#Hell I was living with it for ages until a group of very kind translators started educating and helping me with it *across* languages

[nachosncheezies]

Something that I have observed, in life and in fandom spaces, is that vast cultural and linguistic differences are often unknown, and this has become especially apparent as social usage of the internet has grown worldwide. It's no one's fault. Nobody is "less than" or unintelligent or whatever else for not recognizing it. It's simply something that you can't really know, I think, without being directly exposed to it either by education or personal experience.

I've been lucky to have been something of a nomad, but that comes with its challenges which go way beyond the practical or homesickness. I can say that even within the English language there are VAST regional and cultural differences in modes of expression. Interestingly, the folks I've known who MOST seem to recognize it are linguists and especially professional translators - professions where a recognition of the importance of localized metaphor, unspoken nuance, idiomatic expressions, etc, are absolutely KEY to success. But I digress.

Based on my own experience, I believe that internationally common tongues sometimes fail us to a degree because of this. In some places, culture is more "individualized" - a sort of "what can I do" which often includes a sort of "me against the world" outlook. (I do not mean selfishness. Not at all. I mean it's a starting point, not a goal.) Presenting one's thoughts can best be accomplished by conveying strong, even absolute conviction in one's position, which - "me against the world" - can lead to generalized and sometimes forceful statements. At home, that would be a starting point for discussion and debate, and would be returned in kind. In other places, discussion takes more of an "improv comedy" style, wherein "yes, and..." is the mode of debate. In still others, the places and types of silence can convey just as much about someone's position and can be just as persuasive as words themselves. Sarcasm is especially regionalized, and conveyed differently from place to place. Body language is universally important in adding nuance or clarification to any statement in any place. Put these sorts of things in a blender, and you can easily find misunderstandings where some come off aggressive or as "talking down" to others, others unusually meek, still others appearing to agree when actually, they are not agreeing at all, etc.

I have also observed that in real life situations, differences in regional accents afford a certain amount of grace toward these differences, even when we're not actively conscious of any of the above. (This, I can say with absolute certainty, because I have also lived in a few places long enough to have taken on a floating accent, and when I'm visiting any of these places for more than a day or so, that grace if I stumble back into other modes of expression disappears with whichever accent I got off the plane with 😂)

Unfortunately, online, we don't have this constant audible reminder that a person is something of an "other" coming from some other place where modes of communication may be different. Even people who deal with language as their professional bread and butter can easily forget in online spaces. We tend to hear whatever we read in our local accent, and things such as metaphor and sarcasm may be misconstrued, "individualized conviction" modes may come across as shocking and rude, or the many and varied uses of silence may go completely unnoticed, etc.

Anyway. If you have read this whole novella, thank you. 💕 I have debated posting something like this for a looong time, because I wonder sometimes if conflict I see within fandoms (and educational groups, and professional groups, and and and) might arise, fundamentally, from these sorts of misunderstandings. I do not intend it as a callout to any person or group of people. Perhaps, hopefully, simply food for thought.

[seabass17]

All that’s left | Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Reader

A/n: So, this is... a different reader in comparison from the one in the first part but I kinda like it? Anyway, Im considering making a third part and im thinking it'll contain some smut. I used google translator so please don't judge me. Tell me what you think. Happy reading.

All that's left pt. 1

Warnings: angst, mentions of scars, swearing, implied smut?

Word count: 3.263

Summary: After moving from her life in New York, away from the Avengers and him, she finds happiness and a life that she actually enjoys, but that seems to last little when she spots the familiar jet on the roof of the building she lives in. Is she ready to face them? To face him?

*Three months later*

The warm air surrounding my body made me take a deep breath and unconsciously smile. I was happy, I was free, I was whole. I was with my neighbor drinking coffee in our usual spot, which was a cafe near the main street of the place that I decided was going to become my new home.

“Продолжай рассказывать мне о своем боссе, который сводит тебя с ума” (Keep on telling me about your boss who drives you crazy) Andrei said making me laugh and shake my head.

“Не о чем говорить, он просто засранец, который дает мне слишком много работы и заставляет меня плакать” (Nothing to talk about, he's just an asshole who gives me too much work and makes me want to cry) I laughed. I had met Andrei a week after I moved in and there was an immediate connection. No, it wasn’t in a romantic one, god no, we were just really good friends that had a lot in common.

“Now now, that was not what i saw the other day when i went to pick you up from work” He said with a playful smirk plastered on his light brown face. I gasped, a fake indignant expression on my face while my hand went to my chest. He laughed loudly. “Don’t play that card, I saw you!” he added

“I don’t know what you are talking about” I said, trying to fight the smile that tried to come out but failing miserably, we both laughed.

He and I had become quite close in the little time that we had known each other. He was an American with a Russian name. He explained that his mother was from the states while his father was a russian spy, they fell in love against all odds and eventually, Andrei was brought to this world. When he was fifteen his father died and he and his mom went to America, where he finished high school and surprisingly, entered the military. He did two tours before he decided that he had enough and returned to Russia. Hence why he could speak both Russian and English fluently. As for me, I told him that I was in some sort of organization that worked for the government, and that’s why I knew russian. He believed me, thank God,  I didn’t want to talk about how I was part of the Avengers and why I left. Obviously I will tell him when the time is right and I know that he can be fully trusted.

“Oh, come on Ames, are you going to tell me that you don’t like him one bit? Not in the slightest?” he asked, smiling and I shook my head. He stayed silent for a second and stared at me, like he was considering whether he should ask me something or keep quiet. “Is it because of him?” he finally asked, watching me closely to see my reaction. I felt my stomach twist at the mention of him. Of course it was because of him, because of them, I couldn’t afford getting hurt and betrayed one more time. Andrei didn’t know his name, or theirs for that matter, so I smiled weakly and nodded.

“Yeah, I know it sounds stupid but… I just can’t afford getting hurt, not again, not anymore” I said looking at my hands.

“I understand, believe me I do” he said, his hand reaching out to hold mine. I looked up to find his brown eyes looking for mine, I saw nothing but genuine love -the friendly kind- in them. I smiled and squeezed his hand. He was going to say something but his phone rang; a notification. He withdrew his hand to look at his phone and the moment he did, people around us started getting up and running in the same direction. I looked at him confused to find him frowning at his phone.

“What is it?” i asked.

“The Avengers are here…” He said and my heart skipped a beat and my body went rigid. Andrei noticed. “What 's wrong?”. Well, there’s no use keeping him from the truth anymore.

“So, remember when I told you that I worked for an organization for the government? Okay don’t freak out and hate me but, here it goes” I took a deep breath. “That organization was called The Red Room were they trained me from a very young age to be a perfect cold-blooded killer, years later i escaped and was on the run until i got a new identification, name, address, new everything and then joined the avengers to amend the wrongs I made in the past. To my luck, it didn’t go great because it ended up breaking me the same way The Red Room did, so I left to find a fresh start and came here where I met you. Please don’t hate me” I concluded in one breath. Andrei was silent with a straight face, which was hard to read, and eventually after a few seconds that felt like an eternity and shrugged his shoulders. WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN.

“Believe it or not, I've heard worse” he simply said

“Worse than finding out that your best friend is a train killer and former avenger?” i asked incredulously and he tilted his head and smirked

“US Agent mother and Russian spy father” He said. I laughed and he followed right after. “So, I'm guessing we are running away?” he asked. Say what now?

“We?” I asked, almost in shock to which he simply nodded, “You don’t think im just gonna let you go like that, please, is not that easy to get rid of me” he snorted. “And I'm supposing Amelia is not your real name either, given the fact that you ran off,” he added. Damn, he is good.

“Y/n, y/n y/l/n” I said and he slowly smiled

“Well y/n, nice to meet you, my name is Andrei Petrova” he said, extending his hand, i repeated his action with the same smile. “I’ve got to say, I like the name y/n more than Amelia '' he added and laughed. We were brought back to the matter at hand when the screaming of the people were getting louder. I snapped my head up and saw the familiar jet on the roof of the building where I was living.

“Here’s what we are going to do, I’m going to my apartment and buy us some time while you go get a car and,” i handed him my card “you are going to get all the money from my bank account. I will meet you in front of the cafe that’s two blocks away from my place”

“Are you going to be okay?” He asked with clear worry in his eyes. I smiled and nodded

“Yes, I promised. Now go” I said before he got up and ran. I sighed and went to my apartment. Was I really going to do this? After months, was I ready to face them, already knowing the truth? Well, guess I'm going to find out.

Once in the building I decided to programmed the lights to go out in 50 minutes and then I went to the elevator, wanting to appear as normal as possible even though I felt like my heart was going to explode from how fast it was beating inside my rib cage. When the elevator stopped at my floor I walked until I was standing in front of my door. I didn’t need to wait and confirm, I knew they knew I was here, now there’s only one thing left to do. But before I did anything, the door creaked open.

*10 hours earlier*

Bucky paced from one side to the other, finding himself incapable of staying put. Natasha sat silently on her chair, Tony was in the front with his head in between his hands, Steve was resting on the side of the wall looking at the floor, Bruce was just standing there holding his chin analyzing everyone in the room. Sam sat on the couch looking through his phone, Vision was sitting next to Wanda on the other couch, while Clint and Thor were sitting on the other chairs. Peter had some school stuff to deal with like the teenager that he was. They’ve been looking for her for the past three months, and about a week ago, a picture was found of someone that looked exactly like her, all except her hair that was a bit shorter and the color was different, but other than that, it was practically her.

Not wanting to get their hopes -or rather enthusiasm- up, they decided to look deeper and found out that the picture was taken a month ago in the city of Magadan located in Russia. They found out that before three months, the name Amelia Agapov, didn’t exist. The more they looked into it, the more they were convinced that it was her.

“The mission report from Agent Carter arrived, should i put it on the screen?” the voice of the AI filled the room. The team had been waiting for that report for days, the nerves of the question that lingered in the air ‘was it her?’ being present for that time only grew stronger as Stark asked FRIDAY to project the report on the screen.

Pictures were shown, most of them were about this woman buying in the market, having coffee with a guy, but there was one, where her face was looking straight into the lens of the camera, and it was that picture that left the people in the room absolutely rigid. It was her.

“We found her…” Tony said in a whisper. Everybody kept their gaze on the picture on the big screen. After months looking for her, they finally had found her. To everyone, it was like someone just discovered something new, a kind of relief and anxiety all at the same time.

“Suit up, we’re going to get her” Steve said to the group, but see, it was the choice of words from Cap that Bucky found unsettling.

“Get her? Like she is some kind of criminal?” he said, looking at his best friend dead in the eye. Steve opened his mouth to say something but Tony beat him to it.

“She was trained by The Red Room to be an assassin, we can expect nothing more from her '' He said, trying to calm Bucky down, but instead it only caused him to get angrier, and not only him.

“So was I” Natasha said, her voice low that could scare anyone to the bone if they weren’t so used to her.

"It's different" Tony said

“How is it different?” Wanda said this time, “It wasn’t when you practically recluded me after I helped Ultron and tried to kill you all” she added.

Tony sighed and looked down, realizing that he might be overreacting.

“Let’s just get suit up and get on with it” Steve said, cutting the rather awkward silence that filled the room.

The avengers were suit up and on the quinjet in less that forty-five minutes, and they were in Madagan in nine hours, it took them an hour to find her building, and once they found it, Clint landed the jet on the roof and they all got out and looked for her apartment. Funny enough, it was the same number as the one she used to live in New York; 108. They waited for what seemed an eternity until they heard footsteps just outside the door. Suddenly, the air felt thick with anticipation, but Bucky couldn’t wait any longer so he crossed the living room in two steps and opened the door. She was standing there. Silence took over the entire apartment until she broke it.

“Well, are you going to move so that I can get inside my goddamn apartment Barnes?” she said expectantly. Bucky realized that he had been staring at her since he opened the door. Her hair was different, more wavy and a shade or two lighter. He moved to the side and she was able to see the rest of the team. This was going to be one hell of an evening.

Breathe. In… and out…

It was hard. Fuck. Okay i can do this.

“Well isn’t this nice. All the team back together again!” I said with sarcasm dripping from every letter.

“What the hell did we ever do to you?” Steve said firmly.

“Damn, getting straight into it. That’s okay” i shrugged as I went to my room but the sound of the blasters of Tony's suit stopped me.

“Stop, don’t take another step” He said, lifting his hands and I smiled.

“Really? Well unfortunately i have to change, so i’ll leave the door open if it makes you comfortable” i said as i continued to walk to my room, and like I said, i left the door open.

“Y-you don’t have to do that, you can…” Wanda said but trailed off. I had taken my shirt off; my scars were shown.

“So, Steve” I broke the silence as I put on a black shirt, “the thing that you did wasn’t as bad as tin man over there, but you still let Hydra take me the day we took out the helicaries” i added. His face got pale and started shaking his head.

“What? No, you made it out safe, you-” He started saying but i interrupted him

“You sure? Who do you think stopped Rumlow when he tried to interfere with the exchange of the chip when you were in the helicarrier with Bucky?” He started thinking for a moment until he realized what I said fell into place. “Yeah, I took one hell of a beating, and if that wasn’t enough, I fell to the water. I fell thirty floors down, and I alone got myself out, because I didn't have anyone to cover me or have my back” i concluded.

“Your scars…” Tony said this time and i turned to him

“Yeah, thanks to you Mr. Stark” i said and he looked at me. “Doctor said that 74% of my body is covered with scars, along with one or two burns”

“You were that girl in The Red Room” Natasha said, causing me to turn my head to look at her and I smiled cynically, “You are Eliza” she finished.

“Давно не виделись с Натальей” (Long time no see Natalia) i said and she looked at me in pure surprise in her faced. That’s something coming from the famous Black Widow.

“What about the rest of us y/n?”  Sam said this time, redirecting my attention from Natasha to the rest of the group. Thor was standing there holding his hammer, Bruce was next to the fridge, Clint was by the sink, Wanda was with Vision beside the kitchen table and Bucky was by the door. They were all looking at me. I took a look at the clock, I have to leave in less than thirty minutes.

“Long story short, Clint, Bruce, Sam, Wanda and Vision are the ones that didn’t do anything, so just chill out, you are still on my good side” I smiled and waved my hand.

“Hold on, but what did I do?” Thor asked and I looked at him.

“God it really is unfair how such a little thing can cause such a big problem. The first time you came down to earth, met Jane, bla bla bla… when her stuff was under custody of shield, and you took that notebook; they blamed me. I know it may seem weird because, how? Thing is, I was undercover at that time inside Shield, so when the notebook disappeared, guess who was the one that got beaten for it. I couldn’t move from the pain.”

Thor was standing completely still.

“Lady y/n…”

“How is it possible? I was there  and never saw you” Clint interrupted Thor.

“It was before the avengers, i was on the run and a girl's gotta eat. Don’t worry, I never gave them anything. Got the money and then killed them, they were nobodies” I shrugged off.

“So, that’s all you needed to know, so if you please leave my…” I said but then he interrupted me.

“No” I would be lying if I said it didn’t send shivers down my spine at his tone, and I hate even more that he noticed it. “You’re missing one doll” Well fuck me

I turned to see him and he was walking painfully slow towards me and I was praying for my legs to not give out.

“Barnes” I simply said, thanking God and all the saints that it didn’t come out as a whimper. I took a look at the clock once more. I have to leave. Now. “Such a shame, wish you had fought for us, I would have gone through hell and back for you, Buck” his eyes were looking straight to my own and I felt like he was staring at my bare soul. In a way, he was. I smiled and I saw behind my back that the team was looking at us, we’ve never been this close, not in public anyway. I standed on my tiptoes and reached for his right ear, he instinctively reached down so it was a bit easier for me.

“If you want to know, you’ll have to find me first дорогой” (Sweetheart) I whisper. Next thing, the light went out just like I programmed it to and I slid beside Bucky to reach out to the door and to the hall. I could hear the team screaming ‘what the hell just happened’. I ran to the emergency stairs, and once out I could still feel him behind me, getting close. I went into an alley, having to detour, knowing that he eventually was going to catch up to me and I couldn't have him follow where I was really going. A few seconds later, I felt him caging me to the wall on the alley, both of us breathing heavily. His flesh hand went to my throat and his metal one rested on the wall.

“Given a different occasion, I would have loved this, don’t get me wrong, I still love how you…”

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked huskily and I smiled.

“I told you, you’ll have to wait until you find me again. Alone.” i said

“Come on Barnes, do you really think that the charade of being your personal fuck toy would last forever?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t like that, i…” he said but trailed off. The pain in my chest starting and clenching my heart.

“There it is…” i said lowly, the hurt in my voice evident, “listen, i’d love to keep talking about how you used me, but like i said,” i got close to his face, my nose touching his, “find me to found out” after that,  I raised my knee kicking him right in between his legs.

He let out a pained groan and fell to the floor, causing his grip in my neck to give out. I took advantage and ran. Two blocks away, I saw Andrei. When he saw me running to him, he immediately got in the car and turned the engine on, then I got in.

“Drive, fast” it was the first thing i said

“Where?” he asked while we took off. I smiled and looked at him

“You’ll see”

-

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Taglist

@silentkiller2374 @vikingqueenlove @girlfriday007 @supraveng

[mrs-tsunderemeitantei]

DISCLAIMER: HUGE, LONG RANT AHEAD!

ALSO SPOILERS IN CASE YOU'RE NOT UP TO DATE WITH THE MANGA OR WITH ZERO THE ENFORCER!

Soo in case you missed it, Gosho released the SDB Justice Plus some time last month:

The biggest shocker was the answer to Question number 4, shown below:

Basically this translates to:

Q4: On the Mystery Train, he (Amuro) said to Miyano Shiho that “My comrades who are tracking us have made arrangements in order to retrieve you”, but were those comrades from PSB? If that’s the case, I’m curious about how he planned to deceive Vermouth...!

A: Those were comrades from the Black Organization, so there was no need to deceive them.

Ummmm...what??

Idk about y'all but when I read this, I was livid. It didn’t make any sense to me. And quite frankly, I didn't want it to. Maybe because I am one of those (very rare) people who thought Rei and Shiho could eventually end up together (Don't laugh, it would have made sense, and I'll write about that in a separate post).

Anywho, safe to say Gosho's latest confession left me in absolute confusion. Like why? Just why? Then I realised I'm more butt-hurt about this because I was fixated on a certain idea of Rei's character and chose to ignore his other sides, as if they didn't exist. It didn't help that his past is so freaking depressing which got me sympathizing with his character and led me to either ignore or make excuses for any red flags.

But now that I think about it, it sadly makes sense. It also explains why he didn't show any sadness or regret when he saw Shiho supposedly ‘die’ in the luggage cart in the Bell Tree Train Arc.

Now to let me wrap my head around this, I needed to breakdown his three "faces":

1. Amuro Tooru is a cheerful, friendly, generous, carefree, outgoing man.

2. Furuya Rei is a serious, law-abiding, calculating, patriotic police officer who is willing to die for Japan's security.

3. And Bourbon is a devious, manipulative, cunning, deadly agent.

Yet, ever since we found out he was in fact an NPA agent, we (or at least I), seem to have forgotten about those dark sides he possesses. Also with Zero's tea time showing us a softer side of his character it was easy to get caught up in "he's 100% one of the god guys" when in fact, he's a complex, grey character. 

