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bokutosbiceps · 11 months

Text

real deal

kure raian x f!reader | smut + some fluff | 2.2k words

summary: raian comes home from a job to find that you’ve replaced him with a little piece of plastic. he decides to show you why the real deal is always better

warnings: mentions of murder, cursing (it’s rai omg), nsfw under the cut, use of sex toy, cunnilingus, throat fucking, choking/gagging, pussy eating, fingering, rough sex, possessive sex, mating press, dirty talk

a/n: i’m dedicating this to @thebigevilsamp + @missmadness123 because i used to thirst over raian with these two so i figured you guys would appreciate this 🥹 i’m sorry for leaving LOL. oh + also @kenganparadise + @kengan-ass because i enjoyed their writing at the peak of the fandom 💕

18+ MINORS DNI

Raian swung his keys around on his index finger as he strolled back to his car, whistling a tune he’d had stuck in his head throughout his entire job. Erioh had sent him to kill some asshole who had been embezzling money from one of Erioh’s oldest friend’s company, and Raian couldn’t have been less intrigued.

The job was easy, since the target was just an old dude. A simple squeeze of his hand had snapped the old man’s fragile cervical spine, extinguishing the last bit of life the guy had left in him. Whatever, he was probably going to die within the next 10 years anyways. But however easy the job was, it was equally long. The target rarely ever worked given his old age, and it took forever to get intel on when the old bag would show up to work. Raian was never able to figure out where he lived, either. He didn’t understand how old people could be so elusive.

I’ve just gotta go report back to old man Erioh and then I’ll finally be able to get home. Raian grunted to himself as he weaved in and out of traffic on his way to Kure Village. I wonder how my bitch is doing… Raian’s expression softened as he thought of coming home to you after being away for so long on this job. He would probably never get used to being received with such excitement and love when returning home from a job. Deep down, he loved it. And deep down, he missed you more and more as the days apart from you passed. He appreciated the short but sweet texts you would send him, telling him that you were thinking of him, or that you missed him, sometimes even complete with a cute or sexy photo of you.

Maybe he should do something nice for you. Since he was in a good mood.

Raian sneered as he slammed his car door shut after pulling up to a random supermarket. Dumb bitch, making me get her flowers. Why do women even like flowers? They’re so useless, can’t even eat them or use them as a weapon. Fucking hell. He grumbled to himself as he picked up some flowers, already knowing exactly which kind he would get since he had taken note of what types of flowers you liked to adorn the kitchen table with in the house. He could be observant when he wanted. He threw some cash at the cashier and stalked back to his car, speeding to Kure Village so he could debrief Erioh and be on his merry way to your arms.

“It’s finished, old man.” Raian leaned against the door frame to Erioh’s office, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he watched his grandfather raise his eyebrows in surprise.

“I’m surprised it took you so long. I was starting to wonder if you’d finally pissed someone off enough to get yourself killed.” Erioh cackled at how quickly Raian’s smirk disappeared.

“Kill? Me?” Raian snorted. “You know better, you old bastard, no one can kill me.” Raian straightened once he remembered your flowers were resting in the front seat of his car, likely shriveling up in the sweltering heat of the afternoon. “I’m leaving. If you need anything else, don’t.” Raian turned on his heel and waved to Erioh as he exited his house.

“Raian.” Erioh called out to him and Raian huffed as he turned back around to face his grandfather, glaring at him expectantly. “I’m giving you the next two weeks off. Spend some time with your woman.” Erioh smiled slyly and sat down at his desk. “If I’m going to be appointing you as head of the clan anytime soon, I’ll be wanting to see that you are capable of upholding your bloodline.” Erioh gave Raian a pointed look. “Get busy.”

Raian scoffed as he continued to make his way out of Erioh’s house. Way ahead of you.

It took Raian less than 3 minutes to drive the short distance from Erioh’s house in the depths of Kure Village to his own home somewhere in the upper ring of the village.

He unlocked the front door and entered the silent house with flowers in hand, somewhat disappointed that you weren’t jumping into his arms to greet him like you usually did. It’s what he got for trying to surprise you with his return.

“Y/n?” Raian called out as he walked from the front room to the living room, stopping in the kitchen to set the flowers down on the table next to the vase filled with almost identical flowers. He heard a small buzzing noise coming from down the hall and followed the noise to the bedroom. What he found was a delicious sight.

You were lying on the California king, legs open wide, chest heaving, and lips parted in pleasure as you held something small and colorful and vibrating to your clit.

“Hmm, the fuck is going on here?” Raian’s deep drawl shook you out of your haze of pleasure, causing you to immediately close your legs and sit up in slight fear and embarrassment.

“Rai, I didn’t know you were coming home.” Your voice was breathless, your hair slightly tousled, and your cheeks held a shade of arousal that Raian found so delectable. He approached the bed in one long stride and snatched the vibrator out of your hand before you could even think to hide it. “I missed you.” You said bashfully, watching as Raian inspected the toy that fit in between his large fingers.

“You missed me so you tried to replace me with this thing?” Raian challenged, crushing the vibrator between his fingers and shifting his gaze to you.

“Nothing can replace you, Rai.” You sat up onto your knees to become level with Raian, who was still standing by the bedside, now brushing the remnant of your brand new vibrator onto the floor. You slid your hands underneath his shirt and up his chest. “Fusui just…suggested it to me. She knew I was missing you and you never told me when you’d be back…a girl has her needs, y’know.”

“So did that little fucking toy satisfy your needs?” Raian seized your hands with one of his hands and used his other hand to grip your face. You shook your head in blatant and hurried denial. “Good, I’m glad my bitch knows the difference between a piece of plastic and the real deal.”

Raian wasted no time in pushing you back on the bed and placing his knees on either side of your naked body, dragging his shirt off while you made quick work of his belt and pushed his jeans down to expose the bulge in his boxers.

“You see how hard I am already, bitch? This was your plan all along, hm? For me to come home and see my bitch all laid out on the bed for me, ready to be fucked?” Raian sank his teeth into your shoulder, rutting his hips so that his bulge was rubbing against your pussy. You gasped at the sudden contact and wrapped your legs around his hips obediently, giving him more access. “Good girl.” He growled, moving his hands down to squeeze and knead your ass.

“Rai, fuck—I missed you, so much.” You breathed, bucking your hips against his boxers, getting them soaked in your arousal.

Raian sat back on his heels, eyes raking over your naked body which was trembling with excitement at the evening ahead of you. He looked down at his boxers and frowned. “Dirty girl, huh? Getting my boxers all wet with your pussy juices.” He stood up briefly to take off his boxers, releasing his girthy cock and letting it slap against his lower abdomen. You drooled at the site of his pre-cum leaking out in beads from his tip.

Raian kneeled back on the bed and grabbed a fistful of your hair, coaxing your lips closer to his cock until it was fully shoved down your throat. He warmed his cock in your throat until he noticed tears forming at the corner of your eyes and decided to give a good, strong thrust into your mouth, causing you to gag.

“My bitch is gonna gag on my cock, huh? Did you miss the way it tastes? Are you gonna take all this cum for me?” He bullied you, fucking your throat despite your gagging and choking until he was shooting ropes of cum down into your stomach. He slid out of your mouth and let you catch your breath while pushing you back down on the bed and pressing kisses down your neck, to your breasts, to your navel, before placing a chaste kiss to your clit, making you whine and arch your back.

“Does my girl want me to fuck her cunt with my tongue?” Raian smirked at your whining as you twisted his hair in your fists, trying to push your hip into his face. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“I want you t-to fuck me, Rai.” You breathed. “I missed your cock so much, baby.” Raian clicked his tongue before pushing one, then two, then three fingers inside of you, eliciting a high pitched whine from you that originated from deep in your chest.

“Not yet, bitch.” Raian pumped his fingers in and out of you as he licked a stripe up your clit. “I’ve gotta torture you first.” Raian continued fucking you with his fingers and licking and sucking on your clit until your thighs were trembling and he was sure you were about to cum. Just when you felt like you were about to fall over the edge, Raian abandoned your pussy, making you shiver slightly at the cold air that replaced his touch.

You lifted your heavy head to see Raian kneeling again, stroking his cock and spreading his pre-cum to make sure he could fuck you easily. You eyed his cock hungrily, remembering how just moments ago that thing had been shoved down your throat so far you could barely breathe.

Without any warning, Raian hoisted your legs onto his shoulders and leaned down in between your legs to lick greedily up your neck before capturing your lips in a rough kiss, almost feral, that left you dizzy. Raian’s lips put you into such a trance that the pressure of Raian pushing his cock inside of you made you squeal in surprise, throwing your head and arching your back, making Raian’s angle inside of you even deeper.

“Fuck, babe, how could I resist the feeling of your pussy squeezing my cock like this?” Raian picked up the pace, bottoming out with every thrust. “How much did you miss me?” Raian gripped your chin and forced you to look at him, but your eyes were rolling into the back of your head from the pleasure of Raian’s cock filling you up. “Look at me, bitch, tell me how much you missed me fucking you like this.”

You willed yourself to meet Raian’s feral gaze, which made your walls squeeze around Raian’s cock even tighter as he fucked you into the bed. “I missed you so much—baby, I-I dreamed about you coming home and—f-fucking me just like this.”

“Hm, good answer.” Raian's pace started to become erratic and his hips stuttered. “I think I’m gonna let you cum. Is that what you want?” You managed to moan out a yes as Raian’s thrusts became rougher and he squeezed your hips with his fingers, hard enough to leave bruises. He growled as he neared his release and the sound was the final straw to bring on your climax. Raian was not far behind you and he released into you as he bit your bottom lip before smoothing it over with his tongue.

Once he was sure he had emptied the last drop of his cum into your cunt, he slipped out of you and threw himself down onto the bed next to you, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into his chest. He let you catch your breath before continuing his bullying.

“So me or the toy?” He asked through a smirk. You huffed.

“Rai, shut up. I was just desperate, you were gone for a long time.” You said the last part quietly.

Raian felt a twinge of guilt poke him in the chest. He frowned and ran his hands down your back, squeezing your ass. “Sorry.” He mumbled. Two weeks didn’t seem like that long when he was focused on a job, but he had never thought of how long it must’ve seemed to you when you had to deal with his family every day.

“It’s fine.” You stifled a yawn and curled yourself further into Raian’s chest. “Just as long as you come back to me every time.”

The corner of Raian’s mouth turned upward into what could have been regarded as a smile, had you seen it. He just grunted in agreement. Nothing could keep me away.

#kure raian #kengan ashura #kengan omega #kure raian x reader #kure raian smut #raian kure #raian kure smut #raian kure x reader

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atopvisenyashill · 3 days

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What if Jaehaerys died instead of Aemon?

So if Jaehaerys decided “i’ll take care of those pirates on Vermithor” and then took an arrow to the face, Aemon becomes King no problem, no muss, no fuss. There’s like. A lot of moving parts here and unknowns so I’m kinda breaking this up a bit-

Whomst Is All Here

So Jaehaerys dies in 92 AC. Aemon is King. Rhaenys is his heir presumptive, Laena HER heir presumptive. Baelon is alive for about nine more years, Alysanne for eight, though her memory is starting to go and she’s going to stop riding Silverwing within a few years. Gael is still alive. Viserys & Aemma haven’t married yet, nor have Daemon & Rhea. Laenor is two years from being born, Rhaenyra is….three I think idr exactly ajsj. I think Alysanne and Baelon are both gonna die at roughly the same time, given Aly is old & frail and Baelon had appendicitis, but imo, Aemma, Gael, Jocelyn, & Aemon are really up in the air here.

Succession Issues

What does Aemon do for succession? Well, considering Rhaenys’ argument is “you would rob my son of his birthright” I think it’s very likely that Aemon names Laenor Crown Prince/Prince of Dragonstone the moment he’s born, or soon after. Im……a bit unsure on the interim, because Laenor is born in 94, two years after Jaehaerys dies. Not a long time but long enough that people are probably going “well……what happens when you die tho.” Aemon is said to be a man who was quiet and dedicated to law and justice (whatever his definition that means, lmao), so I think he goes for the Aegon I approach after Rhaena is born but before Aegon the Uncrowned is born and goes “*cough cough* anyway look at how cute my granddaughter Laena is, you know she can ALREADY hold her head up, so strong, she’ll be a dragon rider for sure.”

It’s not that he’s actively trying to spurn Baelon & Viserys, it’s that Rhaenys can only have kids so fast, and they are nowhere near the point where she needs to feel rushed yet. She’s like 17, this is her first child, and it was perfectly healthy. With the shock of Jaehaerys dying in such a stupid way (he’s supposed to be like, The Conciliator, The Old Guy, and he goes out in an accident during a minor skirmish when he’d historically been very adept at squashing minor skirmishes), so that approach probably works until Laenor is born.

After that, Laenor is named Crown Prince and given all the education, privilege, and trappings that go with that title. If Aemon outlives Baelon but not by long, I………do think maybe the exact titles are a little messy? Because Alyssa was a queen Already when she’s Queen Regent, same for Cersei later on, but Rhaenys is never a Queen, Jocelyn is. So would Jocelyn maybe want the title Queen Regent? Or would she name Rhaenys…..Princess Regent? Out of respect for the fact that Laenor is Rhaenys’ son and she should have a say in his life? They could just name Lord Corlys Regent and Hand Of The King tbf, but we know nothing about Jocelyn’s personality, and we know Rhaenys is a proud woman, so I do wonder if there’s a lil thing going on here for a minute over who gets to Regent. That goes double if Aemon doesn’t outlive Baelon because I think Baelon would also put his hat in the ring, given it’s likely he serves as his brother’s hand. I mean, there’s not gonna be a war over who gets to be Regent, lol, but I do think there’s some power jockeying if Aemon doesn’t live too much longer, and Laenor doesn’t come of age before his grandfather dies.

