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everlastingdreams · 5 months

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The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 26

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Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: Secrets Of The Heart

Notes: 👀

Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +190K

Chapter: 26/ It’s a secret.

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Once you were done washing, and dressed in clean clothes, you felt a little more human. That such a small thing could lift your spirits was surprising. You left your room to search for the little rascal you had been hoping to see. It took a while to find Squirrel, but you did find him, and your cousin as well, in the kitchens.

Ciro ran up to you at first sight and flung himself into your arms when you knelt down. “You’re really back!”

The joy of him filled your heart. “I am.” You leaned back to look at him “Phew, you’re getting stronger, aren’t you?”

Ciro gestured to Squirrel. “He’s teaching me how to use a bow, it’s making my muscles grow, look!”

He tensed the muscles of his upper arm, as if he was lifting something heavy. Even though you saw no change, you did not tell him this and were proud of him none the less. “Impressive.”

Squirrel stood a bit to the side, clearly waiting for you to call him over and for Ciro to step away a bit. Your cousin did so upon seeing the inquiring look of Squirrel. You opened your arms wide for Squirrel who took the invitation right away, they closed around around him lovingly.

“I have missed you.” You whispered against his hair.

Squirrel swallowed, a tear ran it’s path down his cheek. “I’ve missed you too…”

You could hear the crack in his voice and cradled the back of his head, “I am never leaving you again, do you hear me?” You leaned back to look him in the eyes. “Never.”

“Swear it.” Squirrel demanded.

The look in his eyes made it impossible to refuse. “I swear it.”

With another embrace, the promise was sealed.

Squirrel noticed the bruise to your temple. “Did the Brotherhood hurt you?”

Your mother would not have told him the details of it.

“Not much.” You lied to not alarm the already worried boy. “And in return we burned their fort to the ground.”

Squirrel and Ciro shared an excited look, and right there and then you knew that you wouldn’t be able to leave the kitchen without telling them the whole story. And you did. Ciro considered it one of the better tales he knew of know. Your storytelling came to an end when the children were offered a bowl of soup by the older ladies that were cooking there. You politely declined when they offered you a bowl as well, and left the kitchen.

On your way to find the Ash Man, you ran into Matthew.

“How are you?” He asked. “That can’t have been easy to face your father like that.”

You shrugged your shoulders slightly. “I’ll be better once things settle down after a while.”

“So, the Reaper, eh?” He let a silence fall in the hope that you would start talking about it yourself, but you did not. “That sick bastard. Who would have thought he’d have such plans in that twisted skull of his?”

Matthew was visibly repulsed by the thought.

Remembering it made you feel sick to the stomach as well. “I’d rather just forget everything about his plans.”

“Of course you do. Understandably so. " He put his hand on your shoulder. “Will you come to the celebration tonight? There will be ale and food brought to the courtyard for all. It will take your mind off what happened.”

You doubted ale and a meal would be of much help for that. “I’m not sure I wish to feast.”

He took a step closer, letting those amber eyes achieve what his pleas could not, “Please, y/n? It has been so long since we were able to spend some time together.”

You sighed defeated. “Alright. I’ll make an appearance.”

A broad smile spread on his lips. “Excellent.”

One of the Snake Folk clan entered the hallway you were in, her hurried steps made Matthew step away from you.

“Ser Matthew, may I speak to you for a moment?” She asked.

“Of course.” Matthew said, then turned to you. “I will see you tonight.”

“Good. Uhm, do you know where Lancelot is?” You asked before you’d have to search the whole castle ground.

Matthew’s smile faltered. “I believe he is at the stables.”

It was all he said before he walked towards the woman to hear what she had to say. He could not have made it more obvious that he did not like Lancelot, you hoped that it would change in time.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

It only took you a few minutes to walk to the stables, and you found Lancelot busy pampering Goliath by brushing his coat with some dry straw.

The slight tilt of his head to the side made it known to you that he had caught your scent before you’d even set foot in the door, he did not even need to turn around to know it was you.

“I apologize for earlier. I will knock from now on.” He said.

You weren’t even angry for it, it had not been on purpose. “I know you wouldn’t walk into a room I am changing in on purpose. We’re good, you are forgiven.”

As you came to stand beside him and greet Goliath, you noticed how he kept his attention on the horse and even took a small step away from you. It was so subtle that you could have missed it, but you hadn’t and it was clawing at you.

You wanted to start a conversation to distract yourself from that gnawing feeling, “How did you find my room?”

“By finding you.” He said.

It took you two counts to remember again that he was able to sniff his way around. “I see. Did anyone else see you walk in there?”

It had become so natural to just walk into any room the other was in, but this was different.

A frown creased his forehead, “I do not believe so. Why?”

It was quite winsome how innocent his mind could still be. “Because rumors have been born from less. You just waltzed into my bedchamber, Lancelot. My parents would lose their minds if they saw.”

He mumbled a bit, it was meant as a jest but the undertone betrayed some genuineness, “They can’t have their daughter be involved with the former Weeping Monk.”

You rolled your eyes a little. “It’s not about your past, Lancelot. Remember that I told you that my father kept me away from boys as much as he could? To them, I am still their ‘Little Moon’.”

“Little moon?” He found it a curious name.

“It comes from a secret we as Dawn Folk have.” You carefully said.

The attention left Goliath, the brushing of the horse’s coat continued absentmindedly, “Will you share this secret with me?”

You tsked him, “Don’t be nosy, Ash Man.”

He just kept looking at you, undoubtedly wishing he could read your mind.

At first you tried to ignore it, and when that didn’t work, you stared right back.

His curiosity was strong, “Please?”

It was rare for this secret to be shared to other Fey. “If I tell you, you can’t tell another soul.”

He thought you weren’t serious, but the look in your eyes made him understand that you were, “I swear it.”

The secret spilled from your lips, “Dawn Folk can only conceive on nights with a full moon.”

Little Moon… Because you were the result of an amorous encounter during a blue moon.

He blinked a few times. “Oh.”

“And the Reaper knew this secret. It was why he-” An involuntary shiver went through you. “Ugh.”

He saw you shiver at the memory. “He is nothing but ashes now, he is not on your skin and he will never be again. There is only you.”

Hearing it brought some comfort, every time you thought back to the horrible moment, you felt his hand linger on your skin. You could not let the Reaper hold this power over you, he was ashes and you were still burning with life.

With a deep breath, you took Lancelot’s advice to heart and felt your mouth curve into a soft smile just for him. “I’m glad I didn’t let you die.”

A chuckle passed his lips. “Likewise.”

You almost rolled your eyes again, but then you noticed the changes in his attire and the small one in his appearance. He must have been grooming his stubble meticulously again, it had grown a bit whilst you had been held captive, he had clearly reversed that change. The ruined clothes were gone as well, the aketon was traded for a dark brown leather jerkin and he wore a pale grey shirt under it. All that had not changed was the weapons he had on him.

This was good, he deserved to be treated well.

You reached to touch the new sleeve of his shirt and saw him lean back. That small response gave you great worry, had you done something that made him uncomfortable? You decided to just ask and kept your tone light, “Have I done something wrong?”

It greatly confused him,“No. Why do you ask?”

No?

Then why did he seem afraid of you touching him all of a sudden?

You chased the truth out of him. “I just feel like you seem a bit uncomfortable. And you did rush out of my room so quickly earlier.”

His gaze fell to the ground for a moment, then lifted to your face. “I am not uncomfortable.”

You could tell that there was something being left unsaid. Slowly, you reached for him again and chose to touch nothing else but his cloak. He did not move away when you gingerly waved your fingers in the fabric. With a look shared, you wanted to let him know that you meant no harm. The opposite happened this time, he turned his body in such a way that it closed some distance between you.

“The cloak is new, isn’t it?” You failed to fight away the intrusive thought entering your mind and stunned him when you leaned in to smell the cloak.

He was surprised by the action, but not alarmed.

Your mind caught up with you and the sudden embarrassment hit. “Uhm… gods…sorry…”

His surprise turned into a smile so charming that it got you flustered at the sight of it, “Are you sure you are Dawn Folk, and not Ash Folk?”

The response he had to your strange action was so positive that it made you think that the Ash Folk must have once seen this as a common occurrence.

You wanted to take a step away, before he’d grow uncomfortable after all.

He was the one that prevented it by putting his hand on the back of your arm, “What do I smell like to you?”

The genuine curiosity coming from him was what saved you from feeling awkward.

“I don’t know.” You blurted out.

His head tilted to the side a bit, he did not believe you, “Tell me?”

You were fidgeting. “You smell like the forest. Like the warmth of a bonfire, if that makes sense.”

The answer seemed to please him, as if he didn’t expect you to actually tell him.

It made you recall when you had asked him the same question and got a rude answer in return. “The last time I asked you what I smelled like, you said I smelled strange.”

He had not forgotten the ill response. “You did, because I had never smelled one of the Dawn Folk before.”

Alright, that sounded like a plausible reason.

You dared to ask him again and hoped for an honest answer, “What do I smell like to you?”

The boldness he displayed, when closing the small space between you and dipping his head down to your neck, had you lost for words. His nose never touched your skin as it followed the curve of your neck up to your jaw, the only thing that did was his breath. A tremble in your legs began and spread to the rest of your body, you tried to hide it.

He was able to answer your question now, “The night’s air after rain.”

The scent was how he imagined freedom would smell like.

The hot flush you felt crawling up your cheeks made you tilt your head down. Was this the Hidden’s doing? Or was this… him?

A small touch to your arm was his way of pulling your attention to him again. He was watching you curiously, every small detail of your expression was caught by his gaze, like he was reading a book.

“So, not ‘strange’ then?” You managed to form a sentence.

“No.” His voice had lowered.

Taking a step back would have freed you from the influence his presence had on you now, if only your mind was convincing enough to make your feet move. “The celebration tonight, uhm… will you make an appearance? After all, you did kill the Reaper and gave the reason for this feast.”

Was that an invite to accompany you?

He thought it better to keep his presence discreet. “I think it is best If I stay in the room I was given tonight.”

You wanted to change his mind. “But-”

He explained his reasoning, “I will not jeopardize the chance I was given here. There will be other days in the future where I can be part of a feast. For now, I am content to be where you and the boy are.”

Maybe the people weren’t ready for him yet, or perhaps he was not ready for the people…

You would not push him further. “I will put one of my books in your room, you’ll have something to read at least.”

He hummed approvingly. “That would be kind.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat was what finally made your feet decide to step away from him.

Mirena was standing by the doors and looking between you and the Ash Man for a moment, then spoke to you, “There you are. I was wondering if you wanted to prepare for the feast with me? Like we used to.”

She was speaking of the days when you were younger and smaller, and stealing her gowns that never suited you whenever there was as much as a rumor of a celebration or joining. Of course she did not mind and let you play freely, and when you got older the dresses made for adults finally began to fit. There were many times where you would spend time helping each other look immaculate for special occasions. But it had been so long ago, and trousers offered an advantage in many situations.

“Mother, I’ve not worn a dress in years.” You chuckled nervously.

And you had just put on fresh clean clothes…

Her smile faltered a little. “Of course, I understand.”

Seeing her response made you realize that maybe she just wanted to relive a memory with her ‘Little Moon’.

Even Lancelot was looking at you to see if you had seen your mother’s heart crack a little.

Before she could walk away, you hurried after her. “Wait! I- uhm… I don’t know if my old dresses still fit me. It’s been so long.”

Mirena had taken that into account, “Oh! Worry not, Sweetling. I have something for you.”

Ah, of course she would have something up her sleeve for you to wear.

The enthusiasm was dripping from her face as she took you by the arm and walked away with you.

When you looked over your shoulder, you saw Lancelot send you a sympathetic look.

Like you didn’t know he would laugh later if he saw you in a dress…

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What began as something to please your mother, ended up being a memory to cherish. After Mirena insisted on using her magic to heal you, the bruises had vanished from your skin. She was pleased with the result until she noticed the scars on your back while you were changing into the dress.

Even though the Dawn Folk could not heal scars, she still wanted to try but you refused to let her use any more of her energy. While she helped you put the dress on correctly, considering you had began with putting it on backwards, you told her where the scars came from.

Unlike your father, she always patiently let you tell your story, even when tears were in her eyes. When you saw them, you had wrapped your arms around her. You were her Little Moon, but she was the world to you.

And she was the only person in the world who could make you want to wear a dress.

She had given you a new one, the linen had your favorite color and the neckline was more revealing than what you were used to.

One look in the mirror of your room and you had to admit that perhaps gowns did suit you after all. The dress was simple, but it fitted your form and flattered your curves.

You would never forget the look your mother gave you when you decided to just wear your belt and sword with it. She got you in the dress, she had won her battle and chose not to fight that one. After all, her daughter was a fighter at heart.

Whilst you were viewing yourself in the mirror, a knock sounded at the door.

Mirena called out and young Squirrel waltzed into the room, she must have taught him to knock…

He was stunned to see you now, “I thought you never wore dresses?”

It made you self-conscious about the dress. “I haven’t worn one in a long time.” You made a small slow turn while asking, “What do you think? Should I wear it for tonight?”