He has shown on multiple occasions, just how far he is willing to go, to achieve whatever goal he’s set his mind on. Let's not forget how in Zero the Enforcer, he completely flipped the switch. (I know this isn't Canon but...) The man went as far as to create a suspect and jail the innocent Mori Kogoro so he can legally investigate the case and emotionally manipulate Conan into unkowningly help with the investigation.

Also, in the Detective Nocturne’s case he deliberately didn’t tell Ran as soon as he noticed Conan might have been kidnapped by the criminal because he hadn’t finished investigating the apartment.

And in the Scarlet Arc, he was willing to harm Jodie's teacher friend, so he can lure out the FBI and advance his investigation on Akai’s death. Let’s not forget once he figured out the truth, he was willing to expose Akai’s fake death (which I get it he's out for revenge), but by doing so, he would have also gotten Kir killed (even though I'm pretty sure he knew at that point, she was in fact a NOC).

As we can see, be it Bourbon, Furuya Rei or  Amuro Toru, he will stop at nothing to reach his goals, even if it means throwing innocent people under the bus. So, now when Gosho says his "partners" were in fact BO members and not the PSB, I'm no longer surprised.

I mean, why wouldn’t he sell Shiho back to the organisation? Because he knew she was Sensei’s daughter, and that should have meant something to him? Alright, let’s talk about that.

Did he love Shiho’s mum? Yes, he did, there’s no doubt about that (one of the reasons he joined the joined the police in the first place was to find her, so you can't convince me otherwise).

But what if he loved Japan even more? (It's not canon, but he did say in Zero the Enforcer that the safety of this country matters most to him, even if it means he’d end up paying with his own life).

So, I'm going to take a wild guess as to how he could have felt when he found out the woman he loved as his own mother, willingly joined the deadly organisation that threatened the safety of his country. Based on his memories, he remembered her encouraging her husband to join the Carasuma group.

So, if through his investigations, he was able to realise she is the same woman from his childhood, I’m pretty sure he would have been very disappointed.  I’m not sure the extent of his knowledge about the drug, but if he also found out their research created the poisonous APTX-4869, I reckon it would be more reason for him to be upset.

Now let's talk about Haibara/Shiho. To any outsider who's unaware of the truth of her past, she is a woman born into the organisation, then was groomed and taught from a young age by the syndicate and promoted to take on their research. A research that produced a poisonous drug, just like her parents did. Also, she only ran away after the organisation killed her sister. Before that, she was a high-ranking member. With all these facts, why would he think of her as anything but a criminal just like the rest of the BO members? It’d be rather foolish for him to not hand her back to the organisation just because she is the daughter of the woman he once thought so highly of. If anything, he’d be killing two birds with one stone, by executing a criminal, while also gaining higher standing in the organisation.

As fans of Haibara, we are rightfully upset by his intentions of returning her to the organisation because we know her truth. He doesn't. It wasn't until we learnt more about her painful past and kind and caring nature that we grew to love her. We know she never wanted to create a poisonous drug. That she already hated the organisation for using the drug as a poison. That she had to develop the drug to protect Akemi’s life.

There is no way Rei would have known about any of the bullying she or her family faced from the BO. By nature, Shiho is very secretive and reserved and very little of her personality or history would have been known by any of the BO members (except maybe Gin). Therefore, apart from the files the BO would have kept on Shiho and her role in the organisation, that’s all Rei had to learn about her. So, I can’t really blame him for choosing to hand her back to the organisation.

Some people who are still in denial, argue that if he planned to kill Shiho, why was he willing to kill whom he thought was Vermouth instead of handing her over?

Shouldn’t that prove he was going to take Shiho to safety to the PSB, not the BO? Before Gosho's statement, I would have agreed but now...sigh. Now, I get why he did that. If Shiho were to die BEFORE she was returned to the organisation, he wouldn’t have gained the trust he was seeking. If she were to die AFTER he delivered her, I highly doubt it would have mattered to him. Although I'm still hoping he maybe he had a plan of not leaving her in the organisation's clutches after "handing her back" and he never truly intended on getting her killed. But since Gosho also said there was no need to deceive Vermouth, I highly doubt it. (Heart breaking).

After such an explanation, does everything make more sense now? Maybe. Am I ok with it? Hell no! I’m quite angry and annoyed that this is how things turned out to be, but it is what it is. We have to accept that Rei is not a good character, and he's not a bad character. He's a grey character and when you think of it that way, it's easier to understand his behaviour. Not that I agree with it. After Gosho's statement, I think pretty sure Rei is in dire need of some character development. He could stand to learn a thing or two from Conan who manages to reach his goals while preserving as many lives as possible (Akai's fake death being the burst example while managing to drive Kir back to the BO).

For now, I’m looking forward to the developments that will entail. I’m curious to see how Rei and Haibara will react once they eventually meet each other. It'll be interesting to see what will go through his mind once he figures out her true identity. One thing I'm sure of is once they're introduced to each other, emotions will be running high and things will get intense. Which honestly, I can't wait for and I'm counting down the days till I get a proper Amuro/Haibara interaction.

[wienerbarnes]

Witch Bitch

Pairing: Bucky x Witch!Reader

Word Count: 3,943

Warnings: witch stuff, burning at the stake 😳

A/N: this is heavily inspired by american horror story: coven bc i recently watched and ive been binging all of it lately but its not necessary to know anything about ahs lol i kinda just used their fancy magical terminology and concepts bc they were cool🤪 

MAIN MASTERLIST

The best time of the day was breakfast. It was the time when Bucky, Sam, and Sharon were most often together. Sometimes training overlapped and they missed lunch. Sometimes missions ran long or friends were in town and they missed dinner. But the morning? They were all early birds, all awake by seven. They took that shared characteristic and shared breakfast together whenever they could. Bucky usually took care of the coffee, Sam usually took care of the eggs and bacon, and Sharon usually took care of the bagels, toasting them to perfection before slathering on a layer of cream cheese.

It was a moment of peace in their day. Quiet before the noise of the gym or the conference room or the jets or the private trainings or the interviews with prospective agents or anything else they do on a daily basis. It was a time for three friends to just sit and eat and enjoy each other's company as though they are just that: three friends. Not super soldiers or captains or special agents. Just people being normal. Normal doesn’t last long, though. It never does for them.

Bucky’s on dish washing duty this morning while Sam and Sharon chat idly behind him, waiting for him to finish so they can all leave together. A soft voice interrupts them, though, making the three of them stop what they’re doing because no one has access to this floor except for the people that live here - meaning them three.

“Who’s in charge here?” You ask.

“Who the hell are you?! How did you get up here?!” Sharon asks, ignoring your question.

You were in a long, flowy black skirt, slit cut in the left side exposing your leg, and a long-sleeve black shirt, tucked beneath the waistband. Think black boots cover your feet and a black hat sits on your head to complete your look. Bucky almost doesn’t notice the folded black umbrella underneath your arm as his eyes trail down the multiple chains and necklaces around your neck, falling between your breasts.

“I’ve been trying to find someone to help me but the people in this building are not very helpful. I figured I’d find who’s in charge myself, something that you all don’t seem to want to help me with, either.” You explain.

“The only way to even enter this building is through strict appointment and background checks, and no one’s even allowed past the nineteenth floor.” Sam explains.

“Why are you entertaining this? I’m getting her out of here.” Sharon says, moving to walk towards you to take you out of the building herself.

As she nears closer and closer, you wave your hand lazily, without taking your eyes off Bucky, the only one who hasn’t said anything this whole time, and Sharon collapses on the floor soundlessly.

“Jesus!”

“What did you do!”

Both Bucky and Sam panic as they rush to Sharon’s body on the floor. They frantically run their hands over her body, looking for the point of injury that made her collapse the way she did, but they find nothing. No holes, no blood; she didn’t even make a sound.

“She’s not breathing and she doesn’t have a pulse, what the fuck did you do to her?!” Sam yells at you.

You roll your eyes, “Okay, you got me. I don’t need help finding who’s in charge, I already know it’s you. I still do need your help, though.”

You’re ignored as the two men hover over their friend, unsure of what to do or what even happened to her.

“Oh, alright, move.” You order them, stepping over Sharon’s body.

You stand before her, lifting your hands to hover over her body before closing your eyes and letting out a deep and long exhale. Bucky and Sam watch as it takes only about seven seconds for their friend to suddenly gasp for air, jumping back to life. The boys crowd her once more, checking her eyes, her pulse, everything to convince themselves that she’s actually alive like that, and if she was even dead in the first place.

Sam finally looks back up at you from the ground, as though he just remembered that you’re there, “What are you?”

You smirk in response, ready to finally get what you came here for.

…

“So, you’re a witch?” Sam asks, the four of them now occupying a private conference room for some privacy.

“A witch who killed me.” Sharon adds.

“And a witch that brought you right back.” You reply, leaning back on your chair, leg crossed over your knee, slit exposing your thigh. Bucky’s eye twitch to look at your bare skin for a second before returning to meet your eyes.

“So… what do you do?” Bucky asks.

You smile at his innocent curiosity, “All witches don’t have one universal power. Some are clairvoyant, some do voodoo, some dabble in pyrokinesis, divination, transmutation, descendum,” You glance over to Sharon, who’s still pouting at you, “Resurrection.”

“And can you do all of those?” Bucky asks.

“Almost all of them, but I’m not here to talk about me.”

“Why are you here?” Sharon asks.

“You guys hunt the Nazi’s, right?” You ask, aiming your question towards Sam, knowing he’s the Captain in charge.

“Hydra, yes.” He confirms.

“Well, your Nazi’s somehow got a hold of my magic. And they are playing with very dangerous fire,” You begin.

Bucky interrupts, “We’re all for taking down Hydra, but, don’t you think you’re a little more… powerful than us?” He asks.

“Bucky!” Sharon slaps his arm, as though she’s shocked that he would ever admit such a thing.

“I am. But I’m not that powerful, either. Not anymore, at least. A group of those Hydra invaded the coven my sisters and I were at. I was the only one that escaped.” You tell them.

“Did Hydra take them?” Sam asks.

“No, they killed them.” You respond, growing irritated as the subject grows touchier and touchier.

“Can’t you just bring them back like you did me?” Sharon inquires.

“No! I can’t. Like I said, I’m not that powerful anymore. Maybe I’d be able to bring back a house full of dead girls when it was me and twelve others but it’s just me now. I wouldn’t come all the way over here if I had other options.”

Silence grows over the group as they process what you’ve gone through. Surviving through the massacre of your fellow witches and not being powerful enough to find the people that did it on your own. You’re vulnerable.

“So what can we do?” Sam asks, ready to join forces with you.

“Help me locate the men who did this so I can handle the magic part.” You tell him.

“What magic do they have?”

“Although witches control most of the magic, sometimes it can be taken on in… physical forms. Specifically blood. The blood they retrieved was from a witch that was skilled in Vitali Vitalis.”

“The alive within the living.” Bucky translates.

“There are two worlds: the living and the dead,” You begin to explain, “Vitali Vitalis keeps the balance between these two things and it’s one of the most difficult powers for a witch to master. Oftentimes it’s used to give parts of your own life, health, and energy to someone who needs it. But it can also allow you to take life from someone and give it to yourself.”

“Like immortality?” Sam questions.

“Not quite. Any witch can be killed with a knife or bullet. This kind of magic keeps you from dying of age. I’ve only ever known one witch who mastered it.”

“What happened to her?”

“She used it for evil, like this. Took the souls of hundreds in order to allow herself to live for almost three centuries. Until she was killed, of course.” You finish, a small smile on your lips knowing that she got what she deserved.

“What, you burn her at the stake?” Sharon jokes.

“Yes, actually. We did.” You tell her matter-of-factly, becoming more and more irritated at the fact that she doesn’t seem to take this is as seriously as you are.

Bucky interrupts, sensing the rising tension between the two girls, “So when we find these guys, you’re going to burn them at the stake, too?” He asks.

“Yes,” You say, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “The consequence of using magic like this for evil is death by fire. I hope you all don’t think the rules will change on account of these men being Nazi’s?”

“Well, we just have a different way of doing things -” Sam begin to defend

“Yes, I’m aware. The countless destruction caused by you and other militaries, the millions of innocent lives lost yearly, not only in the constant war and irresponsible handling of your nuclear and alien weaponry, but by incorrect prosecution. Not to mention the billions of dollars spent on your ridiculous prison systems that don’t work when actual bad people escape and the death penalty practices in certain states. I just figured my way was easier. And cheaper.” You reply.

Silence crowds over the four of them once more as they think over all their options.

“I’m in.” Bucky speaks first.

“Me, too. Even if I don’t like you.” Sharon follows.

“Feeling’s mutual, dear.” You smile at her.

The three of them look to Sam, waiting for his commitment as well.

“Alright. Let’s get to work.”

Plans were made, theories of location were thought of, and plans to execute the mission were put into place, all of which included you. A temporary room was given to you when the information of your lack of a place to stay was brought to light. Only for the duration of this mission, is what Sam told you, but you can spot the amount of love and light in his heart from miles away.

It was later that night, and you’ve since cleansed the room, going as far as to place a protective spell on the entire floor. You’ve lost too much already, and you’re not about to risk anything.

A knock at the door sounds and the visitor you’d been expecting has finally arrived. You walk towards the door, still in your clothes from earlier but now you’ve removed your shoes, and open the door to reveal Bucky.

“I was waiting for you.” You tell him.

“How’d you know I’d come?” He asks, stepping through the door when you step aside, silently gesturing to him to enter.

“I can hear your thoughts. You've been debating whether or not to come see me for the past thirty minutes. Your mind is very loud.”

“Tell me about it.” He mumbles to himself, thinking about the countless nightmares, voices, and all the other reminders of just how loud his mind was.

“You can ask all your questions, you know. I won’t take any offence. You’re just curious.” You tell him, settling on your bed, hoping he’ll join you and stop hovering near the door.

Luckily he takes the hint and takes a seat across from you.

“I’ve never met a witch before. A real one, I mean. Like, someone born a witch. Like Salem witches -”

“I understand.” You chuckle lightly.

“You don’t seem… afraid of me. Or, hesitant, rather.” You tell him, thinking about how he’s received your presence here compared to his colleagues.

“I was wary when you killed my friend, but… you just need some help, is all. I’m sorry, by the way, I’m not sure if I said it before, but, I’m sorry for what happened to your friends.” He tells you.

He’s very polite. But you supposed that’s not abnormal considering he got his manners from the 1920’s. You like it, though. You give him an appreciative smile before giving him the okay to ask you whatever he wanted.

“So you said that witches can master multiple powers but have one specialty; is yours resurrection?”

“Yes; it was the first power I ever exhibited when I was a teenager. I was about fourteen or fifteen. My next mastered skill is descendum and then clairvoyance, where I was in my twenties, or so.” You tell him as he looks at you with pure fascination in his eyes.

“What is - what is descendum?”

You pause, “The power to descend your soul down into the afterlife - to hell. And return alive.”

His eyes widened, not even knowing that was something someone can do; not even knowing that hell existed in the first place, “So, you’ve been to hell?”

“Yes. I’ve also been able to retrieve people from hell, their soul. A variation of my power of resurrection, I suppose.” You explain, not being too fond of that power; descending to hell.

Bucky sits in silence for a few minutes, and you let him. You can hear the question lingering around in his head; what he’s thinking. But you let him build up his own courage to ask it. You know he’s only scared of the answer; the answer you know he’s not going to like.

“What is hell like?” He whispers.

“It doesn’t matter what my hell is like. Everyone has their own personal hell they experience when they die.” You tell him.

Confusion clouds his features as he registers your answer.

“Is there… Is there no heaven?”

You smirk, “It’s nice that you’ve remained religious after all this time.”

“Yes, there's heaven. But only for the purest and most innocent of souls. And rarely do people escape life without sin. Everyone has evil in them.” You tell him, knowing it’s a harsh truth that no one wants to hear.

The people Bucky’s killed, the crime he’s committed, the families he’s hurt; it all passes through his mind. Everyone has evil in them.

“What was your hell like?”

“I’m not telling you that.” You tell him quickly.

Bucky ponders what his own hell will be like, after seeing the way you’re clearly shaken up about your own. The fall from the train. The man in a lab coat sawing off the rest of his arm. The needles poking through his skin in the middle of some facility. The chair.

He doesn’t realize that he’s looked away from you until he snaps his thoughts back to the present and sees he’s looking down into his lap. He glances up to see your face, your soft features and kind eyes staring at him. He glances from your eyes to your lips and back up again before clearing his throat, not realizing how close he got to you during his time here sitting on your bed.

“You know, I, uh, I should go. Thank you for, uh, answering my questions, but we head out pretty - pretty early tomorrow, so,” He trails off, standing and patting down his shirt to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in a nervous habit.

He makes his way towards the door and his hand touches the knob when he hears your voice, “Hey, Bucky?” He turns slightly to face you again, a hum to indicate for you to continue.

“Thank you for coming to see me. And thank you for all the kindness you’ve shown me. You’re a very good person.” You tell him sincerely.

He gives you a nod of you’re welcome before exiting.

He’s not sure if you told him that because you truly mean it, or if it’s because of the state of anxiety and existential crises you’ve put him in now that he’s going to be thinking about his personal hell, but he appreciates it, nonetheless.

He thinks you’re a pretty good person, yourself.

…

The mission goes off without a hitch. The combined skill of the Avengers’ stealth, spyware, and experience along with your magic and witchery makes for an easy capture of the men who killed your witch sisters and stole your magic.

It’s not long before the facility they were at was shut down and cleared out, arresting any officers and rescuing any prisoners or hostages, and the five men specifically responsible for the destruction of your coven are in separate custody. What’s left of the blood is returned to you, as well.

That’s where the group of you stand now, a decision to be made about the criminals you’ve captured. To be put in the maximum security prison floating in the ocean, or to be put to death by fire.

“I don’t believe in being the executioner of people.” Sam tries to convince.

You can’t help but let a laugh escape you, “Do you know who you work for?! Do you know who you are?!” You remind him.

“Those guys can’t escape the Raft.” He tries, referring to prison in the middle of the ocean you’ve heard about.

“You did.” You respond, knowing about when Steve Rogers took him out of that prison, along with other superheros.

You see Bucky and Sharon look between the two of you, torn between how these Hydra criminals should receive their fate. Staring into the hot depths of flames or rotting alone in a cell? Both seem to be too merciful, in Bucky’s opinion.

“This isn’t just running the facility or experiments, Sam. This is different. They were using dark magic to commit crimes. Maybe they should face the consequences of a dark-magic-punishment.” Sharon offers.

You don’t have time to be shocked at Sharon agreeing with you and picking your side before Bucky agrees and Sam is outnumbered. He stares at you and gives a single nod, allowing you to do this your way.

You smile, a silent thank you for giving you the closure and opportunity to serve justice to those who did you harm. “Off to Massachusetts, then.” You tell them, and Sam takes his seat in the pilot's chair, Bucky accompanying him in the front of the jet.

