Kryptonite, or A Much Better Ending
Title: Kryptonite, or A Much Better Ending
Author: chococoffeekiss
Ratings: PG, for language and implied!sex.
Warnings: I seem stuck in Grimmauld Place, so I just ran with it. Watch out for random comic book references, I don't own anything you recognize.
Word Count: 2,508
Summary: "Once upon a time, in a land across the sea, there was a girl with a ridiculous name who was in love with a guy who spent most of his time reading about arcane spells and complicated potions, and pretending that he didn’t like the girl as much as she liked him."
Prompt: "You are not exactly Superman, but you are awfully available." (White Christmas)
Author's Note: This is my third entry. The Killer Plot Bunny of Caerbannog keeps leaving these for me, and this is supposedly humour, but we'll see how that turns out.
Once upon a time, in a land across the sea, there was a girl with a ridiculous name who was in love with a guy who spent most of his time reading about arcane spells and complicated potions, and pretending that he didn’t like the girl as much as she liked him.
She wasn’t surprised to find him alone and reading-it was typical. He lay across the foot of the bed with a book spread across the black damask duvet, eyes scanning the pages as thoroughly as any man has ever looked at a woman.
This didn’t discourage her; it only made her slightly jealous.
The thin, gilded leaves of the volume glistened in the lamplight. He licked his finger and reluctantly, slowly turned the page. Inexplicable envy stabbed through her heart with a pain like Juliet’s dagger, or the bite of Cleopatra’s viper, and at the same time she felt odd, being jealous of a piece of literature. Nymphadora Tonks straightened the hem of her red hooded sweatshirt and cleared her throat.
“Having fun?” She asked from the doorway, nonchalantly leaning her arm against the frame.
He nodded, but said nothing, brushing back the fringe of heavy brown hair that fell in his eyes.
This didn’t discourage her, either, so she continued.
“What are you reading, Remus?”
“Muggle fairy tales, Nymphadora.” His voice was low, edged with a pleasant rasp that made her think of every Turkish blend smoke-ridden coffeehouse she had ever darkened the door of, and the craving for a cup of coffee and was almost as strong as the craving to hear him read…
“Which fairy tales? Grimm? Perrault? Aesop?-no, wait. Those are fables.” She was, and proud of the fact, decently well-read, especially in the genre of fairy tales, as she felt like she lived in one. She liked to think of herself as an empowered heroine, her cousin as the tragic exiled royalty, the headmaster as the wise, Merlin-type guy, and this fellow…perhaps he was someone in disguise, but if that was the case, his disguise was better than any she could have ever worn.
“I don’t read Aesop. He’s one of the reasons people are so afraid of me. You know, because of that unfortunate incident with the sheep’s clothing, and the little boy who cried wolf, and whatnot.”
Friendly, smiling sarcasm. He was a walking contradiction if she had ever seen one, and part of her could hardly believe that this fellow spent at least one night a month dealing with both an insatiable hunger for human flesh and being embarrassingly fluffy.
He seemed so…well-adjusted.
“Well, I’m not afraid of you.”
***
The first kiss had been chaste and mannerly, on the back of her hand. Chivalry was foreign to her-Tonks almost expected offensiveness from the men who thought she didn’t deserve her position on the team of Aurors, and she was long accustomed to being ordered around by her male superiors. She was dead on her feet after spending a day patrolling for the Ministry, and then a night and half of the morning spying for the Order when she arrived at Grimmauld. Remus found her sleeping, fully clothed and curled up in the bathtub, and all but carried her up the stairs and deposited her at the door to a bedroom. He caught her hand as she stood there swaying from lack of sleep, kissed her fingers and then took his leave of her, saying nothing more than “Goodnight, milady,” even though it was well past noon and the sun was shining cheerfully through the dingy window at the end of the hall.
She was sure it had been a dream until she woke up wearing one of her trainers. The other was outside the door with a note tucked into the laces, wearing the label “Found this on the stairs,” with a message neatly handwritten inside.
I know this isn’t the traditional way to return a missing shoe found on the palace steps, but I wasn’t sure which storyline we’re working with here, Sleeping Beauty. Have a nice day at work, if at all possible, and make sure you get back before the clock strikes midnight tonight, or else I’ll have to turn Padfoot into a pumpkin. Scratch that-instead, I’ll patiently await your return (preferably before the witching hour) and then we can turn him into a gourd together. Oh, come on! It’ll be fun! All the cool kids are doing it.