Marriage Matches

With Aemon and Baelon being besties, I think it’s pretty natural to expect them to engage little Laenor and Viserys’ daughter - it just might not be Rhaenyra. the aemma marriage happens after Baelon is named Crown Prince, likely to ensure Viserys goes uncontested. With Rhaenys not yet having a daughter, I think there’s a chance Alysanne and/or Jocelyn, Rhaenys, even Aemon himself puts the kibbosh on that match until Laenor is born. THEN they’d be allowed to get married, imo, to ensure they have a Perfect Valyrian Bride option for Laenor. Laena is there, obviously, to be his sister-wife as well, BUT if Laenor doesn’t take an early interest in her (lol) I think Alysanne might push for them to have another Valyrian girl for him to get interested in. I think especially given Alysanne’s reaction to her daughters’ deaths, she might want to watch over their children and for Alysanne, that means match making, and on paper, Viserys is a nice match for Aemma. So maybe the Viserys-Aemma marriage happens, just later, so maybe Rhaenyra is born a little later, or maybe Aemma lives longer because her “purpose” isn’t to have a son, but a daughter, and she does this quickly.

ANOTHER marriage to take into consideration outside of Laenor is Laena herself. See, if Laenor is Crown Prince, he can’t be Lord or Driftmark. Does Corlys want to wait for Laenor to have more than one son, so he can name his grandchild his heir, risking that Laenor never has more than one son? Is he happy with Laena as eventual Lady of Driftmark? (seems….doubtful given his actions re: passing over Baela AND Rhaena for Addam and Alyn) Do he and Rhaenys try for a third child, and hope it’s a son? Lot of factors here, but if he is waiting for Laenor to have a second son, Laena is heir presumptive literally until adulthood. I think Corlys may be a bit more careful with engaging her to random sea lords willy nilly, if he’s risking going like twenty years without a clear heir. Also, given that Corlys is Velaryon, I do think it’s more likely he wants Laenor married to a born Targaryen woman, and not to Laena, and same for Laena - I don’t think she’s marrying a younger sibling lol. But also - maybe Aemon feels some type of way about this? I mean, he married his aunt, a way of joining the two lines of Alyssa Velaryon, so I do feel he would Also be more inclined to have Laenor marry Rhaenyra, and give Corlys the room to marry Laena off to whomever he wants. If the reason Rhaenys only had two kids is because birth was hard on Rhaenys, I think Aemon might step in to be like “Hey I didn’t force Jocelyn, I waited around for a grandson, so you better not be forcing my daughter, you can wait for Laena’s grandson too.” Like i THINK. And I’m not sure Corlys is the sort of man who would force a pregnancy on Rhaenys either, if only for pragmatism sake (but also, it just doesn’t seem his style). Anyways, as usual, Driftmark succession is messy.

Daemon is still likely bound for the Vale, considering the reason for that match was likely “give Daemon a seat he can fuck off to so he’s not a problem in the capital” and they already have Viserys as the extra dude at king’s landing, they don’t need ANOTHER of these guys hanging around wanting a dragon. and i DO wonder if he’s MORE miserable here - we don’t get a sense of his relationships with Rhaenys, Aemon, Baelon, or Alysanne but I can’t imagine they are any more sympathetic to his hatred of his marriage than Viserys was PLUS Aemon is still alive and therefor still riding Caraxes, so I think it’s not unlikely Daemon hasn’t claimed a dragon because there’s just not one to claim.

Gael, imo, wouldn’t be married off until after Alysanne dies, since Alysanne did not seem like she was in a hurry to do it. I can’t see Rhaenys pushing the point, and I do wonder if Aemon just puts it off bc like, it wasn’t an issue he wanted to push on Alysanne, and after that it’s just instinctual to go “yeah that’s Gael she’s always in the corner talking dragons with Laena, sisters, what can ya do” until there’s like, a good political reason to marry her off. My reasoning here btw is a) he seems to be a bit hands off when it comes to Jocelyn and Rhaenys and b) i think gael being Laena, Laenor, & Rhaenyra’s weird maiden aunt to be really funny, personally.

DRAGONS

So. It’s the year 102 AC. Aemon has been king for a decade, with a clear heir for eight years, though his mother, Alysanne, died a few years ago and his beloved brother Baelon died suddenly a year ago. He is still riding Caraxes! Living dragons that are riderless include Dreamfyre, Vhagar, Vermithor, Silverwing, potentially Seasmoke. Rhaenys has Meleys, Balerion just died. Kind of a dearth of dragon riders right now.

Again, this means either Daemon had to claim a different one - but WHICH ONE, I mean, Balerion, assuming Viserys still claims him just cuz, like, why would you give a dying dragon to your crown prince, but if the man who will eventually be the father of your grandson’s wife wants him, that might be a cool thing to brag about? and I do NAWT thing Aemon is letting Daemon get near Vhagar & I can’t see Daemon and Dreamfyre liking each other lmao - or Daemon still doesn’t have a dragon. Caraxes/Daemon aside, if you’re king, how do you plan this all out? I imagine Jaehaerys OR Alysanne had some sort of discussion with Aemon about controlling who gets to claim dragons?

Anyways, Laenor, growing up crown prince, is likely given a dragon egg in the cradle. There’s not a lot of young dragons to claim, I think Aemon would feel safe hatching another one for his heir. I don’t think it’s likely Rhaenyra has Syrax though - Viserys would need to ask Aemon for permission, and neither Aemon, nor Baelon nor Alyssa nor Rhaenys had cradle eggs. That said, I think he’d allow Rhaenyra to claim a dragon for her wedding to Laenor. The question is which one because as we know, Rhaenyra is a Visenya fangirl but-

ENTER LAENA VELARYON. All we know for sure from f&b is that Laena had claimed Vhagar by 105 AC and that Laenor claimed Seasmoke when they were both young. In the show - and tbc, idk if this was a thing George wanted in there, or just something they threw in - that Laena (and Aemond) heard Vhagar’s call and followed it to claim Vhagar, who was living wild still. So the question becomes….yeah sure it’s possible that Rhaenyra would want to claim Vhagar but does Laena hear the call and chase Vhagar anyway? Does Laenor’s cradle egg perhaps not hatch, and Laenor hears Seasmoke and claims him? IDK, it’s kinda weird but interesting.

If we’re going with what EYE think is most fun here - I like the idea that Laena hears Vhagar and claims her and I think Aemon would be delighted by his oldest grandchild being gutsy enough to seek out Vhagar. I think Aemon might hope for Rhaenyra to claim Silverwing, but tbh I keep picturing Gael, Laena, and Rhaenyra going dragon hunting after not totally jiving with Dreamfyre, and Laena nags Vhaegar and Gael nabs Silverwing mostly by accident, so Rhaenyra claims Vermithor. But that’s just like, me loving my girls aksjd. Rhaenyra could go for Dreamfyre tbh, and maybe even Syrax hatches because Aemon gives Rhaenyra permission to choose an egg. Idk. There’s a lot of ways to handle this, and I would think Aemon is very aware of how many dragons he’s letting get claimed & hatched, more so than Viserys was, because Aemon was trained to rule for far longer, and by a father who wasn’t already aging and forgetting shit.

But what is Daemon doing……..I kinda want HIM to claim Seasmoke, like, just angry and following the call of some wild dragon that’s been traveling up and down the coast of Westeros, and claiming a dragon historically claimed by two (2) gay men. Lol, lmao. And similar with Laenor/Laena in canon, Aemon can’t like, say no once Daemon has claimed him - he just needs to keep an eye on the wild dragons and people getting too near them. Which is also why I lean towards “the girls go dragon hunting with Rhaenys” because Aemon wants the dragons claimed if they don’t want to nest in the dragon pit.

WEIRD DYNAMICS

Laenor, growing up crown prince, may feel much more confident in himself, more sure of his role at court. Rhaenyra still grows up at court, but potentially with the influence of her mother, Aemma, and her cousin and future good mother Rhaenys as mentors, AND Gael - even discounting my theory there, Alysanne hasn’t been traveling back and forth between Dragonstone and the capital so Gael is slightly more active and at court. Personally, I like the idea of her and Laena both sneaking off one night, tired of waiting for Laena’s marriage where she can claim a dragon, and just claiming Vhagar and Silverwing for funsies.

I do think on the whole, the Laenor and Rhaenyra probably have both a better dynamic, and a healthier outlook on life because there’s not such a hubbub about the succession, their private lives, or their own status. It’s also possible that Daemon & Rhaenyra have been so cut off from each other for so long, Rhaenyra never develops a real attachment to him, and with some better mentors around her and like, someone who actually cares about her well-being around, Rhaenyra has a more socially acceptable outlet for her brothel escapades lmao. On the other hand, of course, it’s possible that being so secure in her position for so long makes Rhaenyra feel she can get away with being a little wild, and Aemon/Rhaenys have her and Laenor married quickly and packed off to Dragonstone to go grow up.

I do think the court is probably like, more or less pretty chill until Rhaenyra & Laenor & Laena get old enough to start like, fucking around. You would think with some stability theyd all be slightly more serious the way Rhaenys is, but like, you can’t be truly sure lol. And that’s not even factoring in Daemon feeling abandoned in the Vale.

#asks #anons #again the problem is aemon is such an unknown.#canon divergent au

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wellgoslowly · 1 year

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since yall liked part one so much- part two!! of my locklyle fake dating/fake kiss fic mwah ha ha

thanks, you guys for all of the love on the first part!! i decided to feed yall with a little lucy yearning for lockwood and the trio just being chaotic in general plus some lore behind why lockwood and lucy are in the situation from the first part in the first place :) also this probably would take place more in tv canon, about a month after the end of the season

EARLIER THAT DAY - 8 HOURS BEFORE

“Lockwood, there is no possible way that we’re going to be able to get this job done. I have no time to even scratch the surface of this sword’s history- it’s too dangerous!”

George was fuming. It wasn’t even eight in the morning and the three residents of 35 Portland Row were already gathered in the kitchen, letting soft early morning light filter in through the open window. A breeze blew in, causing George to shiver in annoyance before turning around and stomping upstairs, probably in pursuit of a hoodie to combat the chill.

Lockwood groaned, running a hand through his hair and running after George. Lucy suppressed a laugh, but she knew that George was right. They were immensely underprepared and unequipped to take on this case, and yet Lockwood had immediately told the client that she could count on Lockwood & Co. to take care of her predicament, much to the disdain of Lucy and George.

The ‘predicament’ that this client had been experiencing? Extremely dangerous clusters of Type Twos.

Ms. Matilda Motland had inherited an extremely haunted manor belonging to her grandfather, the notorious serial killer Harold Motland. He was known for luring transients, specifically agents traveling to London in search of mainstream agency work, to his estate. There he would either kill them with an old family sword or, when there were enough dead bodies and Visitors that dwelled within the Motland Manor, he would retire the sword and force these young agents to die of ghost touch in an attempt to avert any suspicious looks that might come his way.

His killing spree lasted for almost 40 years and had resulted in twenty three victims killed on the premises, so when the trio of Lockwood & Co. had gone to the manor the previous night to contain the Sources of the twenty three victims, it had proven to be a tense and nearly fatal night.

And it made things so, so much worse that Harold Motland’s Source, the notorious sword he had used to start his killings, the thing that they were truly meant to contain, had been stolen by relic men from right under their noses as they dealt with the ghosts of all of the victims.

And now Anthony Lockwood, the madman he was, had just told his best friends that he had set up something with Flo for that night which entailed a heist at another auction. Because the last one went so well.

There was yelling coming from upstairs, but Lucy wasn’t really paying attention- she had picked up a pencil and was busy sketching the three residents of 35 Portland Row on the thinking cloth. This is something she did somewhat regularly- it was somewhat cathartic for her, combining her favorite people with her favorite hobby.

“Do I have to remind you what happened during your last auction heist?” George yelled from upstairs. “George is right!” Lucy yelled, trying to make sure that the boys could hear her. Immediately, she heard George shout “Thank you, Lucy!” at the same time that Lockwood groaned. She chuckled.

Hearing footsteps on the stairs, announcing George and Lockwood’s return to the kitchen, Lucy finished up her sketch and strategically laid her elbow on the table, leaning so her body would cover it.

She normally did this- drawing the three of them in random places on the thinking cloth that wouldn’t be seen until she had left or until objects were moved while she wasn’t in the room. This way she could ensure that the boys knew she liked to draw the three of them, rather than doing it for instant praise.

She could always tell if the boys saw the drawings while she was out or not in the room- she would come downstairs to get some tea and George and Lockwood would look up from whatever they were doing to offer her appreciative smiles.

Lucy Carlyle wasn’t great with words, so she made sure that her actions could show these two idiotic boys she had grown to love that they were her family, and she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

“You just had to side with him, didn’t you Luce?” Lockwood asked as he walked back into the kitchen, immediately walking to the counter to put the kettle on. George trailed behind him with a prideful grin on his face, obviously warmer than before due to the help of his oversized hoodie and his slippers.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I’m not trying to personally spite you, Lockwood. George is right. We don’t have the time or the resources to pull this off successfully. We were confident that nothing was going to go wrong last time, and it ended up being a shitshow. I say that we let DEPRAC take over this time. I don’t want any of us to end up in the Thames again.”

George made a noise of agreement from where he sat across the table from Lucy, nodding at Lucy’s suggestion. “Yes, please Lockwood. We can give this to Barnes- you know he’d give us at least a little financial compensation for the lead on the auction.”

Lucy was about to say something in agreement, but her train of thought was interrupted as she felt a nudge on her shoulder. She turned to see Lockwood with a plate of toast, prepared just the way she liked: butter, with a little bit of jelly. She smiled and moved to accept the plate, forgetting the drawing she had been hiding until Lockwood leaned down to inspect it.