You take a seat, making yourself comfortable for the flight to Salem and you feel a body take the seat next to you. You glance up to see Sharon looking at you, but you notice she has something in her hand, offering it to you.

You look down to see a small plastic bag of fruit gummies. But not just any fruit gummies, you realize. Halloween themed fruit gummies. The pictures on the outside show the various options inside: witch’s hat, a broom stick, a melting pot, a vial, and a magic wand. Hilarious.

You take the gummies, though, accepting her attempt at a truce.

It’s not long before you and your temporary teammates find themselves standing before a large, empty field, multiple wooden stakes standing about fifteen feet tall scattered about with plenty of space in between.

You lead the walk to a group of them standing tall in line, so the men can be burned at the same time, as opposed to one by one. A group of large, burly agents lug the Hydra operatives along, behind you and the rest of the team.

Bucky hangs around your left, as to not be in the way of the black umbrella held in your right hand, and Sam and Sharon trail behind you. You can sense their uneasiness and tune out their worried thoughts. Everyone’s first burning is always an experience; they’ll get over it.

Bucky doesn’t seem worried, though. In fact, you can’t hear his thoughts this time around. But he still stands tall and straight, walking with confidence, so you make a safe assumption that he’s okay.

None of the men’s cuffs or shackles are removed, but thick rope is tied on top of it, around the wrist and looped around the waist, tying them to the stake. The cuffs are special grade - high tech Avengers vibranium - and they can be retrieved later once the fire burns out.

“Any last words?” You ask, more for tradition than whether or not you actually care.

They look scared, obviously not expecting their fate to look anything like this. You remember seeing Bucky tackle one of them in the facility, prying his mouth open to rip out a tooth, or what looked like a tooth, like a dog caught eating something it wasn’t supposed to. A cyanide pill.

Silence comes from them, except for one of them, “Hail Hydra!” He yells, as if that cowardly and pathetic phrase would change anything.

With a raise of your hand, seemingly with no effort, you wave it and the stakes all begin to rise up in flames. There’s nothing to spark, no twigs, no gasoline, nothing, and Bucky watches as the flames rise, growing stronger as they engulf the five men. They begin to scream, and Bucky looks over at you, as if to confirm you didn’t bring gasoline or something with you, and he sees a smile slowly grow on your lips.

They haven’t stopped screaming; they’re still alive when you turn and begin to walk back the way everyone came. Bucky follows, and eventually Sam and Sharon do, too, the other agents staying behind until the end to retrieve the cuffs and shackles that will survive the fire.

“So, now what?” Sharon asks, the air quieter as the screams have slowly stopped in the distance.

I can’t imagine what kind of paperwork follows this, “Back to the tower.” Sam responds.

“The coven’s only a short walk from here.” You say, not needing to elaborate much more. The men have been caught and brought to justice, but you still have a broken, battered, and beaten down coven to fix.

A friend of yours was meant to go by and retrieve the… bodies. Which you’re grateful for. But magic won’t help you fix the walls, the floors, mop the blood, or find other witches in need of an escape and a place to improve and master their powers. You have a lot of work to do.

As the view of the jet gets closer, you prepare to bid your goodbyes to the Avengers, your thank you’s as well. Regardless of your attitude towards them before, you couldn’t have done this without them.

A metal hand engulfs yours, pulling you back a bit as Sam and Sharon continue on.

“Do you need any help?” Bucky’s warm and gentle voice floods your ears, hand still in yours.

“You guys have been more than enough help, now, really.” You try to tell him, but he has none of it.

“You may be tough, but you can’t fix up that house by yourself,” He tells you, “I can be pretty handy, fixed up a few things back in my day.” A soft smile grows on his face.

You glance over his shoulder as Sam and Sharon wait by the entrance of the jet, “Don’t you have to go back?”

“They won’t miss me.” He tells you, not even looking back to confirm with his teammates, hand dropping to run it through his hair.

You giggle at him, before giving him a shy nod in answer to his offer to help you fix up your big house.

“I’m going to hang out here for a few days.” He yells over his shoulder.

“We figured.” Sam calls out, and Sharon throws you a wave as they board the jet, the opening close after them.

“Lead the way?” Bucky offers you, taking your hand once more, interlocking the fingers this time.

And so the two of you are off, one of your hands still clutching the umbrella, holding it above your head, and the other hand interlaced with the one of a handsome and kind super soldier. This wasn’t the way Bucky expected the last two days to transpire, but he’s glad they led to holding the hand of a very pretty witch.

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH17

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 17: Journey (Second Half)

Even when the moon had reached the middle of the sky, the excitement of the Valentine tribe in the distance remained the same, and the joy continued.

But it was a joy that some people avoided.

A petite figure walked through the stone forest. It had gotten dark, and the moon overhead couldn't bring enough lighting. The shadows of the stone pillars made one unable to see the ground beneath them. When there came the sound of an eagle crying overhead, she lost her guard and knocked her head on a stone, groaning and singing in pain.

She was a human girl, maybe a Valentine.

The traveler jumped off the wind-eroded column and walked up to her. She retreated in fear, her back pressing tightly against the rock wall, and shouted, "Don't capture me! Please, let me escape! Don't tell the patriarch and the high priest!"

"Who are you?" asked the traveler.

The girl's panic was quelled by this question and this voice. She summoned the courage to look up at the stranger. In the moonlight, the handsome traveler made her unconsciously open her mouth: "I... My name is Aya, a member of the Valentines."

"Where are you going?" asked the traveler.

"Ant City... I want to go to the Ant City!" Aya whispered at first, but suddenly she said it out loud.

"You should go before dawn. The desert at night is very dangerous," the traveler warned.

Was he concerned about her? Aya looked at the stranger in astonishment. He was very tall, fair-skinned—very different from the short brown Valentines—and handsome.

Aya suddenly looked back and gazed at the bonfire in the distance. She suddenly had an idea in her heart.

She stood up from the ground, dusted the dust and gravel from her skirt, and looked at the traveler with trepidation. He stood in front of her as quiet as the moonlight, as determined as a desert poplar that refused to fall. She was nervous, but she was forced by her inner anxiety.

"You… Do you want to ask me to dance? We can dance all night!" Aya got up the courage and rushed out an invitation that was implicitly out of line.

If people from the Valentine tribe were here, they would understand her. Aya was afraid that he couldn't understand, and boldly squeezed a sentence from her throat: "I’ve grown up, I can do more intimate things than dancing, I can do it!"

When she finished speaking, she quickly bowed her head, afraid to see contempt from the traveler's eyes. This shame, mixed with fear, made her red-eyed and so sad that she almost cried.

"I’m sorry, I’m a monk," the traveler answered her.

Aya's heart retreated. Even a girl like her who lived in a remote tribe knew what this meant—he would not rush to get close to a girl, and would not do anything more than the moment before entering marriage. She should apologize and run away in shame.

But the fear of the future was forcing her. Her lips trembled and she desperately begged: "We could get married, I don't want gifts, I don't want rings... We could get married tonight, and you wouldn't have to visit me after tomorrow. Please, I don't want to... I don't want to..."

The traveler replied, "I’m sorry, I have a lover."

Aya began to cry, shaking with tears. She was jealous of the lucky girls in the tribe who could dance with their favorite boy on this beautiful night while she was locked in her room, waiting for fate. She had escaped, but where could she escape to? She couldn't cross the vast Sea of Tranquility desert, and could only go to the Underground Ant City—the hell on earth that frightened her. She doesn't have the strength of a bear, the sharpness of an eagle, or the agility of a monkey. How could an ordinary human girl survive there?

Everywhere was a dead end, and there was no glimmer of hope. She finally despaired, wiped her tears, and turned to walk towards the village. She had escaped on impulse, but now that she thought about it, there was nowhere to go. Why shouldn't she go back and accept her own destiny?

But the traveler stopped her: "Do you have some difficulties? Do you need my help?"

Aya stopped and turned to look at him. The traveler stood in the bright moonlight and watched her with gentle blue eyes. This stranger cared about her and worried about her pain. This thought makes Aya burst into tears. She couldn't wait to tell the whole of her grievances, but when she was stared at by such a pair of eyes, she couldn't say anything, she could only shed tears silently.

"Thank you... Sir... Thank you."

Amidst the joyful celebration, this tribal girl with honey skin told her story intermittently.

The Valentine tribe was a tribe that had migrated here from somewhere else. Unlike the aborigines with high noses, deep eyes, and white skin, they had a darker skin color and were not very tall. In addition, since they had come later, their relationship with other tribes was not harmonious and they even suffered from discrimination.

Demons always liked pure human girls. As the Dragon Ant Queen aged, she asked for more sacrifices. The secret of her bloody cruelty was circulated in the Sea of Tranquility desert—she drank great amounts of the blood of virgins in an attempt to stop the traces left by time. Aya, who had just become an adult, was chosen as the Valentine tribe’s tribute this year, and would be sent to the Dragon Ant Queen’s palace in the Underground Ant City. She didn't know if she would really face a bloodthirsty tyrant, but she knew that all the girls who were sent there had never come back.

Aya's mother died young and her father had been bewitched by a trader and became a believer in Utopia, leaving the tribe to pursue this dreamlike land of perfection. Left alone, Aya was brought up by the tribe on the condition that she would be a tribute for the tribe when she grew up.

Aya, who had no choice, grew up in fear. In order to keep her pure, the patriarch and the high priest had forbidden her from having contact with the opposite sex. She felt sincere envy and deep fear when she watched her peers walk into marriage one by one.

Finally, in this unattended bonfire festival, she was moved by the joy and excitement. She quietly escaped from the village and wanted to mix into the Underground Ant City to live out the rest of her days. Then she met someone who changed her life.

Now, she and this man were sitting on a low and easy-to-climb wind-eroded column, looking out over the bonfire in the distance.

She confided intermittently, confused for a while, self-pitying for a while, and sometimes even felt guilty: "Maybe I shouldn't have run away. If I leave, another girl will be sent there instead of me, and they don't want to do that... They should have a better life."

The traveler who had been silent until now told her: "No one should bear this pain, and neither should you."

Tears flowed from her dry eyes again and Aya choked: "But everyone doesn't think so. Since I’ve accepted the tribe’s support, I should repay them. This is a matter of course."

"It is an obligation to raise a child. It is unjust to ask her to repay this obligation with her life," said the traveler.

"It's not my fault? Isn't it because I’m too selfish?" Aya asked hopefully.

The traveler shook his head. "It's not your fault, nor is it anyone's fault."

"Whose fault is it then?" Aya was confused.

The traveler couldn't answer, and he was also thinking, if the world forced a warm and kind ethnic group to sell their own kind in exchange for surviving, whose fault was it?

"It's the Devils’ fault," the traveler said. "So we must destroy them and drive them back to the underworld, so that they will never come to this world."

"That's good. In this case, daddy wouldn't believe in any Utopia anymore? A world without demons itself is so beautiful. It’s a Utopia already. I want to live in such a world. Everything is good, perfect and the best," Aya said. Her poor vocabulary couldn't express the world in her heart. She can only describe it as "the best".

"What kind of world is it?" the traveler asked.

Aya thought hard and described the Utopia in her heart: "It must be an equal world. Besides human beings, there can also be demons that don't harm people... I heard that there are such demons in the Underground Ant City, and some even marry humans. If they don't harm us, I can accept their existence. No matter what kind of skin colour, like you or me, or whether we’re men or women, whether we have a faith or not, as long as we’re willing to be peaceful and friendly and not hurt each other, we should be equal and should be happy."

The traveler was surprised. He didn't expect an uneducated tribal girl to have such a mind and ideal, which made his heart that was blindly hostile to all demons ashamed.

Aya couldn't help but smile when she thought about such a world: "It would be great if I could live in a world like that."

With that, she smiled again and sighed softly: "What’s the point in dreaming of such ideals? We don't even know if we can survive the next evil tide... There will always be some demons fleeing to the surface each month during those days. Last month, they ate five sheep that belonged to the patriarch's family and they’ve eaten people before."

Aya asked, "I heard that monks like you can do magic spells. Can you do that?"

"I don't have that kind of power, but I have the Lord in my heart." The traveler replied that he had faith even though he had been exiled.

"Would believing in the Lord make me as smart and powerful as you? Can I also believe?" Aya asked uneasily.

The traveler handed her a heavy book as an answer.

Aya held the book carefully, for fear that her hands would ruin the precious book. She looked at the words on the cover and sounded it out with difficulty: "The Canon, is that how you read it?"

She only knew some simple words and feared that she would remember wrong. After flipping through the pages, she was embarrassed to find that she couldn't read even half of the contents.

"This is what my mother left me, and now I will give it to you," said the traveler.

Aya closed the book in a panic, threw it back, and hit the traveler in the waist with it. He groaned and his face suddenly turned pale.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Sorry, I’m sorry!" Aya apologized fearfully, and she was so anxious that her tears fell down.

"It doesn't matter, it's a previous injury." Although the traveler looked haggard, he had a calm expression, as if the wound on his body was really just a minor injury. He put the book back in Aya's hands. "It doesn't matter. I memorized this book very young. If it can help you, it has value."

He didn't think it was a pity to give the Canon to a girl who couldn't even recognize its words. Moreover, the place where he was going was dangerous, and the result of going was that he might be left sleeping in the ground forever. If he let her go back with this Canon, at least the tribe wouldn't blame her for her escape.

There was a kind seed in her heart. Whether she believed it or not, she should be treated well.

"Thank you, really thank you." Aya thanked him repeatedly and was overwhelmed with joy when she held the book.

During this bonfire festival that she wasn’t allowed to attend, she had still received a gift. Maybe the traveler didn't know the meaning of the gift, but it still made her jump secretly. There was a happy bird singing in her heart, almost flying out of her chest.

But he had a lover. Aya bowed her head sadly, trying to hide her sour mood. With her head bowed, she opened the book and read the words by the moonlight, secretly blushing: "Love is... is..."

"Love is patient, love is kind," the traveler told her the pronunciation.

This heartfelt statement made her emotion surge. She seemed to be inspired by fate and bravely continued to read: "Love does not... what?"

The traveler told her slowly, "Love does not envy."

Aya's hand stroking the pages froze, and her foolish longing turned into full loss and self-mockery, which finally made her thoughtful.

Love is not envy. Aya silently read this sentence in her mind. Don't be envious of the girls who can dance with their sweethearts, and don't be envious of strangers who care about their loved ones. It was not her love.

The bonfire in the distance had become faint, the voice of celebration had gradually lowered, and the festival had come to an end.

Aya held the book and whispered, "I want to go home."

The traveler said, "I can take you to the Ant City and help you settle down."

"No, I’m willing to go back. Thank you," Aya said. "But before you go, can I talk to you for a while? We can talk about anything."

The traveler promised her.

Aya talked happily about the past, and stopped talking about the fear that made her feel miserable and helpless. Instead, she talked about the interesting things she’d encountered. She had been so angry when the bucket was pushed into the well by the sheep when she had been fetching water that she’d chased after the sheep. She had burned her hand when she was making naan and the neighbour's boy had helped her fetch water to cool it down. After listening to the traders talking about the outside world, she had learned that there was a place called the Vatican. She was excited to talk about all these interesting things, because she didn't think the traveler was happy. She wanted him to be happy, and she also wanted to know about his past, even if it was just his name.

But the traveler was always a silent listener, and he had no intention of telling his own story.

She didn't know where he came from, what kind of pain and despair he had experienced, why there was such a gentle sadness in his body, and what kind of person he carefully sheltered in his heart.

But the traveler didn't say anything. He didn't say anything.

Late at night, the young girl was very tired and sleepy. She murmured and asked, "Where is your lover? Where did she go?"*

*{E/N: he and she are pronounced the same in Chinese}

The traveler replied, "He is always in my heart."

Aya couldn't tell whether this is what the traveler said or what she dreamed. She fell asleep with the book as her pillow, and the traveler took the liberty of taking the strange girl back to the village. He covered her with a blanket, sat next to her to watch over her, and went nearby to find some dry wood to raise the fire and warm her.

The traveler himself didn't sleep. He waited for the rising sun and then quietly left to continue his journey.

Before the start of this journey, he actually hadn't had many opportunities to watch the sunrise, as he couldn't see it in the Village of Dusk. When he’d moved to Neverland, he had spent half a year under the eternally starry sky. When he was on tasks outside, he was in a hurry and didn't have the mind to wait for a sunrise. In fact, he didn't have any attachment to the sunrise. If his lover was still there, it would be beautiful for them to watch the sunset together. The sunset never fell in the land of Dusk. They could sit side by side on the beach, holding hands and watching the end of time.

He wanted to take him to the snow-capped mountains to see if the snow leopard he had once treated still occupied the mountains, where there was a beautiful waterfall and ice lake and the frozen blue-green water amidst the ice and snow made the mountain as beautiful as a fairy tale. He also wanted to take him to the polar regions to see penguins. They could even adopt an abandoned baby penguin, feed it, and watch it stagger on the ice until it was strong enough to return to the colony.

He had many, many things he wanted to do with him. Maybe he didn't want to do these things. Maybe he just wanted to be with him.

When people who love each other are together, they can feel each other's hearts even if they don't say a word.

But if the distance was between life and death, could these thoughts reach the other side of the Styx?

The traveler watched the sun rising over the horizon, and his heart was at peace. He was like a boat drifting from one port to another. He may encounter storms along the way, but when the boat arrived at the harbor, he would still feel lucky and never feel dismayed.

He never felt that he should take happiness for granted. His decision with his faith was not to seek happiness, but to let his heart find peace, even if he was punished for it.

It was better to suffer frankly than to live falsely. He knew that he wouldn't run away. He had made a mistake and did not repent, so he should be punished. For him, such punishment was not pain, but atonement. All the sufferings in this world were to redeem the original sin that he was born with, and he had to pay for it with his whole life.

At dawn, Aya woke up from her sleep. She was covered with a blanket and didn't know when the bonfire before her had been lit. There were still faint flames swaying in the wind, but the traveler had left.

Aya grabbed the blanket, picked up the book, and ran to the village in a hurry. The rocks and thorns along the way made her run too fast, and she accidentally fell to the ground.

She couldn't care less about herself and picked up the Canon, only to find that a piece of paper had fallen from its pages.

She picked up the paper and turned it over. It was a hand-painted portrait of a handsome young man smiling at her.

There was a name in the corner, which should be the name of the person in the portrait. It was very simple, and she could easily read it out even if she couldn't read much. She gently said: "Qi Leren."

It was just an ordinary name, but the tender brushwork on the portrait made her voice go soft unconsciously. She wanted to take a closer look and feel the overflowing tenderness, but a gust of wind blew from the desert, violently and rapidly, and took the portrait from her unsuspecting hand, blowing it into the clear sky above the vast yellow sand.

The sand flying in the wind overwhelmed Aya's eyes. She waved her arms wildly in confusion, but she could only grasp the yellow sand in her hands. When she opened her misty eyes again, the portrait had been brought to the sky by the wind, fluttering and rootless, and was about to disappear into the heavens.

Aya chased it without thinking, racing the wind all the way. A great sadness filled her heart and a voice in her heart made her run, run, run desperately... She lost her shoes, her feet stepped on stones, and blood flowed, but the pain of her body could not overcome her inner sadness and she still dared not stop, she wanted to catch what was about to be lost—until she tripped over thorns and fell heavily to the earth.