Squirrel pursed his lips for a beat, then nodded with approval. “It’s nice.”

Nice? It was as close to a compliment this cheeky child would probably get.

Your confidence returned. “Good. Good…”

He came closer. “I saw there is ale being given out in the courtyard. Can I have some? I tried asking but the other knights won’t let me.”

Mirena looked at him incredulous. “Young man, you are too young to be drinking ale.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from letting out a chuckle.

“Y/n?” Squirrel whined.

Oh, you hated to disappoint him. “I’m sorry, Squirrel. Mother is right. But I’ll tell you what, I won’t drink ale either.”

“Really?” He sounded surprised and doubtful.

“I swear it.” You said.

Squirrel felt less excluded now.

Mirena walked over to the boy. “Come, there must be something else you would love to eat and drink.”

Squirrel followed her as she walked out of your room. You took one last look in the mirror, then plucked the book you had set aside for Lancelot from your bed. It was a small walk to the room he had been given, you placed the book against the closed door knowing he would find it there.

Your walk continued for a while, the doors of the fort were open and the sound of a violin welcomed you into the courtyard. From what you could see, a lot of people were present and even the gate was open to welcome those of the village.

A warm large bonfire gave the courtyard a mystical appearance now that the sun left the land in the hands of the moon.

You spotted Squirrel and your mother while she was helping him and Ciro acquire the food they desired.

No ale is what you had promised, and after some searching you found one of the village offering warm sweet tea to those who sought something to drink.

Some villagers had not come empty handed, it made the night even more meaningful to see that even in these hard times the Fey were not afraid to share.

It gave you hope to see it.

You stayed away from the dense crowd and kept to the walls, just enjoying the atmosphere. The news of the Reaper’s death, and the one who caused it, traveled through the castle.

Matthew found you close to the gatehouse and came to stand beside you. “You came.”

“I knew it would make my mother happy.” You informed him.

He was as charming as could be. “Not just your mother, I’m happy to see you here too. And by the gods, you look beautiful tonight.”

Had you heard him right?

“What?” You blurted out shyly.

Matthew had no problem repeating it a little slower, “You look beautiful tonight.”

You blinked a couple of times and took a sip of your tea to wash the nerves down. “Thank you.”

He looked around himself, “Your shadow isn’t with you tonight?”

You looked at the ground and found your shadow, “My shadow?”

“The Ash Man.” He clarified. “I have not seen him tonight yet.”

The knowledge that Lancelot had decided to remain in his room tonight did sadden you, even if you understood why. You couldn’t help but pout a bit. “He thought it was better to stay in the castle.”

He sounded almost happy about it, “A wise choice, considering his past.”

It bothered you to hear that he was glad Lancelot wasn’t here to celebrate, but you couldn’t truly blame Matthew for not trusting him yet.

Matthew voiced his opinion, “I had my suspicion that he was off the Church, but I can’t believe you brought the Weeping Monk himself here. Why didn’t you tell me when I met him?”

To you it had been the right choice. “I didn’t know if I could trust you to keep it a secret, it’s not a small one to keep.”

He took it personal. “You trust the Weeping Monk, but you don’t trust me to keep a secret?”

It was hard not to get a little defensive. “He’s not the Weeping Monk anymore. His name is Lancelot.”

“Fine…” Matthew yielded. “Helio nearly lost his mind when he learned that the Monk had fled and taken his daughter with him.”

After all these years, you never thought that he could get on your nerves but you remained patient. “He didn’t take me with him. I only helped him escape, we didn’t expect to be captured by the Brotherhood.”

“You helped him escape.” He chuckled. “I am impressed with how much you have changed. You used to be quite shy, you know? And now your freeing prisoners.”

It was nice to hear he liked the change in you. “I guess I just stopped hiding who I really am.”

Because the people who mattered most had accepted you just as you were.

“That you did.” He turned to you, bringing his hand up to your shoulder where it grew brave enough to take place on the bare skin. “I hope to see more of this other side to you.”

You turned your head to look at his hand, he seized the moment to kiss your cheek and linger. It was so unexpected that you could barely believe it was happening.

Matthew heard his name be called from the crowd and politely excused himself before he headed to the man who had called for him.

You watched him walk away in bewilderment, the melancholic whispers of the Hidden sounded like they came from behind you and you turned to look.

It was just a group of Feys walking through the open gate into the courtyard, nothing odd to see. And still… the Hidden had lured your eyes to look. You kept looking at the gate for a moment and drank your tea at a snail’s pace while your thoughts were elsewhere.

Never before had Matthew acted flirtatious to you, not like this, he meant it now.

But deep down it bothered you that he had never done so in the past, while you had been so obviously infatuated with him that you almost felt embarrassed to think back to it. He had broken your heart when he had carefully rejected you.

And now he had complimented you and kissed your cheek, but… it had not been like you had thought it would be.

Were those books, who spoke of romance, wrong? Was a kiss by the one you loved not meant to fill your heart with joy? To make you forget how to breathe properly?

You walked away from the gatehouse and watched those around you enjoy the feast. A woman, who played the flute, had joined the violist. The Fey welcomed this evening with open arms, some music and relaxation would surely lift their spirits. Your cousin and Squirrel were munching on some pastries when you came to stand by your mother’s side. Right away she fumbled with a side of your dress that must have looked imperfect to her. You resisted the urge to swat her hand away when you saw others stare at the display curiously. Of course Squirrel and Ciro found it hilarious to see.

“Mother, please.” You tried.

She didn’t listen and only stopped when the dress fell over your form perfectly. As you looked around yourself, you saw your father speak to Matthew, and they were looking at you.

“Are they talking about me?” You couldn’t resisted asking your mother.

Mirena had already noticed the conversation her husband was having with the newest knight. “I do not know. Do not worry, Little Moon, ignore your father.”

You heard her mumble ‘like you always do’ between her teeth.

She was right, you didn’t want to ruin your good mood by worrying. Instead you stayed with her to help keep the children entertained.

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It was past midnight when the feast came to an end. The tired villagers returned home and most of those living in the castle had gone inside. You stayed out a bit longer, cleaning up the courtyard a little. With a basket carried at your hip, you tossed the rubbish into it. After that was done, a woman still present took over and shoo-ed you away. You thanked her and and decided to stay out in the open air a bit longer.

You walked away from the fort and passed under the gate, the view of the coast and sea in the distance was spectacular from the hilltop.

The trunk of a fallen tree on the grass offered a nice place to sit. The nice cool breeze of wind passed through your dress easily, it wasn’t too cold yet for fall. Because of the leaves rustling over the grass in the wind, you had not heard the footsteps approach. It was the sudden touch to you left shoulder that alerted you, you jolted a little and quickly looked behind you. A glimpse of his cloak was the first thing you saw, next you felt the touch against your back as it glided to your right arm.

“Lancelot?” You were glad to see him, he must have waited until the feast was over to set foot outside tonight.

He put his hand on your right shoulder and left it there until he sat down beside you, when it moved away it did so by gliding down the back of your arm.

Curiously you watched him, the hood of his cloak sat crooked over his head and you couldn’t resist readjusting it for him. “I’m afraid you missed the feast.”

Finally, he looked at you, hearing your teasing tone.

There was a faint scent of ale coming off of him. Was he drunk? You could not really tell, you’d never seen him so. And he did not seem like the kind of person to drink much or at all, perhaps little was needed to cause the same effect on a person who lived a sober life.

You fidgeted with your hands at his silence, they had touched so many over these past few months, too many. Lancelot placed a hand over them, then chose one and let his fingers glide against your palm to hold it. Your hand was still as a rock, feeling the pads of his fingers lightly push into it.

This felt so foreign, the way he just gently held your hand. Such a small gesture and it made you unable to look at him. It took you near a minute to decide to close your hand around his fingers a bit, a signal that you were not against this.

His knee touched yours, he moved to sit a little closer. Step by step, he bend the line that had always been there between you. It wasn’t until he quietly spoke your name that you looked at him again.

The hold on your hand got firmer but never painful. Those blue eyes stayed on yours for only a blink, their attention fell lower. It almost caught you off-guard when he leaned in, quickly you turned your head away to avoid what was about to happen. His stubble had skimmed over your cheek, and he remained so near.

“Don’t.” You couldn’t believe the situation you found yourself in. “You are drunk, you’re not yourself.”

He cupped the right side of your neck slowly, as if he was handling a frightened bird, his nose buried into your hair. Even now, when he was not himself, you still trusted that he would not hurt you.

“I cannot lose you.” He sounded distressed, the ale did not help it make sense. “Not you…”

You plucked his hand from your neck and leaned back, getting worried by his words, “You won’t. Why would you think that?”

The hand you had used to pluck his away, was held by him again, he was desperate to keep the physical connection. His other hand came up to your chin, and you froze when his thumb touched your bottom lip. You caught yourself wishing there was no ale in his body, but there was and it was overriding the inhibitions he had always had.

The intoxicated Ash Man gave you another surprise when he decided to lean in and put his lips to your temple. The whispers of the old gods were calm, and assured you that there was nothing to fear. He lingered, and you could not pretend that you did not feel your heart increase it’s rhythm.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the gentle caress of his hand on your jaw caused a tremble. “Lancelot…”

His voice was unlike you had ever heard before, deep and filled with conviction, “Cor meum jungatur vobis. Inquietum est donec perveniat ad te. Est tuum.”

You did not understand what he was saying, Latin was not a language the Fey chose to learn, it was considered the language of the Church. It had sounded quite like a prayer he whispered in your ear.

“I do not understand.” You gently told him.

His nose touched your temple. “One day, you will.”

The sound of a ceramic jug breaking sounded from the courtyard and you were on your feet instantly, it betrayed how the nerves were flying through your body. You could faintly make out the voices of Squirrel and Ciro and didn’t have to guess what they were up to. Lancelot dropped his eyes to the grass when you looked down at them. You tried not to think too much of what had almost happened between you and him just now, he was drunk and not making much sense, especially when he started to talk in the odd language.

“I think Squirrel and my cousin are trying to carry off some ale that was still in the courtyard.” You told him, seeing how he looked pretty distracted. “I can help you to your room?”

He shook his head and rose to his feet.

You were a bit worried by the way he swayed on his feet a bit, “Are you sure?”

With a gesture of his hand, he let you know that he’d be alright and walked back towards the fort. You followed a few steps behind the stubborn oaf, spotting the children in the courtyard while he managed to find his way to the door of the entrance.

Just then, your mother opened it, undoubtedly to see where the little rascals had vanished off to. She almost bumped into the Ash Man and stepped aside to let him pass, he acknowledged it with a bow of his head. Mirena made eye-contact with you, having seen the state he was in. One look from you and she knew it was best to see to it that he found his room safely while you handled the situation with the children.

You would need to have a word with him about what happened tomorrow.

Had it just been the ale? Would it truly cause a former monk to try and kiss a woman?

It had to be. Still, it was no proper excuse for it.

You looked around the courtyard for Squirrel and Ciro, finally finding them hiding behind a stack of barrels.

A broken jug of ale laid shattered on the ground not far from them.

“Well then. Must I ask?” You tapped your fingers on one of the barrels.

They looked up at you like they had seen a ghost.

“We… found the jug and wanted to bring it back to the kitchen.” Ciro tried.

Impressive, he almost sounded honest, Squirrel’s talent for deceiving must have been rubbing off on him.

“You wanted to bring it back. Full or empty?” You shot the question at them.

Ciro looked a lot less confident now, but Squirrel was thinking fast.

“Full, of course. We wouldn’t drink ale, we’re too young.” Squirrel sounded like he was explaining it to an infant.

“Uhuh.” You bit your tongue, choosing not to battle on this because you knew you might not even win against the witty child. “Good. I am glad we understand each other. Come, let us head inside. You should have been in bed by now, you won’t be well-rested tomorrow.”

They were already relieved that you ‘believed’ the lie, and did not put up a fight when you walked them to the room they shared.

From the looks of it, your mother had made sure Squirrel had a proper bed too. She always went the extra mile for the little ones. Fatigue gripped hold on them at the sight of their beds, and they slumped towards them. Ciro sat down and crawled into his bed, tucking himself in with the sheet properly. Squirrel on the other hand impressed you by letting himself fall flat down on the bed and managing to be comfortable that way. After bidding them goodnight, you left their room and headed to yours.

On your way, you passed by Lancelot’s door and saw that the book you had placed against his door was gone, he must have found it quite quickly considering your scent must have been on it. There was a brief second were you wanted to knock, to get the reason behind him trying to kiss you. But tonight you would not get the truth, not when he was like this.

No, you would have to let this haunt you until tomorrow when you could get a coherent sentence out of him. You walked away from his door and headed to your own room. On your way there, you couldn’t help but overthink the situation. It was upsetting, especially because you hadn’t seen it coming, not from him.

No warning, no explanation.

And he had even tried to speak to you in the language the Fey frowned upon, which made even less sense. What was so hard to just tell you that he had to resort to it?

