fell to her side and her head drooped in defeat.

“Oh, alright. The bedroom is all made up for you two. We’ll talk more in the morning. I love you both,” she gave them each a tight hug and kiss on the cheek.

“Goodnight,” the girls yawned, hugging and kissing their dad goodnight.

Just before they began to climb the steps, Mary called out, “Oh, Zoey!” catching her attention, she turned to look at her mom with an eyebrow raised in the middle of a yawn. Her mom continued with a smile, “That friend of yours...Harry? The one that arranged all of this? He’s a sweet boy. You tell him we really appreciate him looking after our girls for us. I was worried about the crowd you’d get into over there in LA, but if they’re anything like him, I know you found yourself a good one.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she just grinned, nodded, and continued up. From the way she worded it, she wasn’t entirely convinced her mom understood who Harry was, which was shocking because you’d think that Katie would have made a bigger deal about it after having met him. Although her parents weren’t home when he first stopped by and knowing how protective her parents were, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume that Katie had failed to mention a boy in their home while they were away, especially if said-boy was a famous musician. Plus, her parents didn’t keep up to date on current pop-culture. She made a mental note to talk to them about it at some point during her stay when she was a little more aware and lucid.

It was only 10 PM, but it could easily have been 2 AM by the weight of her legs as she climbed the steps. It felt like she had rocks in her pockets weighing her down, she almost debated falling asleep right there on the steps. Luckily, she made it to the room, unable to close the door with enough force to fully shut, it cracked open with a sliver of light from the hall running a glowing line of orange on the wall where Katie’s bed rested. She was already passed out on top of her sheets, shoes still on. Zoey managed to kick hers off before plopping on the air mattress in the center of the floor, pulling the blanket haphazardly over her face before sleep overtook her.

The clanking of pots and pans and the loud echoing of her mother’s voice as she bellowed to her husband in the morning stirred Zoey and her sister awake, both girls groaning and shoving their faces into their pillows. Neither of them got the ‘morning person’ gene that both of their parents seemed to have. Reluctantly sitting up, Zoey checked her phone briefly to see a few missed texts from her friends letting her know that they were home and wishing her good luck on her visit with Paul today, as well as a missed call and text from Harry, who simply texted her to sarcastically say ‘Hope your plane didn’t crash’. She grinned, rolling her eyes and almost texting him back before the smell of bacon and eggs wafted into the room, catching her attention. She’ll text him later, she decided, practically skipping down the stairs to the kitchen.

Throughout breakfast, she listened to her family gush over her being home and how happy they were to have her back. Her mom, and to her surprise, her dad as well went on and on about how much they wished she would move back home and how they could turn their office into a room for her if she wanted, doing their best to convince her to stay by reminding her of all the things she’d miss out if she went back to LA, like their traditional fall farm trips and week-long Christmas celebrations filled with light-looking and gingerbread building competitions. And she had to admit, she missed it here. It was no Italy, but the view of their green backyard with their old swing set and trampoline, and the taste of her mom’s cooking filled her with nostalgia.

With each bite of food, her mind became clearer and more awake, reminding her of the reason for her visit. Pops. Katie offered to join her in visiting Paul, but, honestly, she needed to do this on her own. It’d be hard enough seeing Paul, knowing of what was to come, but she’d also be forced to see Michael, whom she hasn’t been around since the day she left, and she didn’t know how he would handle seeing her again.

The whole drive over to Pops’ house she twisted and pinched the ends of her hair, nervous. How was she supposed to act? She’s known these people for five years, but what do you say to the people you care about after not speaking for months, knowing one of them was going to die? Was there proper etiquette in situations like these?

As she pulled into the driveway and looked at the front of the familiar brick house, her heart ached. It looked just the same as she remembered it, with beautiful hydrangeas lining the flower bed and a flag hanging from beside the door adorned with flowers inside of a watering pail that read ‘Home Sweet Home’. Before she could even turn her car off, the door opened and out stepped Michael. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in weeks, but had recently gotten a haircut which made him look more mature, despite his sleeve of tattoos and choice of clothing; a baggy white shirt and some black skinny jeans. A hesitant smile formed on his face as she got out of the car, meeting him halfway up the driveway.

“Thanks for coming,” he hugged her, squeezing her tightly.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and sunk into the embrace, the sound of his voice and the weight of all that it carried pressed down on her with him. She was doing fine up until then, and the realization began to kick in. Her palms clenched the back of his shirt a little harder while she forced back the tears that threatened to expose themselves. He knew. And he held her a little longer.

When they pulled apart Michael coughed and took a deep sniff, avoiding eye contact to try and poise himself. As soon as he felt he had his emotions under control, he looked up, and faltered, taking his first good look of her since she got here.

“Your hair is down,” he noticed.

She blushed, suddenly feeling self-conscious, “Yeah.”

He chuckled, shaking his head and looking back at her before nodding, “It looks nice. Anyway,” he cleared his throat, “Come in, he’s waiting.”

Too many thoughts were running through her head at the moment and she couldn’t hone in on one in particular. She felt guilty for being here, knowing how Michael was still struggling to come to terms with the end of their relationship. She felt like she was somehow flaunting that she had moved on and was happy, even though she knew that she’d never do that. She worried if she was giving him the wrong impression by coming, concerned that he’d think there was a chance of them rekindling their relationship. She was afraid to see Paul, wondering if he would treat her any differently now that she wasn’t dating his son anymore. And how would Michael’s mother feel having her back in the house after practically abandoning them for months?

But all of her worries seemed moot when she stepped into the living room, greeted by enormous smiles and cheers at her arrival. His mother stood from the couch, barrelling towards her and pulling her into the warmest embrace, pressing their cheeks together and praising her appearance while stroking her hair. Zoey couldn’t help but giggle. It was such a typical greeting of hers that it was almost amusing.

Paul, on the other hand, stayed on the couch after a few failed attempts at getting up. He looked frailer than the last time she saw him and was very obviously tired. His eyes looked sunken and his skin looked dull, but he had the same bright and mischievous smile as always, shaking his head at the sight of her.

“You leave us for LA and come back a whole new person,” Paul motioned towards her changed appearance; hair down and dressed more confidently. “You look great, Zo-bear. California looks good on you.”

“Thanks, Pops,” Zoey smiled sweetly, making her way over and gently hugging him.

His hugs weren’t as tight and encompassing as they once were, but she still felt every ounce of love he contributed and her heart only sank more. The tears she tried so hard to hold back threatened to spill again, and she hiccupped in an attempt to conceal it, but Paul noticed. And the look on his face when she noticed her glassy eyes was enough for Zoey to lose her fight as they began to fall, trailing down her cheeks.

“Whoa, hey now,” Paul whispered, wiping her tears away with his thumbs while clasping his hands on either side of her face. He managed a playful grin and said, “No crying in my house. I’m not dead yet.”