She fell in such pain that she fell to her knees and cried. Her feet had already been cut bloody, her knees were scraped open, and she was bleeding. Even her hands were full of cuts. She shrank back and wanted to give up, but she looked up and looked into the distance unwillingly.

The wind was blowing again, and a gust of wind sent that thin piece of paper to an unknown distance. Such a large desert, such a small piece of paper. In an instant there was no trace of it, only the vast yellow sand and blue sky.

Who was the man in that picture? Aya would never know.

It was doomed to be unknown, impossible to find and impossible to obtain.

And how could the emotion carried on the delicate paper withstand the relentless sand in the desert?

It would eventually be destroyed, buried and forgotten.

Aya was stupefied and kneeling in the hot sun, with mottled blood all the way behind her showing that she had made an almost crazy effort for a story with no answer. Her eyes, which were filled with the wind and sand, kept shedding tears, but they couldn't wash away the hard sand in her soft eyes. It seemed that something sharp was stuck in her heart, so sharp and painful, but she didn't know what it was.

She didn't know anything.

Sadness and melancholy suddenly welled up in the girl's heart and she burst into tears on this barren land, for a stranger whose name she didn’t know, for a stranger who only knew her name.

-----

Editor’s Notes: After checking three different mtls (my number has gone up again oh dear), I’ve determined that BMBL calls the book the Bible in the original Chinese. I’ve chosen to translate it as Canon in order to distinguish it, as BMBL has stated previously (and will again later) that, despite being very similar, the religion in this series is not Christianity.

I think this chapter is the first time I’ve cried a bit while editing. I encourage everyone to come back and read this little interlude again once you’ve finished all of Part II, there’s quite a bit that hits differently.

I’m going to be taking a one week break while we’re between arcs in order to do some catching up, so the next chapter will be up on June 18th.

-----

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[fresh-prince-of-denmark]

New Dawn Fades — Literary References Analysis Part 4: The Id, the Ego, the Superego

Cyberpunk Spoiler Warning 

Here’s part four of me going through all the endings and looking for the literary references in each of the endings, which I believe allude to what happens to V/Johnny, possibly in future DLC. If you haven’t read my other posts, you should read them here (Johnny’s Mikoshi poem, V’s Mikoshi Poem, The Star ending) first since we’re gonna loop back to them later.

New Dawn Fades was such a pain in the ass; because Johnny is such an art hoe, I found three different poems/stories scattered around. Not only that, but two of them are translated from Polish, and one of them us from Ovid’s The Metamorphoses. I studied English literature so…forgive me if this is super surface-level. Also, stuff gets lost in translation, so the original meaning sometimes gets lost. If Polish literature is anyones niche, please teach me a thing two, but all I can do now is my best! But from what I could tell, damn…paints a pretty depressing picture. Let’s start with the two Polish writers first:

Bolesław Leśmian, "Why so many candles...”

Why so many candles, these faces above me?

No more harm shall ever meet my body.

Everyone is standing - while here alone I lie -

Grieving, feigning. One must be true when one must die.

And so, buried under these wreathes of leaves, I lie -

Solemnly - Agelessly - Solitarily.

Death, gone silent, once again rushes to my head,

Though by now I know all my comprehension is dead.

How I loathe to become accustomed to this grave,

To be what I once was - that is all I crave.

This one is…yikes. Depressing. As I talked about in previous posts, V’s poem is more pessimistic: nothing we do matters, we’re all just dust in the wind, you know, the good stuff. Johnny’s poem has a very different stance; art makes us immortal, and we can change the world, etc. With this…Johnny seems to have given his larger-than-life attitude up in favor of V’s resignation that life sucks. Much like Prufrock in V’s poem, Johnny is lying “Solemnly - Agelessly - Solitarily.” Almost as if he didn’t want V’s body, not as a selfless gesture…but because he has grown accustom to his previous form. In Johnny’s version of Alt’s poem, it almost seems as if he embraces being a construct — the form of immortality it, and his legacy, grants him (remember all that hokey about being a golden bird to sing his message to the youth?). Blackwall was a kind of death Johnny knew — yet now:

“How I loathe to become accustomed to this grave,

To be what I once was - that is all I crave.”

Interesting. We never find out where Johnny is going when he leaves Night City, but it makes me wonder. Is he truly starting anew? Or hoping to fix what went wrong?

In the next room, we find another poem, this one an excerpt from Labyrinth by Wisława Szymborska:

So this way or that,

Or no, the other,

By ear or by your gut,

By your wits or by shortcut,

By any means necessary,

Cutting crooked corners.

Past whatever row in a row

Of corridors and gates,

Quickly, in the meantime

Your time grows short,

From one place to another

To one of many still open,

Of darkness and plight

But also delight, held just ajar,

Where there's joy, though sorrow

Lies well-nigh nearby,

And elsewhere, somewhere,

Wheresoever and whereabout,

Fortune in misfortune

Like a parenthetical parenthesis

Acceptance of it all

And suddenly - a fall

I’m a little shaky on the meaning behind this one. My immediate response is to compare it to the poem found in The Star — which contains a piece from The Marriage Between Heaven and Hell by William Blake. The overarching use of this poem, by my interpretation, is an explanation for what the Blackwall is: hell. But not hell how most would perceive it. In fact, according to Blake, hell isn’t so bad. Our views of heaven and hell, good and evil, are wrong. Everyone contains both good and bad within them, and neither is wrong, simply two opposites; between conformity and rebellion, art and obedience. If we were to look at it this way, V would most likely belong in “Heaven,” the world of the obedient, those who play by the worlds rules (at least, in the beginning of the story, before Johnny influences them toward the rebel path), while Johnny represents “Evil,” and would belong to Hell. In some dialogue choices, Johnny will even state that he no longer believes he is a human, and is in fact code, no longer belonging in the world of the living. In this scenario, both have found themselves where they don’t belong. Not only that — but one is supposed to be a healthy mix of so-called “Good” and “Evil.” The “Soul,” and “Body,” are one, not meant to be separated. Uh oh. The tone of this poem in Johnny’s context just seems so…lost, to me. Someone who found their other half, their perfect foil, a soul and body as one…and now it’s gone. What does one do after such a loss?

And finally, the most grim of the three stories: Ovid’s The Metamorphoses. Specifically, Book III, Narcissus and Echo. This one most likely has the greatest significance; not only is it a shard you can pick up, but an open copy of the book can be found in Johnny’s hotel room, drawing further attention to it. 

If you haven’t read it, let me give you a quick and dirty summary:

At the beginning of the story, Narcissus’ mother, Liriope, asks the prophet Tiresias if her son will live to see old age, which he replies “only if he does not know himself.” One day when Narcissus is 16, he is out hunting when he finds a mountain Nymph named Echo. Echo, as one might guess, was cursed by Hera and can only repeat what is said back to her. You know. Like an echo. Echo falls in love with Narcissus at first sight and follows him throughout the forest, waiting for him to speak so she can communicate with him. Narcissus eventually gets separated from his hunting group, and calls out for them, which Echo…well, echos. Eventually Echo reveals herself and Narcissus freaks out, telling her basically he’d rather die than be with her. She hides in a cave and pines until she whithers away from hunger, and only her voice remains.

Many other nymphs fall for Narcissus because apparently he’s a straight up snack, but he rejects all of them. Apparently someone gets so salty about it, they summon the Goddess of Vengeance to do something about it. She leads him to a crystal clear pool, in which he is able to see his reflection. Remember the thing about knowing oneself? Yeah…At first, Narcissus thinks the reflection is a different person and falls in love. He smiles, the reflection smiles, so it must like him back, right? Eventually he reaches to touch it, and realizes that it’s him. He freaks out, and much like Echo, stays by his reflections side until he withers away. Having a total meltdown, he cries out “Alas!” which is echoed, by well, Echo. Her voice lived on, and she watches him die as he calls “Farewell, dear boy. Beloved in vain.” Once again, Echo repeats this. Narcissus dies and all the thirsty hoes make a pyre to burn him, but when they go looking for him they find the Narcissus (flower) instead (nooo...dont transform into a flower, you’re so sexy ahaha). 

So what does this mean for Johnny/V? Well, two main things pop out to me: transformation, and reflections. Much like Echo and Narcissus are reflections of each other, V and Johnny reflect each other. As @ellitira pointed out in my analysis of the Star, V and Johnny constantly reflect each other. One of the most obvious ways is their literal reflection; if you look in a mirror during a relic malfunction, you’ll see Johnny, not V. But scenes are reflected as well; the first and last time V meets Johnny, they grab him by the shoulder from behind to get his attention as he turn to face them. The first time Johnny and V have a civil conversation, they’re sitting at a table in Tom’s Diner, Johnny’s foot on the table. This mimics their conversation in Mikoshi with Alt. Their conversation about taking a bullet for one another in the Pista Sofia where Johnny is sitting backwards on a chair while V is on the ground is also repeated moments later, as Johnny and V have their final conversation about who will stay and who will go with Alt. Johnny also mentions that he spent his first few weeks in NC laying in bed, staring at the ceiling fan. When he awakens in New Dawn Fades, what is he doing? Staring at the ceiling fan…in Pacifica, not far from the Pista Sofia. The boy who he gives the guitar to is even wearing V’s “favorite shirt”…the one we see them wearing in the first scene they’re introduced. There’s probably loads more, so feel free to share if you find any more. If you want to know more about why this is significant, make sure to read about V’s version of Alt’s poem. 

So why do these reflections/echos matter? Well, what does one do with a reflection? Reflect. Johnny begins to examine himself through V, and he begins to realize he doesn’t like what he sees. If V calls him the man who saved her life, he’ll respond with “you have no idea how badly I want that to be true.” He tries his best to right his wrong only after this conversation with V, not only in Burning Love and Chippin’ In, but in other ways too. For example, it’s Johnny’s idea to call V’s loved ones to say goodbye on the roof scene, because “he wished that he had had a chance to.” Because of V, he grows, changes, and becomes a better person, just as much if not more as he seems to change V. As he leaves V’s grave, he even states that he has changed; that he’s wiser now, and won’t make the same mistakes. He states he won’t dwell on what happened, but somehow I doubt that, considering everything above.

The other theme of Narcissus and Echo is of transformation; after all, metamorphosis actually means "to change or transform.” Echo becomes, well, and echo, and Narcissus becomes a flower. V and Johnny also transform; not only physically between engram and human, but they transform one another. Both of them fall in love, and neither will move on. Echo falls in love with Narcissus, and Narcissus falls in love with his reflection. Because they refuse to transform the way they feel, they must die and transform physically. So who represents who in this scenario? In a way, Johnny is both. Johnny is a bit, well, narcissistic. He’s self-absorbed in his flashbacks, and adored by countless fans, yet ignores them in favor of his own company. He thinks everything is about him (Alt’s death, Samurai, etc.)  and is willing to die for his beliefs. He is also constantly reflecting on himself through V. However, what really kills him is losing Alt; she tells him not to follow her (much like Narcissus tells Echo to leave him alone). He does anyway, and avenging her leads to his demise.

What’s especially sad about this is the way Johnny views transformation; he is very concerned with the idea of one’s individual identity, and hates the idea of turning into something you’re not. He despises that he’s going to turn V into himself by force. He hates dolls because he sees their behavior chip as something that changes them into something they’re not. He’s scared of V going to Blackwall not because it’s death, but because they “won’t be the same.” I don’t think Johnny ever wanted V’s body; again, not as a courtesy, but because it’s not him. After all, he could have just let nature take its course and let himself re-write their psyche, but instead he actively tries to save them as best he can. If V chooses to let him have their body, he hardly seems happy about it; especially compared to how happy he seems to see that part of him will live on in the way V refuses to give up should they choose to live on. By taking V’s body, he is no longer himself; rebel, rocker-boy, legend, and the guy who promised to save V’s life. Johnny in A New Dawn has lost his entire sense of self, his entire new and improved identity; one that learned from his mistakes and became a better person because of V. Johnny has The Tower tattooed on his arm, the card of (often painful) transformation and change. Yet this is what Johnny is most afraid of; not death, or even the not-so-bad sort-of hell that is Blackwall. He’s afraid of losing himself, and by losing V, he has lost a part of himself. The part of himself that was supposed to be a better person; who was supposed to save V’s life.

[tyrantisterror]

I did a four part series of trivia posts when ATOM Volume 1: Tyrantis Walks Among Us! came out, and that was pretty fun!  You can see that set of trivia posts here if you’d like.  I thought it’d be fun to do another now that ATOM Volume 2: Tyrantis Roams the Earth! is out - just one this time, because a lot of the trivia I talked about with Volume 1 still applies.

I’m gonna divide this into two sections: non-spoiler trivia, for things that really don’t give a lot of plot points away, and spoiler trivia, for things that DO give away major plot points.  I recommend not reading the spoiler trivia until after you’ve read Tyrantis Roams the Earth!, for obvious reasons, and will put the spoiler trivia under a cut.

Ok, let’s go!

- So if you read ATOM Volume 1, you probably noticed that the book is split not only into chapters, but “episodes,” which consist of four chapters a piece.  It’s kind of a nod to how the series owes a great deal of its DNA to various monster of the week shows, with Godzilla: the Series and The Godzilla Power Hour being obvious influences.  It also allowed me to pepper in some illustrations and cheesy b-movie style titles into each volume.

- The first “episode” of Volume 2, Tyrantis in Tokyo, pays explicit homage to the giant monster movies of Japan, perhaps even moreso than the chapters that came before it.  Given how much Japanese media influenced ATOM - from tokusatsu like the Godzilla, Gamera, and Ultraman franchises to anime like Digimon and Evangelion (hell, the title of this episode itself is a tip of the hat to Tenchi Muyo by way of one of its spinoffs) - it kind of felt obligatory that Tyrantis visit Japan and pay his respects.

- Tyrantis in Tokyo also fits in a tribute to another staple of Atomic Age pop culture: Rock and Roll.

- Kutulusca, the giant cephalopod that appears in Tyrantis in Tokyo, is one of the oldest kaiju in this series, dating back to the first iteration of Tyrantis’s story that I put to paper back in 2001 or so.  It’s changed a lot since then, but its fight with Tyrantis goes more or less the way it originally did.

- Old Meg, the giant placoderm/shark, and Nastadyne, the bipedal beetle, both owe their existence directly to Deviantart’s Godzilla fandom.  Old Meg originated as a dunkleosteus monster I submitted to a “create a Godzilla kaiju” contest held by Matt Frank, while Nastadyne is based on a Megalon redesign I made during the “redesign all the Godzilla kaiju” phase of DA’s kaiju fandom.

- The second episode, Tyrantis vs. the Red Menace, gets dark as we visit the USSR, which had enough REAL horror with atomic power in its history to make creature features seem a bit defanged by comparison.  It’s probably the episode with the strongest horror elements - ATOM’s always been influenced by Resident Evil, and this is probably where that influence shows the most strongly.

- It also features the first fully robotic mecha in the series, the mighty Herakoschei!  Its name is a combination of “Heracles” and “Koschei the Deathless,” with the former part being added by its Russian creators to make it seem a bit more international as they offer it to the U.N. in hopes of gaining aid for a very extreme kaiju problem they’ve developed.

- Most of Tyrantis vs. the Red Menace takes place in the Siberian Monster Zone.  Its name is a reference to the Lawless Monster Zone in Ultraman, which is such a cool fucking name I wish that I wish I could go back in time and steal it.

- The next episode, Tyrantis’s Revenge, is... full of spoilers, so we’ll move on for now.

- The penultimate episode, Tyrantis vs. the Martian Monsters, is a love letter to MANY different sci-fi stories that involve life on Mars, though the most prominent of them is of course The War of The Worlds (one of my top 3 favorite books) and its various adaptations.  From its tentacles sapient martians, the tripodal leader of the titular monsters whose name includes the word “ulla” which is uttered by said sapient martians, the plant monster made of red vines, the cylinder-shaped spacecraft the Martian monsters are sent to earth on, the copper-skinned stingray-esque flying martian who shoots lasers from its tail, and the fact that every chapter title in this episode is a quote from the book, the H.G. Wells influence is STRONG.

- The final episode, Invasion from Beyond!, is shamelessly inspired by Destroy All Monsters, although there’s a dash of “To Serve Men,” Godzilla vs. Monster Zero, and The Day the Earth Stood Still mixed in as well.  It’s also sort of a tribute to my first “published” bit of a kaiju fiction - a rewrite of Destroy All Monsters that included EVERY Godzilla monster that had appeared at the time, which my middle school self wrote back in 2002 or so for Kaiju Headquarters, a kaiju fansite I’m not sure exists anymore.  Invasion from Beyond! is just as ambitious (but hopefully better executed) as my DAM Remake, with dozens upon dozens of different kaiju duking it out, earthlings vs. aliens.

- There were three different documents I made to outline the final battle of Invasion from Beyond!  It’s the largest episode of the series so far and more than half of it is that fucking fight.  My inner child is pleased, though, so hopefully you will be too.

Ok, that’s all I can share without spoilers.  READER BEWARE WHAT FOLLOWS BELOW THE CUT!

JUST MAKING SURE you know that SPOILERS will follow from here on out.  Read at your own peril!  YOU WERE WARNED!

(I’m gonna start with lighter ones just in case you scrolled too far and want to turn back)

- There’s a number of explicit Spielberg homages in ATOM Volume 2, from a “we need a bigger boat” joke during a chase with a giant shark to the fact that Invasion from Beyond! opens with a group of people flying to an island of monsters to review whether or not it should get more funding.

- When Tyrantis appears in the first chapter, I snuck in modified lyrics of The Godzilla Power Hour’s theme song.  “Up from the depths”... “several stories high”... “breathing fire”... “its head in the sky”... Tyrantis!  Tyrantis!  Tyrantis!

- The two rock bands in Tyrantis in Tokyo have real life inspirations ala Gwen Valentine, albeit a bit more muddled than hers.  The Cashews are inspired by The Peanuts (see what I did there), while The Thunder Lizards are a mix of The Rolling Stones, the Beatles, Buddy Holly, and the Big Bopper.  I wanted The Thunder Lizards to be more akin to the myth of a famous rock and roll band than the reality - less the real Beatles and more the Yellow Submarine cartoon version of them.

- The song The Thunder Lizards write for Tyrantis was written to fit the tune of “The Godzilla March” from Godzilla vs. Gigan, though ideally if someone made an actual song of it it would be its own song.  I got the idea from Over the Garden Wall, which used the Christmas song “O Holy Night” as a a starting point for “Come Wayward Souls.”

- Perry Martin, UNNO reporter and peer of Henry Robertson, is a nod to Raymond Burr, with his name being a combination of two of Burr’s most famous roles: Perry Mason, and Steve Martin from Godzilla King of the Monsters (1956).

- Dr. Rinko Tsuburaya is a few homages in one.  Her name comes from Rinko Kikuchi (who played Mako Mori in Pacific Rim), while her last name is obviously in homage of Eiji Tsuburaya.  Her being the daughter of an esteemed scientist is inspired by Emiko Yamane from the original Gojira.