Now you would have to try to sleep with all these questions bothering you, while the ale in his system would surely get him to sleep. By the time you were in your room, it bothered you so much that you slammed the door shut behind you a little, not caring who it woke in your hallway.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

As every soul on the castle was presumed to be asleep, in the shadow cloaked hallways the Ash Man found his way to your chambers.

No amount of ale could stop the scent of you from being found by him, even the old gods offered him their aid for it. Bound together, by destiny and soul. Upon arriving at your door, the spark of courage left him.

A drunken apology could make matters worse…

He turned upon catching the Fey scent coming from behind him. A man that he could identify as one of the knights stood at a distance, watching him, waiting to see if he would cross a line. Your father had commanded them to keep an eye on him, and they were only following that order.

After being so graciously offered sanctuary, he had done this…

Shame and guilt settled inside of him. He thought back to the moment Mirena had struck him, and why. After everything, even when he thought he was becoming a better man, he had behaved selfishly.

He stepped away from the door, leaving the watchful knight without a reason to believe that you would be disturbed at night by him. He would not taint your reputation, not after risking it for his sake before.

The Ash Man returned to his own sleeping quarters quietly, which proved a challenge as the ale was starting to get the upper hand on his legs again.

But he made it.

A night’s rest would bring him no solace after today. He had seen the interaction between you and Matthew as he was walking near the gatehouse to come and join you at the feast for a while. Patiently he had waited in the discretion of his cloak and the shadows, refusing to be rude and interrupt the conversation you had with the knight.

Now he wished that he had, so he would not have had to see you be courted by the man.

To see it, hurt more than all the prayers left unanswered in his life. The sight of it, worse than the dagger he had taken to the heart. He had tasted the ale at the feast to wash down the bitter taste of the memory. How had he not seen this earlier? That the one he trusted most, was the one who could hurt him so?

It was not your fault, he knew this. He was the fool who had placed his heart into hands that did not even knew they were holding it. And until tonight, he had not known it either until it was shattered.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten @the-great-adventures-of-me @linkpk88 @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks @slytherlight @beananacake @crystallizedtime @moonlightaura03 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart @5am-cigarette @arcanenature @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream @coloursforyourportrait @koressecretidentity @nike90 @n1ghtlux @rachlovesactors @luckyzipperscissorsbat @morena-doing-stuff @the-fangirl-diaries @gipsydanger17 @heavenly1927 @phantasmalbeiing @labyrinthonmymind @asarcastic-thiamstan @rainyv-skies @kissingandromeda @stclairesplace @katjusja @isla-bell-blog @beebeerockknot

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story.

#the weeping monk #weeping monk #cursed netflix #cursed #weeping monk x reader #lancelot x reader #weeping monk x you #cursed lancelot #lancelot #the weeping monk x reader #daniel sharman character #daniel sharman

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roadtogracelandx45 · 5 months

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Paradise Undone| 1| S. McGarrett

Summary: Gracie isn’t the only reason why Danny Williams relocated to Hawaii, his youngest sister Emily is a nurse in the navy and is stationed at Pearl Harbor and is in an on again off again fling with Steven McGarrett.

His new partner. And Danny is dead set on keeping them apart as much as he wanted his sister happy, the last person he wanted her to be with was Steve McGarrett

@prettyinpayne @marycorleone

This wasn’t the first time that Emily Williams had been asked to come see her brother Danny, a police detective first with the New York Police department and now with the Honolulu police department, to patch him up and it wouldn’t be the last but this was the first time that the man she had been sleeping with on and off with was sitting on the rolling chair next to the desk. “Shit.” She cursed herself before she stepped into the office, “Danno? What did you do now?” Danny, who had been lecturing Steve, paused and smiled seeing her. “It was all him Em.” Emily finally met Steve’s dark eyes and was glad to see the surprise in them. The last time they had seen each other, they had been in Japan and she was getting ready to ship back out to the states.

“And who is he?”

Danny was oblivious to the uneasy stare between the two, he was eager to start another long bitching session about his new partner and his sister usually listened. “Steve McGarrett.” Danny asked as she started looking at the wound on his shoulder.

“As in the McGarrett case?” She glanced over at Steve who was putting two and two together, Emily had told him stories about her siblings, especially her stuffy older brother.

“Yeah. He got me shot Em? Can you believe that?” The older Williams sibling questioned turning his head to watch his sister work.

“Not really, you got held hostage before, and had to have knee surgery after that case with Libby went wrong. So this doesn’t surprise me at all.” She answered, “didn’t you have the paramedics look at this?” “Why? When I have a nurse on speed dial?” Danny asked, “Em here is in the navy too but her contract is up soon.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve asked, folding his arms, eyes never leaving the siblings, curious. Emily was the exact opposite of his new partner, she had always been quick to laugh and enjoy herself while Danny wasn't that.

“Supposedly she wants to stay. God knows why.”

“Three things Danno, beach, warm weather and you and Gracie.” Emily paused as she opened an alcohol wipe, “and there is no Clara,” Clara was their mother who along with their two sisters Bridgett and Stella were very interested in when Emily was going to settle down and have kids.

“That is our mother.” Danny started before wincing when she dug her gloved thumb into the wound in annoyance . “I know that Daniel but she doesn’t harp on you. “When are you going to have kids Emily? You are such a young and pretty girl.”

Unable to help himself Steve coughed out a laugh, he had heard that impression one too many times which caused Emily to laugh. “Do you two know each other?” Danny asked after a heartbeat, “you can’t know each other.”

“We know each other.” They both answered.

“No, no Emily! Wait, this isn’t the guy you shacked up with in Cuba is it?” Emily pressed her lips together in a tight line so she wouldn’t start laughing outright.

“Emily Anne! Tell me the truth.”

“No comment.” she risked a glance over to Steve who was studying her every movement. “Do you need me to pick up Gracie after school?” Being able to have a relationship with her niece was part of the reason why she jumped on being stationed at Pearl Harbor.

“Emily! Tell me the truth.” Danny had glossed over her question like she had expected him too and he was furious. Like Matthew, their brother, he was fiercely over protective of Emily and their other sisters.

“Yes, okay?” she snapped back as she started bandaging the wound. “But you have no room to talk, Daniel. You are the one who ended up marrying someone you pulled over.” Another quiet laugh escaped Steve, he had heard all about her brother’s ex-wife after she found out that she had filed for divorce causing a smile to twitch on the corner of her mouth. “You told a total stranger about my personal life?”

The younger Williams sibling smiled then, “Well yeah, he's a good listener and I had to have someone to talk to. And I was not going to use the satellite phone to call Clara.”

Groaning Danny dropped his chin to his chest, “You two are going to put me in an early grave.”

“Don't be so dramatic Danny.” Emily rolled her eyes, “We both know that it will be Rachel and step Stan.”

“Step Stan?” Steve stepped in, unable to help himself, now that he was putting faces with names, things started making sense and he wanted to try and diffuse the situation mostly for Emily’s sake.

“Rachel's new husband. He seems nice.” The younger sibling returned. “You only say that because he tried to buy your affection too.” Steve and Emily exchanged a look with furrowed brows. “Are you still bitter that I attended the wedding for Gracie’s sake?” Danny huffed as he stood up and went into one of the glass offices. “Grace begged and pleaded for me to go, I was on leave.” she informed as she started gathering up the used supplies to throw them away, “I tried to talk Rachel out of it, including offering to be her getaway driver.” “Does he know that?” Emily shook her head, “He wouldn't listen, probably never will.”

#ash writes #series: Paradise undone #oc: Emily Williams #hawaii five 0 #hawaii five o imagine #hawaii five o fan fiction #steve mcgarrett #steve mcgarrett fan fiction #steve mcgarrett imagine

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murdockparker · 1 year

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Flaking Fancy - Part 1

Matthew Murdock x Reader

Summary: Reader invites Foggy and Matt to her family’s holiday party. It’s a fancy affair, one that she’ll need all the help she can to get through.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: some alcohol consumption, mentions of sex (nothing happens)

A/N: Matt is back, bitches. You thought I forgot about him? Hell no. Could never forget about him, no matter how hard I tried. (This is part one of two, but can be read alone!)

“Tell me again why Foggy decided to flake tonight?”

She had been fiddling with the clasp on her bracelet—it wouldn’t close no matter how much she tried—without even looking up at the man across the room from her. If only she had a second pair of hands, or one of those nifty bracelet gadgets she’s been meaning to buy anyway.

“Flake?” Matt barked a laugh. “You know Foggy would want nothing more than to go to a fancy party with free booze and food.”

“Right,” she looked up, “which is weird that he flaked.”

“He said he was sick,” Matt shrugged helplessly. Truth be told, Matthew Murdock could see right through his roommate’s white lie—but he didn’t have the energy to fight him on it, not when he was already late to meeting up with (Y/N), anyway. “Stomach bug or something.”

“He seemed fine this morning during Professor Knight’s lecture,” (Y/N) sighed, placing a hand on her hip. She’d all but given up on the bracelet, throwing the damned jewelry onto her disheveled bed. Her dorm was in a state of disarray—she had gone through nearly her entire closet to choose what dress she would wear tonight. “And I know for a fact he couldn’t have gotten food poisoning—we both ate that shitty Chinese food for lunch, so I would be hugging the toilet too if that was the case.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Matt held his hands up, holding back another laugh. “Believe me, I tried to get him to come with us—”

“I never invite y’all to something this nice,” (Y/N) bent down to grab her heels, “the one time I can get us into a fancy party with fancy food and fancy drinks and fancy people? He just… flakes?”

“You never said this party was fancy.”

She turned her attention from her shoes back up to Matt—his face already plastered with a shit-eating grin that was so uniquely… Matt. “Har har.”

“Seriously, (Y/N), it’s fine,” Matt reassured her, “we can still go to your fancy party and have a fancy time with your fancy family. You won’t even notice he’s gone.”

“It’s just…” (Y/N) wrung her wrist, trying to find the words she was looking for. Matt just stood there, waiting patiently for her to continue. “You two are my best friends here at school and this is my family’s holiday party—I just… dunno…”

He could practically hear her heart drop. This party meant a lot to her—this much Matt already knew—but to hear her admit it? “You want to prove to your parents that you’re not totally floundering away at school,” he stated.

“My dad always said law school was a bad idea,” she stood up from her bed, both heels now firmly on her feet, “said I was wasting my time on my ‘passion project’. Mom never really understood my convictions about it either, but she never outright said anything nasty about it.”

“So if you had friends in your corner to back you up—”

“Maybe they’d be more okay with the idea of their daughter straying off their ideal path,” she nodded softly. “Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t invite the two of you to this party just for that. I also really enjoy your company—something tells me I’m gonna need some of that Murdock sass to make it through the night.”

“‘Murdock sass?’”

“I would’ve also appreciated Nelson’s one-liners, specifically about my aunt’s terrible taste in fashion, but I guess,” she drawled the last word out, “I could settle for just you. Maybe a whole bottle of champagne too, but we’ll see where the night leads us.”

“I’m afraid I can’t comment on your aunt’s state of dress,” Matt joked, “but I promise I’ll be by your side all night, ready to entertain.”

“Oh, right, you’ll need me to guide you around the house,” she nearly slapped her forehead. “I totally forgot—”

“I’m sure I could manage my way around a townhouse, sweetheart,” he said cautiously, hoping she wouldn’t shy away from the term of endearment. With the way her heart skipped a beat, he safely assumed it was an alright move. “But if you feel the need to show me around…”

“You’ll need the help,” she assured him, smoothing the lines in her satin dress. “Trust me. My parents own the wildest home decor—last time I was over I nearly tripped over an elephant statue by the front door.”

“An elephant?”

“My mom is convinced it’s her ‘spirit animal’ or ‘inner beast’, I guess,” she shrugged. “Always remembering things, holding it over my dad’s head and whatnot.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Matt hummed.

“Shut up,” she slapped his arm playfully. “Come on, we’re gonna be late—”

“Aren’t you going to put on your bracelet?”

“My…” her eyes grew as wide as saucers. “How did you know I didn’t get my bracelet on?”

Matt wanted to tell her the truth—badly did he want to be honest and explain that he was diligently listening to how many times she fumbled with the clasp, the metal clinking ringing through his ears. But, he couldn’t do that, not tonight. “You mumbled something under your breath earlier,” he held out his hand, “come on, let me help.”

“Did I?” (Y/N) shook her head in disbelief. It was likely that she did, it was a bad habit of hers—and seemingly she did it without even realizing it. “Are you sure you can get the clasp?”

“No,” he smiled lightly, grabbing the dangling chain from her hand. “But I can hold it in place while you get it.”

“That… could work,” she breathed, “yeah.”

Carefully, Matt held the chain of small diamonds taught in the air, hoping her wrist would find its place without any guidance. She pressed against it gently and circled the chain around her wrist—ignoring completely how electric it was to feel Matt’s fingertips graze the sensitive skin there. She all but stuck her tongue out in concentration to finish the task quickly, to get them out the door faster, but with the way he was standing so close to her? The way his breath hitched when her fingers brushed his? The task seemed almost impossible.

“T-there,” she mumbled, removing her hand from the clasp. It had taken only two tries this time to get it attached, the help from Matt surely aiding greatly. “All done.”