The four of them crowded together, Zoey being sandwiched in between Michael’s parents whom each took a hold of either one of her hands as they urged her to tell them all about her trip to Rome. Mr. and Mrs. Katro had always welcomed Zoey with open arms, instantly taking to her maturity and charm from the second they met her, and they always made it clear to Michael that he couldn’t do much better than her. It was something that Zoey was proud of; her relationship with her boyfriend’s parents. She knew how lucky she was; not many people were as fortunate.

That being said, when she and Michael broke things off, she was so worried about how his parents would react that she avoided seeing them, not even saying goodbye before she left. She was grateful that there were no hard feelings, but it now left her with a ton of guilt, no matter how kindly they treated her now, she had to live with the way she decided to leave the first time around. How could she go back to California now? She wanted to be here for Paul. He always treated her like family. How could she go home knowing that this time around it would be their final goodbyes? Knowing that she wouldn’t be here for his final moments? How could she leave knowing that she wouldn’t be here when Michael needed her support the most? Especially after all he did for her when Jess died. The more they talked, the more thought she put into her parents' offer of letting her move back home. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Pops was doing a good job at deflecting all of the more serious discussions surrounding his cancer, making light of the topic, and turning everything into a joke. It was a typical response of his. He was never too serious, and Zoey knew he’d react like this. It was his way of protecting his family and showing his strength, but she could see it in his eyes; he was scared. Still, the day was filled with mostly laughter and talk of old memories.

She had stayed longer than expected. It was getting late, now, and Mrs. Katro invited her to stay for dinner, which she agreed to. So, while she cooked, Zoey, Michael, and Paul continued to talk about California. They wanted to know more about her life in LA and the new friends she made. She told them all about Nancy and Rory, her wonderful roommates who were so fun to be around. They were interested to know about their popularity, recognizing Rory’s name swirling around in the various pop-culture social media accounts, though they didn’t closely follow those kinds of tabloids. Pop-culture wasn’t necessarily in Michael’s radar. He tended to stray more towards the punk-rock scene, being in a small-town band as a guitarist, himself, which always amused her as he was the sweetest, most gentle guy she’d ever met.

She continued informing them of her co-worker friend and confidant, Andy, as well as giving them a general summary of Brett, deciding it was probably best not to discuss the intimate details of her relationship with the Australian hunk with her ex-boyfriend and his father. Zoey didn’t even bother talking about Harry. They may not be into pop-culture, but they definitely know who Harry is, and she wasn’t exactly keen on talking about him when she still wasn’t sure what was going to become of them.

“So, I was thinking,” Michael eased, leaning his elbows onto his thighs. His skinny arms flexed a little as he looked over at her, “I don’t know what your plans for tomorrow are, but I thought maybe we can go over to Jess’s house and visit her parents.”

Zoey grinned, looking at Michael. As she said, he was always one of the sweetest guys she knew. His parents raised him well. She nodded, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Are you going to his show with us tonight?” Paul asked.

Zoey cranked her head to the side, confused, “Michael? I didn’t know he had a show tonight. Must be embarrassed to take me out in public,” she joked, “I don’t blame him.”

The father and son laughed and Michael put his hands up, “No, come. The guys would love to see you. We’re playing at Slyfox.”

“My old bar?” Zoey asked, earning a nod. She hadn’t been there since she quit after Jess died. But she had to admit, she missed her old co-workers. It might be nice to see them again. “Yeah, sure. Can we stop by my house so I can change, though?”

Just as Michael was about to say something, her phone began ringing in her pocket. She pulled it out to see Harry’s name displayed on the screen attempting to Facetime her. Paul noticed her hesitation and urged her to take it.

“Go on, answer it. You’ve been talking to us all day, we’ll just be in the kitchen helping Carol.”

Zoey nodded, quickly excusing herself to the back deck before she answered the call and Harry’s face popped onto her screen. It was dark on his end, a soft, warm glow barely illuminating his face, making the picture grainy, but she could see the almost surprise in his eyes when he saw her.

“You answered. Wasn’t sure you would. I haven’t heard from you all day,” Harry said, his British accent sounding more foreign to her after going over twenty-four hours of not hearing him or Rory speak.

She winced, “Sorry, I’ve been a little distracted. What’s up?”

Harry shrugged, “Not much. Met with Mitch and the boys for lunch. Talked about getting some time in the studio soon. What about you? How was your visit with Paul?”

“I’m still here, actually. But it’s going well.”

His eyes widened, but she couldn’t quite see the expression, “Oh, sorry. Do you want me to call you back tomorrow?”

“No, it’s fine. They’re just making dinner now.”

“Oh, okay,” Harry hesitated, “Well, how are they?”

Zoey sighed, pacing the length of the deck. She had been trying to remain positive, but seeing Paul like that was hard. And knowing that Michael would soon be left without a father was heart-wrenching. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to leave here in three days. How do I say goodbye to them?”

Harry frowned, nodding understandingly, “I know. It feels like you’re abandoning them, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah!” she huffed, slumping in one of their patio chairs, looking through the window to their kitchen, both parents and their son laughing with each other as they gathered around the stove, “My mom offered to turn their office into a bedroom for me if I wanted to move back here.”

“You’re moving back?” Harry sat up suddenly on his bed making the light shift on his face.

“I don’t know,” she groaned, “I was thinking about it.”

“But what about Nancy and Rory? And your job? You love it in LA.”

“I know. I just don’t know if it’s worth risking missing his final moments. Michael’s going to need me.”

“Yeah, but you can always fly back,” Harry countered, “He’ll have his mom and his friends, too.”

“I know, but…”

“I know you feel like you have a responsibility,” Harry cut her off, “but you also have a responsibility to yourself. California has been so good for you. Don’t jump into a decision yet. Just think about it.”

Zoey nodded. He was right. Moving across the country isn’t easy. She needed to weigh all of the factors before making such a big decision. She got a better look at him, his hair extra floppy, and his swallow tattoos peeking into view at the bottom half of the screen. He was shirtless.

Zoey glanced back through the window to make sure the three family members were still preoccupied before she started the conversation, “I miss you,” she said.

Harry nodded, a small smirk twitching at his lips, “I miss you, too. And that rose tattoo.”

In seconds, her mind flashed through all of their little moments in Italy; hidden kisses, discreet hand-holding, sneaking away to have sex. Did he think about it as often as she? They still needed to have a conversation. She didn’t know if she was supposed to act like it didn’t happen, or if there was some sort of expectation from her. She needed to know where to set her boundaries.

“About that. Should we maybe talk about that, or….?” she trailed, “I just don’t really know what the expectations are. Like, is this something we’re going to explore, or was that just some sort of vacation booty call?”

She could see the discomfort as Harry tensed up. He stuttered, “I-I don’t know.”

Her heart dropped. How could he not be sure when she hadn’t been more sure of anything in years? How could he deny the chemistry and the ease of it all? “What does that mean?”

Harry’s eyes darted around, trying to find the right words to say. But the more he thought, the more he flustered he got, “You know how hard this is for me.”