-Your friendly neighborhood lycanthrope.
***
The words spilled from her lips and before she had time to amend herself and spare them both an awkward silence he was regarding her from the corner of his eye, looking amused. She wasn’t afraid of him at all-she liked him much more than most people did, and in a way she was sure no one else did, and he knew it.
“Well, you aren’t a sheep.” One brown eyebrow flicked upward and the barest trace of a wolfish smile flashed across his face. “Or a shepherdess, for that matter.”
“True.”
He shifted on the bed, pushing the book out of the way and stretching his arms. She watched the movement of his shoulders under the too-thin, worn out shirt with more than her share of appreciation and he noticed her lingering gaze.
“Ahem,” he cleared his throat loudly and gave her a disbelieving smirk. Tonks knew what the disbelief was about-he knew she liked him but he couldn’t quite work out why she liked him. Despite his friendly demeanor and wit, she saw the underlying doubt, of himself and others. So she never gave him any reason to doubt her. She fancied him, and she acted like it.
“Oh. I-uh…What are you reading?”
“You’d laugh at me if I said.”
She tugged on the strings of her red hooded sweatshirt and arched an eyebrow. “Probably, but I still want to know.”
His eyes darted from her, to his book, and then back to her face. He chuckled quietly at some private joke, and marked the page with the ribbon sewn into the binding, closing the book. “What are you reading?” He nodded towards the rolled up magazine poking out of the pocket of her jeans.
“You’d laugh at me if I said.”
“Probably.” He sat up and ran a hand through already mussed hair, then pointed at her suspiciously, with a winning smirk. “That looks like a Muggle comic book.”
“Nothing wrong with comic books, Remus. They’re just as good as fairy tales.”
“I like comics too, you know.” He held his hand out, grinning. “Let’s see it.”
This is what she had been waiting for-an invitation. Tonks skipped into the room and pushed the comic into his waiting hand. She sat down next to him on the bed and admired the way his shirt collar had given up any attempt to stay starched and lay untidily against his neck.
***
The second kiss was as much of a surprise as the first. They walked down a hall together, discussing the intricacies of a plot to spike Sirius’ breakfast cereal with a love potion that would make him fawn over Mundungus Fletcher like a second-year schoolgirl, and upon recovery, make him believe that Severus Snape had been the cereal-poisoning cad. In mid-stride and mid-sentence, Remus threw his arm out in front of her as if they had reached the edge of a thousand-foot drop, and turning, quickly kissed her on the cheek.
They stood there and stared at each other for a split-second. He pointed up at the ceiling above them, where a leafy bunch of flowers hung.
“That’s..um…not mistletoe.”
“Right,” he said, smirking.
“And it’s…uh…it’s September.”
He nodded. “I know.”
She shrugged in silent question, feeling her face burn like a forest fire.
“Kryptonite. Or aconite, to be specific.” He grinned, taking a sip from the unnaturally steaming mug he held. “Kreacher hangs it up because he thinks it will make me leave.”
“How rude.”
“It’s fine, I'll just have Sirius take it down, since I kind of die if I touch it, and then we'll…ah…mix drinks with it.” He raised the mug in salute and its contents gurgled as if it was a sentient being bent on world domination and enslavement of the human race.
She cringed. “You can’t touch it, but you have to drink it to…oh, that’s fucked up.”
“I agree, Ms. Tonks. Heinous fuckery most foul.” He smiled again. “I don’t know where Kreacher keeps finding so much wolfsbane, but there's more around than I really want to be in the house with... So I was wondering if you would take it to the apothecary next time you have a chance, and sell it for me. It’s worth a fair bit, but they won’t trade with me, unfortunately. Part and parcel, I guess.”
“I-uh…sure, I’ll do it.” She shook her head as if her thoughts would settle like Etch-a-Sketch dust, but it had the opposite effect, and everything she wanted to say was jumbled like so many Scrabble letters.
“Hey, why did you kiss me?” She blurted out as he turned to walk away.
He shrugged, grinning. “You tell me, Nymphadora.”
***
Remus flipped through the pages interestedly. “I don’t think I’ve ever read this series.”
“You’d like it. It’s about these…oh, what’s the word? They’ve got magical powers kind of like us, but it has something to do with their BNA, or whatever.”