“Great,” Matt breathed, finally allowing air to fill his lungs again. “Glad to be of help.”

She smiled sweetly, patting his chest. “Come on Murdock, we’ve got a fancy party to attend.”

—

When she had told Matt about her parent’s holiday party, he was expecting the usual. Christmas cookies, carolers, drunk uncles and ugly sweaters. What he hadn’t realized, is that (Y/N) came from a rather well off family, so their version of the holidays was much different than what he was used to. Hell, he’d grown so accustomed to a T.V dinner on Christmas Eve it had almost become the norm, so when a server—a server—asked if he wanted a tourtière? He felt completely out of his realm. To his relief, it seemed (Y/N) felt the same way. He could tell that her heart was beating faster, her breathing was uneven—she was nervous.

“What exactly is a tourtière, anyway?” Matt mumbled into her ear, careful to not bump into her. The scent of her hair nearly sent him into a spiral, her shampoo was intoxicating.

“Some sort of meat pie,” she uttered back, “I think it’s Canadian.”

“What ever happened to pigs in a blanket? That still a thing?”

“I think it was a pork tourtière,” she giggled, “so, technically a pig in an unconventional blanket?”

Matt giggled—God, he giggled. “I guess you’re right, on a technicality.”

“Technicalities are my specialty,” she poked his chest. “You should know that.”

“The specialty of any law student,” Matt rocked on his heels, taking a sip of the bubbling champagne he had been given not too long ago. (Y/N) downed her third glass of the night along with his timid sips. “You should probably slow down,” he said, hearing the soft clink of the glass against the metal plate of the passing server.

“If I’m gonna talk to my parents tonight, I’m going to need at least three more of these things,” she murmured into a fresh glass. He couldn’t argue with her logic, so he merely continued to nurse his bubbling glass.

“What was it like?” He asked, trying to change the subject as best he could. “Growing up here, I mean. I can’t speak for how nice your home is or looks—but by the way it smells, I’m sure it’s very elegant.”

“Cold,” she replied honestly. “Lonely most of the time—I didn’t have any siblings to entertain me. I usually was stuck watching movies with the nanny while my parents decided to spend their evenings at galas and parties.”

“You had a nanny?”

“Oh yeah,” she gulped. “Lucy was my nanny up until I was in middle school, then her daughter Rose took over until I made it to college.” (Y/N) laughed lightly to herself. “It’s funny, if it wasn’t for Lucy bringing new movies over every week, I don’t think we’d be here right now.”

“And why is that?”

“One of the movies she brought over was Legally Blonde,” she snorted into her glass, “I wanted to be Elle Woods so bad—don’t get me wrong, I have many other reasons why I want to be a lawyer, but I can’t discredit how Reese Witherspoon had a helping hand in my future career.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Legally Blonde,” Matt hummed. “It never really appealed to me—to be fair, most movies don’t.”

“Well, it’s a fucking fantastic film,” she tilted her head, smirking. “Though, I think the only reason Lucy brought it over so much was because I would actually leave her alone to do the housework.”

“That seems totally unlike you,” Matt deadpanned.

“I was a master at mopping the floors,” she snorted, “Lucy just preferred that I… didn’t.”

“Something tells me you kept getting in the way?”

“There may have been an incident with a jar of pasta sauce and a rogue mop handle—but the stain mostly came out of the floor. I think mom bought a rug to cover it up, though.”

She did. Matt had noticed the slight change in the flooring when they had paraded through the kitchen earlier, avoiding any collisions with stray family members and business partners. It was an odd place for a rug, he had thought, but the little bit of backstory on the matter pulled his lips up in a small smile. “A rug for the kitchen? Seems outside of your mother’s taste.”

“Oh,” (Y/N) barked a laugh, sipping more champagne, “trust that the rug probably costs more than our tuition—so not too far out of the realm of possibility, I’m afraid.”

Matt’s smile faded, just a bit. “What did you say your parents did for work again?”

“Beats the fuck out of me,” she shrugged helplessly, downing the glass in her hand. “The more I try to pry, the more I get shunned away with expensive gifts and trips.”

“So you… don’t know?” His brows were furrowed, laced together with slight confusion.

“Last time I asked they swore me to secrecy,” she leaned in closer, her breath practically dancing across his cheek, “knife to my throat and all. Y’know, mobster style.”

“Mobster? (Y/N), are you saying that your parents—”

Before he could finish his thought, she erupted in a fit of giggles, clutching her stomach nearly in pain.

“Oh my God,” she held onto his shoulder for stability—surely about to fall over otherwise. “You thought I was serious!”

He swallowed thickly, trying to force a laugh. “I mean, most people don’t joke that their parents are in some sort of organized crime syndicate?”

“You should’ve seen the look on your face! You looked as white as a ghost,” more laughter escaped her lips. “Nah, my parents are both Wall Street assholes—most of the people around us are also Wall Street assholes. Some normal assholes too, like my Uncle Tom. Everyone here’s an asshole, except for us”

“Alright sweetheart, I think you’ve had enough to drink,” Matt carefully pried the empty glass from her hand. “No need to be ranting about assholes at the holiday party.”

“Speaking of assholes!” (Y/N) nearly shouted, a few business-looking individuals turned their attention to the couple across the room. The lingering stares didn’t last long, nearly every one of them continued their seemingly boring conversations and decided to move on. “We should find my parents! I think I can talk to them now!”

“That seems like a poor decision,” Matt smirked, snaking his arm casually around her waist, leading her away from the room. “Especially in your current state.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “My parents have seen me tipsy before.”

“I think we’re well past tipsy,” he laughed airily, pulling her to a quieter corner of the townhouse. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll agree with your choices tomorrow morning.”

“Ugh,” she groaned into his shoulder, head bashing against him in defeat. “You’re probably right.”

“Usually am.”

“I’m starting to get a headache.”

“I can imagine.”

“I should probably lay down.”

“That seems wise.”

“D’you think my parents would mind if I took a power nap in my room?” Her question was serious, eyes only slightly glazed over from the alcohol. “I mean… it’s my room, y’know?”

“Why don’t you lead the way? I’m sure you can sneak away for thirty minutes,” Matt rubbed his hand gently against her side, urging her to move forward. She nodded slightly before pulling away from him and wandered down the long hallway, familiarity lacing her every step. “Here’s hoping they didn’t turn it into an exercise room or something.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t,” she said seriously, “they already have a home gym on the second floor.”

Matt blinked.

“Right. Of course they do.”

She turned towards a large white door, embellished with an antique looking bronze knob. After a quick knock—something she immediately regretted doing—she opened the door to a nearly unchanged room. The decor was completely different than the rest of the home, save for the furniture, as that matched everything else. Her walls were plastered with movie and band posters, a cork board filled with all of her accomplishments hung beside her bed along with the various stuffed animals that adorned it.

“Welcome to mi casa,” she said unceremoniously, flopping face first down into the mattress. A stray teddy bear fell to the floor as she mumbled something into her pillow—he tried to make it out, but it was no use.

“What was that?” He toed into the room further and shut the door, feet hitting a fuzzy rug quickly.

“I said,” she mumbled, pulling her face up from her pillow, “this isn’t how I was expecting to pull you into my room tonight.”

He could’ve sworn his heart stopped. Had it not been for the rushing blood in his ears, he’d have no way of knowing.

“Yeah?” He nervously chuckled.

“Yeah,” she agreed, rolling onto her back, “was planning on seducing the absolute shit out of you. Figured you’d be amazing tonight at the party, probably say the sweetest crap about me to my parents and I’d want to finally make a move. Even went out of my way and wore my sexy underwear set which… you couldn’t have seen anyway…”

“The thought counts,” he smiled gently, floating his way over to her bed. Cautiously, he sat down beside her, silently hoping she wouldn’t move.

“I mean, it has a bit of lace on it,” she hummed thoughtfully, “you probably could’ve enjoyed that?”

“Probably,” he agreed. She hummed again, putting her head against her pillow. “How much have you had to drink tonight, sweetheart?”

“Not sure, the servers just kept… putting another glass in my hand whenever it was empty.”

He laughed at that. “I’ll go get you some water, maybe some proper hydration will get your head back on straight, stop talking nonsense.”

“Nonsense?”

“Nonsense,” he parroted begrudgingly, patting her leg gently. “All that bubbly’s gotten to your pretty little head, making you say things you don’t really mean.”

“Nah,” she scoffed back, “s’not nonsense, I think it’s the most level-headed thought I’ve had. Probably ever.”

“Sure it is, sweetheart,” he replied sarcastically, tenderly removing the black heels off of her feet—they were practically falling off anyway.

“You’ve gotta stop calling me that,” she lifted her head up from the pillow, desperate to try and look him in the eyes, “or else I’m gonna try to jump your bones, Murdock.”

Matt listened carefully to her heartbeat—it was steady and strong—she was telling the truth. “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re hot.”

“You’re not in the right mind and I’m not going to take advantage of you,” he sighed, rubbing her leg tenderly, “it wouldn’t be right.”

“Ugh,” she pushed her face into the pillow again, “why do you have to be so nice all the time?”

“I’m not always nice,” Matt snickered lightly, “but I’m glad you think so.”

“If I wasn’t drunk,” she practically slurred, “would you want to sleep with me?”

“(Y/N)…”

“No, wait,” she pressed her hand towards the sky—hoping it would land somewhere in Matt’s vicinity. “Don’t tell me. I don’t wanna know.”

“I’m gonna go get you that water,” Matt managed to squeak out, rising from the bed, “maybe find some Advil. I’ll… be right back.”

Matt could barely make out the agreeing murmur that came from the pillow as he exited the room. The party was still in full swing, the jazz band he tried avoiding earlier was still blaring throughout the home. He didn’t want to cause any suspicion on how well he was navigating through the house—the thought of trying to explain how he found the kitchen based on the faint smell of food nearly halfway across the building—Matt pulled out his cane. It was neatly folded up in his inner jacket pocket, he had (Y/N) to guide him around most of the night, it nearly seemed pointless to bring it.

“Excuse me?”

Matt turned around, having nearly made it to the end of the hallway. He hadn’t heard anyone walking behind him—but to his detriment, he was focusing on (Y/N)’s breathing as he walked away, insuring that it was even.

“Uh, hi,” Matt forced a smile, waving lightly, “I’m just looking for the kitchen… sorta hard to find.” He tapped his cane twice for good measure. The blind thing usually worked.

“And you were hoping to find it in my daughter’s bedroom?”

Shit.

“Mr. (Y/L/N), I’m sorry for the informality,” Matt waited for the man to get closer, hoping he wouldn’t punch him square in the face, “I’ve been meaning to find you this evening to introduce myself—”

“Introduce yourself? Tell me, when exactly did you plan to introduce yourself? Before or after you fucked my daughter?”

Matt could feel the blood drain from his face. He knew that (Y/N) had been joking earlier about the mob thing, but now coming face to face with her father? It didn’t exactly seem too far off. “Sir, I think there’s a bit of misunderstanding—”

“Really? How else am I to take fact the same man my daughter has been carting around all night just exited her bedroom? Said daughter in question nowhere to be found?”

“Your daughter had a little bit too much to drink,” Matt said honestly, “she needed to lay down, so she led me to her room. I was just going to go get her some water. I promise, nothing nefarious, sir.”

The older man huffed, breath hot on his mustache. “And your name?”

“Matthew Murdock,” he outstretched his hand, “I’m a law student with your daughter. Just a friend, I assure you.”

“Just a friend,” he mumbled back, meeting Matt’s hand in a firm shake, “and I’m supposed to believe that?”

“You don’t have to,” Matt smiled brightly, “but it’s the truth. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to meet you all the way back here, would’ve thought you’d be enjoying the party with the rest of your guests.”

“Had to step away for a bit,” her father sniffed, “went to my study to clear my head. These parties are more my wife’s thing.”

Matt could smell the scent of cigars coming off of the man’s suit, the cigars overpowered the other lingering scents that he couldn’t quite pick out, but if he had to guess it was probably something Mr. (Y/L/N) would want to keep from his wife anyhow. “I understand, I get overwhelmed quite easily. These things aren’t particularly my scene.”

“My daughter’s alright, I take it?”

“She’ll be fine,” Matt assured him, “once she gets some water I think she’ll be able to join the masses again. Had a few too many glasses of champagne, I think.”

“She’s not much of a drinker,” her father mused, shoving his hand into his front pocket, “guess that silly little law school of hers has changed her in ways I’ll never understand.”

“Columbia is a prestigious school,” Matt bit back, feeling his chest grow hot in anger, “your daughter is a bright student and intelligent beyond her years. She’s going to be an excellent lawyer, I assure you.”

“Prestigious or not,” the older man sighed, “she’s just wasting her time. Her mother and I already had a charming life planned out for her, a good job, a fair amount of inheritance, a husband—”

“Husband?”

“But she decided to throw all our hard work away and act ungrateful for the entire thing,” he finished, clearly exasperated.

Matt’s grip on his cane grew near-deadly, the anger flushing upwards and outwards—you could probably see the steam leaving his ears. He knew of her parent’s convictions, she had been brave enough to share tidbits here and there about their continuous disappointment. It never, ever, made sense to Matt.