“How hard?” she recoiled, offended by that response. Not because it could mean he wasn’t interested in her in that way, but because of the lack of an answer she got with it. It was a simple question. Why did he have to beat around the bush? Why was his response to a simple question so defensive? “You’re talking about the situation with Rory?” she verified, earning a slight nod from him but before Harry could speak, she interrupted, “Your excuse with Rory was that you were touring and relationships during a tour were complicated. You’re not touring now, so that must not be it.”

Harry shook his head, “No, it’s not that. I don’t know. You mean a lot to me. You know that. And believe me, Italy was amazing. Like...amazing. But I haven’t been able to talk to you the same way since.”

Zoey’s eyes furrowed at his condescending tone. She repeated, “You can’t talk to me the same way?”

Again, before Harry could respond, they were interrupted by the squeaking of the back door sliding on its track. Michael poked his head through elongating his mouth in an apologetic expression for his intrusion and softly informing her, “Sorry, just wanted to let you know that I told the guys you’d be coming tonight and they’re stoked, and I just got off the phone with Mrs. Lewis and she’s expecting us for lunch tomorrow.”

Zoey forced a smile, “Okay, great. Thanks.”

Michael nodded and shrank back inside, closing the door behind him. She turned her attention back to her phone to Harry who sat confused, “What’s going on tonight and tomorrow.”

Zoey rattled from the interruptions, shook her head, and answered, “Michael has a gig with his band at the bar I used to work at, so I’m stopping by to see some old co-workers. And tomorrow we’re going to visit Jess’s parents to see how they’re doing.” But when Harry scoffed, she was taken aback, “What was that?” she urged.

He shot back, his tone icy, “You’re sitting there forcing a conversation about the future of our relationship meanwhile you’re spending the entire weekend with your ex-boyfriend who’s still in love with you? That makes perfect sense. Is that why you want to move back there? It’s to be closer to him, not Paul, right?”

Zoey’s mouth fell, shocked by his insinuation. This is not how she wanted the conversation to go. She wasn’t expecting this to turn into an argument, and she felt stupid for not realizing that it could have. She knew that there would be consequences, she just didn’t know if it would be good or bad. She supposed this answered that question. Still, frustration rose from within her gut. Harry knew her better than most. She even hazard a guess that he knew her better than Michael. How could he even think those things?

She felt the urge to defend herself, and she did, her demeanor angrier now, as she tried her best to keep her voice down, “You’ve got to be kidding me. Harry, I’m here because a man that I love and respect is dying. And I tell you that while I’m visiting that man, who will be attending the show tonight, by the way, I’ll also be visiting the parents of my dead best friend. But you’re concerned that my ex will be with me when you should be more concerned with the fact that I have so much death surrounding me that I feel like I’m dying myself. You, of all people, should understand that,” she spat.

Anger rose in her as she continued, “How often have I even mentioned Michael to you aside from when you’ve asked? You don’t think I would have stuck around here if I still wanted to be with him? I’m the one that ended our relationship in the first place. Meanwhile, you’re over there not even sure of what you want to do about us. I’m just another indecision in your little black book of could-be girlfriends. Another idiot that left it all out on the table just for you to shrug your shoulders at.”

Zoey began to laugh. She couldn’t help it, she always had a bad habit of laughing at inappropriate times. But how could she not? She felt stupid to believe that she could be anything more to Harry. It was a miracle enough that he even knew who she was. But she didn’t deserve to be one of THOSE girls. If the past year has taught her anything, it’s how to love herself more. She deserved better. “You say I’m forcing this conversation, but you could just have easily told me that you didn’t want to date me and it would have been fine. I would have let it be and we could have carried on like things were. Instead, you make excuses like you always do. You say you can’t talk to me the same as you used to, but who’s fault is that? I haven’t hidden anything from you. I haven’t treated you any differently. You can’t blame a kiss on the lack of communication. The lack of communication is because of your own insecurities, not because we fucked.”

Harry listened. She knew he was hanging onto every word she said. She knew that she had plucked at one of his heartstrings by the tremble in his jaw and his unsteadiness of his hands, but he needed to hear it. She wasn’t saying any of this to be mean. She couldn’t fault him if he didn’t want to be with her, but he also needed to understand how his actions made people feel. His indecisiveness in relationships and the assumptions he makes based on nothing but jealousy affected more than just herself. And if anyone can get that through his head, she could. Even if it meant ruining their friendship.

Her demeanor had calmed, though her head and chest were still pounding. She sighed, looking at Harry through her phone, “I’m sorry you feel like you can’t talk to me anymore. Really, truly I am. You’re my best friend and I wish it weren’t that way. But if we can’t be honest with each other and say what we really feel…” she paused for a moment, contemplating whether or not she wanted to say the words. But she saw no way around it. She valued herself and her friendships more than that, “...that’s not the kind of friendship either of us deserves.”

There was a long silence. So long she was sure the sun would set any minute. Finally, Harry spoke, his voice quivering, “What are you saying?”

Zoey’s head fell, not wanting to see the sadness in his eyes. She still wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing, but she needed to have faith in her decisions. There was too much on the line right now than to be selfish enough to force a seemingly one-sided friendship. Her voice was soft, so soft that it was barely audible in a desperate attempt to hide the shakiness as she spoke, “I’m sorry, H. I’ve got to go.”

Harry’s phone went back to the home screen as Zoey ended the call, and he stared at it, half expecting to see Zoey’s face reappear at any minute, laughing and telling him that she was just kidding. But, when that didn’t happen, he screamed and threw his phone across his living room, loudly clamoring as it collided with the bottom of the wall and bouncing several times along the hardwood floor, sliding the length of the room. Why the fuck was he like that? Why did he always have to immediately jump to offense as soon as anyone got too close or things got too uncomfortable? He did it to himself every time. She was right. Every word she spoke.

In truth, he never suspected she thought anything more of her relationship with Michael than what she said in the past. She never gave him any reason to doubt her. Harry believed her, so he didn’t know why he would even accuse her of anything else. The accusation was impulsive to him, immediately jumping to it because that’s what typically happened when in situations like these; the girl he was interested in always left him for someone else. Just like Rory and Brett. He fucked up. He knew he did. But how does he fix it?

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@thurhomish , @stilljosiegrossie , @odetostep , @apples2019 , @stylesmioamore , @inyourhaven

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bellemorte180 · 4 years

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Wanderlust: Chapter One

FBI Special Agent, Niklaus Mikaelson is sent to the small town of Mystic Falls, Virginia to investigate a series of murders. When a serial killer’s most recent victim, Caroline Forbes, saves herself from a horrible fate, Klaus cannot help but begin to feel drawn to her. However, it seems that he is not the only one.

A/N: Read the prologue, that was posted earlier today, first.