She had never seen him look at one of her drawings while she was in the room, and she didn’t know how to feel. She awaited his feedback with a little bit of anxiety, her eyes seeking out George for some sort of help. He just rolled his eyes and muttered about how Lockwood never prepared him toast, which was a total lie.

Lucy turned her eyes back to Lockwood’s head, which was now precariously close to her own. Finally, finally, he smiled. It wasn’t one of the cocky grins while out on a job or fighting with Kipps- it was pure appreciation and utter adoration. “Good job, Luce. I think this is my favorite one.” He whispered, and Lucy could feel her face heat up as Lockwood turned away from the table, now on a mission to make George a piece of toast since he so kindly asked for it.

“Look, everything will be fine. I promise.” He said after a couple of minutes, setting down mugs full of tea in front of Lucy and George, then turning back around to retrieve one for himself. “Flo and I have planned out everything- she’s going to come over to go over the plan.” Lucy was about to speak up, but Lockwood held out a hand to stop her. “Barnes already knows. He’ll be a couple of blocks away in case something goes awry or we need assistance.”

Lockwood grinned at his friends over the brim of his mug as he took a sip. “Really. We’re going to be fine.” There was banging on the door, and Lockwood jumped up, a grin on his face. “That will be Flo. I’ll go get the door.” Lucy could’ve sworn he seemed almost excited at the idea of possibly dying at the hands of the Winkmans or whoever else might decide that they didn’t like the look of him at this terrifying auction.

Before leaving the kitchen, he turned back to his friends and chuckled. “It’s Lockwood & Co. What could possibly go wrong?” And then he was gone.

Lucy and George groaned in unison, the former muttering “famous last words” under her breath.

#renew lockwood and co #lockwood and co #anthony bloody lockwood #anthony lockwood #lockwood x lucy #lucy carlyle #george cubbins #george karim #locklyle brainrot is real #locklyle #i am a firm believer that locklyle would kiss first discuss feelings later #flo bones #anthony lockwood is an idiot #but i love him so its ok #just reckless enough #fanfic #fanfiction #lockwood and co fanfiction #locklyle fanfiction

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anjuschiffer · 9 months

Text

Do We Dare to Dream? - Chapter 4

...didn’t realize i didn’t post this before sleeping...I got work in like 6 hours...enjoy :D

P.Tag: @toodaloo-kangaroo @vixen-uchiha @elijahcrevan

Tag: @hammalammadamdam

MASTERLIST | PREV | AO3

The invasion of the League’s headquarters quickly made Ra’s reconsider the security and loyalty of his men, Ra’s quickly worked to fix that issue…even if it meant killing every person who showed even the slightest bit of uncertainty.

As for Jason, after being dipped into the Lazarus Pit, he was put to work, being given his first solo mission in a long while.

“Meet Damian.” Talia introduced, Jason simply looking at the 7 year old boy staring back at him.

He had seen the boy a few times, having always been ushered away whenever Damian would want to use the library or training grounds for his own. He was never allowed to interact with the boy…not that he would have cared if it weren’t for the reactions the others would have around them.

He would hear the murmurs and whispers that would follow when instructors would look at Damian and then at him. Stares that judged and compared Jason to Ra’s grandson…

Something was up, but he didn’t dare to try and figure it out. After all, he didn’t want to die again.

“I don’t trust him.” Damian told his mother as he started to fumble with the handle of his newly gifted dagger.

“Damian.” Talia warned, turning back to Jason. “For your next assignment, you are in charge of my son’s safety.”

”Safety?” Jason dared to ask, earning a glare from Ra’s.

“You will be escorting him to his father’s place.” Talia finished, watching as Damian looked at her wide eyed.

His father?

“We will be providing transport up until you get to Gotham.” At that name, Jason felt his mind muddle. “From there on, you will go to this address. That is where you will find Damian’s father.”

Jason accepted the package Talia handed him, which judging by its weight, was probably filled with a letter and some currency.

“Upon arriving there, you will keep a close eye on him until Talia or I come back to get him.” Ra’s clarified.

“Understood.” Jason said, accepting the assignment with no further questions, knowing what would happen should he ask any other question.

“You leave in an hour.” With that, Jason left to prepare to head to Gotham, with an odd feeling looming over his head and heart.

“We should’ve already reached the bay by now.” Damian scolded, a deep scowl on his face.

He fought the urge to tap his foot as he kept staring at Jason’s back. “Grandfather said-“

“I know what Ra’s said, brat.” Jason sneered, blocking a flying dart the brat threw at him as he got up.

“Watch your to-“

“Save it.” Jason cut him off, throwing the dart over the cliff, holding himself back to stay as he took one last look at the boulder within his barracks, wrapping the red ribbon tighter on his wrist.

A single narcissus bloomed near the edge of the boulder, Jason knowing how off it belonged within the walls of the League. The pure white flower swayed in the breeze, a ladybug perched on one of the petals. “I just wanted to say goodbye to-” Jason bit his tongue. “Let’s go.”

With one last glance, Jason picked up his things, feeling himself dragging his feet as he left the place he had to call home for the past three years.

Where he met her.

See you on the other side, Marinette.

“I thought you said you’ve never been here before.” Damian quipped, glancing at Jason before going back to trying to take off the tracker on his wrist.

Ever since they got dropped off at the airport, Jason took it upon himself to place a tracker on him. Or rather, strap it onto him. Something about preventing child trafficking or something along those lines.

He didn’t need it.

He was born and raised to be the perfect assassin.

He didn’t need to be protected, nonetheless by this pitied orphan.

The audacity of this street rat to-

“Shut it.” Jason warned, wondering if Damian always muttered or if it was a recent thing. Not that it mattered.

He had bigger things to worry about.

His mind had been going haywire at every street the bus turned since they set foot in Gotham. His guard was always up and would worsen as a person came into his field of view…which made him ponder about Damian’s statement.

Has he ever been to Gotham before? As in…before Ra’s took him in?

Even though Jason never remembered being in Gotham before, his body certainly did, taking control the moment they got there. As if it's been there before.

As if it remembered.

Despite Ra’s clear instructions on what to take and how to get to Wayne Manor, Jason disregarded it and went his own way, which is how they boarded a bus to get across Gotham and got off the first stop after Queens Bridge.

“You don’t expect me to walk the rest of the way, do you?” Damian asked him as they got off at the very first stop once out of the tunnel, pulling his hood over his head.

After all, if Jason was covering himself up…there had to be a reason for it…

“I thought you said you were trained to be the perfect assassin. Is a bit of hiking too much for-“

“I’ve hiked longer treks than this city. Survived in numerous jungles filled with creatures that would tear the average man apart.” Damian scoffed. “This is nothing.”

“Then you better keep up.” Jason said, putting on the mask Ra’s gave him, tracking Damian as they headed to Wayne Manor.

Jason woke up as soon as the first beam of sun rose from the horizon, causing him to grunt and turn to the other side, making sure to not shift too much. Once there was no escaping the rising sun, Jason sat up straight, his back leaning against the tree trunk as he stretched, the oversized sleeves of his jacket falling to his elbow.

It’s been a bit over a week since he got to Gotham and just a few days since Damian was safely snug inside Wayne Manor, although that didn’t relieve Jason from his duties.

As instructed, Jason led Damian to Wayne Manor and once Damian was at the gate, Jason left him with nothing but the small bag that held his clothing and a letter of introduction Talia wrote for the boy.

Jason watched as Damian was welcomed with open arms, Jason feeling something in his stomach twist and turn when a sleek black car took Damian from the entrance to the heart of the Estate, to the manor itself. To a safe haven from the elements of the world.

A place where he was watched around the clock, where an elderly gentleman came to escort him to his meals, a place with a bed, with running warm water meaning nice warm baths and clothing that kept him warm and that perfectly fit him.

And that was only based on the amount of times Jason was able to peer into the room Damian was staying at. Because yes, he was well aware that other things happened past the door, but thanks to the distance between the two, Jason couldn’t exactly open up the curtains whenever Damian would close them up for privacy.

Then again, Jason could care less to what happens to the brat as long as he was in one piece. He had other things to worry about, like his survival.

While Damian was able to live the spoiled life he had in the League almost instantly, Jason had to sneak into the estate like a rat, hiding into the nearest thing in sight: a tree.

A tree that luckily shielded him from the sun but didn’t exactly protect him from yesterday’s rain. A tree where he had almost fallen off of twice and which owls resided and watched him in the middle of the night.

Their hooting last night almost caused him to have one for breakfast, but not having the necessary tools to successfully gut them prevented him from doing so.

Hours passed by, the sun finally started to set, Jason deciding to move to a new tree with a denser canopy.

After settling into a new tree, he grabbed some binoculars and peered into Damian’s room, watching the brat practicing his form with his katana before turning to where Jason was.

“Creepy kid.” Jason muttered, taking out a few dried figs before taking his time savoring each bite. His stomach rumbled after he finished it, begging for another bite of the sweet fruit. But even if gave in to the demand, he found himself with only two more rations left and not knowing how long this supervision was to last, Jason needed to spread these two rations for at least three days until he could secure more food.

And knowing Damian and the little shit he was, Jason knew better than to rely on the kid for any food, meaning he had to find his own.

Perhaps he should raid the kitchen…

Of course, that meant having to risk leaving his post and essentially his duty, of prioritizing his life over his mission…

His mission…

Mission…

“It’s always for the mission, isn’t it, Bruce?” Jason caught himself saying, freezing once he processed those words.

Who was Bruce?

As if to answer his question, a man stepped into Damian’s room, a man Jason hadn’t seen until that day…a man who-

Jason groaned as his head began to throb, grasping at his chest as memories flooded his mind, Jason pathetically shutting his eyes tighter in hopes of getting rid of them.

“This will be your new home Jason. And this will be your new room.”

“Why not? I heard waffles are a good way to start the day.”

“How would you like to enroll back into school?”

“Jason, we can’t keep eating burgers every night. Otherwise you won’t be able to develop a diverse palate.”

“I still can’t believe you’ve never read Pride and Prejudice. Remind me to get you a copy from the library.”

“Jason, let’s go home.”

“Jason.”

“Jaylad.”

“Jay.”

Bruce…the name of the man who adopted him…his name was Bruce…Bruce Wayne! But…he was also Damian’s father…

But…did he have a right to keep calling him his father?

Did he even know he was alive?

Jason could feel his chest churn at the questions that continued to plague his mind, the growling emerging from his stomach not helping one bit.

His thoughts were finally snapped when he saw something move from the corner of his eyes.

There, on one of the manor’s skylights, a lone figure stood there, Jason grabbing his binoculars to get a better look at them.

He didn’t expect to see a person -who could easily be mistaken for a kid- to be standing on top of one of the most highly secured manors in all of Gotham. Wait…how were they standing there without tripping any alarms off?

Who were they?

The perpetrator was on the small side, wearing all black attire -save for the pink hoodie with detachable sleeves- and had pink pouches attached to their legs…

Out of the list he had to memorize from Ra’s about the groups and individuals who were his enemies, Jason couldn't pick out a single name to pin onto the person on the roof.

As he kept watching the person attempt to get into the manor, Jason caught a glimpse of their face…or at least where there was supposed to be a face.

A mask hid under the hood.

Something about their mask started to turn gears in his head...Jason wondering why their half black, half pink mask reminded him of-

“Deathstroke.” He found himself whispering. There was no way…

There was no way he already found them…he had made sure to make their traces were, well, untraceable…

But now that he has a theory, he couldn’t help but realize this person had to be working with Deathstroke of all people if their attire meant anything. While it was pink, it held a bit of resemblance to the one who caused Ra’s to send his heir to the manor.

And as if to read his mind and confirm his theory, he watched as a panel of the skylight was lifted up, Jason watching as the person turned over to his direction and gave him a peace sign below slipping into the manor with grace…

Seconds past until Jason realized what happened…

Without a second thought, he got off the tree and ran.

#maribat #league of assassins au #jasonette

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call-me-ryuzaki · 10 months

Text

The Flame Hashira and The Priestess (1)

After Inuyasha's sacrifice, the Bone Eaters Well had sealed itself upon the completion of the jewel, leaving Kagome stuck in the Feudal Era with no hope of returning home. Kagome mourned the loss of both Inuyasha and her family and friends. Sure, she had Sango, Miroku, and Shippo around, but they would soon move on with their own lives.

After the final battle, Sango and Miroku married shortly after and before everyone knew it, Sango was expecting her first child. Shippo stayed within the village for a few years before he decided to leave and train and retake the fox demon exam.

Kagome obviously stayed in the village. She didn't want to wander too far from the Bone Eaters well in case it started working again. She learned all she could from Kaeda and from other priestesses that would occasionally pass through the village. Much too soon for Kagome's liking, Kaeda had passed away peacefully in her sleep.

The years passed by her in a blink of an eye. It wasn't until Sango and Miroku started to grow gray hairs did the trio realize that Kagome had not aged much after her 20th birthday.

"It probably comes with being the guardian of the Shikon Jewel," Sango said as she and Kagome strolled through the ever-growing village. "We don't know exactly what the jewel is capable of, so prolonging its guardians' life is definitely a huge possibility. I mean you haven't aged a bit after all."

Kagome sighed. She prayed that she would age alongside her friends, however, the jewel clearly had other plans for her. She didn't want to watch her friends and loved ones grow old and pass away while she continued to walk the earth.

The jewel was more of a curse than anything else.

"I didn't want this," she said softly.

Sango squeezed her best friend's arm, "Just think of it this way, Kagome. Perhaps you'll live to see your family again."

The mere thought of seeing her mother, grandfather, and brother, ignited a small hope within her. "You're right, Sango. Thank you."