“She,” Matt cleared his throat, “is a wonderful woman. Got accepted into an Ivy League school, practically the top of our class and she makes it look effortless. Any parent would be proud to call her their daughter.”

“I never said I wasn’t proud,” her father groaned lightly, fingers rubbing against his temple, “she’s clearly been making a name for herself in the slums. Look, you’re not a parent, so you have little to say on how I decide parent my own daughter.”

“You’re right,” Matt agreed quickly, without hesitation, “I have very little to say to you.” He began to walk away, towards what was presumably the kitchen. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get some water.”

—

He didn’t mean to practically insult her father, of course not, that wasn’t his intention. Matt was sure he’d hear the ramifications of his actions from (Y/N) at a later date, but until then, he had a job to do. He had—thankfully—returned to her room with ease, a cold glass of water in one hand, a frosted pitcher of it in the other, cane tucked promptly in his armpit.

“S’just me, sweet thing,” Matt mumbled into the dark abyss of the room, hearing her stir slightly at the large wooden door creak shut. “Brought you some water.”

“Matt…?”

“Well, at least I think it’s water,” he chuckled dryly, setting the pitcher down on the picturesque nightstand beside her, “could be more of that sangria your aunt was chugging.”

“Looks like water,” she groggily replied, scraping the sleep out of her eyes, makeup be damned. She had hardly been out for twenty minutes, but the nap hit her like a brick to the chest—a good sleep nonetheless. “Lucky for me I sober up quickly.”

Matt forced a smile, nodding only the once. He could still smell the lingering notes of the champagne on her tongue, but he had half a mind to believe her. “The water will help. I couldn’t find any pain killers though—”

“My purse,” she pointed across the room, “I have a bottle with stuff in it. It’s right next to the door, on the ground to the left.”

His heart warmed at the simple directions—even though he knew full well where her purse was, she took the extra moment to describe the location for him. He momentarily fumbled ‘looking’ for the bag—he’d make a mental note to consider coming clean about his abilities at a later date—and managed to loop the strap onto his arm, carrying it back to the bed with ease. His hand dug around, reaching for the bottle she had spoken of, smiling when his fingers wrapped around a rattling cylinder. “Doesn’t sound like you just have pain killers in here.”

“Pain killers, antidepressants, ecstasy,” she chuckled, popping the top off easily. “Maybe an Adderall or two from Foggy…”

Matt knew she was lying, mostly, anyway. Her heart skipped a beat at the mention of anything past her antidepressants. He listened for the soft sound of her swallowing the capsules before settling onto the mattress beside her. “I’m shocked Foggy even had the thought to give you some.”

“Nah man,” she scoffed playfully, “I had to sell my soul to acquire just the one. Well, my soul and my notes from Professor O’Malley’s lectures.”

“Ah, of course.”

“How long was I out?” “Forty minutes at the most.”

The silence that filled the room was comfortable, to say the least. It usually always was when it was the two of them, but a certain tenseness had overwhelmed Matt’s entire being—a detail not entirely overlooked by the still sobering woman sitting beside him. “You… met my parents, didn’t you?”

“No,” Matt shook his head quickly, “just your father.”

A groan escaped her lips, Matt could only guess it could have been heard over the horrific jazz music down the hall. “Somehow that’s even worse.”

“He was… fine.”

“You hesitated.”

“I didn’t.”

“Matt.”

He pulled his hands up in defense. “Alright, fine maybe he wasn’t fine. We had a small chat and… I completely understand why you had me come tonight. He was practically talking you down every chance he got… Christ, (Y/N), I had no idea that he really disapproved that much—”

“Tell me about it,” she somberly replied, gulping half of the glass of water in her hand. “Wait—when exactly did you run into my dad?”

“He… saw me exit your room and thought that we—that I possibly was up to something—”

“What? Like we were fucking?”

Matt’s face flushed instantly, he was nearly certain of it. “Yes.”

“Oh.”

“I think I persuaded him into thinking otherwise,” Matt stated quickly, the words tumbling from his lips. “Convinced him we were only friends.” Her response was muffled, even with his enhanced hearing, the blood that was pumping through his head from the embarrassment was enough to nearly deafen him, even for the moment.

“Would that have been the worst thing?” (Y/N) repeated, fully registering the man’s lack of reaction from her earlier statement. “I mean, in the grand scheme of things?”

“What? That your dad thought we were fucking in your childhood bedroom?”

“Yes! I mean,” she slapped her forehead lightly. “No, obviously. Not that, but, in general? Like we were… together?”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” she mimicked, feeling the shame of a thousand suns burn against her skin. “You don’t—that’s fine, forget I said anything—”

It was against better judgment, Matt could attest to it, but he simply couldn’t wait a second longer to put his lips on hers. He hardly knew how to leave her speechless in the best of times, and with the way she was reacting? The way she practically melted into his touch? Matthew Murdock had yet another trick up his sleeve.

She pulled away much quicker than he would have liked, placing a hand on his chest gently. “I thought you said you didn’t want to take advantage of me?” Her tone was teasing, light.

“You said so yourself,” he pressed his forehead against hers. “You sober up quickly.”

Her laughter morphed into a hiss of pain, gravitating away from his touch. “I might be a liar,” she groaned. “My head is killing me.”

“Liar or not,” Matt said softly, rubbing her hand lovingly. “I don’t intend on doing anything more than kiss you tonight, it wouldn’t be right. I’m sorry for kissing you in the first place.”

A sly grin pulled against her lips. “So you do want to do more than just kiss me?”

Matt laughed lightly. “I may be blind, but I’m not stupid, sweetheart. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while now and, based on your comments tonight we probably could’ve been kissing a lot earlier.”

“Oh yeah,” she scoffed playfully. “I’ve wanted to do something about my major crush on you since our ethics class.”

It was Matt’s turn to grin. “‘Major crush?’”

“Ginormous,” she nodded. “I’m talking like, heart eyes every time you would walk into the room sort of crush.”

He always had a small suspicion that she felt a little more than just friendship for him—based on her vitals and breathing patterns, naturally—but hearing her confirm it was like music to his ears. “You’re making it really hard to not kiss you again.”

“Good,” (Y/N) mused, squeezing his hand tighter. “You can kiss me whenever you want.”

“How about I take you out first? We can kiss all we want after.”

She frowned. “Just kiss?”

Matt leaned in closer.

“Well, we wouldn’t want you to not get any use out of your lacy underwear, would we?”

The couple erupted into a fit of giggles, both thinking fondly on ways to thank Foggy for flaking.

—

BONUS: “Look, guys, I’m happy that you two finally got your heads outta the sand and got together and are acting like the grossest couple imaginable, truly,” Foggy said, sipping his coffee quickly, eyeing the new couple down. “But you do realize this wasn’t some grand scheme or anything, I really was sick last week?”

Matt laughed. “Sure you were, Fog.”

(Y/N) followed suit in her own flurry of giggles. “Oh yeah, I’m so sure.”

Foggy stared at his two best friends, looking back and forth between the lovebirds. He sighed. Loudly.

#matt murdock #daredevil #marvel #matthew murdock x reader #marvel x reader #reader insert #hope y'all enjoy pardners #matt murdock x reader #matthew murdock

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ofoceanandwaves · 2 years

Text

till then my windows ache

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x Calliope

Warnings: None, save for what we've already heard on the show

Words: 1.5k

A/N: this wouldn't leave my head! Ever since that episode, it dragged me out of writer's block and even though it was hard, the words just be there. I don't think I've done them justice (Dream is hard to write for but as someone who has a huge block, everyone is hard to write for lol) or if anyone would even be interested in this but just putting it out there.

-x-

It takes great deal of courage and a pep talk from his sister and Matthew to finally decide on doing it. Dream has not done this for ages but he isn’t really surprised when the remembrance of the exact steps to be taken to call for his ex-wife doesn’t take any strain.

He feels her presence almost immediately. Turning around, his breath hitches in his throat as he takes her in. Dressed in a pale blue sundress, she looks breathtakingly beautiful. On second look, he confirms the small splotches on her dress to be paint; her fingers too are smeared with it.

“You came.”

His voice is as surprised as the look on his face.

She offers a tentative smile. “You called.”

Perhaps the irony of the words is lost on the King of Dreams because a moment later, he is shaking his head. “I apologise. You should never feel obliged to come to me at my calling. I also seem to have taken you from your task.”

Dream gestures to her paint-splattered dress and colour stained hand.

Calliope takes a step towards him, closing the distance between them until she is close enough to reach out and touch him, if she wants to.

“I didn’t feel obliged; I never have. But I will not deny that it surprised me. I had come to the conclusion that perhaps you had deliberately forgotten how to call me.”

A frown mars his forehead. “I could never.” The Dream lord sounds offended that she would even think of something like this.

Calliope flashes a smile at him then, the look on his face reminding her of some of their endearing moments from a time long gone. The unfamiliar tug on his lips tells him he is smiling back at her.

“You look well, Oneiros.”

She has started walking towards the nearby market and spellbound, Dream of the Endless finds himself falling in step with her.

“I am sure you’ve seen me better. You look stunning.” The compliment slips out. He isn’t bothered by it though because another smile makes its way to her face and he is suddenly reminded of how much he loved to make her smile or laugh or give him any of her unguarded reactions. It encourages him to keep talking.

“Paint?”

“I am trying out a few hobbies and was in the middle of painting a sunset in Miami, actually.”

“I am sorry to have taken you away.”

“Don’t be.”

Dream doesn’t respond to that. It is quite peaceful, almost like the old times they had taken walks among the flora of the Dreaming.

Calliope knows her ex-husband is looking around for words. He is walking with his hands in his pocket, a sure sign there is something he wants to say but is working up to it. While he is doing that, she decides to fill in the silence

“I wish I could show you my paintings. I have improved so much over the years.”

That’s what it takes, it seems because he suddenly stops, halting her steps too, and turns around to look at her; his eyes fathomless pools of darkness as they settle on her face.

“I would love it if you would visit The Dreaming. I was wrong in stopping you, I apologise. You shouldn’t be stopped from visiting a place you have memories of, perhaps even fond ones.”

She finds it hard to believe the words reaching her ears but the sincerity in his words can’t be ignored. There is also the fact that her ex-husband has never lied to her. Even at the expense of being cruel, he had always given her the cold, hard facts.

“That is the third time you have apologized to me in the last fifteen minutes. Are you well, Oneiros?”

Calliope tries and fails to bring a smile on her lips as she talks; the smile is lost somewhere between the pain and the tragedy that was them and what once used to be their family.

In turn, Dream merely stares at her, wanting nothing more than to take her hand in his and fall to her feet in an ocean of tears. He won’t do it though. He had hurt her enough. He had broken her heart and then trampled all over it and there are wounds that shouldn’t be opened. There is nothing there to encourage touch, no matter how badly he wants to just feel her warmth against his cold palms.

There are small mercies though in this world for beings like him it seems, because Calliope, with all the tentativeness of a deer in an unfamiliar surrounding, slowly slips her small hand into his. His eyes close on their own, the familiar touch bringing back a horde of memories he has desperately tried to keep buried. It is not easy, but he pushes them back behind the door they’re trying to claw out of, pulling it shut firmly before lifting his chin and meeting her eyes. Her hand in his provides just the kind of warm courage he needs.

“Calliope,” he whispers her name quietly, his fingers closing around hers slightly. “Forgive me, I disregarded your feelings as a mother and as a wife. I had absolutely no right back then and I have no right whatsoever now either to request you to return to a place where you had been hurt beyond imagination. When you asked me earlier, I said no, not considering your feelings once again. So I would understand if you do not want to come back.”

There is a thin sheen of moisture in her ex-husband’s eyes but he never breaks eye contact even as his voice wavers. Calliope has seen him be happy, angry, sad and every other emotion known to mortals over the eons, but this was something new, something she had never witnessed.

“Dream...,” she whispers softly. He looks away then but his fingers tighten around her hand. “We did not part on the best of terms. There was... there is a lot of hurt and pain between us but you were not the sole perpetuator. I am guilty as well. I did the most horrible thing I could do to inflict upon you just an ounce of what I was feeling. I paid dearly for that later when thoughts of how you didn’t care invaded me.”

The King of Dreams is shaking his head before she can even finish. “You leaving broke my heart, Calliope, even though I’m aware I deserved it.”

His voice is laced with devastation, pain and something that sounds too much like guilt. Guilt, that has made a home in her, waiting behind that one door she had closed in her mind. That one feeling that had destroyed them alongwith resentment. A love of a lifetime drifting away painfully in hatred filled words and spiteful actions.

Healing begins only when you accept the wound and realise that there will be pain attached to it. This, this is their moment where it could either go back to what it was or move forward, somewhere unknown but with a faint light at the end of it. Calliope decides she wants to move towards the light. “You didn’t deserve it, Oneiros. Do no try to absolve me of the atrocities I did to you. I just wish we could have talked. Perhaps we could’ve saved us.”