Chapter One:

FBI Special Agent Niklaus, Klaus, Mikaelson surveyed the room. It was tidy and neat; not a single thing out of place with the exception of dog toys that lingered on the floor. He bent down and picked up a plush toy pig that had seen better days before tossing it into a basket by a brick fireplace that held an assortment of other toys. He took in the decor. It was modern but cozy. She had a small grey couch, yellow pillows and a soft blue blanket that lounged on the back. Her curtains were a soft blue, contrasting against the white walls.

A pair of used trainers were placed by the door, telling Klaus that she was a runner and by the state of her shoes, an avid one. By the fact that there was not a speck of dust or hint of dog hair lingering in the home, he could conclude that she was neat and very tidy. Given the array of cleaning supplies he found in the cabinet under the kitchen sink, he could conclude that she had some OCD tendencies. That and her closet was color coded, as was the mail that was neatly organized on her desk in her spare room that she had turned into a home office. Her MacBook remained untouched and shut; a notebook she clearly used for work lingering at its side. This was not a robbery, for valuable items still remained in their place.

Her bedroom was much of the same as the rest of the house. Neat and orderly. Her clothes were all folded, and her bathroom cabinets all held some organization system that made Klaus chuckle slightly. Her bed was freshly made and given the rest of the house; he was not surprised. Her comforter was white, but a plush dusty rose-colored blanket was folded neatly across the end of the bed. The throw pillows matched not only the blanket but the lamp shades on her bedside table. Inside the tables, Klaus found nothing out of the ordinary; some hand lotion, a book that Klaus recognized as some romance novel that was all the rage at the moment, an unopened box of condoms and a few sex toys. He made a mental note to find out who her closest friend was and have them retrieve those items. There were some things a parent did not need to know about their child.

He also found a small handheld pistol and a few rounds of ammunition in a box under the table. Given who her mother was, Klaus was not surprised that she would own one; and given what he could gather from her personality, the fact that the legal documentation associated with it was located in the spare office, filed away in an easy to use filing system was also unsurprising. Pictures lingered on the walls throughout the house. Her bright blue eyes, wide smile and genuine happy demeanor haunted him.

Caroline Forbes, twenty-eight years old, travel agent and daughter of the local Sheriff had been missing for a week and a half. By the state of her pictures she appeared well traveled; several pictures having been taken at various points across the world. According to her mother, Caroline was a planner with a hint of wanderlust; she would not simply take a trip without planning something or letting someone know ahead of time. Several of the pictures included trips with her dog and there was no way she would have left him behind. With the discovery of four bodies near the town’s Falls, the Sheriff requested assistance from the FBI, for fear that the bodies were connected to her missing daughter. When the case was presented to Klaus, he could not help but agree.

In truth, Klaus was tired. He had been chasing monsters for six years and the depressing manner of his job was eating at him. The victims lingered with him, even if he caught their monsters. He did this job because he wanted to give a voice to the victims who were unceremoniously silenced. This was his job, his career and one he was good at. However, He felt so much older than thirty-six. Looking at the bright eyes of Caroline Forbes, he knew those eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life. Someone with such life should not be stamped out. Klaus felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He reached behind him and pulled out his smart phone and answered the call.

“Marcel?” Klaus answered, his British accent pouring though the phone. He placed his hand on the desk and tapped his nails against it. While being in the FBI and chasing serial predators taught Klaus to be patient, it was still something he struggled with. He wanted answers and while he was able to play the cat and mouse game serial killers typically liked to play, Klaus was losing his patience with it. He was good at his job, this he knew; he was able to see into their minds and there was a diabolical side to him that could anticipate their next move. It was a darker side of him that he hated touching; wondering if that made him a monster as well.

“Find anything useful at the house?”

“No. It appears that she was grabbed before entering the house. No forced entry or any sign that anyone outside her mother had been to the house at all.” Klaus replied, hoping that there would be something of interest that would point to who was holding Caroline. Yet, all he learned was that Caroline was an interesting woman who had a full life. He was not sure how that made him feel in the slightest. “Which means this was a planned kidnapping. He would have known when she was coming home. So, I suspect someone local.”

“Well, the autopsy reports of all four victims came back. I think we have enough to name cause of death. The most recent body indicates strangulation.”

“Identifications?”

“Thank Jesus for dental records. A couple had missing person reports as well.”

“Good. I’m leaving now. Put a pot of coffee on for me, will you?” Klaus asked, knowing that he would need the caffeine and hung up the phone. That was something at least. Klaus took one last glance around the house, ensuring that everything was put back where he found it. Even though he doubted that Caroline would ever set foot in this home again, he did not want her to worry if she did.

After locking the house up behind him, Klaus drove back to the Mystic Falls Police Station. It was small and had not been updated since at least the mid-nineties but he had not really expected anything else. It was a small town with a low crime rate and until the possibility of serial murders, Klaus had never heard of it. That was not surprising; most of the places he had been too where because of some depraved soul wreaking havoc on the innocent.

He pulled his government issued SUV into the small parking lot. When he entered the station, he was taken aback by the disarray. A desk had been completely flipped and papers were littered all across the floor; a computer lay shattered on the ground. One of the officers whose name escaped Klaus, was on the ground with his head between his knees. Several other officers were patting him on the back; unsure of what the issue was, Klaus walked by them with a curious look and entered the conference room.

Like the rest of the station, the conference room was small; smaller than his office back in D.C. It had a few windows, a small round table and just enough room for a whiteboard to be brought in. The table held several photos of the Falls and the corpses before they had been moved to the morgue; as well as some photos of the marks on the bodies once they were examined by the coroner.

“What is with the commotion?” Klaus asked, eyeing Marcel who was putting a photo of all four victims on the board. These photos were the drivers license photos of the woman when they were alive, confirming to Klaus that Marcel was able to get a photo ID on each of the women. Marcel was a tall man with dark skin and black hair. Much like Klaus, he wore jeans and a simple T-Shirt but knowing Marcel well, Klaus knew that he had a more fashionable style when not on the job.

“One of the victims was his sister. The first one.” Marcel replied, pointing to the first photo. Klaus closed his eyes and sighed. It wouldn’t be the first time Klaus had seen the devastation a loss could bring; especially one so brutal. “Her name is Victoria Donovan, better known as Vicki. Last seen about fifteen months ago but according to her skeleton remains, she was murdered roughly a year ago.”

“Missing person report?”

“No.” That made Klaus pause, he reached over and picked up Vicki’s file, flipping through it. “Apparently Vicki was a drug addict and had a tendency to take off for long periods of time. When she went missing, everyone, including her brother, assumed she went off on a bender.”

“High risk victim then.” Marcel nodded in agreement while Klaus picked up a second file. “Okay what about her, April Young?”

“The next victim.” Klaus’s eyes flickered to the second photo. She looked nothing like Vicki. Vicki appeared to be tall while April was short. Both had pale skin but different coloring. April had jet black hair while Vicki had more of an auburn color. “She is from Mystic Falls but moved out of town shortly after she graduated. Her father is the local pastor.”