- Nastadyne’s Burning Justice mode is named after a similar super mode from various Transformers cartoons, though it’s more directly inspired by the Shining/Burning Finger super move from G Gundam.

- Martians sending kaiju to different planets via shooting them out of cannons (with or without cylinder spaceships around them) is another War of the Worlds shoutout.  So is martians living on Venus after their homeworld was made uninhabitable, actually.

- Kurokame’s vocalizations are described as wails in explicit homage to Gamera.  His name can be translated as either “black tortoise” (a reference to the mythical guardian beast Genbu, which can also be construed as a Gamera reference thanks to Gamera: Advent of Irys implying Gamera and Genbu are one and the same) or a portmanteau of the Japanese words for crocodile and turtle - “crocturtle.”

- Burodon’s name is just a mangling of “burrow down.”  It also sounds vaguely like Baragon, who Burodon is loosely inspired by.  AND, since Burodon is sort of a knockoff/modified Baragon, that kinda makes him a reference to various monsters in Ultraman!

- The final battle of Tyrantis in Tokyo is sort of a hybrid of the finales of Ghidorah the 3 Headed Monster and Destroy All Monsters.  

- The Japanese kaiju teaching Tyrantis the art of throwing rocks at your enemies is both a joke on the prominence of rock throwing in Japanese kaiju fights AND the tired trope of an American hero learning secret martial arts from a Japanese mentor ala Batman, Iron Fist, etc.  In this case, the secret martial art is throwing rocks at people.

- When introduced to Herakoschei and its pilot, we are told that the strain of piloting this early mecha is so intense that many pilots have died in the process, with the current one passing out on more than few occasions.  This is of course a Pacific Rim homage - sadly, no one invents drifting.

- Herakoschei’s design is a loose homage to Robby the Robot and Cherno Alpha, because big boxy robots are cool.

- The Writhing Flesh and ESPECIALLY Pathogen are both hugely influenced by Resident Evil and The Thing.  Giant body horror piles of raw flesh, tendrils, mismatched mouths and limbs may be a bit outside the main era of monster design ATOM homages, but they fit the themes and bring a nice contrast.

- I came up with Pathogen long before Corona but MAN it definitely feels different in 2021 to have a giant monster whose name is a synonym for disease driving other creatures crazy in a quarantine zone than it did when I plotted out the story in 2016.

- The chapter title “Hello, Old Foes” is a riff on “Goodbye, Old Friend”

- Minerva, the kaiju-fied clone of Dr. Lerna, is meant to be an homage to Attack of the 50 Foot Woman, which is a genuinely good giant monster flick.  I am sure many of you will also believe I included her because I’m a pervert whose into tall women, but you’d be wrong!  I included the seven foot tall Russian mecha pilot Ludmilla Portnova because I’m a pervert whose into tall women.  Minerva’s inclusion was just coincidental, I swear!

- Since Promythigor is a play on the archetypal ape kaiju to contrast Tyrantis as a play on the archetypal fire-breathing reptile kaiju, their fight has a lot of nods to King Kong movies.  Promythigor attempts the famous jaw-snap maneuver of Kong (with less success), J.C. Clark paraphrases the “brute force vs. a thinking animal” line from the King Kong vs. Godzilla American cut, and Tyrantis slides down a mountain to knock Promythigor off his feet in a reversal of Kong doing the same in King Kong vs. Godzilla.

- Tyrantis sliding down a mountain on his tail doubles as a Godzilla vs. Megalon homage.

- Though Promythigor is the archetypal Ape and Tyrantis the archetypal Fire-Breathing Reptile, I think it’s fun to note that in some ways, Promythigor is the Godzilla equivalent in their matchup, and Tyrantis the Kong.  Promythigor has a slight size advantage, was scarred by humans performing unethical weapons technology, and is associated with violent explosions.  Tyrantis is a good-at-heart prehistoric beast who humanized in part by his unlikely friendship with a human woman.

- Of course, in the context of the famous quote from the American cut of King Kong vs. Godzilla, they remain in their archetypal lanes.  Promythigor is the more intelligent of the two (though not necessarily wiser), and Tyrantis is in many ways a brute reptile.  Their battle is a rebuttal of sorts to the assertion that Kong is the “better” animal because he is closer to human.  Promythigor’s near human creativity and emotions don’t make him the kinder/more benevolent monster, but instead fuel a very self-centered and destructive attitude that makes him the far more dangerous threat.  On the other hand, Tyrantis, who is less intelligent, limited in communication with others by his reptilian mindset and instincts, and simple in his thoughts and desires, is nonetheless a sweet creature that is easily dealt with when others consider his animal needs and mindset.  There’s a quote from Hellboy I love that probably sums up all of my writing thus far: “To be other than human does not mean the same as being less,” and that’s what the matchup between these two in particular tries to illustrate: the “less” human Tyrantis is nonetheless more benign than the “more” human Promythigor.

- Kraydi the psychic lizard began life as a soft sculpture I made of the Canyon Krayt Dragon from The Wildlife of Star Wars.  The sculpture didn’t look much like the illustration, but I liked how it came out, and so I made it an original monster named Kraydi (see what I did there).  Figuring out an explanation for that name in ATOM’s world was possibly the most difficult kaiju naming task in the series, but it worked out in the end.

- Kraydi and Promythigor having psychic powers is a result of my time on Godzilla fan forums in my middle school years.  Most of the forums had OC kaiju battle tournaments, and SO many of those kaiju had a wide array of beam weapons and psychic powers just to win the tournaments by beam-spamming and mind controlling their foes into oblivion.  There’s a special kind of rage you get when your original creation is beaten by “Fire Godzilla” because he has a genius level intellect and the power of unstoppable telekinesis.  Kraydi began as (and still is I suppose) my attempt to do a psychic kaiju well, while Promythigor’s villainy being tied to psychic powers being forced on him is sort of my passive aggressive commentary on people foisting powers on a monster without any real thematic reason for them.

- Henry Robertson and Dr. Praetorius chewing out the laziness of people giving kaiju completely unaltered names of mythic beasts will probably be seen as a jab at the Monsterverse and/or the numerous writers in the kaiju OC scene who do the same, but it’s ACTUALLY a jab at my past self, who had DOZENS of kaiju whose names were just Greek mythological figures verbatim.  There are dozens of kaiju named Hydra, Scylla, Charybdis, Chimera, etc., past me, try to make the names stand out!  Oh wait you did.  I mean, don’t pat yourself on the back too much, you still went with “Mothmanud” as a canon name and never came up with something better, but, like, good on ya for trying I guess.

- Dr. Praetorius takes his name from the evil mad scientis in Bride of Frankenstein, who basically has all the wicked traits that Universal’s Frankenstein downplayed in their take on Dr. Frankenstein.  Ironically, ATOM’s Dr. Praetorius is a bit less evil than his fellow mad scientists in ATOM.  I really like how his character turned out, he surprised me.

- Isaac Rossum, the pilot of the USA mecha Atomoton, is named for Isaac Aasimov, whose robot stories are to robot fiction what Lord of the Rings is to high fantasy.  His last name is a reference to Rossum’s Universal Robots, which is where the word “robot” came from.

- The unfortunate pilots of MechaTyrantis in ATOM Volumes 1 and 2 are all nods to Jurassic Park.  John Ludlow = John Hammond and Peter Ludlow, Ian Grant = Ian Malcolm and Alan Grant, Dennis Dodgson = Dennis Nedry and Lewis Dodgson.

- A good way to pitch Invasion from Beyond! would be “what if the staff and monsters were able to fight back when the Kilaaks tried to take over Monsterland?”

- Ok, here’s a fun joke that no one will get but me because it requires a very specific chain of logic based on some obscure and loosely connected nerd bullshit.  There’s a rocker in ATOM’s universe named Sebastian Haff, right?  One of his songs, “Darling Let’s Shimmy,” is referenced right before a mothmanud larva emerges from the ground in both ATOM Vol. 1 and 2.  Ok, so, in the Bubba Hotep, an aging Elvis impersonator named Sebastian Haff claims he is actually the real Elvis Presley, having changed places with the real Sebastian Haff as a sort of Prince and the Pauper deal that went wrong.  Got that?  Ok, so, in UFO folklore, a common joke is the theory that Elvis didn’t die, but was rather abducted by aliens (or he actually WAS an alien the whole time - the whole “Elvis didn’t die, he just went home” joke in Men in Black is a good example of this).  Ok?  Ok.  So, in ATOM’s universe, we can surmise that their equivalent of Elvis, whose name is Sebastian Haff, WAS abducted by aliens, and that his song “Darling Let’s Shimmy” is subconsciously influenced by his repressed memories from his time aboard the Beyonder spaceships, which is why it accidentally awoke a Mothmanud larva in Volume 1.  There’s a lot of bullshit jokes I put into ATOM, but this is perhaps the bullshittiest of them all.

- One of the most common bits of feedback on ATOM Volume 1 I got was “I kept waiting for something to eat Brick Rockwell, he’s such an asshole.”  And I had to smile and go, “Oh, yeah, guess he never got his, huh?” the whole time without letting on that he was going to die here all along!

- Dr. Lerna and Brick Rockwell’s nature as foils to each other is probably most apparent in Invasion from Beyond!, where both are given fairly similar situations - a nonhuman approaches them with a solution to a global crisis - and react to it very differently.  I worry that some people may think they both made the same choice and got different results, and that that’s hypocrisy on my part, but I hope I wrote it so you can see how their choices and situations actually differ in key ways, and why their decisions, while similar on the surface, are ultimately very different, and thus result in almost opposite outcomes.

- So, when I planned out this book in 2016, I swear I didn’t know about the Orca from 2019′s Godzilla King of the Monsters.  Having the plot hang around Dr. Lerna deciding whether or not to use a sonic device to rouse all the kaiju to save the earth was not INTENDED to be a Monsterverse reference - it came about from me looking at Pathfinder’s take on kaiju, who are all explicitly influenceable by music, and thinking, “Oh, wow, music and songs DO have a major connection with kaiju in a lot of media, I should do something with that.”  Whem KOTM came out a few days after Volume 1 came out I realized I was kinda fucked here, because the comparison was definitely going to be made, but I’d also set this all up already and you can’t just change suddenly to avoid looking like a copy cat and make a good story, so... I dunno, I leaned into it a bit, but it is what it is.

- While most people will probably think they’re a reference to the Reptoids of UFO folklore, the Reptodites are more inspired by the Dinosapien of speculative evolution fame and, even morso, by the Reptites from Chrono Trigger.  Me wanting to avoid the “lizard people control the government” conspiracy theory trope is one of the main reasons why Reptodites have this non-interference clause with humanity.

- Lieutenant Gray is a bunch of different humanoid aliens rolled into one - a little Hopskinville goblin, a little classic gray, a little this one weird alien with five-fingered zygodactyl hands, etc.

- There’s some Beyonder Mecha in this volume that are basically kaiju-fied versions of the Flatwoods Monster.  The species that built them ALSO engineered the Mothmanuds, because connecting Mothman and the Flatwoods Monster is fun!

- Pleprah is, obviously, a one-eyed one-horned flying purple people eater.

- Tyrantis’s brush with death, in addition to being so very anime, was inspired by my dad outlining how mythic heroes often have to travel to the underworld/land of the dead before they can finish their journey.  It’s one of the plot points that I’ve had planned for this series since middle school.

- I’m sure some will view it as hackneyed and corny, but as a person who’s battled with depression for decades, having Tyrantis’s choice to live be the big heroic turn of the finale was very important to me.  Tyrantis incorporates elements of a lot of imaginary friends I made as a kid, and in many ways he’s kind of the face of my more positive side in my head.  He’s been telling me to choose to live for a while, and while maybe to an outsider it may seem hackneyed, it’s just... very Tyrantis.  He chooses life and kindness in the face of pain and struggle.  That’s Tyrantis.

- Tyrantis’s powered up form is called “Hyper Mode,” which is another Gundam reference.  Originally it was a lot gaudier and involved him turning gold like a fuckin’ Super Saiyan.  I opted for something a little more toned down here.  

- Also, speaking of KOTM references, I decided to make Hyper Mode Tyrantis’s final duel with Pathogen be a sort of foil to Burning Godzilla’s final bout with Ghidorah in KOTM.  Instead of ravaging the city, Hyper Tyrantis’s pulse of energy rejuvenates his fallen allies, and as a result he is “crowned” not out of fear for his supremacy in the wake of killing a powerful enemy, but in gratitude for his kindness.  See?  Leaning into it!

- And now I can finally reveal that Yamaneon is ATOM’s equivalent of The Monolith Monsters - that is, a kaiju that is also a mineral.  I took the “strange continuously growing rock” thing in a very different direction, though, as unlike The Monolith Monsters, Yamaneon is actually alive.

- At various points in the pre-writing process, either Promythigor, MechaTyrantis, or both were going to die fighting Pathogen.  I ultimately decided to let them both live, with MechaTyrantis even getting his flesh and blood body back, because I think it’s more interesting and thematically consistent that way.  They get a chance to heal their wounds by changing their ways.

- The Great Beyonder and Dorazor both almost didn’t make the cut, as I felt they didn’t have the same pull as villains that Pathogen, Promythigor, and MechaTyrantis did.  But then I thought that could actually be the gag - build them up as the final boss, only to have Pathogen take their crown.  I want to explore post-face turn Dorazor a bit more, though.  We’ll have to see about that in a later volume.

- Volumes 1 and 2 make up what I call “The Ballad of Tyrantis Arc” for ATOM.  I call it that because Tyrantis’s storyline in these two volumes was patterend after Chivalric ballads like Yvain the Knight of the Lion.  Tyrantis, a heroic warrior who is kind but dumb of ass, learns of strange goings on outside his home and investigates.  During his journey into the unknown he falls in love with a powerful woman, whose favor he tries to win.  Through happenstance he is separated from his love and, distraught, wanders around fighting various foes to prove his worth, before finally returning to his love a better hero.  Invasion from Beyond! could even be seen as a sort of Morte d’Artur, with Tyrantis and a bunch of other kaiju heroes (including Nastadyne and Kemlasulla, who are built up as Hero Kaiju of Another Story) take part in a huge battle that threatens their idealic kingdom (of monsters).

- Volume 2 isn’t the end of ATOM, but it’s designed to work as an ending if you want to tap out here.  As a reader I feel a definitive ending is important, but as a writer I’m always tempted to revisit my beloved characters, so I feel giving closure while leaving a few doors open for possible future adventures is a good compromise between these positions.  There will be more ATOM stories, some (but not all!) following Tyrantis and Dr. Lerna, but if you want to know that Tyrantis and Dr. Lerna get an ending and the resolution to their arcs such a thing promises, here you go.  An ending, if not THE END.

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 23: A Hat

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Jefferson tries to get help

Read on AO3

Inside a cramped little cottage in a cramped little town in the mountains of a flat planet that flies through space on the back of four elephants on top of a turtle, he is having dinner with his family. 

Technically, they are Leo’s family, but technicalities have never troubled him. These people have welcomed him into their lives. This smoke-filled, boisterous cottage is more home to him than the solemn rock quarry where Jefferson spent the first few miserable decades of his life. 

The meal is mostly over, but everyone lingers over pudding and conversation and beer. A few of his sisters-in-law have gathered up the dishes and are headed back to the kitchen for the washing up.

His daughter sits on his lap. She is almost too big for the gesture and maybe that’s why she wants it so much. It’s certainly why he lets her do it. How much longer will he have with his little girl? Even if they have escaped from the Queen’s curse, they cannot escape time. There will only be a few more years before Grace is more a woman than a baby. She’ll be as pretty as her mother, and just as smart, winding her way through the hearts of everyone who meets her.

But for now, his girl sits on his lap and listens to her family. Beside him, Leo squeezes his arm. 

She leans into him. “No matter where we go, it’s never better than being home.”   

He smiles at her, his wife, his life. Her face is ruddy from drink and smoke. Her blonde hair curls in the heat, teasing wisps escape from her bun. Her plump curves fill out her dress like bursting sausage. She has a shine of bacon grease around her mouth and a touch of beer foam on the tip of her nose. In all the lands in all the worlds, he has never seen anyone more beautiful. 

Somewhere down the table, a baby cries. One of his many sisters-in-law is trying to soothe one of Grace’s many cousins, without much success. The infant has been fussing all night, and now the poor thing’s wails have drowned out the riotous conversation.

“‘Ere now!” Leona’s mother calls down from the head of the table. “Are you going to help that poor babby or do I ‘ave to?”

His sister-in-law--a washed out, nervous looking woman whose name no one can remember--looks gratefully up at Nanny Ogg. “Can you?”

Nanny Ogg snorts. This grande dame--which she translates as “big woman”--is the matriarch of the Ogg clan and the second-most powerful witch in the Ramptops Mountains, though she doesn’t try as hard. She’s had five husbands (and married three of them), fifteen children, and more grandchildren and great-grandchildren than anyone in Lancre can count. 

The baby is passed from hand to hand down the table, squalling all the way. When it finally gets to the head of the table, it is placed into the very solid arms of a round old woman dressed in black. She has a pipe, a pint, and a black pointy hat. (There’s nothing magic about a pointy hat, except that it says that the person underneath it is a witch.) She also has lively dark eyes--like Leo’s, like Grace’s--and the widest grin most people have ever seen.

The current occupant of the old woman’s lap is a mangy ball of fur and claws named Greebo. Though known to pick fights with bears (and not lose), he’s nothing but an old softy to Nanny Ogg. Still, the cat is smart enough to know that he is always second place to any child. As soon as the baby is in the witch’s arms, he scampers out of the way.

Jefferson’s life would have been hell if Nanny Ogg hadn’t given him her approval to marry Leo. They would have married anyway--Leo wouldn’t have let anything stop them--but coming home like this would have been… difficult. There are a dozen tiny ways an Ogg can tell you they don’t like you--and a hundred large and painful ones. But Nanny Ogg’s welcoming nature--and Jefferson’s endless potential to bring her presents from far-off lands--had ensured that they were welcome any time. 

Within a minute of entering Nanny Ogg’s embrace, the screaming baby quiets. Within another minute, it sleeps peacefully, despite the raucous conversation around the table. 

Perched on his knees, Grace looks curious. “Was that magic, Gran?”

“Coo-ee, no, my duck!” Nanny Ogg chuckles. “The day I needs magic to calm a babe is the day you lot can put me in the ground!”

“But you did it so fast!” Grace persists. 

“Coz I been doing it so long,” Nanny Ogg explains. “Ever since your Uncle Jason was a wee thing! There’s a knack to it, but it ain’t magic.”

Grace ponders this for a moment. Children are allowed to speak freely around Nanny Ogg’s table--provided they keep the conversation interesting. “Papa knows a man who does magic.”

Jefferson thinks about explaining, but clearly this is a private conversation.

Nanny Ogg nods sagely. “I imagine your dad knows all kinds of people, the work he does.”

“He was a funny little man,” Grace says. “He has a funny voice and he’s all green.”

“Takes all sorts, luv. We can’t help the way we’re made.”

“He gave me a yellow dress, to match Mama’s pink one. He pulled it out of the air! We were there for--why were we there, Papa?”