“I have been running from this, but no more. It is too late and too little, I’m aware but I am ready to talk now.” Dream’s response is quick in a steady tone that leaves no room for guessing that he was finally ready. Ready to talk about their beloved son, their family and everything they had lost in those fateful days when everything that could, had gone wrong. It brings a fresh batch of tears to her eyes and she blinks them back to find Dream doing the same just as he uses his free hand to reach into his pocket and pull out a small pouch.

He opens his fist and Calliope immediately knows what is resting in his outstretched palm, a wave of intense pain overwhelming her at the sight. Dream doesn’t close his fist around the seeds of Orpheus flowers but his other hand squeezes hers twice, a gesture of reassurance she had used on him eons ago during those high-tensioned Endless Family dinners she had attended.

He remembers; in the enveloping pain, the comforting thought darts through her. She squeezes back a minute later, just twice, just like she always had. She couldn’t know it but the gesture is reassuring to him, a warm pressure on his chest that this was right. Dream lets her stare at the packet of seeds in his hands until she raises her head and meets his eyes, a steely glint in her eyes.

“I would like for us to plant these in our meadow.”

Ever so slowly, Calliope covers his outstretched hand with hers, her nimble fingers trembling against the packet of seeds. “In memory, in love and all that once was, Oneiros.”

Her tears make it blurry but there is a slight tug at the corner of his lips, not a smile but a ghost of it and it is enough to warm her heart.

The first step will be the hardest but they will do it together, it was time. She walks with him down the road, their hands clasped together, as the winter sun sets behind them in an array of golden-pink glow.

-x-

There. Done. Apologies for mistakes, people! Whoever stayed till then, hope I didn't waste your time!

#dream of the endless #the sandman #morpheus #dream #tom sturridge #calliope x dream #dream x calliope #morpheus x calliope #dream of the endless x calliope #dreamuse #is that the ship name?#the sandman calliope #calliope #netflix the sandman #the sandman fic

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whump-card · 9 months

Text

Sunless Lives Part 24: I Will Not Go

~1320 words

CW: conservatorship, loss of rights, drugging

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

~~~

M BECK: I’m just worried about my possessiveness. I don’t know how I’m going to treat him if I’m around him again. I don’t want to be controlling.

DR MANDAL: You’re using two different words here. Possessive and controlling. I think they’re a little different. Do you think both are true?

M BECK: I don’t know.

DR MANDAL: Let’s talk about possessiveness first. Do you want to possess Simon?

M BECK: Not really. Or, in a way. I guess I do want to but I know that that would be bad.

DR MANDAL: Why would it be bad?

M BECK: I don’t want to own him. That’s what the vampire wanted. That feels dehumanizing. But I do want him to be mine. But I want him to be his own person, too.

DR MANDAL: Matthew, I’m going to be honest, that sounds like a healthy level of desire for another person. You want him, but you still want him to be his own person. I think that’s normal.

M BECK: Oh.

DR MANDAL: Have you had many serious relationships before? Where you were as in love with someone else as you are with Simon?

M BECK: No.

DR MANDAL: So this level of desire is new for you.

M BECK: I guess.

DR MANDAL: Love can be scary.

[0:38]

DR MANDAL: Do you want to talk about feeling controlling now?

M BECK: Okay.

DR MANDAL: What makes you want to control Simon?

M BECK: I think he makes bad decisions sometimes. He has trouble taking care of himself.

DR MANDAL: What are some examples?

M BECK: Staying with the vampire. Or the way he lets Isles treat him.

DR MANDAL: Anything else?

M BECK: Um.

DR MANDAL: Those aren’t very many bad decisions. Can you think of some good decisions that he made, or times that he took care of himself?

M BECK: Yeah. Yeah. He knew that victim protection wouldn’t keep him safe, after Lara, and he was smart enough to tell Isles that. He’s always reading self-improvement stuff. He convinced me, um, the vampire, to get the cure. He opened up to me when he needed to after Finch. There were a couple times when we were dating too where he really clearly told me when something bothered him, and I appreciated that. Um. I know there’s more.

DR MANDAL: Sounds like he makes more good decisions than bad.

M BECK: Yeah. You’re right.

DR MANDAL: So if he makes good decisions and takes care of himself most of the time, maybe you can let go of that need to control.

M BECK: Oh.

DR MANDAL: Can you trust him to take care of himself?

M BECK: Yeah. I think I can. God, I can’t believe I called him an idiot. Do you think I’ll be able to call him soon?

~~~

Simon stepped out into the hallway of the clinic, blinking hard and gripping his coat tight. Amber and Christian were talking to each other in hushed tones that fell silent when they saw him.

“Ready to go?” Amber asked. Simon flinched a little at her loud voice, remembering her gun. Remembering that she’d almost shot Matthew. That she still might, if anything they did antagonized him.

Simon nodded quickly, not trusting his own voice.

“We’ll walk you out,” Christian said, smiling at him. It wasn’t comforting. They started walking through the clinic, back out the way they came in. They passed through the waiting room and came to the front doors.

“Put your coat on, it’s cold out.” Christian ordered.

Still a little dazed, Simon pulled on his coat and struggled with the zipper.

“Let me.” Christian butted in and zipped it up for him. Simon opened his mouth to complain, but thought better of it.

“Listen.” Christian settled his hands on Simon’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “You’ll only be at Fort Summerwhite until I get your list squared away. After that… we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Okay?”

It was very much not okay, but Simon was too afraid of what Matthew might do if he put up a fuss. Of what Chris and Amber might do to Matthew in turn. So he nodded, and let Christian guide him by the arm through the doors, past the police officers standing guard and onto the sidewalk. There was a car waiting, a gray sedan. Christian opened the backseat door for him, and Simon got in, heart pounding. Two men sat in the front. A tall woman sat on the other side of the back seat, smiling at him.

“Hello there, you must be Simon! My name is Kelly, I work for Fort Summerwhite.”

Simon jumped when the door slammed shut. They were just putting him in a car, with strangers, to be driven off to God-knows-where.

This never ends well.

He could only barely see through the tinted windows as the car pulled away and Christian waved at him from the sidewalk. Kelly rambled on about Summerwhite’s amenities and how much he was going to love it there, but Simon couldn’t focus. He hadn't even found out exactly where Matthew was going. How would he know where to go, where to call? He needed to call Gina, and Matthew’s dad, and find out where they were too.

Matthew had told him to go to Summerwhite, to get better, and Matthew was always right, but… Simon could get better on his own. He always had before. He knew how to take care of himself. He could do it, without being locked up by strangers.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said loudly, interrupting Kelly’s pitch. “I don’t want to go. If you could pull over and let me out, please.”

Kelly sucked in a breath, hesitating.

“Simon, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“What? No, just pull over here, and…”

“Simon,” her voice was firm, “Do you know what a conservatorship is?”

He didn’t, but something about her change in tone froze him with dread.

“Your boss and friends were so very worried about you,” she continued, now condescendingly sweet, “And they felt like you couldn’t take care of yourself. So your boss, Cristian Isles, had a court place you under a conservatorship. It means you don’t have to worry about making any tough decisions for a while. You can just rest and be taken care of by everyone at Summerwhite.”

Simon still didn’t fully understand, but he knew it was something bad.

“No, no, I’m not consenting to treatment. I don’t want to be in this car anymore, you have to let me out or it’s kidnapping. Pull over.” His voice wavered with uncertainty.

“It’s actually not, Simon,” she said slowly, “Captain Isles is your conservator, and he has placed you in our custody, and we’re taking you to Fort Summerwhite for your own safety.”

“No, you can’t…” The car slowed at a red light, and Simon unbuckled his seatbelt and yanked on the door handle. It was locked.

“Let me out!” he shouted, searching for the lock, running his hands over the door to no avail.

“You need help, Kelly?” the man in the passenger seat asked.

“Let me out!” Simon leaned forward to yell at the driver.

“Yes, I think so,” Kelly frowned at Simon, “But be careful.”

“You can’t do this!” Simon insisted, “This is kidnapping, I don’t want to be here -”

The man in the passenger seat took something out of the glove box and as the car fully stopped at the light he got out and opened Simon’s door. Simon leapt at the chance and tried to jump out past the man into the street, but the man easily caught him around the waist.

“Help!” Simon screamed, shoving and clawing at the man, “Somebody help!”

But strong hands twisted his arm and slammed him against the side of the car, and a sharp sting in his neck made him cry out. His words fell apart into a jumble, then his thoughts, then his sight.