“Says here she was pregnant?” That made Klaus’s stomach drop. According to the medical records, April was early along in her pregnancy and would not have been showing. Good chance that her attacker did not know about the baby when he took her. “Also, no missing person’s report for her either?”

“Yes. According to the sheriff, Pastor Young is a very religious man. When April came home for a visit about a year ago and told him of her pregnancy, they had an argument. She left and from what everyone thought, she returned back to Richmond. Due to the nature of their disagreement, he had no idea that she was missing or who the father of her baby was.”

“And she had no friends? A job? Did no one miss this young woman?” Klaus snapped; tossing the file on the table. He understood why a report would not have been made for Vicki but April? What kind of father disowned their own child because of a baby? Why would no one come forward for her?

“I feel you man. Some people just don’t have anyone I guess.” Marcel replied. “As for her father, well, he will have a lot of soul searching to do after this. I guess we will have to go and let him know. I wonder how a father can turn their own child away when she clearly needed him the most.”

Look at your own father Klaus. Look at what he did.

Klaus shook himself from his thoughts, focusing on April’s photo. He picked up her autopsy again and read. She had been dead and in the ground by the Falls for nine months. Both April and Vicki’s bodies were far too decomposed to tell an exact manner of death; Vicki was nothing more than a skeleton. If it was not for her dental records, she wouldn’t have been able to be identified. He shook his head and turned to the next photo. He paused; recognizing that face.

“Wait. She looks familiar.” Klaus stated, staring at the third woman’s photo. He picked up the file. “Andrea Star. Why do I know that name?”

“Because she was a reporter from Charleston who went missing six months ago. Made national news.” Marcel replied. “She was originally from Mystic Falls before relocating to South Carolina for college and then eventually she started her career there.” Klaus nodded, reading over her autopsy report. “She was home for Christmas six months ago. She went missing after she left for her drive back down to Charleston.”

“She was murdered three months ago.” Klaus eyes narrowed, thoughts processing in his head. “Says here that she was strangled and….ugh oh god.” Andrea, better known as Andi, had a more complete autopsy report for the simple fact that her body was more intact. He put the file down and picked up April’s again. The same thing was reported but Klaus missed it the first time. A nauseating feeling rolled in Klaus’s stomach. This went beyond murder. How he mutilated the bodies only made him more infuriated. “Jesus Christ.”

“I know.”

“Okay, and what about...” He looked to the fourth victim. “Camille O’Connell? Is she also from Mystic Falls?”

“No. Never been actually.” That took Klaus by surprise. Thus far each of the victims had been born in Mystic Falls but had left. It was a pattern that he was catching onto but with Camille, it appeared not to be the case. “She is from New Orleans, my old stomping grounds, and there is a missing person report out of Boston. According to what the Boston office faxed over, her twin brother, a Sean O’Connell was expecting her in Boston three months ago. She never showed.”

“So, maybe she made a pit stop here. Meant to fill up on gas or grab something to eat. Wrong place. Wrong time.” Klaus replied, reading over the autopsy report. It had almost identical readings to the others, but the body was fresh; only two weeks old. The autopsy was able to note that the markings on her neck also indicated strangulation. There were bruising on her wrists and her inner thighs. She had malnutrition from lack of nutrients and her hair was knotted; clumps ready to fall out. She was pale and from the autopsy, it showed that she had little to no sunlight for a long while. Her body bore signs of the same twisted mutilation as Andi’s and April’s.

“What are you thinking?” Marcel asked. Klaus looked at his partner and sat the file down on the table. He stood and looked at Caroline’s photo was on the board. Victim number five and the only body that they did not have. Missing for almost two weeks.

“Caroline. Where did she work again?”

“A travel agency out of Richmond. She was the only one who still lived in town, with the exception of Vicki.”

“They leave. That’s the connection.” Klaus muttered, eyes darting from picture to picture. “Caroline commutes forty minutes each day to her place of employment and comes back to Mystic Falls. She is also known to enjoying traveling, at least according to the photos in her home. Camille was just passing through on her way to Boston. Andi was home visiting family but lived in Charleston. April also lived out of town and only came home to tell the news of her pregnancy to her father but never intended to stay. Vicki routinely leaves town for long periods of time on a drug binge. That is how he chooses his victims.”

“Because they never stay in Mystic Falls? Could be because it would be harder to track him that way.”

“No. If that was the case, the victims would all be like Vicki. Drug addicts or prostitutes. High risk. Not well-known reporters or travel agents who is also the daughter of the town sheriff.” Klaus replied and Marcel nodded in agreement. “Caroline. I think she is alive.” He reached down and picked up a black marketer out of the silver tray. He opened the cap, putting it between his teeth, and drew a long ling. “Vicki was last seen fifteen months ago but decomposition sets her time of death around a year ago. April, last seen a year ago but decomposition puts her time of death, nine months ago. Andi went missing six months ago but her body indicates death three months ago. Camille, went missing three months ago but she died only weeks ago.”

“He holds them.” Marcel added in, looking at the timeline. “He keeps them hostage for three months before he strangles them and then mutilates their bodies. He dumps the body by the Falls and kidnaps a new victim when the opportunity arises.” Marcel pointed to Caroline. “You said that there was no forced entry in her home?” Klaus nodded. “He planned to grab Caroline. He would have known when she would arrive home from work. The rest were convenient but knew enough that they were in town with plans to leave. Except Camille, like you said. Wrong place, wrong time.” Marcel paused. “There was a break between victims. Between April and Andi.”

“Most likely because there was no one in town who was planning to leave.” Klaus looked at Caroline’s photo again. “I suppose that since she still lived in town, he had not considered her yet. He is devolving. Caroline leaves but returns. If we don’t catch him, soon enough his paranoia will start believing that everyone will leave.”

“I hope you’re wrong on that for Caroline’s sake. If he is devolving, he may kill her quicker.”

“Yeah. I know.” He continued to look at the photos, the worst-case scenario running though is head. “Did you put coffee on?” Klaus asked and Marcel nodded, looking at the board. “I’m going to talk with the Sheriff. Maybe give her some hope that her daughter is still alive.” Klaus opened the door to the conference room and walked through the station. The mess had been cleared and most of the officers were at their own desks. Like on most cases, eyes followed Klaus out of curiosity and either respect or hostility depending on the case. Here, the town was shaken to the point that they would accept help, even from a British foreigner who just happened to work for the FBI.

Klaus walked into the small kitchenette and headed towards the coffee maker. Leaning against the counter was the officer who Klaus saw lose his temper. Klaus eyed him as he poured himself a cup of coffee before grabbing another mug. He was medium height, strong build and had blonde hair with blue eyes at Klaus’s sister would kill for.

“Donovan, right?” Klaus asked and the officer nodded his head as Klaus held out his hand. The officer took it and gave a firm shake that impressed Klaus.

“Call me Matt. Everyone does.”