“I think it’s called DNA, Tonks.” He grinned at her. “So they’re mutants, then?”
“That’s it. They’re the good mutants, I mean. The bad guys are mutants too, but they’re all about purity, and they want to get rid of the normal humans and the good guys that try to get along with the humans.”
“Sounds familiar.” He smiled and skimmed through the comic, pausing to study a picture here or read a bit of dialogue there. “When I was a kid, I always read Superman.”
“Superman? The guy who wears his underwear outside his trousers?” She laughed teasingly. “I’ve never been impressed by Superman-his Disguises and Concealments don’t work. All he does is take off his glasses and put on a cape! Like that’s going to fool anybody!”
“Maybe he’s not actually trying to fool people?“ He grinned. “Maybe he’s only protecting them. If they don’t know what he really is then they can’t be afraid…”
“Maybe he’s daft from all that Kryptonite.” She nudged his knee with her own and grinned back.
“Maybe he’s just trying to keep Lois Lane from recognizing him? Maybe he doesn’t want her to think badly of him since he’s not really human.”
“Maybe she already knows and doesn’t care?” Her voice started to thicken, stopped in her throat as his trademark grin fell into contemplative seriousness. “Maybe she loves him anyways. Despite it. Because of it, maybe.”
Their eyes met above the glossy pages of The Uncanny X-Men, and then their fingers met, and then their lips, and then the comic fell, abandoned, to the floor.
***
The third kiss, indeed taking place at that very moment, was neither chaste nor brief, and the poor abandoned comic on the floor was soon to be buried beneath a growing heap of various and sundry articles of clothing.
The book of fairy tales, hastily shoved out of the way, hit the floor with a violent thump.
“Oh, no! Your book!” said the voice of the breathless woman.
“It’s okay,” was the reply of the equally winded man.
“Wait! The door! The door!”
“Bloody hell!”
The bedroom door slammed shut and locked at the wave of his hand, hurriedly detangled from her hair, then the hangings around the bed swung closed and a red hooded sweatshirt was thrown from within.
***
If this were a real fairy tale, she would have her happily ever after-they would win the war against Voldemort, her evil family would see the horror of their wicked ways and would receive due punishment, the man sleeping next to her would be cured of his furry little problem by true love’s kiss, and everything would be fine and dandy.
If her life were a comic book, it would be funnier, and fraught with poetic justice-the bad guy would get killed during one of his epic monologues, and the twists in the plot would work themselves out eventually and to her own gain.
But life was just life-she wasn’t a brave princess or a member of a crack team of superhumans, she was just a girl with a gift, doing her best to make the world a better place. And he wasn’t a prince in disguise, or a guy from Planet Krypton. He didn’t wear a mask to hide who he was. He didn’t want to hide anything, but was forced to walk in the shadow of a monster he didn’t want to be, and the more he tried to overcome it, the more others wanted to judge him.
In the morning she awoke, pulled back the hangings from around the bed, and as was her custom, immediately tripped over something-a book lying open on the floor. She dressed as quietly as she could, pulling her sweatshirt back over her chilled shoulders and buttoning her jeans. A flash of gold caught her eye and she picked up the book, studying the illustration on the page-a girl with mousy brown hair, wearing a red hooded cape and pouting at a grinning wolf in a man’s suit as they stood on a path in the middle of a dark forest. The caption read:
I say "wolf," but there are various kinds of wolves. There are also those who are charming, quiet, polite, unassuming, complacent, and sweet, who pursue young women at home and in the streets. And unfortunately, it is these gentle wolves who are the most dangerous ones of all.
Real heroes aren’t like Superman, she thought. Things don’t always work out for real heroes; they live flawed lives and are weighed down by burdens that no one should ever have to carry, and are more often mistaken for the bad guy than not.
She set the book on the desk, then wrapped her arms around the seemingly sleeping man in bed.
“Bloody buggering boggarts, your hands are like icy death.” He mumbled into the pillow, instantly falling asleep again. Tonks laughed, kissed his cheek, and turned to leave for another day of drudgery in the Auror Office, at peace with the truth that any happily ever after they had, they would have to make on their own. Magic and superpowers could only do so much.
As quietly as possible, she snuck a quill from his desk and revised the caption of the illustration so that “unfortunately” was replaced with “interestingly enough.” The last five words were struck through with a single line, and the edited sentence now concluded boldly in “best shag EVER!”
