thai letters

I tore myself apart
in a poor attempt
to make the world pay
for not welcoming you,
for shunning you,
for pushing you to the edge,
and for not showing you kindness
when you needed it the most

I was mad to the point
where I could not tell
if my desire for chaos and destruction
was driven by love or hate

I sought to hurt
the ones that took away
your last ounce of hope
and lived happily ever after

But when I saw
a glimpse of your spirit
in the eyes of another
it was like for a brief period of time
the world was a clear grey
and it was that very moment
that helped me to realize
you were finally free

—  The moment I realized that my hate for the world would not bring you back into my arms. // A.L Thai
A New Lesson

Hello there.

 I’ll be honest and say I’ve never really posted fan fiction before, and I’m pretty terrified. However, there’s a first time for everything. *Inserts grin with too many teeth* Anyway, this fic follows feysand as little second graders and has been sitting in my computer for far too long.

 As a not so random side note, I am fully aware that it’s feysand smut week, and with eight-year-old characters, this definitely isn’t that.

“Turn to chapter 54. Today we’re reading the short story version of Beauty and the Beast,” Mr. Keir told his students.

Grumbling rolled around the rooms as students griped about how, “We should just watch the movie”.

“Oh, don’t complain. We will be watching the movie once we finish the story, but we’ll be reading it-“ he paused-“popcorn style. Now, I will not tolerate any passing. Make sure you open to…”

While the teacher droned on, Feyre Archeron subtly looked at the girl’s textbook next to her to see the picture painted at the top of the chapter. Her fingers grazed through the pages until they found the same image in her own. As a Second grader, Feyre knew she should be able to read somewhat, but no one in her house, or any teachers, had ever bothered to take the time to teach her.

The popcorn style opened with some kid named Lucien, whose hand was high in the sky. Unlike everyone else, Feyre’s eyes were never anywhere near her textbook, as they were fully focused on a blank sheet of paper next to her book. She painstakingly drew a castle in the mountains while voices around the room wove the tale of the reader-becomes-princess, one Feyre despised. She thought she was in the clear of being called on, since she was new and no one would know her name.

Her face was practically kissing her drawing when a shrilly voice called.

“Popcorn…Farrah, Philippa, Faerie.. the new girl.”

Feyre’s body stilled.

“You must mean Feyre, our newest addition. Right, Amarantha?” The teacher crooned from his desk.

“Sorry. Popcorn, Feyre,” Amarantha repeated.

Feyre whispered, “Pass.”

The teacher tsked his tongue, “I know this is your first day, Feyre, but as I stated earlier there is no passing.”

Feyre didn’t even know what page they were on. Her rudimentary drawing of the moon and some mountains showing exactly what page she was on.

She wiped her hands against her legs and swallowed to bring moisture to her dry throat.

Everyone’s eyes were on her at her silence. Flipping pages pounded through the room as Feyre desperately tried to find the right one.

She hoped that Amarantha girl would call on someone else.
Hoped the teacher would cut her slack.
Hoped everyone would stop their staring.
Hoped someone would just read for her.

“I’ll read,” Some godsend called. 

“Rhysand, it’s not your turn.”

“I know, but I really want to. Fay-re can read later.”

The teacher’s glare was full of ice, but his voice was sweet as honey, “Rhys, we must take turns, and right now it’s Feyre’s. Maybe if you’re lucky she’ll call on you when she’s done.”

There was no way Feyre would since she would never be done if she couldn’t even start.

“C’mon, it’s her first day. Give her a break.”

Feyre whipped around to see the boy defending her and stifled a gasp.

He was by far the cutest boy in the class. But even more alarming were his violet eyes staring at their instructor, with an equal amount of ire as their teacher.

No one glared at teachers like that.

The staring match between Mr. Keir and Rhys seemed relentless, until Keir finally sighed, “Just for today, Feyre, you’re off the hook. Know that this is not the norm, and you will be expected to read. And please, pretend that you’re at least following along.”

Feyre’s cheeks warmed at the accusation, but she relaxed as Rhys’s voice filled the room.

When the bell finally rang for recess, Feyre sprang from her seat. The easiest way to go unnoticed was to sit on the farthest away swing. She just hoped that no other social outcast had taken the spot. Upon initial analysis, the best seat was the one in a set of two that faced the woods, and Feyre raced to it.

As she sat on the swing, she reminded herself that she wasn’t dumb, she just never learned to read. That was the truth. But what was also true was that she couldn’t go her life being ill-tolerant, or whatever the word was for someone who couldn’t read.

Math wasn’t as bad since it was more symbol association than anything else. Which, some would argue that’s what reading was.