“Klaus Mikaelson. Look, I’m sorry about your sister but my partner and I will do everything we can to figure out what happened to her.” Matt nodded his head but said nothing; his eyes watering again, and Klaus could tell that he was doing everything he could to not break down and lose his temper again. “Tell me about her.”

“Vick?” A small smile graced his lips. “Honestly, she was a train wreck. She was a year older, but I was always the one cleaning up her messes. Always the life of the party. Then again all she did was party, drink and get high. Never willing to try rehab or anything to better her life.” Klaus listened as he brought the coffee to his lips; drinking it slowly. “I keep replaying her last days over and over in my head.”

“What do you mean?”

“We fought. She told me that she was leaving town again. I tried to convince her to stay. Maybe, I don’t know, try and get her job back at the Grill. She was adamant that she needed to leave. She had been spending time with Damon Salvatore and I guess they ended things. Although, I don’t think it was serious at all. All I know is that she took off like a bat out of hell and I never saw her again.” Matt turned and punched the fridge before gripping the counter. “Damn it. I should have looked for her, but I thought that she just took off. I thought that she would come back eventually. She always did.”

“Hey. You did nothing wrong.” Klaus reached up and placed his free hand on Matt’s shoulder; giving it a tight squeeze. “Go home. Get some rest and take some time off. If you think of anything let me know. Okay?” Matt nodded and Klaus gave him another pat on the back before picking up the second coffee mug. He left the kitchenette and headed towards the Sheriff’s office. The door was closed but then she rarely left it open. Her office had two large windows that allowed her to see out into the station but the last few days had her keeping the blinds closed. Klaus had only seen the Sheriff out of the office for a few moments each day, and that was only to take Caroline’s dog to the bathroom, and Klaus was certain she didn’t go home. “Sheriff? Its Agent Mikaelson. Can I come in?”

“Yeah, come in.” Klaus bent down slightly in order to open the door with his elbow since his hands were full. He opened the door and then pushed it closed again with his foot. He sat a cup of coffee down in front of Liz who gave him a tired smile. She was not in uniform but instead jeans and an oversized shirt. Her hair was cut short but in disarray. The bags under her eyes indicated the little sleep she got, and Klaus wondered if she had eaten in days. The dog, a brownish colored mix with long hair that was resting in the corner padded over to him. “Hey Enzo. Being a good boy?”

“He has been prancing all afternoon. I think he is looking for Caroline.” Liz stated, gripping her mug tightly. “I got him for her when he was still a puppy. They bonded instantly and she spoiled him.” Klaus nodded with a small smile, remembering the large amount of dog toys that were in her house. On that thought, Klaus reached in his back pocket and pulled out a silver key. He handed it to Liz who gave him a smile as she took the key from him. “Did it help?”

“I think so.” Klaus replied, not wanting to tell her that he didn’t find much outside of getting to know her daughter. Typically, it was not done to include a family member in an investigation, but Liz was a cop and he was certain that she had no hand in the disappearance of her daughter or the death of the other woman. “Do you know if Caroline was involved with anyone? Was she receiving any threats?”

“No. Caroline was engaged about a year ago to Tyler Lockwood.” Klaus gave Liz a blank look. “The mayor’s son.” He nodded in understand. He saw no photos of a man in her home and her closet did not indicate that someone lived with her. “But he cheated on her and she kicked him to the curb.”

“Good for her.” There was a hint of respect in his voice. Everything he learned about Caroline both impressed him and saddened him. Her photos showed a woman who was so full of life be stamped out; but he had hope that the perpetrator held his victims for weeks at a time before killing them. If that was the case, there was still time to find her alive.

“Yeah. Caroline is stubborn and said she deserved better. Tyler tried to get back together with her, but she wasn’t having it.” Liz laughed lightly. “She is not one for mincing words and called him on in the middle of the Grill, in front of his mother. Tyler stopped bothering her after that.”

“Anyone else?”

“No. Caroline and Tyler were together for a long time. She dated Damon Salvatore for a few years during high school but that ended before she graduated.” Liz’s tone was dark, and Klaus made a mental note, that was the second time he heard that man’s name in the span of a few minutes. “Caroline was a relationship kind of woman, not one for one-night stands or anything like that.” Klaus thought back to the items in her bedside table and could agree that the untouched box of condoms showed that she didn’t have guest in her bedroom often.

“What about friends?” Klaus asked, knowing that it was good to know who Caroline associated with and incase the worse happened, he would let them know in case there would be anything that Caroline would not want her mother to see. A small detail in the autopsy report flashed in his eyes and he forced down some bile; some things Liz just did not need to know. “Who was she closest with?”

“Bonnie Bennet, and Elena Gilbert.” Klaus jotted their names down. “The three are inseparable. Elena is a medical student; she is doing her residency at the teaching hospital near Whitmore and Bonnie owns the bakery in town that she took over when her mother died. When the girls where in college, Caroline would always organize some kind of trip. She loved traveling and often did so for work; or at least that was her excuse to go see some part of the world.”

“A hint of wanderlust?”

“She got it from her father.”

“Where is her father?”

“Bill died about a year after she graduated high school.” Klaus nodded, offering his condolences. “We were divorced but we got on well enough. Caroline was always close with him. I did let her stepdad know that she is missing. Stephen asked that I keep him updated. Said he will come down when she comes home. I don’t think he can be here with…. without her here.”

“I didn’t realize you had remarried.” His eyes flashed to her hand and saw that there was no ring. That caused Liz to chuckle. Klaus looked at her confused. Enzo came padding over and whimpered at the door. Liz sighed and called the dog over again. The dog obeyed but continued to look at the door.

“I wasn’t. Stephen is Bill’s widower.” That startled Klaus but he hid his surprise well. Liz eyed him and he could almost see the upturn of her lips; amused by his reaction. Klaus could tell that despite the fact that she would have had to be devastated during the divorce, telling other’s that her ex-husband was gay brought some humor to her.

“I see.” Klaus replied giving her a small smile. He took the last sip of his coffee and placed the empty mug on Liz’s desk. On the corner of the desk, he could see a picture of Caroline in what appeared to be a cheerleading uniform. She appeared at least ten years younger in this photo and by the fingerprints on the glass, Klaus could tell that Liz held it often. Klaus picked up the photo and looked down at Caroline’s smiling face. “She seems so full of light.”

“She is.”

“Liz, I’m going to be honest with you.” Liz’s breath sucked in and she glued her eyes to Klaus. She did not know this man, but she was trusting him to find her daughter; but she also wasn’t a fool. She knew the chances were slim and with the bodies surfacing, it was clear that something terrible happened to Caroline. “Based on the autopsies and the pattern of the bodies, Marcel and I believe that he holds his victims for a long period of time before he kills them. If he continues with this pattern, Caroline could still alive.”