“That’s a much better ending,” she whispered, closing the book and skipping out the door.
***
Author: chococoffeekiss
Ratings: PG, for language and implied!sex.
Warnings: I seem stuck in Grimmauld Place, so I just ran with it. Watch out for random comic book references, I don't own anything you recognize.
Word Count: 2,508
Summary: "Once upon a time, in a land across the sea, there was a girl with a ridiculous name who was in love with a guy who spent most of his time reading about arcane spells and complicated potions, and pretending that he didn’t like the girl as much as she liked him."
Prompt: "You are not exactly Superman, but you are awfully available." (White Christmas)
Author's Note: This is my third entry. The Killer Plot Bunny of Caerbannog keeps leaving these for me, and this is supposedly humour, but we'll see how that turns out.
Once upon a time, in a land across the sea, there was a girl with a ridiculous name who was in love with a guy who spent most of his time reading about arcane spells and complicated potions, and pretending that he didn’t like the girl as much as she liked him.
She wasn’t surprised to find him alone and reading-it was typical. He lay across the foot of the bed with a book spread across the black damask duvet, eyes scanning the pages as thoroughly as any man has ever looked at a woman.
This didn’t discourage her; it only made her slightly jealous.
The thin, gilded leaves of the volume glistened in the lamplight. He licked his finger and reluctantly, slowly turned the page. Inexplicable envy stabbed through her heart with a pain like Juliet’s dagger, or the bite of Cleopatra’s viper, and at the same time she felt odd, being jealous of a piece of literature. Nymphadora Tonks straightened the hem of her red hooded sweatshirt and cleared her throat.
“Having fun?” She asked from the doorway, nonchalantly leaning her arm against the frame.
He nodded, but said nothing, brushing back the fringe of heavy brown hair that fell in his eyes.
This didn’t discourage her, either, so she continued.
“What are you reading, Remus?”
“Muggle fairy tales, Nymphadora.” His voice was low, edged with a pleasant rasp that made her think of every Turkish blend smoke-ridden coffeehouse she had ever darkened the door of, and the craving for a cup of coffee and was almost as strong as the craving to hear him read…
“Which fairy tales? Grimm? Perrault? Aesop?-no, wait. Those are fables.” She was, and proud of the fact, decently well-read, especially in the genre of fairy tales, as she felt like she lived in one. She liked to think of herself as an empowered heroine, her cousin as the tragic exiled royalty, the headmaster as the wise, Merlin-type guy, and this fellow…perhaps he was someone in disguise, but if that was the case, his disguise was better than any she could have ever worn.
“I don’t read Aesop. He’s one of the reasons people are so afraid of me. You know, because of that unfortunate incident with the sheep’s clothing, and the little boy who cried wolf, and whatnot.”
Friendly, smiling sarcasm. He was a walking contradiction if she had ever seen one, and part of her could hardly believe that this fellow spent at least one night a month dealing with both an insatiable hunger for human flesh and being embarrassingly fluffy.
He seemed so…well-adjusted.
“Well, I’m not afraid of you.”
***
The first kiss had been chaste and mannerly, on the back of her hand. Chivalry was foreign to her-Tonks almost expected offensiveness from the men who thought she didn’t deserve her position on the team of Aurors, and she was long accustomed to being ordered around by her male superiors. She was dead on her feet after spending a day patrolling for the Ministry, and then a night and half of the morning spying for the Order when she arrived at Grimmauld. Remus found her sleeping, fully clothed and curled up in the bathtub, and all but carried her up the stairs and deposited her at the door to a bedroom. He caught her hand as she stood there swaying from lack of sleep, kissed her fingers and then took his leave of her, saying nothing more than “Goodnight, milady,” even though it was well past noon and the sun was shining cheerfully through the dingy window at the end of the hall.
She was sure it had been a dream until she woke up wearing one of her trainers. The other was outside the door with a note tucked into the laces, wearing the label “Found this on the stairs,” with a message neatly handwritten inside.
I know this isn’t the traditional way to return a missing shoe found on the palace steps, but I wasn’t sure which storyline we’re working with here, Sleeping Beauty. Have a nice day at work, if at all possible, and make sure you get back before the clock strikes midnight tonight, or else I’ll have to turn Padfoot into a pumpkin. Scratch that-instead, I’ll patiently await your return (preferably before the witching hour) and then we can turn him into a gourd together. Oh, come on! It’ll be fun! All the cool kids are doing it.