“A wedding,” Jefferson answers. “The Dark One and Belle wanted us to be there for their wedding.”

“It was a lovely day,” Leo smiles at him while stroking their daughter’s hair. “Do you remember dancing in that big ballroom, Grace? Remember how he made the instruments play themselves?”

Nanny Ogg snorts. “Sounds like a show-off, if you ask me.”

“Oh he is,” Jefferson agrees. “I don’t know if you’d like him, and Mistress Weatherwax would hate him.”

“Well, there’s not many I don’t like, and there’s not many Esme Weatherwax don’t hate, at least at first.” 

They laugh at that, as they laugh at everything. The conversation moves on to other topics. Later the lot of them move away from the table and into the parlor. Around a fire and more beer, Nanny Ogg brings out her banjo, but the evening still manages to end happily. 

He puts Grace to bed in a room with her cousins, a group of girls near her age. He kisses her and makes sure she has her stuffed rabbit. Then he goes up to the bedroom where Leo is waiting.

His wife is a dream, all satiny pink. All soft and warm and round. Like a sunset cloud with grasping arms. Like candy floss with a libido. She is everything. All the happiness he has now is because of her. This family, this life, their daughter. Everything in his past led to her, everything in the present comes from her, everything in the future will be theirs together. 

They make love, full of food and clumsy with drink. Their lips are loose and sloppy. They giggle and try to stay quiet in this crowded house. Their hands know their bodies. They know how to pleasure each other. They know. They feel. They love. They delight in each other and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

When Jefferson wakes up, everything is gone. 

****

For the ten thousand, three hundred ninetieth time, Jefferson woke up alone. In a giant, empty bed, inside a giant, empty house. He woke up, like he always did, with a gnawing ache in his chest and a burning desire for nothing more than to go back to sleep. Back to his dream. His best dreams were always about them. Leo. Grace. Home.

Sitting up in bed, Jefferson covered his face with his hands and let a dry sob rack through him. Tears would come later. First sob of the morning was always dry.

“Morning” was not the right word. It was a gray spring afternoon, more or less identical to every other gray afternoon he’d woken up in since he was brought over to this world. Over the years--over so many years--he had gotten in the habit of starting his day when most people in Storybrooke began to end theirs. The only reason he woke up at all was to get a chance to see his daughter walk home from school. 

The telescope was in the office, what he tended to think of as the hat room. This side of the massive house faced Main Street. He could see quite a lot--the diner, the Sheriff’s Station, a few important houses. And he had learned quite a lot, just by looking at all these people living their lives. 

Nothing changed in Storybrooke. Children didn’t get older. The old and sick never died. People worked the same jobs no matter how much they hated them. There was a girl he saw walking to and from the diner who had been nine months pregnant for twenty-eight years. Everyone was miserable, alone and unloved in one way or another, but they all carried on with what they thought were their lives. 

Until the day a yellow bug drove into town. 

Looking through the telescope, Jefferson trained his eyes on a lime green winter coat. The coat was bouncing over the shoulders of a young girl as she hopped, skipped and jumped her way around the sidewalk. His throat tightened, as it did every time he saw her. In the lens of the telescope, she looked close enough to reach out and touch. 

Grace was walking with another girl--Jefferson didn’t know her name. She was poor, from Old Town. Her father was gone and her mother worked long hours for low pay. Girls like that didn’t get their accomplishments written up about in the newspaper the way Grace did every time she won the Science Fair. Until a few months ago, Grace had never spoken to this girl. Both of them had walked the same path from the school to the abandoned library, twenty feet apart, every day for twenty-eight years, without ever interacting with each other.

Until the day Sheriff Swan started a youth outreach campaign, and made a point to talk about how much safer kids were if they used the buddy system when they didn’t have an adult around.

Then Grace had looked up from her routine, and she had seen the other girl looking back. Both of them needed someone to walk with. Both of them were looking for a friend. Both of them found one. It was a little thing, but it was a change.

He watched them walk from the library to the house in New Town where Tim and Mia Lewis lived. The people Grace thought were her parents. Every once in a while, they ran an ad in the Storybrooke Daily Mirror--all three of them with big smiles, the adults offering their services in insurance and real estate. 

The lights were off inside the house, so he couldn’t see into the kitchen. He couldn’t see what healthy snacks Mia had made for the girls today. He couldn’t see what game they played to unwind for a bit before Mia made sure they both started their homework. A few hours later, the other girl’s mother would stop by after her shift at Granny’s. He never knew if she thanked Mia for watching her daughter. Maybe it was just understood. Maybe Mia said she was just doing what Sheriff Swan advised, watching out for children who might otherwise get into trouble, being alone and unsupervised.

Once Grace was out of his sight, Jefferson moved the telescope to look around town. Not too many changes today. Archie Hopper was walking his dalmatian. Marco the handyman was making another trip to the hardware store. The stranger on the motorcycle idled outside Marine Automotive; he seemed to be watching Marco. Mrs. Gold was strutting away from the pawn shop with her head held high.

 He watched her, this woman who used to be Belle. It looked like she was going towards City Hall. Curious. Was she applying for a permit? Was there some licence she needed to renew? His fingers itched to pick up the phone and call the Dark One about what he had seen. He was the only other human being in town, the only person who knew the truth about anything. It was just the Dark One, Jefferson, and Queen Regina. 

But he couldn’t bother him too much. They couldn’t raise any more suspicion than they already had with their one secret meeting in the woods. The Dark One was still trying to maintain his cover as “Mr. Gold.” Besides, what difference could it make that Belle was running an errand to City Hall?

With a sigh, Jefferson moved away from the telescope. He’d been awake for more than an hour, it was time to put on pants. 

In no time at all, he had showered, dressed, and chugged down a protein shake. Most days, it was hard for him to summon up the will to cook or eat. He kept his body going with prepackaged meal replacements. They tasted like crap, but at least he didn’t have to think about them. He left cooking for people who thought they had something to live for. 

He made his way to the front doors. The house had a wide driveway that ran under a large overhang. Whenever visitors came, they could disembark from the vehicles and go into the house without the hazards of rain or snow. 

If he ever had visitors.

At the moment, and for the past twenty-eight years, all he had was the most recent copy of the Storybrooke Daily Mirror. It wasn’t a bastion of hard-hitting journalism, but for a long time it had been the only way he could know anything about the town he spent so much time looking at. The newspaper had given him names to put to the faces--Mayor Mills, Mr. Gold, Sheriff Humbert, and later Sheriff Swan. It had been a lifeline, and he still clung to it. For nearly three decades, the dates on the front page had been the only changes he had seen anywhere in this town. 

Today’s date was April 2nd, 2012. The headline was about the continued search for a missing person. Kathryn Nolan, a paralegal working at the firm of Duke & Duke, had been missing for more than a month. There had been sightings of a woman matching her description in various parts of Storybrooke, but by the time the police arrived, all traces of her had gone. Sheriff Swan encouraged anyone with any information regarding Mrs. Nolan’s whereabouts to call the station.

On the next page, there was an editorial decrying the lack of effort put forth by Kathryn’s husband, David Nolan, to aid in the search. Sydney Glass stopped just short of outright accusing Mr. Nolan of gross negligence or foul play. He only noted the amount of time Mr. Nolan spent with the schoolteacher, Miss Blanchard. The article concluded with speculation that perhaps Mrs. Nolan was not missing at all, but had run away from a terminally unhappy home.      

After finishing the paper, he put it away in the office closet and went back to the telescope. The lights were on in the house where Grace lived. The other girl had been picked up. Tim Lewis was home from work. The three of them were making dinner together. Mia was stirring a pot of chili and Tim was taking a bag of corn out of the freezer.

“She doesn’t like corn, guys,” Jefferson muttered to himself. “She won’t eat the chili if you put corn in it. You’ve been taking care of her for twenty-eight years and you’ve never figured that out.”

He shook his head and looked away. Sometimes it was maddening to watch the town like this, to see these people make the same mistakes, over and over. Emma Swan had made some changes, but there were still so many ways to be unhappy.

He watched dinner in the Lewis household. He watched Grace carefully pick out all the corn from her bowl of chili and set it into her paper napkin. He watched Mia shake her head at his daughter. He watched Tim lecture her about wasting food. He watched Grace scowl as she picked up the napkin and dumped the offending corn kernels back into the chili. She ate, but she looked like she was going to vomit.

“I’m sorry, love,” he whispered. He had to get to her, somehow. He had to let her know that he was her father. He had to get her back to Leo.

After dinner, the family watched TV. Grace sat on a couch between Tim and Mia, and flickering light bathed over all of them. They weren’t bad people, her fake-parents. They did love her, and they did the best they could to raise her to be healthy and successful in this world. Whoever Tim and Mia had been before, they were victims of the curse too. They had never meant to steal another couple’s daughter. 

He had to put this right. He had to end this curse. Jefferson didn’t have much power, but he would do anything to put his family back together. 

He moved the telescope away from Grace. After a brief search, he found the big pink house in Old Town where the Dark One lived. The lights were on, but no one was visible through the windows. If he called on the phone, the Dark One would tell him to be patient. The Savior would break the curse in due time. 

But Jefferson had already waited too long. 

Scanning through town, he set his sights on the Sheriff’s station. Storybrooke was peaceful enough that most of the cops could hang up their guns in time for dinner. They were all long gone by now. Even Sheriff Swan was packing up and getting ready to go home for the night. 

Perfect. 

Picking up the sleek, silver cordless phone, Jefferson punched in the numbers he had seen in the newspaper. Through the telescope, he could see Emma Swan hear the phone ringing. She slumped and grimaced in the way of everyone being clawed back into a job they thought was done for the day. Then she straightened up, and picked up the receiver on her desk.

“Sheriff’s station, this is Emma.”

Jefferson cleared his throat. “Yeah, is this the number to call if somebody saw Kathryn Nolan?”

Perking up, Emma fumbled on her desk for a pen and paper. “It sure is. Who am I talking to?”

That question was too complicated to get into. “Yeah, I don’t know for sure if it was Kathryn Nolan, but it looked like a woman in her mid-thirties, caucasian, looked kinda haggard. I, uh, I tried to talk to her, but she just kept walking through the woods.”

“Which woods are those? Where was this?”

“Oh, yeah, it was the north woods. You ever been up on Angus Drive?”

“Can’t say that I have. Still kind of new to the area.”

“Yeah, well that’s where she was. About ten minutes ago I saw her, she was walking towards town. Like I said, I tried to get her attention, but she didn’t listen. I didn’t wanna try to chase after her. Might scare her, you know. Make things worse.”

“Right, right,” Emma said. “So, north woods, Angus Drive, ten minutes ago. And what was your name?”

Jefferson hung up the phone. Then he got his coat and a scarf. It was time to go for a walk.  

****

There were several cars in the massive garage of the house where Jefferson had been a prisoner. For the first twenty-eight years, he hadn’t been able to open the garage door to get them on the road. Even after Emma had rolled in, the cars were still useless. None of them had gasoline.

So Jefferson walked. He had walked along the highway and through the woods and over the town line as far as he could before something terrible happened. He walked into town sometimes, trying to find a way out. When he’d noticed “Mr. Gold” acting strangely, he had walked to the pawn shop.

At this point, he knew the town better than anyone else. Who knows the shape of a cage better than the captive inside? He knew the borders and boundaries, especially the area around the house. He knew where the road made a wicked hairpin turn, where someone who was still kind of new to the area wouldn’t know what was coming and could be caught off guard. 

The yellow Volkswagen had better brakes than he thought--Emma stopped short of actually hitting him when he emerged from the woods onto the road in front of her. He’d been willing to take the hit, half-curious to see if the curse would let any injury last longer than a week or so. 

Emma’s quick driving stopped him from actually getting hurt, but the collision was close enough that he could fall to the ground in a convincing show. She stopped the car and got out when she saw him. 

“Oh my God, are you okay?”

On the gravel shoulder of the highway, Jefferson groaned and clutched his leg.

“Sir? Sir, can you talk? I’m Emma Swan, do I need to call for EMTs?”

“No,” Jefferson gritted his teeth, swallowed the imaginary pain. “No, I live around here. I’ll be fine. Can you just get me back to my house?”

For just a moment, she hesitated. “Uh, sure. Yeah, let’s get you inside, at least.”

She helped him up and into the passenger seat of the bug. Then she began to drive.

“So where do you live, Mr…?”

“Angus Drive.” He answered only the question she had said out loud. “It’s up ahead.”

 “Funny.” Now that the moment of panic had passed, Emma seemed less willing to accept half-answers. “I just got a call about that address. A man said he saw a missing person out this way. Maybe you saw her when you were out. A blonde woman in her mid-thirties?”

He shook his head. “That sounds like your description, Sheriff.”

“First, I’m not in my mid-thirties. Second, how did you know I’m the Sheriff?”

“I read the paper. And who else would be getting a call about a missing person? And, you’ve got your badge on your hip.”

She frowned. “Guess that all checks out. Yeah, I’m Sheriff Swan. What’s your name?”

Again, Jefferson didn’t answer. “This is the house on the right.”

“A house?” Emma said as she parked under the awning. “This looks more like a hotel! Do you have a big family or something?”

Jefferson opened the door, but made sure to wait for her to help him out of the car. “No,” he said. “It’s just me.”

“The sign on the mailbox says Dogdson.” 

“Sure does.”

Leaning on Emma, Jefferson pretended to hobble up the stairs to get into the front door. The curse had never given him a key to this house, so he always left it unlocked. Someday,  when the curse was broken, he would find a way to lock the door behind him and walk away a free man. He would take Grace and walk all the way to the Discworld if he had to.

“Where should I put you?” Emma asked once they were in the foyer.

“Closest living room is over there.”

She set him up on one of the white leather couches with his “bad” leg propped up on the arm. “Want me to take a look at it?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. Listen, I’m kind of an amateur cartographer. Upstairs, I’ve got maps for all of these woods. They could be useful to you, since you don’t know the area well.”

Hands on her hips, Emma Swan looked down at him. She looked shrewd, suspicious. Kind of like Leo, only skinny. “I never told you I don’t know the area.”

Jefferson grinned. What was the old saying about honesty? Better to tell the truth because then you don’t have to keep track of your lies? “I guess you didn’t.”  

“The only person I told that to lately was a man on the phone who also didn’t tell me his name.” Emma sat down on the coffee table in front of the couch so they were on the same level. “Did you actually see Kathryn Nolan around here?”

He didn’t stop grinning. “No.”

“And your leg isn’t hurt at all.”

It wasn’t a question, but he still answered. “No.”

“Can you give me a single good reason why I shouldn’t arrest you on the very serious charge of Wasting the Sheriff’s Time?”

Jefferson sat up. “I do need your help,” he said. “But I thought if I told you what was going on, you would think I was crazy.”

Emma didn’t blink at that. “People who might be crazy need just as much help as people who might be sane. Let’s start from the beginning: Tell me your name.”

“Jefferson,” he answered immediately.

“Jefferson,” she repeated. “Is that a first name or a last name?”

“First.”

“And the last name?”

He didn’t really have one. Few people in the old world did. “Ogg,” he answered. 

It was the name he went by on worlds where last names were common. Leo’s name. He was part of a proud tradition of men becoming Mr. Ogg when they married an Ogg woman. 

Emma looked him in the eyes, long and hard. “Jefferson Ogg,” she said slowly. “That’s… such a weird name, I don’t think you made it up.”

“I didn’t,” he said. 

“Uh-huh,” she said. “And what do you need help with, Jefferson Ogg?”

“I…” Gods, how could he even start? He would just have to show her. “It’s upstairs.”

She gave him another look, not speaking. Then she pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and pressed some buttons. 

“Texting on the job?”

“I left my walkie-talkie in the car.” She put her phone away. “Just letting my roommate know where I am and to call the dispatch office if she doesn’t hear from me in 10 minutes.”

That was almost funny, that she thought he was dangerous. As if the most dangerous person in Storybrooke wasn’t signing Sheriff Swan’s paychecks. 

“Let’s go upstairs,” he said.

****

It was the first time anyone other than him had set foot in the office. He wondered what Emma made of the room. All Jefferson ever cared about was the telescope and the walk-in closet where he stored the newspapers. Neither of those things drew Emma’s focus.

“That’s a lot of top hats,” she said as she stood in front of the lit-up shelf. There were rows of them, all made of an endless supply of black felt. “You part of a show choir or something?”

“No.” He shut the door behind them, locked it. “The hats… are actually what I need your help with.” He pulled out some of the felt, some sewing needles and a pair of scissors. He tossed them all onto the table in front of her. “I need you to make one.”

Now the expression on Emma’s face was what ‘suspicious’ wanted to be when it grew up. “You think I’m a hatter?”

He stood behind her, nudging her into a chair in front of the raw materials. “I think you can do extraordinary things, Emma. I think you can do exactly what I need you to. I think you can save me.”

Her expression morphed from disbelief to exhaustion. “No, not you too. Have you been talking to Henry? What is it with this town and people thinking I can save them?”

“Because you can!” He put his hands on either side of the chair and pushed her to the table. Then he leaned over her to keep her from getting up. “You are a special person, Emma. You made the changes start, you can make everything good again.”

“Bring back the happy endings, is that what you want from me?”

She was angry. She meant the remark to be flippant. But she was so right it brought tears to his eyes. 

“Yes,” Jefferson whispered. “Yes, that’s all I want. The Dark One says it’s your destiny, that you have already brought--”

“Wait, who?”

“The Dark One,” he said. “Rumpelstiltskin, he--”

“Will you listen to yourself?” Emma pushed herself up away from the table and stood up to confront him. “Do you think you’ve had a conversation with Rumpelstiltskin? What, do you think Regina is the Evil Queen too?”

“Yes!” he shouted. He picked the felt up off the table and shook the fabric in her face. “You have all the pieces, Emma! Why can’t you put them together?”

“Because this is the real world!” she shouted back. 

“Every world is real!” 

She made for the door. The lock kept her busy for just enough time that Jefferson was able to catch up with her. Gently, he pulled her away from the door and stood in front of it. Just being taller than her was enough to make him look like a threat.

“You don’t understand,” he tried to keep his voice from breaking. “There are so many worlds out there. I’ve been to most of them. The Dark One gave me a hat that I can use to travel from world to world. I could use it to get out of here, but I don’t have it anymore!”

Emma reached for her phone. He grabbed her wrist and pulled the device out of her hand.

“It needs magic,” he explained, as calmly as he could. “I’ve made a hundred hats, but they’re just hats, no good to anyone. I need magic. You have magic. You brought magic to Storybrooke the day you came here.”

She frowned at the phone in his hand and stepped back. “There was nothing different about the day I came here.”

“You’re right.” Keeping her in his sights, he stepped away from the office door and toward the closet. “It was the day after you arrived, the day after you broke the sign. October 24th, 2011. That was the day the clock on the library started to tick.”

Emma just gaped at him. “How could you remember that?”

“It was the most important day in the history of this town. The first real day to happen in twenty-eight years.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Can I show you?” he asked. “I’ll even give you your phone back, so you can tell Mary Margaret you’re okay. But I just need you to promise that you’ll hear me out.”

She glared and held out her hand. “You are damn lucky you don’t have a gun right now.”