Suddenly, it was as though a dam broke inside of Liz. Tears streamed down her face and she couldn’t stop them. Hearing that there was a possibility that her daughter was alive caused all the emotions she kept bottled up to overflow. Enzo lifted his head and placed it in Liz’s lap; his nose nudging her hand. Liz raised her hand and patted the top of his head. Klaus reached over and picked up the box of tissues that were resting on her desk and handed them to her. Liz took them gratefully. She dried her eyes and Klaus waited for her to compose herself. He was expecting it and been around enough grieving mothers to know that such news would cause the tears.

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” Klaus muttered. “I don’t say this to get your hopes up. I could be very wrong, but I hope I am not.”

“Caroline is a fighter. Even when she was a little girl, she always had something to say and never let anything stop her once she put her mind to something. If she was told she couldn’t do something, she set out to prove them wrong.” Klaus chuckled at that. “If she is being held somewhere, Caroline would fight. She would do anything in her power to save herself. I raised her to take care of herself and never to give up. She’ll be okay. I have to have faith in that.”

“Why don’t you go home Liz. Get some rest.”

“No.” Liz replied. “When Caroline was little, I told her that if she ever was in trouble, that she comes here. That if she came to the police station, I would be here, and I would protect her.” Liz insisted. She reached down and scratched Enzo’s ears. “He won’t leave either. It’s like he knows.”

“Dogs are funny like that. They sense things that we can’t.” Klaus looked down at Enzo and could tell that the pup was well loved; and very loyal to Caroline. For a second, he wondered if maybe there would be a way to use Enzo to track her; use her scent or something. Maybe he would contact the field office about having K9s sent out into the woods and maybe they could pick up her scent. His focus would be to find Caroline and bring her home. “Have you eaten anything?”

“No. I-“ Liz was cut off by Enzo going wild again. He started whimpering and ran to the door, scratching at it widely. Liz called to him, but he completely ignored her. Seconds later, the office door burst open and a deputy ran through it; a wild look on his face. Enzo scampered out the door and Klaus could hear him barking incessantly at something.

“Sheriff. It’s Caroline. She is alive.” Liz bolted from her seat and was out the door before Klaus could even move. Quickly, Klaus ran out of the office and through the small station. He ran into Marcel, who was in the same mind set as him. They followed the voices and the sound of Enzo’s barking. Once they reached the lobby, Klaus took in the sight before him. Officer’s upon officers were crowded in the lobby but were giving the woman who held their attention a wide birth. Enzo was barking and jumping, trying to get her attention while Liz was slowly approaching her as though she was an injured and wild animal.

Caroline Forbes was standing in the middle of the police station, her blue eyes darting around frantically. Her breathing was labored, as though she had just run a long distance. Klaus took in her appearance. Her blonde hair was weighed down by grease, indicating that it had not been washed in days; if not longer. Twigs and leaves were stuck in her hair and her skin appeared dirty. She was barefoot and by the bloody footprints on the station’s tile floor, Klaus assumed she had run as fast as she could with no shoes on; not stopping despite the fact that her feet were being torn to shreds. Klaus noticed that she cradled her left arm to her chest and from what he could see, there was purple and yellow bruising up and down her arms.

She wore a pair of black slacks that he assumed she had on during her abduction. While they were torn, crinkled and dirty, they appeared to be the kind that a professional would wear to the office. Her white tank-top that was tucked into her pants had several tears through them and had dark brown spots that Klaus could not tell if it was dirt or blood. Her skin was very dirty, and he could see spots of dried blood that stuck to her. There appeared to be a cut on her forehead that seemed fresh, seeing that there was a small trickle of blood sliding down her face.

“Caroline, sweetie? It’s mom. Okay. I’m here.” Liz stated in a calm voice that amazed Klaus. Any other mother would have run up to their daughter and took her into her arms, no matter the condition their daughter was in. Klaus took a moment to remember that Liz was also a cop and a damn good one from what he had seen. Slowly, Liz approached Caroline with one hand outstretched. “It’s me Caroline. I’m not going to hurt you. Okay? No one is going to hurt you again.”

“Mom?” Caroline focused on Liz and her eyes narrowed. Her voice was hoarse as though she had been screaming for a long period of time. Given the situation, Klaus was willing to bet anything that she had been. “I’m okay? I made it?”

“Yeah, baby. You made it.” A look of relief flashed across Caroline’s face and tears started to fall down her cheeks. Her knees gave out and Liz caught her easily; bringing her daughter’s head to her chest. The pair sunk to the ground but did not let go of one another. Caroline let out a howl that echoed off the police station walls; sounding as though a wild animal had been injured. Caroline cried into her mother’s chest while Liz continued to rock her; kissing the top of her head in comfort. Enzo laid down beside Caroline, getting as close as possible he could to his master. Caroline, with her good hand, reached out and brought the dog to her chest the best she could and just held him close.

A/N: Thoughts????? Theories. I am really looking forward to hearing your thoughts and theories on what is going on. I am going to drop a lot of hints and clues in this story; so I welcome theories on who is the killer.

#klaroline fanfiction #caroline x klaus #klaroline #klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes #fanfic

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newstfionline · 3 years

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Tuesday, February 2, 2021

Difficult Times for Flight Attendants (NYT) One flight attendant needed medical attention for a crippling migraine brought on by confronting a passenger who refused to wear a mask. Aviation safety officials have received dozens of confidential complaints in the past year from attendants trying to enforce mask safety rules. The reports, filed in the Aviation Safety Reporting System database, at times describe a chaotic, unhinged workplace where passengers regularly abuse airline employees. The coronavirus pandemic and political divisions of the past year have caused fear, economic pain, and social and family rifts around the country, but for airline workers, and flight attendants in particular, the unease and tension have often converged in a tiny cabin space. The tension is at a level flight attendants have not seen before, said Paul Hartshorn Jr., a veteran attendant and a spokesman for the Association of Professional Flight Attendants union. “I think we’re pretty well trained on how to handle a disruptive passenger,” said Mr. Hartshorn, 46. “What we’re not trained to do and what we shouldn’t be dealing with is large groups of passengers inciting a riot with another group of passengers [over political differences].” “It’s insane,” he added.

Fight The Man: What GameStop’s surge says about online mobs (AP) It’s a fable for our times: Small-time investors band together to take down greedy Wall Street hedge funds using the stock of a troubled video-game store. But the revolt of online stock-traders suggests much more. The internet is shifting society’s balance of power in unanticipated ways. In the world of pseudonymous internet message boards, pranks-gone-wild and logic turned upside down amid a global pandemic, revolts come in all shapes, sizes and aims. Last week they gave us the Great GameStop Stock Uprising. Who knows what this week will bring. “The internet can democratize access, upsetting power dynamics between the people and traditional institutions,” tweeted Tiffany C. Li, a law professor and tech attorney focusing on privacy and technology platform governance. With GameStop, she added in an interview Friday, the goal was to upset the interests of a few large hedge funds. “But in other places the goal can be more nefarious. Online spaces are being used to radicalize people toward extremism, to plan hate crimes and attacks,” she said. “The internet isn’t really the villain or the hero.”