Someday, hopefully soon, she would learn. Yet, she just didn’t know who she would ask to teach her. She needed someone who would do it judgment free. Definitely not her sister Nesta, she was too bitter, and Elain could, except she wouldn’t hide it from Nesta, eliminating her as an option.

Lost in thought about possible tutors, Feyre nearly leapt off the swing when a voice called from behind her.

“Excuse me,” except it sounded more like, “Excuth me.”

Feyre turned to see the same boy from class waiting behind her with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Can I join you?” Rhys asked after he already seated himself next to her.

She bobbed her head yes.

“I’ve been looking for you. My friend thaid to leave you alone because of cooties, but I don’t believe in that thtupid thtuff. Or at leatht not anymore.”

Feyre didn’t know how to reply, and blurted out, “Cooties aren’t real. And you didn’t have a lisp in class. Why do you have one now?”

“Well, I don’t want Keir, or anyone else, to taunt me, so I hide it in class. I can talk faster with it, though.”

Through his hurried speech, he struggled through the words, “else”, “so”, “class" and “faster”. Feyre just nodded along as if this boy made sense.

“Anyway, I don’t think you’re shy. Or at leatht you could be. But, do you have problemth reading? Because I can help you. My adopted brother, Cathian, had this thing called,” his finger tapped his lips while the other stayed behind his back, “dinothaur anorethia, or thomething like that. He thays the letters blur together on the page. I can help you. I helped him.”

Feyre couldn’t find it in herself to mention that his lisp was only there part of the time or say she was ill-tolerant, even if she did know that he meant dyslexia when talking about his brother, and wouldn’t judge if she messed up a word too. It was too embarrassing.

She looked away.

“You don’t need to feel bad. I mean, I have a lisp. I just want to help, Feyre.”

The innocence in the way he said her name made her whisper, “I can’t read.”

There was a loud, drawn-out “oh” from behind her, and Feyre turned back around.

“I think I can thtill teach you. I brought my favorite book.”

From behind his back, Rhys pulled out Greek Mythology for Kids.

He opened to a dog-eared page. “My cousin, Mor, said that you were drawing during class, and thought you might like the story of Persephone  and Hades. She said you seemed a little bored with the whole Beauty and the Beast thing. It’s my favorite, too. Persephone and Hades that is, not Beauty and the Beast.”

Feyre brought her swing closer to Rhys’s, indicating for him to begin, and followed his fingers across the page. He enunciated each word slowly, having her repeat after him. The next day, against her doubts, he found her again. And the next day, and the next. Until every day, she not only learned to read, but to expect him, and every day the two began a new lesson.

(A/N When I wrote this, I had just finished watching Stranger Things, and fell in love with Dustin’s lisp. So that why Rhys has one. Because I think it’s adorable for the High Lord to have a little lapse in his demeanor)