It was quiet for a moment before the former demon slayer spoke."It sure has been quiet lately. Demon attacks have started to become less and less. We haven't had a single report of a demon attacking the village in months.

Kagome frowned. Demons not attacking the village was normally a good thing, "Not just that, but I haven't heard of a single sighting of a demon in the last few months either. I haven't even sensed any either."

"Maybe this is what happened to the demon," Sango said, "You said that there were no demons in the future. Maybe they just all disappeared?"

Kagome shrugged, "I'm not sure. Miroku suggested they learned to blend in with humans. The more powerful demons such as Sesshomaru or even Shippo."

"Bah," Sango waved her hand in a dismissive manner, "Enough talk about demons, let us go take a bath!" Kagome agreed and the girls rushed to get their things, giggling and gossiping the whole way there.

~X~

As the years continued to pass Kagome by, Sango eventually died. She was buried beneath the Goshinboku where Inuyasha rested. Not long after Sango's death, Miroku closely followed after her.

"Lady Kagome," the dying monk motioned for her to come closer to him.

"Yes? What is it, Miroku?" Kagome clasped his hand into her own, holding back her tears.

"I feel my time is coming to an end," Kagome bit her lip to keep from sobbing, "Promise me something?"

"Of course, anything!"

"After I die, please look out for our children."

Kagome nodded her head, "Of course!"

Miroku smiled and let out a sigh of relief. "I have left everything to you. Take extra care of the chest with all the scrolls stored inside of them. I made sure to record our adventures together. They contain our travels together, the legend of the Shikon jewel, and how its mysterious guardian brought us all together."

Kagome smiled softly. "You remembered that there was not much on the Shikon jewel from my time."

The monk nodded his head. "Of course. History will not know your name, only know you as the girl who saved the world from a great evil."

"That's okay," she said, "It's better that way. Everyone should know your names. Sango, Inuyasha, Shippo, Sesshomaru, Kouga, Kikyo even."

Miroku nodded his head in agreement.

They continued to make small talk and reminiscence of their shared time together. She stayed by his side until Miroku drew his final breath and slipped into the sweet embrace of death. It was only after he finally passed away did Kagome allow herself to cry.

He was buried alongside Sango and Inuyasha beneath the Goshinboku. "Be at peace, you guys…"

~X~

With the disappearance of demons, priestesses were no longer needed. Still, Kagome honed her abilities. After Sango and Miroku passed away, she lingered in the village a little while longer before deciding to leave.

Kagome traveled throughout the land, helping those in need. Whether it be exorcizing evil spirits, or delivering babies..She lost count of how many years she'd been travelling and things around her began to change.

Demons that once freely roamed Feudal Japan became myths and fairytales parents would tell to scare their children. The Shikon No Tama became a legend and not many people believed it, or its guardian actually existed. In each village she traveled to, she would tell the children stories of the heroes who saved the world by defeating an evil spider demon.

In time, Kagome became a nameless healer. Some people actually believed her to be a spirit stuck wandering the earth. While some believed she was a goddess sent from the heavens to aid those in their time of need. She stayed in each village until she felt she was no longer needed or the villagers grew suspicious of her never aging appearance.

She tried searching for Sesshomaru or even Shippo but with no luck. It was as if they had completely disappeared. Something told her they weren't dead. At one point in time, Kagome thought she had a really good lead on the Lord of The Western Lands, but eventually, the trail went cold and she was back to square one.

"Damn demons, always keeping themselves hidden!" she kicked a rock and adjusted her bow. All she wanted to do right now was cry, but she knew she had to turn around and head back to the village she had passed through a few hours ago. It wasn't safe for people to wander alone in the dark. Especially with the rumors of brutal murders happening.

And trouble always seemed to find her.

"A woman walking alone at night with no one around?" A voice all but purred in her ear. Kagome quickly turned to face the owner and she wished she hadn't.

Her skin crawled as came face to face with a humanoid creature. Its cat-like eyes stared at her hungrily, licking its lips. Kagome was frozen in fear. Never before has she come across a demon such as the one before it. The aura of this particular monster was different from anything she had ever encountered. It was filled with more malice and bloodlust that rivaled Naraku's.

It filled her with a fear she hadn't felt in a long time.

It gripped her jaw with one of its hands, its nail pricked her skin, drawing blood. "You smell delicious!" The monster licked its lips in anticipation.

Kagome closed her eyes as she waited for the demon to devour her. But it never came. The hand holding her face had all but disappeared, she caught a glimpse of ash before she heard the sound of a sword being sheathed.

She opened her eyes as the shock and fear faded and she finally laid her eyes on her savior. A tall muscular man with long spiky hair with red tips kept secured in a ponytail stood before her. He wore a calm expression on his face as he approached her.

"Are you well?" he asked her.

"Huh?" she blinked.

He reached up and wiped the small bit of blood off her cheek.

"Oh! Yes! I'm fine! It was just a scratch! Thank you for saving me."

"Allow me to walk you to the nearest Inn," he spoke softly to her and motioned for her to follow him. He headed towards the village she passed through earlier in the day.

"So…um, what's your name?" she asked him after a long period of silence.

"My name is Yoriichi Tsugikuni," he smiled at her.

"I'm Kagome Higurashi!" She returned the smile with one of her own, "I can't thank you enough for killing that thing back there."

"No need to thank me. I'm glad I made it in time before that demon made a meal out of you,"

Kagome let out a nervous laugh, "So it was a demon…"

Yoriichi nodded his head, "Yes… with each human they feed on, they grow more powerful, but do not worry. We'll protect as many people as we can."

She decided not to question it anymore and stay silent for the remainder of the trip. And true to his word, the man known as Yoriichi escorted her safely to an inn.

"Thank you,"

"There's no need. Please take care and try not to wander alone after dark." he turned to leave before he paused and looked back at her, "If you ever find yourself wandering alone at night, demons are repelled by Wisteria Trees."

Kagome smiled, "I will keep that in mind, Yoriichi. I hope we cross paths in the future."

He nodded his head before finally taking his leave.

Kagome spared one last look at the man known as Yoriichi.

"What an interesting guy…" Kagome smiled and she hoped they would meet again, hopefully under better circumstances.

~X~

Many more years passed, and Kagome never got the chance to see Yoriichi again. She did encounter quite a few people calling themselves demon slayers. She lost count of how many of them she had tended to in her travels.

"Geez, Masaru," Kagome sighed as she dressed his shoulder wound, "This is the third time in the last month I've tended to you alone! You need to be more careful when dealing with those demons!"

"Right…" he let out a nervous chuckle, "I'll try and be more careful next time." the demon slayer let out a sigh, "They're just so… powerful. The only sure way to kill them is to cut off their heads with a Nichirin Sword."

"What exactly is so special about those blades anyway?" Kagome asked as she finished dressing his wounds.

"They're forged with Scarlet Ore and Scarlet Crimson Sand which are found on Mount Yoko and are constantly bathed in sunlight all throughout the year," Masaru explained to her, "Other than decapitating the head, direct exposure to sunlight is the only way to kill them. Some of their regenerative abilities are… insane."

"I see…" Kagome gathered his torn clothes in her arms, "I'll make sure to wash these and sew the holes in them. For now, rest and let your wounds heal."

"Yeah yeah," he grumbled crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Kagome smiled softly as she walked passed him with the bundle of clothes. She spared a glance at the crow sitting in the open window, seemingly watching her like a hawk. It unnerved her really, the crow was with him every time he came around with a fresh wound.

"The demons of today's age are nothing like the ones we battled," Kagome sighed. She had only encountered the one demon Yoriichi saved her from, and she wasn't looking forward to meeting with any more of them.

However, she knew that eventually, she'd have to. "Perhaps, purifying them would work?" she knew no one of this day and age would know. She was the last living true priestess after all, and the guardian of the Shikon No Tama. She shook her head to clear her thoughts.

After the clothing he wore was clean from all the blood, she brought it back to the small hut she was staying in and hung it up to dry. Once done with that, she went inside and began to brew some tea.

Masaru watched her from his place across the small fire. Kagome was an enigma.

After a particularly rough battle with a demon, he and his companions were severely injured and probably would have died if she hadn't shown up. It was thanks to her that he and his companions even survived. By the time the Kakushi arrived, she was long gone and he thought their whole encounter had been just a dream. His companions didn't even recall seeing her at all.

Then he encountered her once more in the woods after a long night of battling. He had been bleeding in several places, none of his injuries was life-threatening, but they hurt like hell. She had dropped what she was doing and rushed to his side immediately. She led him to a small hut he thought was abandoned.

He stayed with her for another week after she told him he was fit to travel again and they became fast friends.

Masaru didn't know much about Kagome. He tried to pry for more information about her but to no avail. He hadn't learned a single thing about her other than the fact that she was rather lonely and had no family. He often caught her dazing off, a faraway look on her face, and he could never bring himself to ask what was on her mind.

He also learned she never stayed in one place for very long.

"Where do you plan on going after you leave here?" he asked her while she sewed the holes in his uniform.

"I'm not sure," she replied, "Wherever I'm needed I suppose."

"You should come back to the Demon Slayer Headquarters with me!" He beamed, "You'd make a great Kakushi!"

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm going to have to decline," she said.

Masaru sighed but didn't press the issue further. She'd be done fixing his uniform tonight and he'd be on his way tomorrow. He wished he could repay her, but each time he tried, she denied him, telling him he owed her nothing in return.

Just as he had predicted, when he awoke the next morning, his uniform was neatly folded beside him and she was nowhere to be seen. With a sigh, he dressed himself in the demon slayer uniform and sought out the mysterious woman. He found her beside the small stream of water.

"Kagome!" He called out to her.

She turned to him, "Good morning Masaru!" she greeted. "Are you leaving?"

He nodded his head, "I am."

She was always just out of arms reach, they were close, but not too close for her to become attached. She knew what fate awaited normal humans, and demon slayers tended to live shorter lives. She couldn't bear watching more people she cared about die.

"Please be careful out there!"

"As always," he said. "Until we meet again, Kagome!"

"Hopefully under better circumstances."

With a laugh, Masaru set off. His ever so faithful crow flying just overhead, leading him to who knows where.

"Until next time," she whispered.

The next time she saw Masaru, he was no longer alive.

It happened a few months later. Despite the warning she had received from Yoriichi, Kagome traveled along the pathway, her only source of light being the moon. And as she was passing through a smaller village, she sensed a demon.

She shuddered as she quickly made her way toward the demon, drawing her bow as she moved. She gasped as she saw the demon throw a body across the clearing. The body crashed through fencing and ceased any form of movement. She couldn't feel the aura from the person and instantly knew they were dead.

A scream ripped her from her thoughts. The demon had a hold of a woman, ready to take a bit out of her flesh. Kagome quickly nocked an arrow in her bow, "Hey ugly!"

The demon turned to look at her and laughed at the arrow. "You think a mere arrow can kill me?"

Kagome swallowed thickly, "Maybe not…"

The woman whimpered as the demon tightened its hand around her neck, "Don't make me laugh girl! Leave now and maybe I'll spare your life!"

Kagome scoffed, "You honestly think I'm going to leave while a damsel in distress? You're a bigger idiot than I thought!"

"What did you say?" his eye twitched.

"You heard me ugly! Now let her go!" She pulled the bowstring back, ready to release the arrow at any given second.

The demon laughed at her and threw the woman to the side, "Stay put." he turned his attention to Kagome. "You seem like you're the type that needs proof. Go ahead and shoot me, but once you do. You won't have another opportunity. I'll kill you right where you stand!"

"As you command," Kagome smirked. She didn't realize that the demons were so cocky, or perhaps it was just this particular one.

She took a deep breath, "Please work." she prayed as she released the arrow. It soared through the clearing, quickly being enveloped in a bright pink color. The demon's eyes widened as the arrow struck him and he felt his whole body be enveloped in the same color as the arrow.

"You bitch!" He screamed as he began to fade to ash, "What the hell did you do to me!?"

"Your the first demon of this era to have a taste of pure spiritual power." Kagome approached him, "So you were right, a simple arrow couldn't kill you. Unlucky for you though, it was no simple arrow."

Kagome walked passed him as his screams faded into nothing.

"Are you okay?" she asked the woman.

She could only nod her head, not able to find her voice.

"Now, go on home. No more wandering the streets out at night, okay?" Kagome helped the girl up and gently nudged her towards the homes. Once she was out of sight, Kagome rushed to the fallen demon slayer.

Her heart dropped in her stomach.

"Masaru…" she dropped to her knees. "I'm sorry I didn't make it in time to save you." She silently wept for the boy. "Be at peace my friend." She grabbed his sword and placed it beside him, surely he'd want it even in death.

She leaned down and placed a kiss on his cold cheek. "Thank you for everything." with a heavy heart, Kagome left the scene.

From that moment on, Kagome vowed to destroy any demon she came across.

#demon slayer rengoku #kimetsu no yaiba rengoku #kyojuro rengoku #kimetsu rengoku #inuyasha #kagome higurashi #Rengoku x Kagome #Crossover #fanfiction #writing #inuyasha crossover #Inuyasha Kagome #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #rengokukyoujorou #anime #anime crossover #anime writing blog

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deathsmallcaps · 8 months

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I just found out today that my great grandmother was 16 years younger than my great grandfather. 1895 vs 1909. He was on the run from the in-Italy Italian mafia, left a wife and family there, married in Canada and left a wife and family there, then came down to the USA and started my branch of the tree. He had an odd funeral.

I’m not sure when my Great Grandmother immigrated, but she would’ve been 20 when the Great Depression hit. And because it was post WWI Germany, she was probably not in a good place fiscally.

So Imagine.