Pandemic Pushes More Parents to Go All-In for Home Schooling (WSJ) As parents grow increasingly frustrated with remote learning during the pandemic, some are deciding to pull their children out of school and try teaching on their own. In North Carolina, the state’s home-school monitoring website crashed on the first day of enrollment, and more than 18,800 families filed to operate a home-school from July 1 to Jan. 22—more than double the school-year before, according to the state Division of Non-Public Education. In Connecticut, the number of students who left public schools to be home-schooled jumped fivefold this school year, to 3,500. In Nebraska, the number of home-schooled students jumped 56%, to 13,426, according to state education officials. “The vast majority [of parents] are saying, ‘We’ve been really trying to do what the schools are asking us to do, but we just can’t do this anymore,’ “ said J. Allen Weston, executive director of the National Home School Association, which has been fielding inquiries on the topic. Vanderbilt University’s Joseph Murphy, who studies home schooling, said “We are in a major shift from how we thought about teaching children and running schools for 100 years. Parents have shifted to the place where they feel they need more direct involvement and greater responsibility for what happens with their children.”

Vaccine skepticism lurks in town famous for syphilis study (AP) Lucenia Dunn spent the early days of the coronavirus pandemic encouraging people to wear masks and keep a safe distance from each other in Tuskegee, a mostly Black city where the government once used unsuspecting African American men as guinea pigs in a study of a sexually transmitted disease. Now, the onetime mayor of the town immortalized as the home of the infamous “Tuskegee syphilis study” is wary of getting inoculated against COVID-19. Among other things, she’s suspicious of the government promoting a vaccine that was developed in record time when it can’t seem to conduct adequate virus testing or consistently provide quality rural health care. “I’m not doing this vaccine right now. That doesn’t mean I’m never going to do it. But I know enough to withhold getting it until we see all that is involved,” said Dunn, who is Black. The coronavirus immunization campaign is off to a shaky start in Tuskegee and other parts of Macon County. Area leaders point to a resistance among residents spurred by a distrust of government promises and decades of failed health programs. Tuskegee is not a complete outlier. A recent survey conducted by the communications firm Edelman revealed that as of November, only 59% of people in the U.S. were willing to get vaccinated within a year with just 33% happy to do so as soon as possible. Health experts have stressed both the vaccines’ safety and efficacy.

As Biden prays for healing, Catholics clash over president’s faith (GMA) On his quest to heal a divided America, Joe Biden may first have to confront bitter division over his presidency from within his own church. Since his inauguration two weeks ago as the nation’s second Catholic president, Biden’s devout Christian faith has become a new flashpoint within the church. While millions of Catholics have celebrated the ascension of one of their own to the White House, some have been publicly questioning whether Biden should be considered a model of their faith. Many Catholic clergy and faithful are passionately fixated on Biden’s support for abortion rights, which the church staunchly opposes and considers an issue of “preeminent” importance. Biden opposes abortion as a personal matter, but wrote in his 2007 memoir that he doesn’t “have a right to impose my view on the rest of society.” One in five Americans identifies as Roman Catholic, the largest Christian denomination in the U.S., according to Pew Research Center. While the faithful have long been divided in matters of theology and politics, Catholic values aren’t exclusively red or blue.

Russia Protesters Defy Vast Police Operation as Signs of Kremlin Anxiety Mount (NYT) The Kremlin mounted Russia’s most fearsome nationwide police operation in recent memory on Sunday, seeking to overwhelm a protest movement backing the jailed opposition leader Aleksei A. Navalny that swept across the country for a second weekend in a row. But the show of force—including closed subway stations, thousands of arrests and often brutal tactics—failed to smother the unrest. By late Sunday evening in Moscow, more than 5,000 people had been detained in at least 85 cities across Russia, an activist group reported, though many were later released. Previously unseen numbers of riot police officers in black helmets, camouflage and body armor essentially locked down the center of the metropolis of 13 million people, stopping passers-by miles from the protest to check their documents and ask what they were doing outside. “I don’t understand what they’re afraid of,” a protester named Anastasia Kuzmina, a 25-year-old account manager at an advertising agency, said of the police. Referring to the peak year of Stalin’s mass repression, she added, “It’s like we’re slipping into 1937.” The large-scale police response signaled anxiety in the Kremlin over Mr. Navalny’s ability to unite Russia’s disparate critics of President Vladimir V. Putin, from nationalists to liberals to many with no particular ideology at all.

In Myanmar coup, Suu Kyi’s ouster heralds return to military rule (Washington Post) Aung San Suu Kyi defended Myanmar’s generals against genocide charges at The Hague. She praised soldiers as they unleashed artillery against ethnic minority settlements. She took only modest steps toward democratic changes that would chip away at the army’s political power. It wasn’t enough. On Monday, Myanmar’s military seized power in a coup, detaining Suu Kyi, elected ministers from her National League for Democracy (NLD) party and others in a predawn raid. Though condemned internationally for defending the military and its campaign against the Rohingya minority, the Nobel Peace Prize laureate who spent 15 years under house arrest until 2010 now finds herself again at the generals’ mercy. The coup underscored the fragility of Myanmar’s decade-old, quasi-democratic transition that many assumed, despite imperfections, would continue with Suu Kyi as head of the civilian government and still-entrenched powers for the military, led by Min Aung Hlaing. But the military was never comfortable with its enduring unpopularity and Suu Kyi’s godlike status among ordinary Burmese, analysts said, despite its role in engineering the country’s opening after half a century of isolationist rule.

Survivors of Beirut’s explosion endure psychological scars (AP) Joana Dagher lay unconscious and hemorrhaging under a pile of rubble in her apartment after the massive Beirut port blast in August, on the brink of death. She survived because of the courage of her husband who got her out, the kindness of a stranger who transported her in his damaged car and the help of her sisters during the chaos at the overwhelmed hospital. But Dagher doesn’t remember any of that: The 33-year-old mother of two lost her memory for two full months from the trauma she suffered in the explosion, including a cerebral contusion and brain lesions. “I lost my life on August 4,” Dagher said. “I lost my house, I lost my memory, I lost two friends,” she added, referring to neighbors killed in the explosion. “I lost my mental health, and so I lost everything.” The Beirut explosion, which killed more than 200 people and injured more than 6,000, caused wounds on an even wider scale on the mental health of those who lived through it. Even in a country that has seen many wars and bombings, never had so many people—tens of thousands—directly experienced the same traumatizing event at the same time. It came on top of the stress that Lebanese were already feeling from multiple crises, including an unprecedented economic meltdown, the coronavirus pandemic and a feeling of helplessness after nationwide protests against corruption that failed to achieve their goals. “There are very high levels of anxiety and worry across the population,” said Mia Atwi, psychologist and president of Embrace, an organization working on mental health awareness and support. “There is a low mood bordering on clinical depression for the majority of the population.”

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