Dear Chuck
Do meu jeito torto, errôneo, estranho, diferente e quase debochado eu estou sinceramente muito feliz por você, por ter seguido em frente tão rapidamente. Espero que ela te ensine mais que eu, que ela te dê mais suporte do que eu, que ela seja mais paciente, mais meiga e delicada, que ela te ame certo, que ela perdoe fácil suas mancadas, que releve suas indiferenças, que ela aguente mais do que eu fui capaz; que ela te faça rir com mais frequência, que ela faça sua barriga doer de tanto rir mais vezes do que eu. Que você aprenda mais com ela do que comigo, que você seja mais feliz do que sempre foi, que cuide melhor dela. Espero que de alguma forma eu tenha te ensinado alguma coisa, que você tenha aprendido de uma forma geral o que não fazer, a segurar melhor seus ombros e usa-los menos como forma de ignorar e mais como um apoio pra quando ela precisar chorar, que você tenha entendido que é preciso se importar e se preocupar e acima de tudo demonstrar alguma coisa, que nada é recíproco se você não demonstrar o que está sentindo. Mesmo que haja essas mil milhas de distancia eu ainda estou aqui, sendo boba o suficiente pra continuar aqui caso você resolva me procurar, porém eu não vou esperar, estou um pouco a frente e não ficarei pra trás esperando que você volte, não estarei esperando em canto algum, estarei indo sem olhar pra trás e abstraindo você, uma hora ou outra você some de vez de mim e eu te esqueço.
—  Letters to Chuck
Dear Chuck
Na inocência te abracei, na ingenuidade deixei-te me levar, na incoerência me entreguei, na insanidade me apaixonei e na sanidade te afastei. Eu precisava de um momento de lucidez para perceber que tudo isso era loucura, te amar era insano demais até pra mim, nada disso era saudável. Estou lúcida baby e tirei de você o poder de migrar nuvens cinzentas para o meu céu azul e limpo.
—  Letters to Chuck
Dear Chuck
Hoje eu desisto de você, desisto de nós e jogo tudo pro alto. Eu não sou fraca, alias precisei ser muito forte para finalmente abandonar a esperança, jogar fora a expectativa e finalmente aceitar de que “nós” não existe mais. Peço desculpas por lhe dizer isso, e por te magoar, mas eu não aguento mais ser magoada por você quando no fundo o que eu mais queria era que dessemos certo, desculpa por tentar, desculpa por interferir e me desculpe por expor isso em cartas agora, mas essa é só o começo de tudo que ainda te resta a saber.
—  Letters to Chuck
Dear Chuck
Essa é a ultima, é aqui que acaba. Já digitei todos meus rascunhos manuscritos, já disse o que tinha pra dizer, já lhe enviei todas as cartas. É aqui que acaba, tudo, todas as palavras, todos os pensamentos, não quero mais lembrar-me de você, não quero persistir no passado, não quero escrever sobre ou para você, aqui se encerra. Não estou trocando de capitulo, estou trocando o livro, cansei das nossas velhas paginas amareladas, quero sentir o cheiro de livro novo outra vez. É aqui que acaba. Ponto final.
—  The last letter for you Chuck
Dear Chuck
De todos os outros, eu escolhi você; entre todos os olhos azuis que me chamavam atenção, eu escolhi os seus verdes escuros; de todos os caras do mundo eu escolhi você e eu não me arrependo nem se quer por um minuto ter lhe escolhido, não lamento o que passamos juntos. Apesar de ter acabado, apesar de eu estar te abstendo da minha mente, te afundando no breu dentro do meu cérebro, te colocando num quarto trancado a sete chaves eu ainda faria tudo de novo, se eu pudesse voltar no tempo eu ainda viveria tudo e novo, eu faria tudo exatamente igual, porque apesar de tudo, você não foi um erro, nós não fomos os errados, foi bom enquanto durou, eu lamento o fim, mas não lamento o começo.
—  Letters to Chuck
Dear Chuck
Eu não queria, eu nem precisaria, mas eu criei e alimentei a expectativa, eu não podia, mas eu esperei algo de você. Talvez meu erro seja esse, esperar demais, achar demais, querer demais, quando tudo que você fazia era de menos tão menos que era quase um polo negativo. E eu? Bom, eu cansei de esperar por quem não tem perspectiva de chegada, e mesmo durante esse nosso tempo eu nunca deixei de te amar, nem um pouquinho, nem um diazinho e mesmo agora ainda há amor em mim, só não é mais o suficiente pra lutar, lutar sozinha, lutar sem adversário, lutar com o vento.
—  Letters to Chuck
Dear Chuck
Eu vi gradativamente nossa história virar pó, eu vi lentamente as nossas linhas escritas e encontradas se tornarem degradê até se perderem no branco, eu vi nossa folha amarelar, manchar e rasgar em pedacinhos. Eu vi tudo acabando, se perdendo, quebrando lentamente e o que eu podia fazer? Nada. De quem era a culpa? Ninguém. Não havia um culpado pra apontar o dedo e dizer quantos erros foram cometidos, não existia um placar de burrices para nós. Nossa história não foi um copo de vidro que caiu e despedaçou no chão em mil caquinhos, nossa história foi uma jarra trincada e guardada, depois rachada e por fim quebrada em grandes cacos. Sabe o quanto é difícil pra eu falar que sinto sua falta? Mas eu sinto Chuck, eu sinto mesmo quando eu nego, durante o dia eu abstraio você, mas quando a noite cai você aparece, mas há rancor aqui sabe!? E eu não sei como diminuí-lo, eu só sinto e ele vem junto com a raiva de não conseguir te esquecer. Eu não queria que fosse assim, que tivesse fim, mas teve e não consigo ver um “restart” para nós.
—  Letters to Chuck
Dear Chuck
Estou sentindo falta de sentir, falta de ter palpitações, de sentir as borboletas se agitarem no meu estomago e os nós emaranharem minha garganta. O quão estranho é eu estar dizendo isso? Justo eu que sempre fui a rainha do gelo estou sentindo falta de ser derretida, mas aqui está a mais essencial e pura verdade. Queria dizer que me apaixonei de novo e que provavelmente ele também está gostando de mim, mas não há ninguém agora, provavelmente não haverá tão cedo enquanto eu não aprender a perder o medo de sentir de novo. Você partiu e deixou um rastro de medo em mim e mesmo que agora eu queira realmente que alguém incandescente chegue e me queime de dentro pra fora eu tenho tanto medo de no fim ser praticamente carbonizada e só restar cinzas de um ser não mais reconhecível.
—  Letters to Chuck