-Your friendly neighborhood lycanthrope.
***
The words spilled from her lips and before she had time to amend herself and spare them both an awkward silence he was regarding her from the corner of his eye, looking amused. She wasn’t afraid of him at all-she liked him much more than most people did, and in a way she was sure no one else did, and he knew it.
“Well, you aren’t a sheep.” One brown eyebrow flicked upward and the barest trace of a wolfish smile flashed across his face. “Or a shepherdess, for that matter.”
“True.”
He shifted on the bed, pushing the book out of the way and stretching his arms. She watched the movement of his shoulders under the too-thin, worn out shirt with more than her share of appreciation and he noticed her lingering gaze.
“Ahem,” he cleared his throat loudly and gave her a disbelieving smirk. Tonks knew what the disbelief was about-he knew she liked him but he couldn’t quite work out why she liked him. Despite his friendly demeanor and wit, she saw the underlying doubt, of himself and others. So she never gave him any reason to doubt her. She fancied him, and she acted like it.
“Oh. I-uh…What are you reading?”
“You’d laugh at me if I said.”
She tugged on the strings of her red hooded sweatshirt and arched an eyebrow. “Probably, but I still want to know.”
His eyes darted from her, to his book, and then back to her face. He chuckled quietly at some private joke, and marked the page with the ribbon sewn into the binding, closing the book. “What are you reading?” He nodded towards the rolled up magazine poking out of the pocket of her jeans.
“You’d laugh at me if I said.”
“Probably.” He sat up and ran a hand through already mussed hair, then pointed at her suspiciously, with a winning smirk. “That looks like a Muggle comic book.”
“Nothing wrong with comic books, Remus. They’re just as good as fairy tales.”
“I like comics too, you know.” He held his hand out, grinning. “Let’s see it.”
This is what she had been waiting for-an invitation. Tonks skipped into the room and pushed the comic into his waiting hand. She sat down next to him on the bed and admired the way his shirt collar had given up any attempt to stay starched and lay untidily against his neck.
***
The second kiss was as much of a surprise as the first. They walked down a hall together, discussing the intricacies of a plot to spike Sirius’ breakfast cereal with a love potion that would make him fawn over Mundungus Fletcher like a second-year schoolgirl, and upon recovery, make him believe that Severus Snape had been the cereal-poisoning cad. In mid-stride and mid-sentence, Remus threw his arm out in front of her as if they had reached the edge of a thousand-foot drop, and turning, quickly kissed her on the cheek.
They stood there and stared at each other for a split-second. He pointed up at the ceiling above them, where a leafy bunch of flowers hung.
“That’s..um…not mistletoe.”
“Right,” he said, smirking.
“And it’s…uh…it’s September.”
He nodded. “I know.”
She shrugged in silent question, feeling her face burn like a forest fire.
“Kryptonite. Or aconite, to be specific.” He grinned, taking a sip from the unnaturally steaming mug he held. “Kreacher hangs it up because he thinks it will make me leave.”
“How rude.”
“It’s fine, I'll just have Sirius take it down, since I kind of die if I touch it, and then we'll…ah…mix drinks with it.” He raised the mug in salute and its contents gurgled as if it was a sentient being bent on world domination and enslavement of the human race.
She cringed. “You can’t touch it, but you have to drink it to…oh, that’s fucked up.”
“I agree, Ms. Tonks. Heinous fuckery most foul.” He smiled again. “I don’t know where Kreacher keeps finding so much wolfsbane, but there's more around than I really want to be in the house with... So I was wondering if you would take it to the apothecary next time you have a chance, and sell it for me. It’s worth a fair bit, but they won’t trade with me, unfortunately. Part and parcel, I guess.”
“I-uh…sure, I’ll do it.” She shook her head as if her thoughts would settle like Etch-a-Sketch dust, but it had the opposite effect, and everything she wanted to say was jumbled like so many Scrabble letters.
“Hey, why did you kiss me?” She blurted out as he turned to walk away.
He shrugged, grinning. “You tell me, Nymphadora.”
***
Remus flipped through the pages interestedly. “I don’t think I’ve ever read this series.”
“You’d like it. It’s about these…oh, what’s the word? They’ve got magical powers kind of like us, but it has something to do with their BNA, or whatever.”
“I think it’s called DNA, Tonks.” He grinned at her. “So they’re mutants, then?”