You come to America, some year very close to the beginning of the Depression. Maybe to find a job, maybe to find a husband with citizenship* and you meet this nearly 40 year old man and marry him. And then he proceeds to forbid you from ever speaking German again. Any mention of your original culture gets punished. My family has no known German traditions**.

By 25 you have two daughters that your husband has terrorized so much that both rush into marriages rather than have to live by their father’s rules a second longer. The first marries relatively well, the second marries my grandfather.

Your husband dies at age 76, which isn’t bad for someone who was born in the 1800s. He has a joint headstone, one that will tie your bodies together until your bones rot and the stones erode. But you’re 60 and don’t live with either of your daughters. Maybe because those years of terror in your house. Maybe because of shame. I don’t know. But my grandmother converts to Catholicism because her religious upbringing “… felt so empty and she liked the ceremony inherent to that faith.” (-my mother). You don’t spend much time with your grandchildren.

Your second baby has several miscarriages, several successful pregnancies, and then a living grandchild dies in an accident. Did moving here really help your descendants? She adopts two children and gives birth to my mother within a few months of your grandson’s death, and a few years later, my aunt. They’re your only granddaughters. By all accounts, she is never the same again.

Then your first baby dies. She’s 46 and living in America and has everything you could have ever wanted for her. But she dies slowly and painfully from cancer. Were you around to comfort her and her two sons as she slipped away? You were certainly alive then, but I don’t know.

Your second baby loses her husband, my grandfather, a few years later, and her family struggles financially, hundreds of miles away. She marries again, and divorces the jerk quickly after. You’re 71, is there much you can do?

In the same year, your youngest grandchild is 12 and you become a great grandmother. Do you meet this child? She’s the daughter of one of the adopted sons, does this matter to you?

You die at 79, in 1988. Germany is still split from a war you never saw. You’ve spent more life in this strange land than you ever did there. People come to America more and more in planes, not boats. Your granddaughter tells her daughter that she went to your funeral but only ever spoke to you once or twice. There’s a picture of you standing on American docks for the first time but no one knows where it is. And you’re buried under an American spelling of your name, next to that old bastard that you married.

It’s 2003 and America is convinced it’s having the worst time ever. Your second daughter works herself to the bone and dies before age 70. She worked herself to the bone. Most of her grandchildren met her, but few have memories. She and I were apparently best friends, but seeing as I was 2, I don’t remember her now. Your eldest granddaughter, my mother, is going through a rough divorce to a man who immigrated to America by accident***. A very different immigrant story to yours. In that same year, your first great-grandchild has a son.

Three years later, she marries and has a son with a Black man. Your youngest great-grandchild. Your daughter would have loved him, and her husband would have not. Would you have cared? You left Germany right around when the Nazis came to power. Would he just be one more baby to love?

17 years later, it’s 2023, and your eldest granddaughter has a rough day, so she visits her mother’s grave. Both of your daughters are buried nearby, perhaps closer in death to you than in life. She finds your grave, and realizes the age difference between you and your husband for the first time. She shares this information with her daughter.

Me. And now I’m posting on the internet while I lay in bed, avoiding my studies. I wonder if you knew this, would you still make the same choices? Would you feel that it was worth it? Would my fate, so tangential to yours, be precious enough that you would feel compelled to do this all again?

*(I think my mom mentioned she married quickly once she arrived but I’m not sure. She might have been a mail-order bride)

**to be fair, he also really tried to acclimatize to American culture, and only allowed English to be spoken in his house, and raised his kids Protestant, but my family still makes Italian food occasionally, sooooo I doubt that rule was equally enforced.

***My English grandparents divorced and my grandfather eventually moved to America. My dad and, at the time, his only siblings, came over to visit because America was still considered to be pretty cool. He was 13. My Nanny wanted more alimony, so she tried to do a fake out and telegraphed my grandfather to ‘keep the kids’. My Grandad called her bluff and kept the kids.

My Dad was very lucky this worked out for him. He gets away with a lot of things because he’s English in the USA

#my parents are old #I don’t know the entirety of the situation #this is just built off of what I’ve learned #and I’ve dramaticized it #but yeah everyone who met her and knew her life agreed it wasn’t a happy one #anyway my family had relatively easy times coming to america but I do empathize heavily with first gen American stories #I think that’s a big reason why I was obsessed with elemental this summer #I am technically first gen but tbh being English-American is barely something to take note of #also this isn’t me trying to bash being Italian American or anything #looking at me no one would ever guess I am Italian American #but this is just how the cookie crumbled for my family personally #also I say Italian but #his last name is shown to be found in San Marino and Switzerland #so I think he’s from northern Italy #and modern Italy didn’t exist until #1861 so he might have not considered himself to be Italian

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amiramorozova · 2 years

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Sun, Sea and Shadow pt. 9

I was blushing still from his words as he called me a rare flower but there was something more to this that I didn't understand. "Why would you say that?" I asked as he looked at me as if he was contemplating his words. His dark eyes looked in mine making me question if I should have asked that as his thumb lighty rubbed my cheek. "All the other Grisha girls try to get my attention, you push me away..you think that doesn't make me want you more? Your stubborn, your defiant, and you have a certain way about you that most Grisha girls do not."

I wanted to push him away and I should have but the fact I wasn't like others made me happy. "Two weeks Amira..that's all you have then you're mine. Mine to take with me and mine to claim within the little palace." Aleksander said as I glared at him knowing that it wasn't going to change my defiance. "I'm not yours yet." I retorted

My defiance only fueled his ambition to have me but that did not mean I would give up so easily as I smacked his hand away. "Keep this up and I won't go at all." I said as I turned to go inside but my actions didn't help with what was going on as he grabbed me and pulled me back to look at him. "I think you forget something, you exposed yourself to people. You have a target on your back and the King is expecting your cooperation. Now I humored your grandmother's request to wait till your eighteenth birthday but you cannot deny the King." Aleksander's annoyance clear.

Saints! he's right, my little light show in the fold has been dangerous all this time. I thought

"Fine, then two weeks..I'll go.." I said as I knew I couldn't trouble my grandmother with the enemy coming after me. I'd grown a bit too comfortable being at my grandmother's place and I always knew that it would be like this. "You'll wear the ring at your presentation.." Aleksander said as I didn't look at him as I got free and crossed my arms.. "I'll think about it.." I said as I knew the truth that I'd wear it. I'd honor my grandmother's promise that she made centuries ago. "But I'm not giving up Nico so figure out something."

When I looked seeing the annoyance as Nico was a man, a human but still another man and he didn't like it. "Good day General, I have things to do." I said as I walked into grandma's place and I tended to my grandfather I heard the sound of him leaving. I knew I was cruel but he was not winning me over that easily as I sat with them. "Amira, don't you think your being harsh..the General has been making up for what he's done." Grandfather said as I checked on him and I moved his sleeve to see his amplifier.

This is only going to last for so much longer.. I thought

"I am but I don't want him to get the wrong idea...he probably sleeps with every one of his soldiers and I don't want to be a second choice to anyone." I said to my grandfather as I knew ever since I was found Aleksander had kept coming to me. He never talked about his time in the little palace and he just wanted me. "Amira, I don't have many years left..if you're going to honor Catalina's promise do so before I die." Grandfather said as I merely looked at him.

Only a few years..Dad is older than Aleksander but still that doesn't change the fact that he's so much older than me..and the idea that grandfather's amplifier is wearing down..his life is fading little bit every year..until it'll be time he'll pass like a mortal. I thought

"What would you have me do?..if I can." I asked as he looked at me and he knew that I only wanted the best. "Marriage isn't easy but he is your Grisha soulmate. You should marry him, I'd like to see my granddaughter dressed up as beautiful bride before I die." Grandfather said as I knew that was a lot to ask. I knew that it was not going to be easy to just say things and then stand in an alter saying I do when I did not. "I'll see what I can do." I said

Two weeks went by before I knew it and my eighteenth birthday came, all my family gathered for the day as I was dressed up in a dress that grandmother had chosen and then Nico was by my side. Aleksander had came a few times during the two weeks but tonight was the best way to figure it out. We did a small celebration before suddenly I felt the feeling on my wrist and I knew he was here.

"I'll get it." Nico said as he went to my room and gave me the box. I accepted the box as I opened it looking inside seeing the ring, this ring after today was to be going on my hand. Mother came over and looked at it "That's beautiful." Mom said as I nod before I closed it. The sound of the knock on the door was evident as I walked over to my cousin Adrian as I hugged him. He hugged me back "It's ok Cousin..you'll be fine." Adrian assured but I knew better. "He's going to take me away.." I said softly

Adrian, my handsome cousin was still hugging me when I heard Grandma answer the door. "Ah, come in. She's with the family." Grandma said as I let Adrian go to turn around to see him walk in. He had a kefta on his arm that was his color but the design was my grisha power. I gulped a little knowing that it was not fair that I had to endure this but it was also not fair to everyone else to risk keeping me.

Aleksander walked over to me as he looked at me in the dress, despite the looks dad was giving and my mom holding my father back he seemed to like what he was seeing. "Happy Birthday Amira." He said as he opened the kefta and then offered it to me but I did not take it. He saw the box in my hand as he adjusted the kefta on his arm but took the box out of my hand and then put the ring on my finger. "Perfect fit." Aleksander said

"You're sure this is the best choice for her?" My mother asked as she seemed to see I wasn't ready to do this. Nico walked over as he saw that too and had gotten between Aleksander and me. "You're making Mira uncomfortable..can't you see that." He said as Aleksander seemed annoyed. These two were very close in height that they stood literally eye to eye and yet Nico was a human. "We're in Poliznaya, she has till tonight and the carriage is outside." Aleksander said as he seemed to keep his composure. Nico though didn't move as his look challenged Aleksander's and I grabbed hold of Nico. "Don't..you stand no match against him." I said softly

Nico knew that I had no choice, I'd gone on that skiff because I knew the risk of being exposed and yet it wasn't my fault that it'd came to that. It was one of our units fault for lighting that lantern! Despite his anger Nico did back down and we enjoyed the party, the first army soldier noticed Nico never left my side and even Aleksander did too. Out of the corner of my eye I could see he was..annoyed.

Night time came as I knew it was time and I hugged my family members knowing this would be the last time I see them for some time. They could visit me but now I was under the protection of my betrothed. We walked out as Aleksander had me change out of the dress into comfortable clothes and then put the kefta on for my safety. When we got in the carriage he put his arm around me as if protecting me as Nico and the other first army sat beside us. "To the first army camp." He ordered

The travel was quiet to the first army area where I'd been found out nearly a year ago and once we arrived he opened the door to the carriage. He looked at the first army soldier by Nico "You get out here." He said as the first army soldier looked confused then at Nico "What about him General? He's first army too." The soldier asked as Aleks's arm seemed to tighten around me. "I have need of him at the little palace, out." Aleksander said, his tone was clear as my terms were set out before he'd even tried to get close.

The first army soldier got out as the door closed and he tapped on the carriage to get it moving again. Nico looked confused as Aleksander's arm did not relax around me "Amira made her terms clear, to get her I had to find a way to bring you." Aleksander said but the look alone told me he didn't want to. That he hated it that I was so close to another man but this was my best friend of many years. "You'll do tasks, simple ones that won't risk your life..but you'll look out for Amira as you have. By the promise and the ring on her hand, she's mine." Aleksander said

Nico wanted to object that it was not my choice yet to do so but he didn't knowing we were still close to the first army camp. Aleksander could easily change his mind if he so wished to and I was hoping he wouldn't. My bag that was packed had the small things my family gave me except the one in my hair..a hair pin that my grandma was adamant about saying that it was from Sankt Ilya and she'd prefer me to show my roots.

The ride was quiet and this time I could not escape him or outsmart him to stop this so after so long we arrived at the little palace. Aleksander must have felt how tense I was cause he was rubbing my arm as if to comfort me but as the door opened he let me get out first and had Nico get my bag as I got out and Aleksander got out beside me. "Welcome to the little palace Amira." Aleksander said

It's just like mom described.. I thought

TagList: @lifeisingrey, @houseoftoomanyfandoms, @mizelophsun11, @budugu , @wheresthesunshinesblog

#SunSeaandShadow #Nicolas Stark #Amira Silina #aleksander morovoza #general kirigan #darkling #Team Darkling #the darkling #darkling x oc #Grishaverse #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfiction #fanfic #shadow summoner #sunsummoner #tidemaker #ben barnes #original story

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last-of-cheese · 2 years

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So I hear you like to fetishize trans people. Do me a favor and choke on a fat one and die you piece of shit. ;) You're like 30 you should know better. But don't worry, I've already let everyone we're mutual with know this and to steer clear of you, peace.

How can I fetishize trans people when I myself am a trans person. Like how in the actual fuck does that make any sense.

Lets have a huge breakdown as to why it took so fucking long for me to come out as a tranmasc individual. Not that I should have to fucking explain myself to anyone, but just because I'm feeling spicy let's fuckin go.

So for many years before coming out as fully transmasc I identified as genderfluid which still falls under the fucking trans category you dumbass. Anytime you identify as a gender that is not your assigned gender at birth you're considered within the trans category. Yes I tended to use feminine pronouns because I just didn't want to argue with people, but that doesn't really mean I felt comfortable with them. From about 2010/2011-2019 when I finally came out I had a full on gender identity crisis, and while going through therapy with my current therapist she thinks that I probably was most of my life actually.