He watched her press the buttons, then put her phone back in her pocket. 

“You bought yourself another ten minutes because I don’t feel like filling out the paperwork necessary to arrest you.”

Jefferson went to the closet. “It’s in here,” he said. “All the evidence I have is in here.”

She put her hands on her hips, squared her shoulders. “Go get it then.” 

Right, Sheriff Swan wasn’t going to be the first one to go through an unknown door in the house of an obvious lunatic. Jefferson opened it, and showed her the newspapers. Twenty-eight stacks and counting. Each stack was made of twelve bundles, reaching to the ceiling. Three hundred and forty one bundles. The whole of the curse, contained in this room.

“I saved them all,” he said. “Twenty-eight years’ worth.”

“So you’ve been saving newspapers since you were, what, five?” 

“Since the day I came to this town,” he answered. “Since the day anyone came to this town.” Kneeling on the ground, he moved the smallest pile and pulled out the smallest bundle. “Do you want to know what day that was, Emma?”

She didn’t answer, but he took the paper out from the bottom of the bundle and held it up in front of her. 

“Go on,” he growled. “Read it.”

“Uh, it says that Mayor Mills announced a new committee to--”

“Read the date!” he snapped. 

Jaw clenched, Emma yanked the paper out of his hands and looked at the top. She didn’t read it out loud, but he saw her eyebrows furrow. 

“That’s… my birthday,” she whispered. “Like, that was the day I was born.”

“October 23rd, 1983,” he said. “That was the day the curse started. The day you were born was the day the Evil Queen cursed us all to live in a world without magic.”

“That’s--”

“There was no time.” He didn’t let her speak. “Nothing changed, nothing happened. We were frozen. Most of them didn’t notice, but I did. I remembered, I…” He couldn’t go on. “I thought I was crazy. I thought nothing I knew was real. I thought I had lost everything. But you… You’re the Savior. You can bring it back.”

Emma shook her head and looked down at the newspaper again. “Even if all this is true, why am I the one who has to--wait a minute!” She pointed at the paper, at a picture of the mayor. “This is a crock of shit! That’s Regina! Regina wasn’t mayor on the day I was born!” She flipped through the other pages. “Yeah, look at this. Sydney looks the same in this picture as he does today. Look at the school news, I’ve seen these kids!”

“I told you, time was frozen.”

“Or you put a fake date on an old paper just to mess with me!” She kept looking at the newspaper, seeing but not understanding. “Yeah, this ad here, this is Tim Lewis. He gave me a discount on my car insurance. His daughter, Paige? She looks exactly like she does in this ad. Pretty sure she’s eleven, not thirty-nine.”

Jefferson ripped the paper out of Emma’s hands. “She is not his daughter!” He snarled. “Will you listen to me? That girl’s name is Grace. She is eleven. She has been eleven for twenty-eight years!”

“I--” Emma put her hands up and let out a slow breath. “I don’t think either one of us is going to convince the other.”

“I don’t care if you believe me, I just need you to make a gods-damned hat!”

To Jefferson’s shock, Emma seemed ready to do what he asked, maybe in the name of de-escalating the situation. She went back to the table, slowly sat down, and picked up the felt. “You need this so you can go back to Fairytale Land?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t care about that world anymore. I need to go back to the Discworld.”

Emma squinted as she tried to thread a needle. “Discworld? I’ve heard of those books. They’re supposed to be funny, right?”

Jefferson didn’t smile. “It’s a real place.”

Looking up, Emma opened her mouth, and then closed it. “Sure.” She began to half-heartedly jam the needle between two pieces of felt. 

He collapsed into a chair by the telescope. Gods, was she really doing this? Jefferson only knew enough about magic to know that he was better off not playing with it. But if the Dark One was right, then Emma Swan wouldn’t be able to stop herself from using magic. She would do it naturally, maybe accidentally. It wouldn’t matter if the hat looked awful. All it had to do was work.

“My wife is from there,” he offered as a way to make conversation. 

Emma didn’t look up from the stitches. “From Discworld? Does that make her a witch or something?”

He shook his head. “Her mother is. I guess she could be too, if she wanted. Most of the time witchcraft is just knowing something other people don’t know.”

“Like how to make a hat?” Emma looked at him through a tube of felt. “It’s been a long time since my last Home Ec class. This is not going to be pretty.”

“It just needs to work,” he muttered. “Just… get it to work.”

Sighing, Emma pulled out her phone again.

“Has she even answered you?” he asked. “Maybe she’s off somewhere screwing David Nolan.”

A glare. “I’m doing you a favor by working on this hat. So maybe you could do me a favor and not say rude things about my friends.”

“I got you here by talking about Kathryn Nolan. Do you actually care about her?”

Emma kept her eyes on her work. “She’s a person. I care about people. She could be lost in the woods, disoriented and hungry. Of course I want to find her.”

“Do you think she’s still alive?”

“I have to hope so.” She cut one of the threads. “We haven’t found a body, or even body parts. If some monster was out there cutting out hearts and putting them in jewelry boxes, at least then there’d be some evidence.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Do you care about Kathryn Nolan? Or do you think she’s just a fairytale character?”

“I care about her because she’s a fairytale character,” Jefferson said. “Her name was Princess Abigail. She was the daughter of King Midas. She gave me a lot of gold just for trying to find a way to reverse the effects of her father’s… gift.”

Emma nodded, clearly humoring him. “I’d heard that King Midas had a daughter. I didn’t know her name was Abigail. Doesn’t sound Greek, but what do I know?” She was sewing the brim on the hat, after that it would be finished. 

Jefferson stood up. His feet moved on a schedule that was bigger than Emma Swan. He looked through the telescope. It was nine-thirty. Bedtime.

“Do you want to see her?” he whispered to Emma.

“Kathryn?”

“My daughter.”

They were putting her to bed, Tim and Mia both. She was almost too big for the gesture, but maybe that was why she wanted it so much. Jefferson felt Emma’s presence beside him, and he stepped away from the telescope. 

“They never remember to give her the stuffed rabbit,” he said. “That’s the only one that keeps her from having nightmares.”

“Oh, that’s Paige,” Emma said. She looked up from the window. “You… have a telescope pointed at the bedroom of an eleven year old girl.”

“She’s my daughter,” Jefferson repeated. “I’ve lost her mother. Grace doesn’t know who I am. I need to keep an eye on her.”

Emma stayed between Jefferson and the telescope. “Is it because Paige is adopted? Are you her birth father or something?”

He didn’t know whether to scream or cry, so he laughed. Emma kept talking.

“It’s no shame if that’s the case. Believe me, I know how mixed-up it can be to have a kid that’s yours but isn’t yours.”

“Shut up,” Jefferson said through gritted teeth. “Grace is mine. Mine and my wife’s.”

“You said you lost your wife…”

“Yes! And I’ll only find her again once I have a hat that works!” He almost grabbed her by the shoulders, but she was too fast. She made it back to the table and kept it as a barrier between them.

“Enough!” Emma said. She picked up the hat and tossed it over to him. “This is the last of my goodwill, understand? I’m going to leave now. You’re gonna let me out of this room and out of this house. I’m gonna call Tim and tell him to buy his daughter some blackout curtains. If I ever catch wind of you snooping around little girls again, I will personally make sure you rot in jail.”

Jefferson looked down at the crumpled felt in his hands. It was only a hat by the most generous definition. But maybe it would be enough.

When he looked up, Emma was gone. From outside, he heard the rumble of a car engine starting up. As she drove away, the sound grew fainter. He still held the hat in his hands. 

It didn’t feel magical. His old hat had a certain… quality. There was an aura about it, not quite tangible. But there was a feeling he got when he looked at his hat. A feeling of… possibility. Like there was so much more to it than what met the eye. There was none of that in the hat Emma had made. 

Maybe magic was different here. Maybe there was a way. Some way. He had to try. He would never know if he didn’t try. 

He closed his eyes and took a breath. “Please.” With all his heart, he prayed to any power that was listening. 

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the hat to the ground, as he had done a thousand different times in a hundred different worlds. The hat spun and he waited for it to keep spinning, waited for it to grow larger and disappear into a whirlpool of purple smoke. He waited for the hole in the whirlpool, the portal that could take him anywhere.

But the hat barely made a full rotation before it stopped spinning. It sat on the ground, unmoving, unmagical.

Jefferson stared at it, until his vision blurred with tears. Then he began to laugh. 

Of course it didn’t work! Why would anything work in this world? Of course there was no escape! Of course he was going to die in this world! Or worse--he would live forever in a world without time and he’d never see Leona again.

He sobbed. His legs gave out and sent him careening to the floor. He lay face down on the patterned carpet, stared at Emma Swan’s misshapen hat, and wept like a child. 

****

Later--an hour? A year? Did it make a difference?--when couldn’t cry anymore, Jefferson pulled himself off the floor. He made it all the way to the chair before he collapsed again and hung his head in his hands. 

It hadn’t worked. The Savior hadn’t worked. The side of goodness hadn’t worked. Well, Jefferson was never one to get too hung up about paltry matters like good and evil. 

Slowly wheeling the office chair over to the desk, Jefferson fumbled for the silver telephone. He pushed in numbers he knew by heart, numbers he had wanted to call a dozen times in the past month, but never had. Not until now.

He tried to breathe, as the phone rang. But then he stopped when he heard it pick up. A woman’s voice. Belle’s voice.

“Mr. Gold’s residence. Who is calling?”

Jefferson didn’t speak. He didn’t breathe. Mrs. Gold knew that he had slept with her husband. He couldn’t ask her to put him on the phone. He couldn’t even let her know who he was.

He hung up.

With another deep breath, he pulled a book with yellow pages out from a shelf above the desk. He flipped through the thin paper, until he found the name and number he was looking for.

He dialed slowly, taking a breath between each number. He couldn’t sound like he was upset. He couldn’t show any weakness in front of her. 

This was a bad idea. This was the worst idea he could have ever come up with. The last time he’d worked with this woman he had watched her murder a helpless servant once she was no longer useful. How could he know that she wouldn’t do the same to him?

Maybe by the time he wasn’t useful, he would already be in the Discworld.  

He needed magic. He needed to get out. He needed power. So he called the most powerful person in town.  

Regina picked up on the third ring. “Who exactly do you think you are to be calling my home at this time of night?”

“Your Majesty,” he said calmly. “This is Jefferson the realm-jumper. I’d like to offer my services.” 

[theplumsoldier]

fear he who fears nothing

prologue summary: as a public figure living in modern germany, you would have thought your past was just that, just a past, but now, it has come back to haunt you and pushes you into the clutches of one baron zemo, while making you acquainted with the american heroes, falcon and the winter soldier.

series warnings: vulgar language: cursing; explicit scenes: mentions of blood, explosions, shootings, torture, injuries; a wannabe’s pathetic try at german; hinting at sexual themes.

a/n: little german is used in this but enough that i felt the need to add translations. translations will be marked as italic and are hedged in between “<>”. note i am not familiar with the languages colloquialisms so if you notice something wrong with my translations, you are most welcome to message me!  this is the prologue to my series “fear he who fears nothing”. it will kick of in the next year in will be no longer than around six to seven parts. i haven’t figured it all out yet, but im working it out and updating along the way!

The two men, the ones whose identities later would be divulged and state to be an age-old relic and a national hero on the lam, did not at all fit into the club. It was always dark inside the White Lady, however the blinding lights – which one would not be wrong in their observation, should they deter them prone to trigger epileptic seizures – could not hide the two most rigid gents standing tall in the midst of the dance floor. You can ask why one, who does not dance, would stand on the dancefloor, however, your words would be in vain and your time lost, for Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes do not have time for anyone who is not Baron Zemo—

Who in this very second was in full swing of a Super Smash Bros match, using your club for arena.

The White Lady was a luxurious club, everyone in Germany was well aware of that. A place for important people and all who frequented the state of the art club knew the person next to, too, spent money like water. It was not a space for gang violence and illegalities, so when security had let them distract for just long enough, politicians and business owners, men and women of wealth ran around, much portraying the image which comes to mind when one would think of a fox entering a henhouse.

Panicking, people ran about like headless chickens, not for the exit, per say; for when in shock, instinct conquers rationality, sprinting and pushing their peers as if their lives depended on it. In a way it did, but in a club of important Europeans, they were not the target. Should they injure tonight, it would merely be in the result of the live American action movie-like fight which had now taken to the balcony lounge.

It took a rough shove to the back to send you back to the current state of affairs. It dawned on you now you would have to act, howbeit you had yet to figure out in which way.

Ushering past the frantic dancers that previously had revelled, you went pretty much unnoticed up the stairs. Pretty much unnoticed surpassing entirely unnoticed due your loyal bodyguard.

You quelled the urge to scream at the fighters when two of them pretty much shot through the air, hurling through at least 30k worth of ceiling lights.

They were the ones you had heard of multiple times through the years now: They were the “good guys”, from America. Albeit as they impoverished you, ruining 10 years of blood and sweat, before your very eyes, they were far from the good guys. Having pushed through what you had over the years, it now became clear if anybody was going to push you to your knees it had better be in another setting, with a whole other mood–preferably with some Frank Ocean in the background.

“Na los, komm schon!” Lina called, shoving you back down the stairs to get you out of danger. Your safety was her priority and so she updated security of your location via her Bluetooth earpiece. <Let’s go, come on!>

You were halfway down the stairs when the sound of an explosion went off. It was impossible to tell where it came from, but the next thing you knew was shattered glass raining from the ceiling. A group of red lights had severed from the ceiling and judging by the panic-stricken cries people were hurt.

The lights were suddenly killed, the whole club jet black for seconds until the standby generator switched on. You used this to your advantage, and scurried past Lina. You knew she only acted in your best interest, however your moral compass did not allow this terrorist to destroy your club.

When the lights turned on, the whole place lit up in a hideous yellow light, the kind you will find makes life difficult for drug addicts. This allowed you to properly see the damage done. It made you angry, seeing all these people suffer in your club; foreigners using your territory as playground.

“YN!”

“Schafft sie hier raus! Ich werde dafür sorgen, dass es hier oben kein Versteck gibt! Die Polizei soll Krankenwägen schicken, die Türsteher sollen die Umgebung sichern! Bin gleich draußen!” Lina protested, stepping up the staircase but you were adamant, and if Lina had learned one thing in her many years of her current position, it was that you were stubborn and steadfast as hell. “Ich komme schon klar, kümmern Sie sich um die Kunden!” <Get them out of here! I’m going to make sure there’s no hiding up here! Contact the police and have them send ambulances, have the bouncers secure the perimeter! Be right out!” > <I’ll be fine, tend to the customers!>

With that you sprinted down the hall to your office, punching in the code to unlock the door. At least your safe space was still intact. For now.

Getting the gun from the classic secret-safe-behind-the-wall-painting spot, you swiftly checked the chamber for rounds at full tilt. Finding only five bullets, clicked it back in place and took a second to exhale. Inhale, exhale.

Checking the chamber was about as nifty as your skills – if one could even call it that – got, so let’s just say it was going to be fun carrying out your little idea, threatening them.

You made sure to only hit the floor – it had to be replaced anyway – when shooting, and if a couple of toes would suffer your not-at-all refined skills, so be it–better that than accidentally killing one of these buffoons because you were not about to have a death on your conscience.

That got their attention.

“Y’all better get the fuck out of my club now!”

Shooting pretty much fuelled your wrath, but a fuming woman with a gun in her hand was something to fear, and you wholeheartedly trusted these idiots knew that.

“Ma’am, you should get—”

“Shut up!” seethed you, jaw clenched as much as the index finger you kept hovering over the trigger. “Now!”

You had lost sight of the bird-man. You hoped he had the decency to have grabbed a broom by now, cleaning up what chaos he so ignorantly had commenced with his little cyborg friend.

“Ah, Miss YN,” charmed Helmut Zemo then, not letting down his guard to the soldier not far from him, but he allowed himself to send you a duplicitous smile, evidently having convinced himself that this was a friendly visit.

But you had two bullets left and one hell of a grudge against this one.

“I was hoping to find you here,” spoke he, he thick-laced accent ringing through the room with an aftertaste of a memory of someone you once knew. “Perhaps we could have a little... Chit-chat, hm? Put down the gun, will you?”

“Du Hurensohn!” swore you and grit your teeth. “There are other ways to reach out to a person than destroying their livelihood!”

“Well, I had to get your attention, you understand—”

“Yeah, you got it alright! Now get the hell out of my club before I blow out your brains!”

That is if there are any left, you thought, waving the gun towards the exit. God, you hoped the police had the place surrounded.

Sirens sounded from the street, and the Winter Soldier took the opportunity – Zemo being distracted with you – to charge at him, attacking him with a knife. Zemo noticed the change in your expression, and thwarted the attempt.

You did not noticed the man coming up from behind you before he had you in a neck lock, pulling you away from the balcony railing. Screaming, you pulled the trigger, trying to twist your arm around, while out of his reach, and shoot him blindly. To no avail, however. The sound of the shots must have been what ushered the police through the doors, yelling and firing warning shots to stop the whole affair.

You could not be sure, though, for while you struggled for air, clawing at the assailant’s muscular arm, you vision veiled in black and the last thing you felt before drifting off, was a heaviness taking you to sleep.

[magnolia-penn]

Future Vision Chapter 2

DIO? God?

Oop- sorry this took so long. It took me forever to write and I had no motivation to type it all from my notebook.

Also, brownie points to whoever finds the Avatar: The Last Airbender reference.

Warnings: Swearing (so much swearing), Spoilers (sorta), mention of death (no one important) lemme know if I missed anything

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

"31 years!" Polnareff shouted in disbelief.

"Apparently." You shrugged, already over it.

The men were flabbergasted about your current predicament. Stands were a fairly new concept and to think that there was a Stand strong enough to pull you from the future, breaking all sorts of time and space laws? You'd have to be crazy!

Yet… There you were, completely adapted to the strange situation. You were thrown almost double the amount of years you existed and all it took was a quick scream session behind a sand dune for you to calm down? 

"You seem so startled. Stands have crazy abilities. My friend, Magnolia, works alongside a mafia boss with the ability to create infinite life and make it so you can never truly reach death!" You pumped your fist in the air in excitement. "Time travel doesn't seem that far out. My Stand isn't too terribly special, especially compared to some of the other Stands I've seen, but it's pretty cool."

The group's confusion settled deeper as you went on a tangent about future Stands that your friend has described from her time working at the Speedwagon Foundation. You used words that didn't make sense, phrases they didn't understand, but your growing excitement caused them to nod along with you.

"OH! And Stands can be upgraded! Although we do-" You cut yourself off suddenly, eyes zoned out.

You didn't say anything, just stared into the endless expanse of sand and heat. It was Kakyoin who spoke up first.

"Y/n? Are you alright?"

You snapped out of your trance with a start. "I FORGOT TO FEED MY FISH SHIT SEND ME BACK!"

Your sudden outburst sent Polnareff jumping back into Mr. Joestar, your attention dragged to him as his face dropped from confusion to somber defeat.

You picked up on the nervous weight shifts and glances away. You tried to look back at the man who brought you here, only for Mr. Joestar to clear his throat, bringing the attention back to him. He fumbled with his words a bit, trying to justify the shift in attention, but he ultimately failed.