“That’s it. They’re the good mutants, I mean. The bad guys are mutants too, but they’re all about purity, and they want to get rid of the normal humans and the good guys that try to get along with the humans.”
“Sounds familiar.” He smiled and skimmed through the comic, pausing to study a picture here or read a bit of dialogue there. “When I was a kid, I always read Superman.”
“Superman? The guy who wears his underwear outside his trousers?” She laughed teasingly. “I’ve never been impressed by Superman-his Disguises and Concealments don’t work. All he does is take off his glasses and put on a cape! Like that’s going to fool anybody!”
“Maybe he’s not actually trying to fool people?“ He grinned. “Maybe he’s only protecting them. If they don’t know what he really is then they can’t be afraid…”
“Maybe he’s daft from all that Kryptonite.” She nudged his knee with her own and grinned back.
“Maybe he’s just trying to keep Lois Lane from recognizing him? Maybe he doesn’t want her to think badly of him since he’s not really human.”
“Maybe she already knows and doesn’t care?” Her voice started to thicken, stopped in her throat as his trademark grin fell into contemplative seriousness. “Maybe she loves him anyways. Despite it. Because of it, maybe.”
Their eyes met above the glossy pages of The Uncanny X-Men, and then their fingers met, and then their lips, and then the comic fell, abandoned, to the floor.
***
The third kiss, indeed taking place at that very moment, was neither chaste nor brief, and the poor abandoned comic on the floor was soon to be buried beneath a growing heap of various and sundry articles of clothing.
The book of fairy tales, hastily shoved out of the way, hit the floor with a violent thump.
“Oh, no! Your book!” said the voice of the breathless woman.
“It’s okay,” was the reply of the equally winded man.
“Wait! The door! The door!”
“Bloody hell!”
The bedroom door slammed shut and locked at the wave of his hand, hurriedly detangled from her hair, then the hangings around the bed swung closed and a red hooded sweatshirt was thrown from within.
***
If this were a real fairy tale, she would have her happily ever after-they would win the war against Voldemort, her evil family would see the horror of their wicked ways and would receive due punishment, the man sleeping next to her would be cured of his furry little problem by true love’s kiss, and everything would be fine and dandy.
If her life were a comic book, it would be funnier, and fraught with poetic justice-the bad guy would get killed during one of his epic monologues, and the twists in the plot would work themselves out eventually and to her own gain.
But life was just life-she wasn’t a brave princess or a member of a crack team of superhumans, she was just a girl with a gift, doing her best to make the world a better place. And he wasn’t a prince in disguise, or a guy from Planet Krypton. He didn’t wear a mask to hide who he was. He didn’t want to hide anything, but was forced to walk in the shadow of a monster he didn’t want to be, and the more he tried to overcome it, the more others wanted to judge him.
In the morning she awoke, pulled back the hangings from around the bed, and as was her custom, immediately tripped over something-a book lying open on the floor. She dressed as quietly as she could, pulling her sweatshirt back over her chilled shoulders and buttoning her jeans. A flash of gold caught her eye and she picked up the book, studying the illustration on the page-a girl with mousy brown hair, wearing a red hooded cape and pouting at a grinning wolf in a man’s suit as they stood on a path in the middle of a dark forest. The caption read:
I say "wolf," but there are various kinds of wolves. There are also those who are charming, quiet, polite, unassuming, complacent, and sweet, who pursue young women at home and in the streets. And unfortunately, it is these gentle wolves who are the most dangerous ones of all.
Real heroes aren’t like Superman, she thought. Things don’t always work out for real heroes; they live flawed lives and are weighed down by burdens that no one should ever have to carry, and are more often mistaken for the bad guy than not.
She set the book on the desk, then wrapped her arms around the seemingly sleeping man in bed.
“Bloody buggering boggarts, your hands are like icy death.” He mumbled into the pillow, instantly falling asleep again. Tonks laughed, kissed his cheek, and turned to leave for another day of drudgery in the Auror Office, at peace with the truth that any happily ever after they had, they would have to make on their own. Magic and superpowers could only do so much.
As quietly as possible, she snuck a quill from his desk and revised the caption of the illustration so that “unfortunately” was replaced with “interestingly enough.” The last five words were struck through with a single line, and the edited sentence now concluded boldly in “best shag EVER!”
“That’s a much better ending,” she whispered, closing the book and skipping out the door.
***