I was the first AFAB person born to my family name in almost a century (I think it was like 98 years or something like that.) That kind of shit sticks with you when your grandfather parades you around like the family crown jewel because of that shit. Like for a very long time that kind of fact was drilled into my fucking head by my family that that's what I was. That was my status and basically my identity. So when I started feeling very out of my skin and not like I'm supposed to be what everyone has drilled into me it made me feel very much like I was letting the family down. Like I was not allowed to be my true self. I HAD to stay a female because of my status to the family name. I really hate to say it, but now with my grandparents being dead, along with my dad, I feel less of that pressure. Along with age and seeing a lot of my other trans friends just being themselves and truly living the life they want and being happy I figured I deserved that too. I'm not really super close to my dad's side of the family anymore which sucks. I've mentioned I've come out as trans to them, and they're all very supportive of me which is a great relief to me. Both sides of my family have been rather supportive of me actually. My grandparents on my mom's side still misgender me once in a while, but they're catching themselves, and correcting themselves quicker without making a big deal out of it which is great.

As I stated above talking with my current therapist she actually believes I've always known I was trans, but with all the trauma and I guess you could say family guilt it was just pushed to the side. I also grew up in an incredibly small community so I had no fucking idea that was a thing that was possible as a child. I just thought I was a weird fuckin tomboy ass girl growing up. It's not like my therapist is just throwing out theories either. She works very closely with the transgender community. Both youth and adult. And she works closely with the trans center at the University of Minnesota. (Be it referring her patients for hormones/surgeries/further therapy, or the center recommending her as a therapist to their patients.) She's really helped me come a long way and honestly I don't know where I'd be without her.

Out of these past three and a half years of coming out as trans... these past four and a half months have probably been the best of my entire 31 years of life. Wanna know why. I've been on testosterone. I for the first time in my whole life really feel like myself. I actually have the energy and the will to do things. My depression is manageable for the first time in I don't even remember how long. A lot of my other health issues are also more manageable than they have been in a really long time. The only thing being on testosterone hasn't fixed are my seizures, and that's because I don't think hormones can fix a TBI. Yeah I'm a little more irritable right before my next T shot, but that's, once again, something I'm working on with my therapist to find ways to cope through and work on managing.

I did for a period of time in the beginning question myself a lot too. Amongst the whole first AFAB person born to my family name in so long, and basically 90% of my friends circle was within the trans umbrella... there was a short bit of time in that gender identity crisis where I felt like I was just feeling how I felt because I was just wanting to be like all my friends. And trust me that was the very FIRST thing I addressed with my therapist even before I came out. Like I wanted to really know this was me and not just my wanting to be a part of the crowd. I know that can happen sometimes, and if that's what I was going through at the time then I would have accepted it, worked through it, and moved on. However, that is not was this was. I. AM. TRANSGENDER

All in all coming out has been the BEST decision of my life. I cry with joy over every new facial hair I see pop up. Every time my voice cracks I laugh because it sounds hilarious, and I know it means good things are coming. Whoever you are.... I'm sorry you feel this way about me. I hope this makes you see differently, but if not... I really don't care. Because I'm happy with who I am. I'm living my life for me. I don't fetishize the trans community, or trans people for that matter. Besides how the fuck would one do that when their asexual anyways. It just took me a little longer than most to be tired of hiding their real self behind the self they were assigned. I hope you're living you're best life too, and you're able to accept this.

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whatacharmingsaturday · 3 months

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hi i need to get some heavy but important thoughts out so pls bear with me, idk how long this is gonna be but if you read this i appreciate you <3

tw under the cut: mentions of cancer, death, verbal/mental abuse, daddy issues, alcohol, medication, and general mistreatment by family members

i just watched an ig story from a close friend who has been verbally/mentally abused by her grandfather pretty much her whole life. he was diagnosed with cancer a short time ago and she found out today that the cancer has spread and made his bones brittle, and he will need crutches/a wheelchair of some sort until he eventually passes, within six months. obviously she is very affected by this because he is the closest thing she's had to a father figure, but she also doesn't really know how she is "supposed" to feel because of the abuse she has endured for the majority of her life. according to her, her grandfather used to run marathons, and now he won't even be able to walk properly, and watching him die progressively quicker is really fucking with her. she also mentioned that she was really sad for "little her," because she'd always hoped that she and her grandfather "might become friends someday." my heart is so broken for her.

all of this hit me so fucking hard because this has been my relationship with my father. any good memory with him has always been overshadowed by the bad ones. i have been so mistreated by him throughout my life; my earliest memory is of him screaming at me, i have had nightmares of him physically abusing me (probably should unpack that in therapy soon...), and he is a general bigot (y'all know the type). he is not a "textbook alcoholic" but he gets so much angrier when he drinks and it's terrifying. i also worry so much for my mom who has had to deal with this twice as long as i have, but has chosen to stay with him, whereas i will eventually be able to move out and get away from him.

now, my father has so many medical issues, stemming from a car accident he and i were in when i was five. i was in my car seat so i was fully protected, but my father, who was driving, broke more than a handful of bones in his neck, shoulders, back, and legs, and has had to receive countless surgeries and has been in ongoing pain ever since. which means he has to be on countless medications to be able to live a functioning life. lately those medications have been really messing with him, making him act out of character and even hallucinate. but he can't just stop taking them, you know? so what ends up happening is he gets dizzy and on occasion collapses and hurts himself. and then he's put on more pain meds. it's this vicious fucking cycle and i'm literally watching him deteriorate before my eyes.

and when he eventually dies too, i know i'm going to have similar feelings as my friend has towards her grandfather. i know i'm going to feel so sad for little jess who just wanted her dad to stop yelling and give her kisses once in a while.

thirty-year-old jess still wants that.

#if anyone has any input pls feel free to inbox idk lol #jess speaks now

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alizjay · 4 months

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Trigger Warning: mention of csa

Disclaimer...I don't think I was ever abused by my grandfather. He's just a sick fuck who most likely cheated on my wonderful grandmother god knows how many times in their 60 years of marriage while pretending adore her. He is a dirty misogynist who already had a possible new wife picked out within 10 days of burying my grandma (she rejected him, fyi). He also openly flirts with and demands hugs from almost every female he meets.

My last living grandparent will probably die soon...but I also said the same thing 5 years ago. Ya see, this grandpa that I got is rotten to the core. He loves preaching hellfire when he's not napping with a snore.

He abused his wife and kids and taught his son to do the same. I'm so grateful that I'm married and no longer share his last name.

His loud projecting voice has absolutely zero filter. He appears so sweet and charming til he says something hateful to the hearer.

I realized he was rotten when my other grandpa died. Him and grandma came down to the funeral and the contrast between the 2 grandpas almost made me blind.

It happened when I was only 12. I realized he was just so mean. He'd yell at me for "disrespect" just for making myself seen.

"Women should be seen and not heard," he would say, as he'd hug me too tight making me feel gross all day.

My father grew up with him as his manly role model. That's where he learned to take what was his, even if it was from his own daughter.

So I really don't love you grandpa. And I hope you go to hell...and that the jesus you claim is the only way to heaven will take one look at you and say, "Well...

"where do I begin, old man Duane? Your list of offenses is long! You're a pervert who flirted with anything with boobs and your son touches girls before they're old enough to know it's wrong...

"please get out of my sight, you sick motherfucker. It's eternal torment for you sir. You preached my name loudly and shook your fists proudly but couldn't control yourself when in your pants you felt a stir...

"your grandkids all hate you. Your kids are all afraid of you. I just can't let you into my kingdom. You and your son will be sent on a run so my children up here can have freedom."

#abuse survivor #childhood ptsd #trauma #child abuse #emotional abuse #actually traumatized #ptsd poetry #poetry

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shruti-bajaj · 2 years

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Untitled Part 1

I was going through some old photographs and came across one of my grandparents. It was probably from 10 years ago. They were standing on the balcony of our old house- with beautiful smiling faces, looking right into the camera. The light was falling on my grandfather’s hair from the back. The hair was completely white, yet he looked young- younger than I remembered him to be. My grandmother had a smile on her face- a kind that I haven’t seen on her in a long time.

My grandfather passed away 3-4 years after this photograph was taken. It’s not like my grandmother doesn’t smile anymore, but I guess, standing next to someone you love, someone who loves you, makes you smile differently. There was a kind of peace and security- a sort of completeness, that radiated from within her.

It makes me wonder, if she smiled so heartily, before she got married to him, and fell in love with him. It also makes me think about how life, the universe, takes away things that it gives you. Like youth. Like loved ones.

Meghan Daum wrote in one of her essays, “Most of us have unconscious disbeliefs about our lives, facts that we accept at face value but that still cause us to gasp just a little when they pass through our minds at certain angles.” Like our own death. Or that of our loved ones. The uncertainty of death is constantly around the corner, throughout our lives, but it becomes more real as we age. After our mid-lives, we tend to accept at face value, that the countdown has begun. Not only can we die at any point in the near future, so can our partners, our parents, or our friends. Yet, the loss of a loved one can shake us, like no other, and nothing can prepare you for what’s to come. We are faced with emotions, that we didn’t know we were capable of feeling.

When daddy, as we all used to fondly call my grandfather, died, my brain managed to bring forth childhood memories, that I had completely forgotten. Until that day, they were probably ordinary moments, which somehow in the finality of his life, became special. Maybe, until that moment, I had never slowed down to look back at my time with him.

In daddy’s final days, I was pre-occupied with the stress of my work and career, and for a long time, all I had felt was frustration and anger. I was unaware that he had not been doing well, even though we lived in the same house, and therefore I was absolutely unprepared for his death. Each of us in the family, dealt with the loss differently. While my sister was haunted with the thoughts of his afterlife, I was enveloped with a strange sense of comfort and love- that was brought about from all the forgotten memories. It was a bit of a relief, to feel something else, other than the anger and frustration caused by work.

We were drowned in grief for months that followed. Every tiny thing reminded us of him. It was difficult to utter his name out loud, without welling up with tears. It was impossible to talk about him without crying. Sometimes, it helped me to listen to his favourite music and cry it out.

I was lucky and blessed to have spent a lot of time with him while growing up. He dropped us to school and picked us up for most of our school lives. My parents were always quite busy bringing up three children, getting us educated and disciplining us. All the fun, love and pampering came from my grandfather. Till date, reminiscing about the summers in my early childhood days, sitting between my grandparents on their bed, having delicious cut fruit while watching TV, with the cool ‘breeze’ of the air conditioner, brings a sense of peace and comfort like no other.

I had hardly spent time with him in his last days, yet when he died, I was sad because I wouldn’t be able to spend time with him anymore, at all. It’s strange how we want everything at our disposal.

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ravennm84 · 4 years

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Marinette’s Family Court Circus

I got this idea from a post @unmaskedagain and decided to put my own little spin to it. It’s a bit sad and does have my usual Lila-Salt spin, but I really loved writing this. Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!!

The day of her greatest triumph was also her greatest tragedy. Hawkmoth had finally been defeated, the butterfly and peacock miraculous back in the miracle box where they belonged, and Paris was finally safe.

However, when Gabriel Agreste was revealed to be the magical terrorist and his assistant, Nathalie, his accomplice, Adrien had been devastated. When the Paris police sought to find out the extent of Adrien's involvement, he had no choice but to reveal in a private interrogation room with only the mayor, Officer Roger, the chief of police, and Ladybug herself, his identity as Chat Noir. After which, Adrien said a tearful goodbye to Plagg and surrendered the ring of destruction to Ladybug. A press conference was held within an hour, absolving Adrien of any crimes in relation to his father, and his bodyguard would also be absolved four days later.

That night, after Ladybug had returned home and tearfully placed the ring, broch, and pin back in the miracle box; her parents and Grandma Gina had told her that they were going out to dinner to celebrate; Gina had even rented a car so they wouldn’t need to walk or take the subway. How Marinette wished that they had just gotten on the subway.

She woke up the following afternoon in the hospital. Apparently, her family weren’t the only people celebrating Hawkmoth’s defeat, and a car load of university students had celebrated too hard and T-boned their car while running a light. The doctors told her that her grandmother and father had died on impact and her mother passed away during surgery. Marinette had been extremely lucky to survive without any life threatening injuries; a broken leg, arm, collar bone, two cracked ribs, and a few lacerations across her body.

She was hardly paying attention to what the doctors were saying. Too shocked by the whole situation. There was no Miraculous Cure that could fix this. In the span of a single day, she had defeated her enemy, saved Paris, lost her partner, lost her grandmother, and her parents. She was alone.

When her family’s lawyer, M. Contere came to talk about custody, it was revealed that her grandmother was supposed to take custody in the event of her parents' deaths. Her grandfather would have been the next logical choice, but he had recently suffered a stroke and had been placed in a nursing home. This left the lawyer scrambling to find someone to take the girl or risk having her surrendered to the city of Paris.

Going through the Dupain-Chengs’ contact list, M. Contere made phone calls to numbers listed as family friends or emergency contacts. There were three that particularly stood out to him, all listed under the title of ‘uncle’.

The first was to an ‘Uncle J’; a woman answered the phone, introducing herself as Penny. When Contere told her it had to do with the Dupain-Chengs, the phone was handed to a man with a distinctly British accent. He sounded devastated to hear that Tom, Sabine, and Gina had all passed away before going into a panic and asking if Marinette was alright, showing absolute relief that she had survived the crash. When Contere mentioned the custody hearing, the man practically demanded to know the date, time, and place before promising that he would be there.

The second contact that stood out was labeled as ‘Uncle Tony’. That call was answered by an assistant named Jarvis before transferring the call to Tony. Again, Contere could hear the surprise and hurt at hearing that his friends had passed away before asking if Marinette had been in the car. When told that she had survived, there was relief and he mentioned that Peter would have probably cried for a week if he’d lost his childhood friend. Tony then offered to take custody of Marinette and Contere quickly told him the details.

Although M. Contere was relieved that at least two family friends/possible relatives seemed more than willing to take Marinette, he knew how fickle and difficult the courts could be and wanted as many options as possible for the girl, which led to the third contact labeled ‘Uncle Bruce’.