Then nothing.

~~~

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @sunshiline-writes, @seasaltandcopper

#whump #whump fic #whump writing #sunless lives arc 3 #cw conservatorship #cw loss of rights #cw drugging #sunless lives #my writing

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windowsandfeelings · 2 years

Note

19 (Truth) + Lit?

“Oh please.”

It’s her driest, most exasperated voice, the one that always signals that she’s got his number. That she knows him, like really really knows him. (He gets a little thrill every time he hears it, even now. She knows him.)

“Oh please what?” he asks, though he has a feeling he knows where this is going.

“Oh please, as if I have ever believed that lie you’ve been telling me since high school.”

Yeah, he did know where it was going, but he’s sure as shit not going to confess now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

He gets up from his chair and picks up both of their empty plates from the table, loads them against one arm with muscle memory left over from his time waiting tables at Luke’s. He grabs the salad bowl with his free hand. The trick to evading a Gilmore is to set yourself in motion and keep yourself in motion. He carries the dishes into the kitchen.

She follows him.

“Come on, Jess,” she says. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Who said you were an idiot?”

He’s at the sink, with his back to her, but he can feel her eyes roll behind him.

“You imply it every time this subject comes up.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot.”

He gives each plate a quick rinse and loads them into the dishwasher. God, he loves this dishwasher. He’d never admit it out loud, but nothing makes him feel more settled, more established, than having an actual functioning dishwasher in New York City.

What’s left of the salad is just limp lettuce, saturated with dressing. He scrapes it into the trash can. ($100 they paid for this trash can! He loves it, too. What a fucking adult thing to have, a $100 trash can.)

“Jess,” she says. He brushes past her, heads back to the table for the leftover spaghetti bolognese, and the plate of garlic bread (well, the plate of garlic bread crumbs), and the parmesan. He passes her again, sets everything down on the counter. Pulls one of their reusable glass containers down from the cabinet (fucking bougie shit, those, but so much nicer than Luke’s collection of mismatched tupperware). “Jess.”

Honestly, he should just confess. It was thirteen years ago, the lie, and it’s not like it matters. Not really. But still…he’s held onto it this long, hasn’t he? And it’s embarrassing. Even now. The truth, well…

“Can’t you just let this go?” he asks.

“Can’t you?”

It had been such a nice dinner, too. Not especially nice. Just…just nice. Ordinary nice. Nice the way a lot of their dinners are—an hour spent together at the table, talking, laughing. By the time the subject shifted into dangerous waters she was leaned back in her chair, a glass of wine cradled between her hands, her feet up in his lap, in thick socks.

He’s not even sure how the conversation turned. They’d been talking about Thanksgiving, about whether they’d go to Philly or Stars Hollow this year, because Matthew and his new girlfriend were planning some big feast, and then she’d said something about her grandmother’s dinner and suddenly they were back on that damn black eye.

That fucking swan. Still ruining a nice night after all these years.

He scrapes the leftovers into a container. Sets the dish down. Turns to face her.

“I didn’t get it in a fight.”

Something in her face softens.

“I know that,” she says.

“Okay, so why does it matter?”

“Because.” She sighs a bit, takes a step closer to him. “Because I don’t like secrets. I don’t like knowing that there are things you won’t tell me.”

“Do you tell me everything?”

She stares at him for a moment, like she’s trying to see something in him. “I don’t think there’s anything I haven’t told you,” she says. “Not intentionally, anyway. Not anymore.”

He knows that’s probably true. She’s been big on open communication, honesty, ever since they got back together. They both have. It’s why it’s working this time.

He hangs his head. “What if it’s embarrassing? The truth.”

She reaches out and takes his hands in hers. “More embarrassing than the time I stole a boat and dropped out of college because one asshole told me I wouldn’t succeed?”

“That’s different.”

“What about the time I dressed up like Donna Reed and made a home cooked dinner for Dean?”

He tries not to laugh, he really does, but he fails. A single, low chuckle escapes.

She shakes his hands back and forth. “See? I told you that story, you can tell me this.”

He sighs, feels his shoulders slump. She’s right. Of course she’s right. Fuck.

“I got beaked,” he says. It comes out so quiet he’s not sure if she’s heard him at first.

Then: “Beaked?” she asks. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he pulls his hands free, reaches for a dish towel off the counter, something else to do with his hands. “It means I got attacked by the unhinged swan that used to hang out by Larson’s dock.”

“Oh.” She takes a step back. “Really?”

“Would I make that up?”

“I guess not.”

He’s not sure how he wanted her to react to this information (he didn’t want her to react, he didn’t want her to ever know), but he’s pretty sure this isn’t it, this doubt.

“You don’t believe me.”

“No, I…I’m just surprised, I guess. What were you doing?”

“I wasn’t doing anything!” She takes another step back, and shit, he didn’t mean to raise his voice. He tries really hard to keep that angry teenage boy buried deep inside. He almost always succeeds. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean…I’m sorry.”

“Jess.” She steps closer to him again, reaches up to cup his cheek in her hand. She runs her thumb under his eye, where the bruise bloomed all those years ago. Something loosens inside of him.

“I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me about that,” she says. “Then or now.” She reaches up her other hand, so she’s holding his face between them. “And I’m sorry I accused you of getting in a fight. Or of intentionally trying to ruin that dinner.”

He shrugs, like she has nothing to be sorry for.

“No, Jess,” she says. “I was wrong.”

She lets go of his face, takes one last step forward until she’s pressed into him, her nose buried in the crook of his neck, her arms tight around his waist. He’s not going to cry, he’s not, but he swallows hard as he folds himself around her.

“I should have just let it go,” she says, wet, into his sweater.

“No,” he says. “I should have told you ages ago.”

She gives him an extra squeeze, and then steps back. Looks up at him. She’s not crying, but her lashes are all stuck together.

“No more secrets,” he says, and he means it.

She nods. “Deal.”

They go to Matthew’s for Thanksgiving.

#literati #literati fic #gilmore girls #gilmore girls fic #prompt #this came out longer than I thought it would OOPS #also clearly obsessed with literati kitchen imagery #and the idea that Jess would make really good spaghetti #I JUST LOVE DOMESTICITY SO SUE ME

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actuallylorelaigilmore · 1 year

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2022 MOVIE OF THE WEEK #35

die hard. can you believe i had never seen this movie until this year’s holiday season? cuz i can’t really believe it. i went through such a bruce willis phase when i was younger, i used to own the dvd set of moonlighting and i watched him on friends and in movies with matthew perry and the fifth element was a classic in my house...somehow this one just escaped me, i think because my mom’s Action Men tastes were very specifically adrian paul and chuck norris. whereas mine can probably be best described as ‘aw shucks schlubby charm,’ dudes who just seem more normal until they are required to be badasses. bruce willis, david harbour...i can’t remember what other actor i realized he reminds me of while watching this, but i know i told leander and was pleased by the realization, so i’m sure there are more examples.

anyway, this was so not on my radar; i didn’t even know what it was about other than through cultural osmosis. when a movie is mentioned as often as this one, you Know It even when you don’t. though there is a specific kind of joy that comes from finally seeing the line ‘yippee ki-yay, motherfucker’ delivered in its original context. that was fun.

until pretty recently, i didn’t know alan rickman was the antagonist--that was a large part of why i watched. and boy does he make a meal out of this role. a significant chunk of this movie was just me thinking about what a great actor he is in this. his line deliveries are so delicious that i made a mental note just to mention ‘ho...ho...ho.’ as something nobody else could have had as much fun with. i was truly sad when his character finally died, because of course that ending was always going to come, but i didn’t want it to. the mark of a good villain is actually wanting more of them when you’re not supposed to like them in the first place, and he was an excellent villain--clever and funny with his own moral code, perfect to face off against bruce willis’s unexpected hero.

besides alan rickman, the other reason i decided to watch this (with @actuallylukedanes and their fiance who had both seen it before) was that it was featured in an episode of you are good, a movie podcast i like, which meant i’d already heard about the plot and figured that might help me enjoy it more. (normally if they discuss movies i intend to watch, i skip those episodes to avoid spoilers, but i never planned to see this one. lol.) anyway, they watched it as one of their christmas picks, and i knew there was a big debate about whether or not it counts as a christmas movie.

now that i’ve seen it, i feel like the debate is settled and it is OBVIOUSLY a christmas movie, no question. it is in my opinion a movie about a bunch of people (including john mcclain) having the worst christmas of their lives, and there was something i found oddly comforting about that. with my shiny new holiday depression this year, i wasn’t in the mood for any holiday movies--but i would rewatch this one every christmas, because like any good christmas movie there is a party and people remember that family is the most important thing. but UNLIKE other christmas movies, it has alan rickman taking his craft super seriously while bruce willis is in his softest and prettiest young phase, which i adore. and things explode.

(i also need us all to move on from this ‘is it a christmas movie?�� debate so people can be converted to the cult of my much more underappreciated christmas fave, batman returns. tim burton said gotham christmas but make it creepy! and michelle pfieffer learned better whip skills than harrison ford just to manifest it. the true spirit of christmas is being reanimated by cats, and using your new nine lives to flirt with a wealthy orphan while seeking vengeance on anyone who wronged you.)

i’m sure i could go on, but you can tell how old this movie is from the poster up there--i was barely ALIVE when this came out, lol. so i am very late to the party and i doubt a ton of people need me going on and on about it. besides alan rickman and bruce willis, i didn’t know most of the cast, but they all did a good job, there was at least one plot thread that didn’t go the way i expected, and i was pleasantly surprised by that. this movie’s racial politics make me reeeeally uncomfortable, but it’s not at all unusual for its time. the one honorable mention i’d give in casting is to the actor i grew up watching on family matters who plays a central role in helping john survive. he’s portrayed as a black hero, but he can’t just be one because he’s john’s emotional support system throughout the movie--no, he has to become a ‘real’ cop again by shooting a guy. at the same time, you have two major comic relief characters, and both are young black men; one driving john’s limo and the other handling technology for the villain. there’s a same sort of ‘balance’ with the movie’s two asian characters, the seemingly kind company owner who’s murdered early on versus a team member of the villain whose role is also tiny.

the movie is also trying to say stuff (or is just accidentally saying stuff based on the era) around post-soviet american perspectives, but i feel like the racial element sticks out way more because it goes uncommented on. like since it’s clearly not something the plot thinks about, these choices are even more noticeable and important because they reflect the buried stuff.

idk, i just have a lot of feelings about the fact that john’s friend over the radio couldn’t be really redeemed unless he used his gun. or about the fact that he and john are both cops in the first place, so even this sort of ‘everyman’ action movie is promoting the idea that while the fbi and other bureaucracy is useless or will even make things worse, good cops are the only hope we have.

and his marital reconciliation--i basically just threw up my hands with that one, because i don’t think a near-death experience on christmas will automatically save your marriage. but at the same time, if your wife’s problem with you is that you wouldn’t follow her to her new job, and you finally show up there and save a whole building full of people while she’s in it...then yeah, okay, whatever. maybe that’s all it takes. i mean, if i were her, i’d probably be willing to consider applying for jobs back in new york after that anyway. they’ve definitely earned some kind of happy ending.

in conclusion, i loved this movie. it is an action movie classic in the truest sense of how that felt in the 80s and 90s, and it features bruce willis at his finest and alan rickman briefly doing an american accent and a whole very huge lot of broken glass. broken glass is basically a character in this movie. die hard was an excellent christmas choice for me this year and i’m glad i was welcome to join in the watching. :)

#actuallylukedanes #convinced me to start posting my completed reviews even when they're out of chronological order #so here we go!#die hard #2022 motw #bruce willis #alan rickman #i have the best best friend

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cabbagesandkings · 2 years

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ANTI FAIRSTAIRS

I believe Jordelia will be Endgame. I do not expect anything to happen between Matthew and Cordelia, but there is one scenario I could see playing out. Picking up where coi left off, Daisy is absolutely heartbroken. She thinks that James is in love with Grace, and therefore they have no future together. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get what she really wants, so she considers settling for good enough. (I mean absolutely no offense to Matthew.) She likes Matthew as a person, so she thinks that if she can’t have the love of her life, then maybe she can be happy with a nice boy who loves her. I imagine that most of Daisy’s POVs would be her trying to convince herself that she likes Matthew and to forget about James. To test her theory, I can see Daisy going as far as to kiss Matthew. But, I think that one kiss is as far as it will go. Daisy will kiss him, but it won’t feel right. She’ll immediately realize that she ONLY loves James, and then she’ll apologize and tell Matthew that she can’t do this.

If this plays out like this, I think that chances are James will see that kiss, and then he’ll be heartbroken. He’ll assume Daisy and Matthew are together, so he won’t tell Daisy how he feels because he doesn’t want to ruin their relationship, leading to more drama.

(Yes, I realize this would be kind of a dick move on Daisy’s part but so was convincing a heartbroken girl to run away with you without giving her time to think but in her defense, she is hurting and also a teenager, and sometimes teenagers are dumb.)

#anti fairstairs #anti mordelia #anti matthew fairchild #chain of thorns #the last hours #tlh #the shadowhunter chronicles #tsc #cassandra clare #jordelia #herondaisy

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wherebutterfliesneverdie13ghosts · 2 years

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IV. Yours Forever

A/N: I know, I know. It's been a bit. I have this story planned; It took a bit to figure out how I wanted to write it. And I finally figured out that instead of going in one fluid line, past to present, I'm going to jump back and forth and even do flashbacks. I think it will make the story less difficult to write.

So, this chapter takes place October 1 st , 2001, approximately 44 years, 2 months, and 27 days (excluding the end date) since Royce and Emily's murders and then it jumps back to February 1955 when our ghostly lovers are alive and fifteen.

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Sappy romantic stuff between two teens (alive and dead), violence, and language.

Also, some hints of Emily's ability are given in this chapter

The song Emily is playing on the piano in this chapter is "The Portrait" by James Horner. It fit with the emotions I was trying to convey in this chapter.

The Present

"Em!" Royce was about to lose what was left of his sanity if his sweet doll did not manifest her ectoplasmic behind into his sight within the span of the next five minutes. "Emmy! Where did you go?!"

He'd been looking for her for an hour. She never strayed too far away from him. As he slowly began to descend into his thoughts, trying to recall anything he might have said or done to upset her, he was saved from the black hole of his mind by a humming.

A small orb appeared in the clearing in front of him.

One of Emily's purple butterflies. They consisted entirely of glowing purple light and hummed a sweet tune he could not place, and she could manifest them and cause them to disappear at will. This one was clearly trying to lead Royce to her, so he followed the tiny creature to an area he knew very well.

Emily sat before their shared tombstone, large, and made of shining black granite, situated beneath the largest – and only – weeping willow tree in all Crescent Valley.

He observed the words he could see from his vantage point.

Royce Matthew Clayton April 2 nd , 1940 – July 4 th , 1957

And right next to him on the stone

Emily Alice Clayton April 8 th , 1940 – July 4 th , 1957

"It was sweet of our parents to have us legally married after we died, huh?"

He took a seat behind her on the grass and pulled her into his lap, nuzzling his face into her hair, the silky strands feeling like heaven against the torn skin of his face.

"We were engaged, kitten," he nipped at her neck gently. "And we were hardly ever apart."

"I think that horrendous fourth was the only time in three years we'd ever been apart."