The phone was answered by an older sounding gentleman named Alfred before transferring the call. Contere could hear multiple voices in the background, most sounding like young men, and when he told Bruce about the passing of Tom, Sabine, and Gina; it went very quiet for a moment before all the voices began speaking at once demanding to know what happened, who was responsible, and if Marinette was okay. M.Contere answered the questions that he could and told them that Marinette was in need of a legal guardian. Bruce said Gina had been a great friend and mentor to him when he was younger and that he would be honored to care for her granddaughter. So he told him the details of the court hearing with the promise that he would make sure that Marinette was taken care of until then.

After hanging up, M. Contere had a strange feeling that he couldn’t shake. A feeling that told him that those three ‘Uncles’ were either going to make his job of getting Marinette into a stable home a lot easier… or it would be a total nightmare.

~oOo~

The day of the hearing was a Monday and Marinette's case was the first on the docket, which was a relief. If things went smoothly, she could be placed with one of her respective uncles by the end of the week and be taken care of. When the two of them stepped into the room, with Marinette rolling beside him in her wheelchair, M. Contere was surprised to see multiple familiar faces in the courtroom that he had not expected. Jagged Stone, Bruce Wayne, and Tony Stark were glaring, arguing, and puffing out their chests at each other; ignoring everyone else in the room. He also noticed how each man seemed to have an entire team of lawyers backing them up.

The tension and glaring match only broke when the two women; Pepper Potts and Penny Rolling, and the four Wayne boys; Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damien, noticed Marinette’s arrival.

“Marinette, sweetie, how are you feeling?” Penny asked as she walked away from Jagged to kneel beside Marinette’s wheelchair.

“Been better, but I’m glad to see some familiar faces,” she said with a weak smile.

Pepper leaned over a bit to give the girl a gentle hug while minding her injuries. “We’re here for you, Mari. No matter what.”

Then the four boys were almost surrounding her, offering to hunt down the people that took away their family and pile so many lawsuits on them that they’ll die of papercuts. This made her chuckle and grimace a bit from the pain, telling the boys that was sweet but unnecessary.

Jagged, Bruce, and Tony immediately put their argument on hold as they hurried over to check on the girl as well. Contere found it to be a good sign that Marinette seemed familiar with the three men, that they all asked how she was and if she wanted anything, as well as promising that they would take care of her. That last one, the three said at the same time and got them glaring at each other again. This caused Contere to sweat and Marinette to give her head a resigned shake.

What followed would probably go down as the most intense, well argued, and most headache-inducing case in the history of the Paris Family Court System with all three men vying for custody of the teenage girl.

Being able to provide financial stability wasn’t a concern as Jagged Stone was currently the most successful rockstar in Europe, Asia, Australia, and the Americas; while Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne were two of the wealthiest businessmen in the entire world. All three even offered to completely cover Marinette’s tuition to any school she wanted, so long as she was accepted.

Her safety turned out to be a large factor with all three men, and they were willing to hire their own private security to make sure that she stayed safe at all times. However, the three men also argued how the others lived in unsafe environments.

Jagged mostly lived in tour buses and out of hotels, which was a factor; but he was willing to call off his tours during the school year and only go on tour during school breaks so Marinette would never be without her guardian. Penny was also willing to help Jagged at every turn, stating that she loved Marinette like a niece and would make sure that she had a strong female role model in her life as well.

Tony’s reputation as a playboy and his identity as Iron Man brought up the possibility of attracting a dangerous element. He argued that his homes were equipped with the most advanced security systems on the planet. As well as being friends with an actual “God-Alien”, who had met Marinette and liked her a great deal. Tony was also willing to make Marinette her own personal Iron Suit that would be programmed to protect and fly her to a safe location at the first sign of danger. Pepper also offered to share custody as she already took care of Tony’s daily life as his assistant, taking care of Marinette would be easy and she was looking forward to having her around.

Bruce’s residence in Gotham, the most crime ridden city in North America, was a big factor. Bruce made a point that he already had experience as a guardian of his three adopted sons and his biological son, and they were kept safe. That he also had a top of the line security system at his home, which was located outside of city limits. Dick, Jason, and Tim also commented that they thought of Marinette like a little sister and that Wayne Enterprises had locations all over the world. If the judge decided that Gotham was too dangerous, one of them would gladly take up residency in a city that the judge approved and would stay there to watch over Marinette while still working and providing for her.

After two hours of listening to the back and forth of the three men and their lawyers, the judge decided that he’d heard enough for the day and set the next meeting for the following Thursday after lunch. He also recommended that the men bring proof that they have the mental capability of caring for a teenage girl, lists of schools near their homes to show that she will continue her education, and character witnesses, if available.

The three men wanted to take Marinette out to get something to eat after the court was adjourned, but M. Contere was forced to tell them that it would not be appropriate during the legal proceedings. He also recommended that they follow the judge’s instructions and make sure that they had everything needed, otherwise they would likely not qualify. Hearing that got all three men, their assistants, family, and lawyers moving at top speeds to get everything they needed for court in a few days.

Once they were out of sight, the lawyer couldn’t help but let out a stress induced sigh as he raised one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. This custody battle had the potential to turn into a total circus, and although it could do great things for his career in the long run, he was more worried about how this would affect Marinette.

Speaking of, he was brought from his thoughts when he felt her small hand gently pat the hand that was holding his briefcase. When he looked down at her, she gave him a kind, though slightly amused smile. “You had no idea about the can of worms you were opening when you made those phone calls, did you?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “How was I supposed to know that Uncle J, Uncle Tony, and Uncle Bruce would turn out to be three of the most influential men in the world? How does your family even know all of them?”

“Uncle Bruce was raised by the family butler, Alfred Pennyworth, after his parents died. Grandma Gina and Alfred were best friends when they were younger. After the Waynes died, Gina would go check on them in Gotham, she liked to brag that she helped get Bruce back out of his shell. Uncle Tony knew my parents back in university, he was a lot younger and smarter than the other students and you can guess that didn’t go over well with some of them. My parents looked out for him and they became friends, and even after he got busy when he took over the company, he always made time to be there for the big moments in our lives; my parents’ wedding, their baby shower, and when I was born. I’ve actually spent a few summers in Gotham and New York visiting them.”

“And Jagged Stone?”

“He’s the most recent of my honorary uncles. I’m his personal designer, but he got unofficially adopted into my family after the tv show that took place in my parents’ bakery. Uncle Jagged made a bread guitar and sang rock songs with my dad. Once the show was over, Mom invited him and Penny to stay for dinner. During the course of the night, Dad claimed him as a new little brother. Jagged was so happy that he started calling my parents big brother and big sister, and started calling me his niece. Since then, he’s come over at least once a month to just relax and be a family with us.”

M. Contere couldn’t help but smile at that. From the sound of it and what he had seen, all three men truly cared about this girl and were willing to bend over backwards for her. That was a good thing, but he still worried that a custody battle between these three men could go for a long time and possibly cause mental distress for Marinette. Although the final decision was ultimately up to the judge, he was allowed to make recommendations if they were in the best interests of the child.

With that in mind, he knelt down beside Marinette. “You know the three of them and what they’re living situations are like better than I do. And even though you’re not 15 years old yet, I could petition the judge to factor your opinion. Which of them would you like to have guardian status?”

When Marinette gave him a knowing smile, he just knew that things might get more complicated.

~oOo~

It got a lot more complicated.

The media had caught wind of the custody battle, causing a giant crowd of paparazzi to stake out the courthouse to catch a glimpse of the rockstar, billionaire, and the self proclaimed “genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist” who was also a superhero. To their credit, the three only said that they were devastated by the loss of the Dupain-Chengs and wanted to do what was best for Marinette and left all the other questions at the door.

In the courtroom; all three men, as well as their assistants and Bruce’s boys, had done mental evaluations that their lawyers submitted to the judge. They also provided lists of different schools that Marinette was free to choose from; including public schools, private, and even schools that specialized in fashion. But the absolute kicker was the character witnesses.

Jagged Stone had brought other music stars, movie stars, and production mega stars that made Contere wonder for a moment if he’d accidentally walked into an award ceremony. Tony Stark had brought the Avengers, The Avengers, as his character witnesses. Contere wasn’t too proud to admit that he was a bit starstruck when Thor himself came over to great Marinette and complimented her on her ‘battle scars’, saying that they were a testament to her strength. If that wasn’t enough, Bruce brought multiple members of the Billionaire’s Club as character witnesses, many of whom had been suspected of being members of the Justice League.

The judge looked just as surprised, though somewhat irritated, by the people crowding his courtroom. He quietly looked over the mental health evaluations that had been provided, as well as the lists of schools; finding that everything was in order and that any of them would have been wonderful guardians to the girl. He was tempted to call another recess and pick this back up the following week until Marinette’s lawyer raised his hand.

“If it would please the court,” the judge motioned for him to continue, “although Mlle. Dupain-Cheng is not yet of legal age to make a final decision on the matter of custody, I felt that she was old enough to state her opinion. We have discussed it over the past few days and I believe we came up with a proposal that will satisfy all parties involved while still being in the best interest of the child.” M. Contere presented the four copies of the proposal to the bailiff, who handed one to the judge, and the three lead lawyers.

The judge read the summary at the top before looking at the lawyer in surprise. “You’re proposing joint custody?”

“Yes, your honor. My client and I feel that due to the influence that these men hold, as you can see by the character witnesses that have come here to speak on their behalf, that this custody hearing could be drawn out for a long time, which could have mental repercussions on Marinette.” Contere didn’t miss the ‘you ain’t kidding’ roll of his eyes, or the looks of shame that the three men shared at the thought of hurting Marinette.

“Keeping that in mind, my client came up with an outline for a possible custody agreement. M. Stark would retain custody during school as he has listed one of the top fashion schools in America, which would further Marinette’s future career. The weekends would be spent with M. Wayne, as Wayne Enterprises has connections to the fashion industry and would be able to give her training to help her successfully run her own business. M. Stone would have custody during summer breaks, so Marinette may continue gaining experience as his personal designer, a position she has held for close to a year and has already earned her recognition in the industry.”

The judge grew quiet again as he contemplated the proposal and read over the details. He didn’t want to deal with these three powerful, and in a lot of ways eccentric, men for the next few months while attempting to figure out the best placement for the child. Nor did he want to deal with the media frenzy that this case had already brought on. If anything, this was likely the best option, if he could get the men to agree to the terms.

“Do you have any objections to this proposal?”

There was a moment of silence as the lawyers continued to look over the proposal and spoke to their clients. Jagged’s lawyer was the first to respond. “No, your honor. M. Stone believes that this would be best for Marinette, but we would like to add a clause that M. Stone be permitted to call and visit Mlle. Dupain-Cheng so long as it does not interfere with her school work.”

“My client would also like that clause added to the proposal, your honor,” said the Wayne lawyer. “As well as the clause that Messieurs Stone and Stark work together with M. Wayne in securing Mlle. Dupain-Cheng’s safety. As previously stated, all three men could be considered high-priority targets and normally require bodyguards. M. Wayne has proposed that any potential bodyguard be vetted and approved by all parties involved before being hired.”

The judge looked to Stark’s lawyer. “And do you have any stipulations you would want to see added to the proposal?”

“Only that there be an open line of communication between Messieurs Stone, Wayne, and Stark at all times in reference to Mlle. Dupain-Cheng’s well being and any possible travel. As all three men are known to travel the world for business; there will be occasions for the child to travel as well. When this occurs, the other guardians should receive notice of the country, city, and address that she resides; so, in case of an emergency, they will be able to be present to assist and protect her.”

“My client has no objections to these clauses,” said Jagged’s lawyer.

“And you, M. Wayne?”

The Wayne lawyer nodded. “The clauses are more than reasonable and are in the best interest of Mlle. Dupain-Cheng. Although I only speak for my client, I do not believe that I would be out of line to say that is the main focus of Messieurs Stone and Stark as well.”

The lawyers hid their relief when the judge nodded in agreement. “As the proposal was presented by the child and the three of you are in agreement, I’m scheduling a meeting in my chambers for next Tuesday to go over the finer details of the custodial agreement. I will allow your clients and one lawyer each to attend; this includes you and your client, M. Contere.”

“Yes, your honor.”

“And as for you, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng,” Marinette’s head snapped up to meet the judge’s gaze. “It seems that you have gained three extremely powerful, influential, and in many ways crazy guardians. I don’t know if I should congratulate you or give you my sympathies. What I will do is wish you the best of luck and hope that you are prepared for the future. Court is adjourned.”

There was a hum of surprise and joy that spread through the courtroom as Jagged, Bruce, and Tony stepped up to each other and shook hands before approaching Marinette and M. Contere.

“Of course, my niece would come up with a way to keep everyone happy, she’s so rock n’ roll that way.” Jagged beamed with pride as Tony and Bruce nodded in agreement.

“Would it be alright if all of us went to dinner to celebrate,” Bruce asked Contere, indicating the ‘all’ to be himself and his boys, Jagged and Penny, and Tony and Pepper; along with Marinette and Contere.

“So long as there’s no discussion of custody and everyone stays civil, I don’t see any harm in it.”

Everyone smiled in agreement while Pepper mentioned that she’d just finished making reservations for all eleven of them at a nice restaurant that had the best view of the Eiffel Tower.

As the others began filing out of the courtroom, Marinette patted his hand and gave him a sympathetic look. “You just opened your second can.”

M. Contere wasn’t sure about what she’d meant until after the meal was over and the waitress brought the check, and then watched as the three billionaires fought over it. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he only hoped that this would all be over on Tuesday and he could go back to his normal, boring cases.

#ml fic #ml prompt #marinette deserves better #maribat #ml au #bruce wayne #tony stark #jagged stone #marinette dupain cheng

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trini-trin-trin · 3 years

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Sharing this from a FB group that I am in. I was very moved by the article and felt affinity with the experiences shared. A really sweet read.

Here is the article if you don't want to click on the link (I know it is a little long, but well worth your time to read!):

The letter I received ten years ago was unsigned and bore no return address. Clearly its author did not expect, much less want, a reply. A message in a bottle, from no one to no one, that letter still remains the most bizarre form of communication. It asks nothing but to be read, promises nothing but to share a few facts and feelings, and, seeing that it must have been dashed off on a lined yellow sheet that seemed hastily torn out of a pad of paper, the author would not be surprised if, after skimming through it, the recipient decided to crumple and lob it into the closest dust bin.

The letter is one page long. One page is enough. The handwriting is uneven, perhaps because the author had lost the habit of writing in longhand and preferred the keyboard. But his grammar is perfect. The man knew what he was doing. I assume he was writing the note by hand because he didn’t want traces of it on his laptop, or because he knew he was never going to send it as an email and risk a reply. Now that I think of it, he probably didn’t care if it even reached its recipient, a local Bay Area reporter who had mentioned my novel about two young men who fall in love one summer in Italy in the mid-1980s. The reporter eventually forwarded it to me, minus its envelope with the postmark. It took no time to see that all the author of the letter was looking for was a chance to blurt out the words he couldn’t dare breathe elsewhere.

My book had spoken to him. His letter spoke to me.

So here it is: dated April 16, 2008.

I came upon Mr. Aciman’s book while on a business trip back East. Not the type of book I am normally able to read, so I bought a copy for the flight home. I think I’m glad I did.

You see, I was Elio. I was 18 and my Oliver was 22. Though the time and place were different, the feelings were remarkably the same. From believing that you are the only person who has these feelings, to the whole “he loves me – he loves me not” scenario, Mr. Aciman got it right. I was particularly impressed with the attention he gave to the morning after Elio’s and Oliver’s first encounter. The guilt, the loathing, the fear. I felt it too much. I had to put the book down for a while.

But in the end I was able to finish the book before we landed at SFO. Which was good, because I couldn’t take the book home. Unlike Elio it was I who married and had children. My Oliver died from AIDS in 1995. I’m still living a parallel life. My name is not important. His name was Dwight.

Instead, I kept the letter. I kept it for ten years.

What moved me was not just its sobering matter-of-factness or its hint of downplayed sorrow, but the associations it provoked in my mind. It reminded me of those short, clipped messages to loved ones, written by people about to be shipped off to the death camps who knew they’d never be heard from again. There is a chilling immediacy about their hurriedly scribbled notes that say everything there is to say in the fewest possible words — there wasn’t enough time for more, no smarmy pieties, no hand-wringing, no treacly hugs and kisses before the tragic end. It also made me think of the moving phone messages left by those who finally realized they were not going to make it out alive from the Twin Towers and that only their family’s answering machine was going to take their call.

“My name is not important,” he writes, almost as an apology for remaining anonymous; yet the author drops quite a number of hints about himself — hints he likely knows will stir his reader’s wistful curiosity to know what made him write the letter in the first place, what he hoped to accomplish, and if writing did indeed help. The letter itself allows us to see that he travels for business. We also sense that he probably lives in the Bay Area and that he travels not infrequently to the East Coast, since, as he writes, he is “back” in the East. And we know one thing more: that he simply needed to come out and tell someone that a man called Dwight had been his lover when the two were young. The rest is a cloud. We’ll never know more. Writing has served its purpose. We write, it seems, to reach out to others. Whether we know them or not doesn’t matter. We write to put out into the real world something extremely private within us, to make real what often feels unreal and ever so elusive about ourselves. We write to give a shape to what would otherwise remain amorphous. This is as true about authors as about those who want to correspond with them. Over the years, many have written to me either after reading or seeing Call Me by Your Name. Some tried to meet me; others confided things they’d never told anyone; and some even managed to call me at the office and, on speaking about my novel, would eventually apologize before bursting out crying. Some were in jail; some were barely adolescents, others old enough to look back at loves seven decades past; and some were priests locked in silence and secrecy. Many were closeted, others totally out; some were widows who felt a resurgence of hope if only by reading about the loves of two young men called Elio and Oliver in Italy; some were very young girls eager to meet their long-awaited Oliver; and some recalled former gay lovers whom they’d occasionally bump into years later but who’d never acknowledge what they’d once shared and done together when both were schoolmates and neither was married. All were keenly aware of living a parallel life. In that parallel life things are as they perhaps should be. Elio and Oliver still live together. And no one has secrets there.

Unlike Dwight’s lover, everyone who took the time to write to me did not withhold their names, but all had, at one point or another, withheld something very primal. They withheld it from themselves, from a relative, from a friend, a classmate, or colleague, or from a beloved who would never have guessed what troubled longings seethed below their averted gaze whenever they crossed paths.

Some readers wrote to tell me they felt that my novel had changed them, and given them new insights into themselves; some felt it was urging them finally to turn a new leaf in their lives. But some couldn’t go so far and, despite their perfect command of language, confessed lacking the words to explain why they were so moved by my novel or why they felt an unresolved longing for things they’d never considered or desired before. They were experiencing an upwell of emotions and of ungraspable might-have-beens that were asking to be reckoned with because they seemed more real than life itself, a sense of themselves that beckoned from an opposite bank they’d never known was there and whose potential loss now was a source of inconsolable grief. Hence their tears, their regrets, and the overpowering sense of being lost in their own lives.

And yet, they said, theirs were not tears of sorrow. They were tears of recognition, as though the novel itself were a mirror for readers to watch their own emotions laid bare before them. These responses made me aware that Call Me by Your Name does not call attention to anything readers didn’t already know, nor does it bring new truths or revelations; all it does is shed new light on things that were long familiar but that they never took the time to consider. It would be so tempting to say that they are reminded of their forgotten first loves; the truth is that all loves, even those that occur late in life, are first loves. There is always fear, shame, reluctance, and not a tiny dose of spite. Desire is agony.

Everyone who’s read Call Me by Your Name understands not only the struggle both to speak and hold back their truth but also the shame that comes whenever we want something from someone. Desire is always cagey, always secretive — we’ll tell everyone we know about the person we crave to hold naked in our arms, but the very last one to know this will be the person we crave. Same-sex desire is even more guarded and watchful, especially in those who are just discovering their sexuality. Awkwardness and desire are strange bedfellows at a young age, but shame and inexperience are just as paralyzing as fear when we watch them tussling with the urge to be bold. You’re torn between the raw horniness that makes you dream scenes you hope to forget as soon as you’re up and the scenes you pray you’ll dream again and again — if dreams are all you’ll have. Silence and solitude exact a cost that leaves us emotionally wrecked. At some point we need to speak.

So “is it better to speak or die?” asks Elio, the narrator of Call Me by Your Name, quoting words penned by the sixteenth-century Marguerite de Navarre in her collection of tales known as The Heptameron. Marguerite was the sister of King Francis I and the grandmother of Henry IV, himself the grandfather of Louis XIV, hence she was plenty familiar with court intrigue, gossip, and the risks of opening up to someone who may not welcome what’s in our heart and could easily make us pay for it. Not everyone who has written to me has dared to speak their hearts to those they loved. Some have sought silence — slow, lingering droplets of quiet desperation taken every night before bedtime until they realize they’ve been dead and didn’t even know it. Many have written to me with the feeling of having missed their chance when someone tethered his rowboat to their jetty and simply asked them to jump in. “Some sentence or thought on almost every page,” writes a reader, “triggers tears and knots my throat and chest. Tears well up in my eyes on the subway, at my computer at work, walking down the street. Perhaps I am weeping in part because I know that at my age there is virtually no possibility of experiencing anything remotely comparable to what Elio experiences with Oliver.” Someone else writes, “Reading Call Me by Your Name made me feel a love I never had.” A happily married 50-plus colleague took me aside and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this much in love in my whole life.” “I'm 23,” tweeted someone else, “and have never felt such love, until I read Call Me by Your Name. I feel like I lived it.” “Elio and I are essentially the same age,” writes a teenage girl. “I have never really experienced his environment of the Italian summer…My experiences have only taken place halfway between nature and smog, however I have felt the same tension, fear, guilt and overwhelming love that you express perfectly through both Elio and Oliver…Finding myself in Elio was something I never expected and I’m positive that I won’t experience anything quite like it ever again. The first girl I ever loved remains…the only girl I have ever loved and though everything she and I shared…lives now as a secret between two friends.” “I finished reading Call Me by Your Name a couple of days ago,” writes someone else, “and wanted to let you know how much it affected me. It felt like a narration of my thoughts that I had systematically buried long ago.” And finally this from a 72-year-old: “I was fascinated by the idea of parallel lives where would I have been if I had gone with him, where would I be if I traveled alone? Maybe the point is just what do I do with the gift you have given me during the remainder of my life.”

There are at least 500 more such letters and emails.

Some find themselves weeping at the end of the film or the novel, not for what happened long ago or for what did not and might never happen in their own lives but for what has yet to happen, for the terrifying moment when they too will soon have to decide whether to speak or die. This from an 18-year-old: “[Your novel] gives me hope that one day I will meet someone whom I desire so badly that I’ll actually find it in me to make a move, the way Oliver is that someone for Elio. Maybe my Oliver will also turn out to be someone that I realize I love as well as desire.” She was crying for a week, as was this 15-year-old young man: “I stopped reading…because I didn’t want [the book] to end, didn’t want the wounds that you caused me to close, I didn’t want to overcome, for some reason that I have yet to find out. I wanted to stay a wreck, emotionally and mentally fragile….My mother handed me tissues because she had never seen me cry like this. I had finished your book and ‘moved’ is too weak a word to express what your book had done to me. Here a week later and it is literally all I can think about, not my midterms coming up, but…Elio and Oliver and if it is better to speak or die. You answered questions I didn’t even think I had.”

Indeed, the whole novel seems to enable the outing of all manner of feelings, feelings from Elio’s relentless inward journey and obsessive self-examination that readers are invited to identify with. Through Elio’s unfettered introspection they too feel exposed and sliced open like a crustacean without a slough, now forced to look at itself in the mirror. No wonder they are moved. The mask that is torn off their faces is not just the mask that conceals same-sex desires from themselves and from others. Rather, it is the realization, through Elio’s voice, of what they truly feel, who they truly are, what they fear, what bears their signature, and what coy little shenanigans they go through to read others and hope to reach them. Some identified with some effusive sentences in my novel so much that they had them tattooed on their bodies. They even attach photos of these tattoos. People have also tattooed peaches on themselves!

But what moves most people — and this is as true now as it was when the novel first came out — is the father’s speech. Here he not only tells his son to nurse the flame and “don’t snuff it out” after his son’s lover has left Italy, but that he too, the father, envies his son’s relationship with a male lover. This speech tears away the last vestige of a veil between reader and truth and is a moving tribute to the irreducible honesty between father and son.

Most readers have written to me about the scene because the father’s speech rekindles the very difficult moment when they decided to come out to their parents — or, as is often the case with people 60, or 70 or older, it reminds them of the conversation they wished they’d had but never did have with their parents. This is the loss no one forgets and from which no one recovers after seeing Call Me by Your Name. It bears the very essence of that precious and life-defining might-have-been moment that never happened and never will.

Here is the speech:

“Look…[y]ou had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you. In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away, or pray that their sons land on their feet soon enough. But I am not such a parent. In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don’t snuff it out, don’t be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we’d want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything — what a waste!...

“… {L]et me say one more thing. It will clear the air. I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business. But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us can’t help but live as though we’ve got two lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then all those versions in between. But there’s only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now there’s sorrow. I don’t envy the pain. But I envy you the pain.”

I received the anonymous letter sometime in early May 2008. At the time, I was staying at my parents’, because my father was suffering from throat and mouth cancer and was already in hospice care. He had refused radiation and chemotherapy, so I knew his days were numbered; though morphine was clouding his mind, he was still lucid enough to bandy a few quips about a host of subjects. He had stopped eating and drinking water because swallowing had become very painful. One afternoon while I was stealing a nap, the phone rang. A reporter I’d met in California had just received a letter, which she wanted to share with me. I told her to read it over the phone. After she’d read it I asked if she felt she could mail it to me. I wanted to show it to my father, I said, and explained he was dying. She felt for me. We talked about my father for a while. I told her I was trying to make it up to him these days, and that he too had been exceptionally easy to be with. How was it growing up with him? she asked. Tense, I replied. Always is, she added. Then the conversation ended, and she promised to mail the letter soon.

After hanging up, I got out of bed and went in to see him. Over the past few days, I had made a point of reading to him, which he liked a great deal, especially now that he was having difficulty focusing. But rather than read to him the memoirs of Chateaubriand, one of his favorite authors, and feeling buoyed by the letter I’d been read on the phone, I asked if he’d like me to read from the French translation of Call Me by Your Name, the galleys of which I had just received from Paris that very morning. Why not, since you wrote it, he said. He was proud of me. So I began to read from the very beginning, and soon enough I knew I was opening up a subject neither he nor I had ever broached before. But I knew he knew what I was reading and why I was reading it to him. This made me happy. Perhaps it made him happy as well. I’ll never know.

That evening, after the rest of us had dinner, he asked if I could continue reading from my novel. I was nervous about arriving at the father’s speech because I didn’t know how he’d react to it, though he was the kind of father who would have given that very same speech himself. But the speech was two hundred pages away still, and that would have taken many, many days. Perhaps I should skip some parts, I thought. But no, I wanted to read him the whole book. My father didn’t last long enough to hear the father’s speech. And when the letter finally arrived from California, he was already gone. His name was Henri, he was 93 years old, and he inspired everything I’ve written.

#andre aciman #CMBYK Book #call me by your name #cmbyn #elio x oliver

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