"I still can't believe Emilia really thought that Johnny would have it in him to kill someone," Royce shook his head, remembering the pained expression on his enemy's face as the heat of the flames licked at him as he had struggled to free Royce from the wreckage of his car. "After I helped him clean up the mess he made of Ricky, we came to an uncomfortable truce of sorts."

At the mention of her, Emily's small face darkened, her fingers clenching in the material of her skirt. Eerie violin music echoed through the air as the wind picked up, the earth almost seeing to roll beneath them.

"Easy, kitten," he tightened his grip, pressing his lips to her temple as he spoke. "You don't want to cause another storm."

She took a deep, unnecessary breath before settling back against him and looking out at the field below them as Royce began to play with a strand of her hair, curling it around his finger before releasing it and then repeating the motion.

It had always been one of his favorite things to do.

February 20th, 1955 March Mansion Crescent Valley, Ohio

Royce watched from the chaise as Emily's fingers glided gracefully over the ivory keys of her parents' piano, one of her black curls escaping from her pinned hair and brushing against her cheek. Occasionally, she would pause to write something in the musical staffs in the open book in front of her before going right back to it.

He didn't know why she was fixing it. It sounded beautiful.

"Thank you," his eyes grew a bit wide when he realized he must have spoken out loud without meaning to. She turned to face him. "But its not quite perfect yet."

She patted the bench next to her.

"I'm not going to bite you now that we're dating, you know."

He stood up and glanced around before walking over and taking a seat beside her, close enough that their shoulders were touching. She smiled softly at him, giving him a sweet, featherlight kiss on his lips, before returning to her task. His heart fluttered against his ribs like a hummingbird at the gesture.

To distract himself from his wandering thoughts, Royce reached up and unpinned her hair, the black waves of hair falling to rest above her shoulders. He began to play with one of the strands, curling and uncurling it from his finger as he tried not to stare at her face.

He was so ridiculously in love with the girl next to him. She could ask him for the moon, and he would do whatever it took to obtain it for her. Emily would never ask him to do such a thing, of course, because she was a logical person who knew such a feat was impossible. But even so, Royce would give her the world if she desired it. Even as children, he could never say no to her. And she seemed to be the only person on the entire planet that could get him to calm down when he lost his temper.

Everybody else just got the hell out of the way.

But not his Emmy. No. She wasn't afraid of him like everybody else. Even his own parents strived not to upset him if they thought it could be avoided.

Movement from the entryway to the room drew his gaze where he met the enraged eyes of Emilia March. He merely rolled his own and went back to what he was doing, seeing her turn and storm off out of his peripheral vision.

"She's not happy."

Emily did not look up or stop playing as she spoke.

Royce shrugged and continued playing with her hair.

"Are you happy?"

That one drew him up short and he looked at her.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye but merely shrugged and continued what she was doing until his hand stopped hers and made her look at him.

"Answer the question please," he gripped her chin gently with his thumb and index finger. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

She shook her head and looked down, making him sigh and cup her small face between his hands.

"You have no idea," he shook his head with a disbelieving chuckle. "No concept at all of how devastatingly perfect you are."

She shook her head. "Stop."

"It's true, Emily. You know," he paused briefly before continuing. "Johnny has a crush on you," the words leaving his mouth had hatred curling in his gut, but he bit it back. They had hated each other for years over a girl. Being on opposite sides of society did not help, of course, but Emily was the root cause. "Several of my teammates." All of whom valued their limbs and quality of life over their desires, luckily for them. "Point being, you don't see yourself clearly at all, kitten."

Her bright green eyes penetrated his blue ones as he continued.

"I could live a thousand years and never deserve you, Emily," she reached up and rested her hand on his cheek. "But I am so grateful you were willing to give me a chance to try, despite the fact that I am a mess of pride and rage - "

She surprised him when she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, the hand on his cheek sliding around to tangle in the hair on the back of his head, her sweet kisses saying more than any words could. And Royce was okay with that.

A/N: Yes, yes, I know. I am sorry it took so long. But honestly, the lack of interest shown in this story by others kind of robbed me of inspiration for a bit. But a PM I got the other day rekindled it, so here this chapter is.

Reviews are appreciated.

#13 ghosts #thir13en ghosts fanfiction #13 ghosts fanfiction #thir13en ghosts #royce clayton #royce clayton and emily march #where butterflies never die #1950s

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autumn-oceanopromises · 2 years

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17/7/22

yeah, i’m tired. i’m tired and my mental condition is at 45%, my physical body condition is at 22%, i’m constantly keeping count and track of it. I think at one point the highest number I ever got to was 72% and i remember that one really well, although I don’t remember when that was: it’s weird because it’s mostly because

I don’t get enough sleep, and the reason for that is i feel there’s never enough time in the day. i don’t feel like there’s enough time in the day - i don’t feel like i have enough time to both work hard and to relax, because the way I’ve developed relaxation habits is to game and gaming takes time - time and mental energy. So in a lot of ways I’ve developed some really, really bad habits.

It makes sense, because running away takes just as much energy as facing it head on, right.

And that’s why I’m doing this! That’s why I’m doing a stream of consciousness instead of doing an actual story.

god I can’t believe I’ve already done five - but I’m genuinely just so low on mental energy that I just cannot do one right now. But matthew dicks:

was right, the number of stories, the moment I’ve seen one, shaped it, they just start to flow, and every day genuinely is more beautiful and more genuine for having stories in them. I still want to tell the story of turning my face to the sun, and I want to tell today’s story, getting to eat a cake I haven’t eaten for at least four years (except for two days ago, but you know - it’s a cake) but it’s not habitual yet,

the crafting of stories, and right now it still takes time for a story to settle in. I can bang out poetry in ten minutes, a short story - even something “easy” to tell still takes me at least two hours. It wasn’t like duplexes, even though I can understand the techniques; I’m just not as much of a prose writer, I haven’t had quite as much practice.

I think - story wise, prose-wise, short-story wise, I think I’m sitting at around.... forty? Give or take? Which is, you know, a bit short of two thousand. and change. Wait. If scripts count, then that count jumps up to about 200, but it’s still... a bit short of two thousand.

It’s odd, but basically... I set out at one point deciding that if I couldn’t put in 10,000 hours to become a master of something I’d just put in 10,000 entries, and that’s why there was 10,000 “poems to go”. I’m so genuinely excited to change the number on my blog description to “8,000 poems to go”, you have no idea.

I also had this hare-brained idea in my mid-20s, let’s call it a million-dollar poem, give me a dollar I give you a poem, let’s do a million of them, and I thought I’d be done quick but you know, fuck, it took me 7 years to write the first thousand and I’m still not done with the second. I thoroughly overestimated my writing capability, let’s be honest. On the other hand... I can write a poem with good form in ten minutes. I can write a pantoum in ten minutes (at one point with Dr. Liang, a screenwriter, she timed it); so I haven’t really walked away with nothing. On the other hand...poetry-wise, I have to make do with form and I have to fucking master form, because comparisons are shit but I feel like, as a poet, hooking someone /

behind the navel and the heart is something I do purely by accident, while the other poets I see do get hundreds of notes and I do feel something when I read them, which means they succeeded in being relatable

but if I do thousands of verses surely a few good gold nuggets will emerge from the dregs, and honestly half of this stuff is the first 10,000 pages of shit, maybe more like 90% of it, and maybe after I’m done with 4,000ish poems I’ll actually start making more good stuff. But you can learn bad habits.... so I’m not sure. Still... these blogs are almost half-diary, maybe more than half, so they still help anyway.

I don’t know. I’m just trying to heal from depression, man, I’m trying to pick myself up but i’m so tired all the time, and so fucking alone.

i’ll get back to the form of storytelling when i’m done with my working week.

#spilled ink #spilled prose #stream of consciousness #eight minute stream

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daydreamerdrew · 2 months

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Comics read this past week:

Marvel Comics:

Captain America (2017) #695-700

These issues were published across November 2017 to April 2018, according to the Marvel Wiki. All were written by Mark Waid, drawn by Chris Samnee, and colored by Matthew Wilson.

Issues #695-697 were all stand-alone stories, part of an arc called “Home of the Brave,” as Steve was road-tripping through the United States in search of a new place to settle down. He explains this in issue #696 as, “I’m tired of being a couch-surfer. I haven’t had my own place in years that wasn’t subsidized by S.H.I.E.L.D. or Tony Stark or whoever before all that went away. Which always tied me to the New York area.”

I found the Captain America event in issue #695 endearing. And I liked Steve’s ethos of “The strong protect the weak,” told to a child at one point as “You have to protect Jacob. [..] Because he’s smaller than you.” I was surprised by the depiction, in a flashback to back when Steve had only recently been unfrozen, that Captain America had been largely forgotten and people didn’t recognize him. I’ve elsewhere seen it portrayed that he was remembered as an important historical figure and him being discovered to still be alive was a big deal. In issue #696, when Steve’s encouraged to take steps to prevent being recognized so that he’s not bombarded by fans and reporters wherever he goes, he says, “It’s not something I give a lot of thought to, to be honest.” Steve’s relationship to media attention is something I find really interesting. This portrayal is simple, but it works for the character. Also, I liked how casual he was at the end of the issue about saving a town. And I enjoyed the opening scene of issue #697, where Steve is casually chatting with a woman in a bar.

Issue #698 is where things really kicked off for me as a reader, with the storyline “Out of Time,” which went from there to issue #700. In this story Steve is frozen in ice once again, only to be woken up in a dystopic America where almost all of the heroes he knew are dead. In issue #698 Steve learns about this new America he’s found himself in, and resolves to “take our country back.” Issue #699 is that overthrow of the corrupt elite. And then in issue #700 Steve struggles to rebuild America from there.

In issue #698 Steve says to Liang, the character who becomes his primary ally in this dystopian future, “‘Doesn’t it destroy you to find out your life’s work left no impact?’ Is that your question? Because I’m trying not to think about it. Right now, I have a job to do.”

In issue #699 she says, “I know you wish you were back home.” He responds, “‘Home’ is wherever my country needs me, Liang. But yes, I do. Still, I’ve made this sort of leap across time before. And like the last one… I need to make peace with the fact that it’s probably a one-way trip.”

Issue #700 is where things got emotional for me. 80 days into building “New America,” Steve is offered a way to go back in time for prevent the apocalypse from ever happening, which he turns down. He explains, “What if all that does is create an alternate timeline? How would that fix the here and now? Or what if I go back in time and somehow fail? That takes me off the board altogether, and then how many more of us die?” At this point in time Steve ultimately believes that, “Your reality is theoretical. Mine is concrete. Real lives versus hypotheticals. […] I can’t abandon this fight. I promised to make this right, and I can.”

But it’s not easy, and 349 days in they suffer a crushing blow, which causes Steve to have a change of heart. He dismisses his earlier mentality as “over-confident” and says he should, “think, not just act. I’ve been ordering my men not to waste energy dying on every hill, but that’s the problem- I don’t know how to stop. I never did.” He says, “Hope is not a plan,” which is called, “the least Captain America thing I ever heard.” And he says that at this point he can either give or accept the Hail Mary, and “I don’t know how to give up.”

Steve is sent back to right when he was frozen in ice, and right before the nuclear bombs were launched. He quickly attacks the villain’s base, but the bombs were still activated. It takes Steve sacrificing himself, with only seconds to spare, to save the world. His final words were him accepting, “I don’t know how to stop. I never did. Hope is not a plan. But you sure as hell can’t win without it.” I had already thought that the way Chris Samnee drew Steve going back in time was beautiful, but the way he drew Steve burning up to parallel that was so impactful. This Steve dies, but the frozen Steve is broken out of the ice by the explosion. And he goes on with his life having no idea about his other self’s sacrifice or experiences in the future. He does happen to come across Liang, but the meeting has no emotional significance to either of them.

The Avengers (1963) #39

This issue was published in February 1967, according to the Marvel Wiki. It was written by Roy Thomas, penciled by Don Heck, and inked by George Roussos.

In previous issues Hank was particularly suspicious of Natasha. In issue #38 he voiced that he wouldn’t stand for her being allowed to officially join the Avengers. She’d been hanging around for a while as Clint’s girlfriend. But Natasha, who’d previously expressed that she wanted to be an official Avenger, shocked them all by announcing that she was breaking up with Clint and leaving the country. She’d been recruited by Nick Fury for a spy mission and was specifically asked to not tell anyone the truth about what she was doing. She’d hoped that by hurting Clint’s feelings she’s stop him from following her, which would endanger him. Hank surprised me during this by saying, “There must be more to this than meets the eye! I may not be a charter member of your fan club, Widow- But I had never figured you for sellin’ out,” before accepting that she was probably telling the truth about her intentions.

In this issue it’s public knowledge that Natasha betrayed the country, and Hank surprised me again by not believing it, saying that, “there’s some reason for her acts! There must be!” The rest of the Avengers are skeptical, too, but Hank seems to me to be the most vocal one. Clint is the exception. He actually left the scene before this conversation, and when he speaks elsewhere on his own he’s expresses that he’s plotting to find Natasha, “Then, maybe- just maybe- I can talk some sense into her- Before it’s too late!”

There’s also a scene at S.H.I.E.L.D. with Nick Fury, Dum Dum Dugan, and Jasper Sitwell. Jasper questions, “But, Colonel- Are you positive she can be trusted?” Nick Fury responds, “We got no choice, Sitwell! We gotta trust her!” This is of particular interest to me because I’m already interested in Natasha and Nick’s relationship, and I like Jasper and it’s stated in Winter Soldier (2012) that Natasha particularly got along well with him.

DC Comics:

Batman (2016) #25-32

These issues were published across June 2017 to October 2017 according to the Grand Comics Database. I’m continuing working through rereading Tom King’s Batman run.

Issues #25-26 and #28-29 and #31-32 were “The War of Jokes and Riddles” storyline. All were drawn by Mikel Janín, except that Hugo Petrus also worked on the inking of issue #29. All were colored by June Chung. Issues #27 and #30 were ‘interlude’ stories, though still strongly related, titled “The Ballad of Kite-Man.” Both were penciled by Clay Mann. Issue #27 was inked by Danny Miki, John Livesay, and Clay Mann, and was colored by Gabe Eltaeb. And issue #30 was inked by Seth Mann, and was colored by Jordie Bellaire.

I remember not liking this arc the first time I read the book. It worked better for me this time, but I think that’s partially because there’s been a little bit of time since I read the first 24 issues of this book. Those first four storylines and what they meant for Bruce’s character were of more interest to me, but this time there was more distance for me as a reader from that more intriguing storytelling.

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (1989) #16-20

These issues were published across February 1991 to June 1991, according to the Grand Comics Database. All were written by Denny O’Neil. The layouts of all of the issues were drawn by Trevor Von Eeden, which were finished by Russ Braun, and then inked by José Luis García-López. This was the “Venom” storyline, in which Bruce became addicted to and then recovered from an early version of the villain Bane’s fictional drug.

I wasn’t really that into this one. I’ll note that the previous storylines in this book have each followed chronologically near the start of Bruce’s career as Batman, including as part of the stories the creation of the Batcave, the Batmobile, ect. This arc is the first departure from that. Nothing indicates that this story takes place towards the beginning of Bruce’s career as Batman, and also the opening narration of the first issue refers to the story as being reflected upon from the future.

Action Comics (2016) #1064

This issue was published this month, April 2024. It was written by Joshua Williamson, drawn by Rafa Sandoval, and colored by Alejandro Sánchez.

I pretty much said everything I wanted to say about this issue here.

#comics read this past week #my posts

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