"Oh ho no, I see what's going on," You said after Mr. Joestar gave up on trying to explain. "This fuck-" a pointed finger towards the corpse behind you, "was my only ticket back to the future?"

"Well no. Technic-" You cut the older man off.

"'Uh well no'," you mocked. "Lemme guess, he would've been the easiest way?"

"Now, Miss Y/n, there is no need to be so aggressive. I'm sure we can figure everything out. Our enemy, DIO, has a lackey-" 

You cut Avdol off as well.

"DIO? God? In Italian? What kind of narcissist names their kid 'God' in Italian?"

You gave a snort before falling into a fit of mocking laughter. Your humor was short lived, though, as Jotaro finally spoke up. Or shouted I guess.

"Can you shut up? Good grief, all you do is yap! God, all you women are the same."

You stopped your laughter to stare at the teen clad in black, sizing him up. It was a tense couple of minutes, an unstoppable force and an unmovable object locked in a stubborn standoff.

After a bit, you let out a chuckle and let your head fall back to face the sky.  You watched the clouds for a second before sighing.

"You know, Joots," You catch him visibly tense from the nickname. "I see why you become a marine biologist in the future. The ocean is powerful and terrifying. It's been like that from the beginning. My friend often describes me like the ocean, although, unlike the tides, who have decided to kill you millions of years ago," You bring your hand up near your face before clenching it into a fist, shimmering from the effects of your Stand. "I still haven't made up my mind."

Jotaro's face turns sour in fear for a split second before returning to the default steely glare. You watched in amusement as his Stand began to manifest, but the hesitation you saw in the purple being's eyes told you all you needed to know.

Jotaro was, at the very least, cautious of you.

But also curious.

You managed to make full contact with Hierophant Green, something no one can do unless a Stand is initiating the contact. Kakyoin also couldn't see you, so how could it've climbed up you? Stand don't act on their own violations.

You also mentioned the future Jotaro. He becomes a marine biologist? And one famous enough to be known by teenagers? Jotaro can't even name a famous marine biologist.

He figured killing you know would be disastrous, there was still much to learn from you. Maybe you held knowledge that once came with hindsight.

"Nice to see we're in agreement." Jotaro gruffed out, allowing Star Platinum to fully dissipate.

A small smile graced your features as you extended the same hand you threatened him with.

"Well then, a truce. Until we decide to kill each other." 

Jotaro nodded and took your hand, allowing a handshake to secure your mortalities.

For now.

"MON DIEU! I THOUGHT SHE WAS DEAD!" Polnareff wailed suddenly, startling the group.

Tension rolled off all of you as Avdol let out a sigh of relief. "I am quite surprised you are alive as well. Not many people can insult Jotaro and walk away intact, Y/n."

You chuckled and waved off the man's concern. "I may only have six brain cells, but I'm not stupid. He wouldn't do shit. Not without knowing what I can do."

"Is that so?" Jotaro let a small smirk slip out. It's hard not to grin when you were acting stupid.

You nodded and hummed in agreement. "I like to think I'm good at reading people."

Jotaro only scoffed and rolled his eyes, although there was an inset glimmer of amusement deep with those cerulean orbs.

"So what exactly does your Stand do?" Mr. Joestar asked the elephant in the room.

"Hmm? Oh, my Stand. Okay, so, here's the thing. My Stand is actually really weak." You confessed.

"My Stand, Chemical Romance, is only really good for getting info from people. I'm often called in to the Speedwagon Foundation to help with interrogations. My Stand allows me to talk to and understand other Stands. All those unintelligible noises your Stand makes are actually your soul trying to communicate, and Chem translates them for me. Even silent Stands or Stands with no humanoid form." You glanced at Mr. Joestar. "I can also touch and interact with them, like I did for Hierophant Green. Also, and we think this might just be a radius effect, but Stands become more sentient around me. They think for themselves."

And….. just like that you lost them. It's hard to understand  such complex Stands when all they know is Many Punch, Tasteful Nudes, French Sword, Fire Bird, and Shiny Rock.

"So… You can't actually follow through with your previous threats?" Kakyoin asked cautiously.

"Excuse you! Just who in the hell do you think you are? I am a whole ass person shaped can of whoop ass and no weak ass Stand or Death Parade wannabe looking ass is going to beat me!" You pumped your fist in the air again.

"Whew- That's the sort of can-do attitude our team needs." Mr. Joestar chuckled. "Wait, that wouldn't be a bad idea!"

"Oh ho? Does the great Joseph Joestar have an idea? Careful, Old Man, thinking can hurt ya." You joked.

"No no no no no hear me out. You need to get back to the future, we need to stop DIO from murdering everybody and taking over the world." Mr. Joestar explained. "We both have to get to Cairo for DIO! Join us! You and your Stand are really useful!"

Surprise crossed your face before slipping back to its usual cool façade.

"Nah, I was kind of digging the idea of shriveling up dead in the desert. Although~" you drawled. "I guess, if you're so desperate for my help. It would be immoral for me not to help you, you're so old, even thinking about fighting DIO is going to trigger a heart attack."

You snorted out a laugh and Mr. Joestar did chuckle a bit before you realized something.

"Sooo. Who exactly DIO? Other than some bitch who wants to take over the world." 

As quickly as a light flicking out of existence, the once humorous and airy atmosphere of the group became tense and tragic. The utter rage, disgust, and hatred for this mysterious man was palpable. Even the fun and boisterous Jean-Pierre Polnareff extruded murderous intent.

"DIO is a very bad man." Avdol broke the silence, but found himself unable to say more.

"Thanks for the life lesson, Dad," you spit sarcastically. "No. Who is he and what might he have done to sound so familiar."

"DIO is a monster that was created by greed and a lust for power. He is a vampire who ruthlessly slaughtered those who took him in when he was orphaned at the age of twelve." Mr. Joestar explained grimly. "He rejected his humanity to become something monstrous and immortal, but even now, that wasn't enough for him."

"He's notorious throughout the Speedwagon Foundation, whose founder fought him a hundred years ago. I wouldn't doubt it if his story still circulated in your years, Y/n." Avdol completed.

"All of us are here now because of DIO. Polnareff and I were under his control because of a flesh bud, Advol was almost conned into the same situation, and Jotaro's mother, Joseph's daughter, is under attack by her own Stand because it was forcibly awoken by him." Kakyoin said, then shot you a soft smile. "And I guess you as well."

"Oh yeah! Eli did mention they were looking for a girl who could strengthen DIO's Stand, so I guess he is why you're here!" Polnareff's smile returned to his face at the prospect of making a new friend who was in the same boat as them.

"Y'know, think back on it, I do vaguely remember my friend mentioning your mom, Joots." That damned nickname again. "Stand Sickness is what we call it now. That might be where I know DIO from." You shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. "Anywho, now that that's settled, can we get out of the desert? I'm roasting to death."

"Oh! Of course! We have to get to the next town before nightfall anyways. To the car!" Mr. Joestar cheered.

You all piled into the three rowed vehicle. Jotaro and Polnareff sat in the way back, you and Kakyoin sat in the middle, with Mr. Joestar and Avdol occupying the front.

The road to the next town was filled with fill ins. They explained how they came together and how they defeated their foes that found them at every turn. You spoke of how the world has changed and advanced. You showed them your music and all the apps on your phone. You found that you were still connected to your home wifi at full strength, but you couldn't comment or post anything. All true contact to those in the future was cut off, but you could still consume media.

As the dust and corpse was left behind, you could feel the newly forged bonds between you and the men around you strengthen and grow, becoming more entangled and intertwined. And you felt happy about it.

[myheartrevealedocs]

Untouchable Ch 25: Minimal Loss (S4E3)

[TW!!] Warnings: (This is the same content as found in the episode, so if you’ve seen it, don’t worry too much, but I find this one to deal with multiple sensitive topics at once, and I don’t gloss over it all, like I often do, so be careful) mentions of rape and pedophilia, depictions of torture, cults, murder-suicide

Ch 24 | Ch 26

A/N: Okay, so I’m four days late on posting this, but this is quite possibly the longest chapter I’ve posted, so hopefully that makes up for it?

~ ~ ~

Lydia’s family stayed for about a week, attached to Lydia at the hip the whole time. She loved her sister dearly and was glad to have some time with her father, but she could barely breathe by the time she was taking them to the airport. As she explained to Spencer, she was merely frustrated they didn’t give her any heads up.

Luckily, they left before her teaching schedule came back into full swing at the university. It was nice to get back into her routine and see some of her students and coworkers who were worried about her. She didn’t realize how close she’d gotten to the people there until the letters, phone calls, emails, and gifts started flooding in, telling her to take it easy and get back soon.

And then, in October, Hotch finally gave her a call for a case.

It was small, but she wanted to get out of her apartment so bad.

Hotch was sending Lydia and Prentiss to Colorado where there was a claim against a separation church leader raping young girls.

Spencer wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear Lydia was leaving, but the whole thing was fairly straight-forward: interview the kids, determine what they could about the cult itself, then see if there was reason to shut them down. Hotch knew that there wasn’t going to be any extraneous activity, so it was a perfect start to reintroducing Lydia to the field. Not to mention, she was very perceptive and a master manipulator.

“Tell us about the 911 call,” she said as she flipped through a file on the people of the church.

Emily was in the front seat with Nancy Lunde, from Child Protective Services. She was the head of the case and had the most prior knowledge on the group itself. “I believe the ‘he’ that they referred to is the church’s leader, Benjamin Cyrus.”

“Benjamin Cyrus,” Lydia mumbled, flipping to his page. “No criminal record. No record at all, really. I doubt it’s a real name. Correct me if I’m wrong, Emily, but Cyrus is a biblical name. A monarch. I’m seeing some subtle messages in there.”

“It translates to ‘sun’ in persian,” Emily agreed. “What else do you know about him?”

Lunde shook her head. “It’s rumored that he’s practicing polygamy and forced marriages,” she said, but it sounded more like a question than a statement.

“Any idea who the caller is?”

“Uh, Jessica Evanson is the one who the age fits, but… we can’t be sure. So I negotiated interviews with all the children. It wasn’t easy.”

“Well, considering their view on outsiders, it would be best if you didn’t identify us as FBI,” Emily explained and Lydia got to work on their covers. She took their guns, holsters, and badges, hiding them in the door of the car and handed Emily two fake IDs. “Just use our real names and introduce us as child victim interview experts.”

The Bureau had made them brand new drivers licences and CPS badges with Colorado addresses to complete their cover stories.

All too soon, they were approaching the front gate. The sign read ‘Liberty Church Ranch’ with a large cross beside it.

It was hot outside and Lydia could feel the dust coating her nose and throat as she exited the car, approaching a set of stairs leading up to the church.

“I’m looking for Mr. Benjamin Cyrus?” Lunde called to a figure on the steps.

“You found him.”

Cyrus wore a light flannel and jeans, with reading glasses perched on his nose and a book in his lap. Lydia had to hold herself back from calling him out on framing the scene. Oh, look how kind and relaxed we are. Our leader sits outside and reads books all day blahblahblahbl-

Open mind, Lydia.

“I’m Nancy Lunde. We spoke on the phone regarding the allegation.”

He got up and approached the three of them. “‘Savages they call us. ‘Cause our manners differ from theirs.’”

“We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr. Cyrus,” the red-headed woman huffed.

“Actually, that’s Benjamin Franklin,” he sneered.

Nancy ignored this, and began introducing them. “Emily Prentiss, Lydia Ambers. They’re child victim interview experts.”

“How far from God’s word must we have strayed for there to be the need to invent a job called child victim interview expert?” Cyrus wondered.

“We wish we didn’t have to be here,” Emily said.

“So do we. But you are welcome, nonetheless. The children are in the school as I indicated.”

“Thank you.”

Lydia nodded and followed Emily off to the school building.

~ ~ ~

Jessica Evanson was not the kid they were looking for. Lydia could tell the moment she walked into the interview room. She was completely calm, the perfect child. Her hair was neatly brushed back, her polo shirt well ironed, and her hands folded neatly in front of her.

Her mother, Kathy, stood beside her, petting her hair gently, as if to reassure her, but Jessica clearly didn’t need it. She wasn’t intimidated by their presence at all.

“We go to school. We do our chores. And we treat ourselves and each other with the respect God demands.”

Emily sat across from her, conducting the interview, and Lydia stood beside her.

“But you’ve never been off of the ranch?” Emily asked.

“I brought Jessie here when she was two,” Kathy explained.

Jessica clearly was not having any of this. “You’ve talked to lots of children in your work. Tell me, are their lives somehow better than ours?”

“We devote ourselves to God,” Kathy continued. “That doesn’t mean we’re not devoted to our children.”

“We are not here because of your religious beliefs,” Emily reasoned.

“Why are you here?” Jessica demanded.

She was starting to become hostile. She grew up in a cult that taught her to hate outsiders, so Lydia couldn’t blame her for her behavior. But her mother was clearly a peacemaker, so where did she learn it from? It wasn’t defiance from her family, because that would put her against the group, not for it.

“We received a phone call alleging that an adult male member of your church was having inappropriate relations with the younger women here.”

“You’re talking about Cyrus,” she responded, almost immediately.

“What makes you say that?” Emily asked.

Her mother immediately became defensive, trying to get her daughter to be quiet, but Jessica was still determined to make a point.

“Is it inappropriate for a husband to share a bed with his wife?”

Lydia’s eyes shot open. His what?

“You are married to Cyrus?” Emily spoke slowly, as if worried that the question would escalate the situation, but Jessica stayed proper in stance, if not in tongue.

“Yes. Cyrus is my husband and a prophet. It’s an honor to bear his children.”

It took everything in Lydia not to look disgusted by the thought and keep the interview going. “Jessica, you aren’t old enough to get married without parental consent.”

Emily nodded at the mother. “She gave consent.”

Before anyone could continue, a loud sound from outside got their attention. There was some yelling and suddenly Cyrus and a few other men were rushing in, machine guns in hand.

Lydia let her shock show on her face. Not just that they had the weapons, but that they would carry them around a school where CPS workers were present.

“Get up!” Cyrus demanded, turning on her and Emily. “Get up! Move!”

On the other side of the room, Nancy was entertaining the other kids. “What’s going on?” she asked softly.

“We just got a very strange phone call from a news reporter,” Cyrus began and a man walked around Emily and started to pat her down for weapons.

They were both unarmed, but Lydia was starting to regret that. These men were clearly threatened by their presence. What the hell had happened?

Another man walked around to check her and unceremoniously smacked her in the side, causing her to wince involuntarily. Cyrus clearly noticed this, but said nothing, continuing on with his point.

“Is there anything you want to tell me? About a raid, maybe?”

She and Emily exchanged a concerned look. A raid? They weren’t prepared for that. They had checked in with the state before joining child services to the ranch, there shouldn’t have been a raid on this church.

Luckily for them, Cyrus took their concern for fear and nodded. “They don’t know,” he determined. “Bring them along.”

A man grabbed Lydia’s arm and dragged her across the room, where another armed man was opening a hatch in the wall. A tunnel. A few guards went first, then they started ushering the people in. Women with their kids, Nancy, Emily, and Lydia all surrounded by machine guns, leaping into a dark hole underneath the church.

The passage underneath the buildings was too thin to walk side by side, so the guards let them go on by themselves.

“What’s going on?” Nancy whispered to the two FBI members ahead of her.

“We’re not sure yet,” Emily hissed. “Just stay calm.”

As they reached a large opening directly underneath the chapel, they could hear gunfire from above ground.

Prentiss pulled Lydia aside, trying to get as far away from the crowd as possible. “If this escalates, Cyrus is going to put this place on lockdown. The FBI is going to be in charge of negotiations as long as we’re inside. Do you know the Critical Incident Response Group handbook?”

Lydia shook her head quickly. God, it would be helpful if Spencer were here. He probably knew that book front and back. Lydia didn’t know what she was doing.

“Okay.” Emily fumbled, trying to determine what was important for Lydia to know before they had to revert back to their covers. “CIRG will bug all the windows and anything else they can get to. So, anything you need them to know, find a way to say it out loud. Keep the inside members talking. We won’t be able to know what the team already knows so tell them everything. If there are blinds on a window, they might be blocking the sound, so try and get them out of the way before speaking.”

“Best hope it doesn’t come to that,” Lydia argued, but the sound of the gunfire overhead was diminishing her hopes of getting out any time soon. She just hoped Spencer didn’t know what was going on.

At the sound of Cyrus’s voice, the two girls stepped away from one another, trying to blend in with the crowd.

“Alright! Move quietly! Quickly, go to the left! Everybody stay together!” he ordered, pushing his way through the room. “Children, listen to your parents. Have faith.”

“Where did these guns come from?” Emily whispered hurriedly and Lydia glanced around her to see what she was looking at.

Wooden crates lined the walls, each labelled as bullets or magazines. Leaning into the corners were more machine guns. Buckets of them.

“I thought Garcia checked with the state police to see if they were involved in…” Lydia trailed off, not sure how to frame the inquiry, but luckily Emily was on the same page.

“Someone lied to us. You don’t just lose track of these weapons, not when you’re already watching this group.”

“At least the raid is unrelated to the FBI,” Lydia reasoned. “Our cover is still intact. But you’re right… someone from the Colorado government just ruined their career. Once we’re back in Quantico, Hotch is going to lose his shit.”

Lunde approached the two of them once more. “This is ridiculous,” she sneered.

“It’s okay,” Emily tried again. “Just calm down.”

Cyrus continued to reassure his followers, telling them that God would look out for them as long as they stayed calm.

Once he had disappeared, Nancy was arguing with them once more. “It’s the state police. I’m an officer of the state.”

“Well, there’s nothing we can do right now.”

“I can talk to him.”

“No!” Emily rushed after her but Nancy was already halfway through the crowd of people. “You can’t. It’s dangerous. Nancy, stop!”

The woman rushed out of the room and before the two of them could follow, one of the guards blocked their way. The other went after Nancy, but she was booking it back up to the ground level of the chapel.

Shit. This was starting to look… bad.

She stood next to Emily at the front of the group, anxiously waiting for the battle to cease, but the hail of bullets above them never slowed. After a minute or two, Cyrus came stumbling back down the stairs.

“Do not fear! We are on the side of the righteous.”

Behind him was the guard that went after Nancy, but no Nancy herself.

“Where’s Lunde?” Emily asked him.

“It wasn’t us.”

“What?!” Lydia screeched, then quickly lowered her voice, seeing the attention she had attracted. “You can’t shoot it out with the cops! You have children here!”

“I didn’t start this,” Cyrus argued back.

Emily was clearly distraught watching him reload his gun, then take off with the rest of the men to the roof.

“The BAU is coming,” she whispered.

~ ~ ~

“Reid!”

JJ’s voice reached Spencer from the center of the bullpen and he looked up from his email curiously. “Hm?”

Her eyes were on the TV she was in the process of starting up and he noticed that Morgan was also looking up at it intently. It lit up in the middle of a news report.

“...a routine questions and answers meeting by Colorado child services-”

Colorado… that’s where Lydia and Prentiss were…

“-has turned into a violent and deadly standoff between Colorado authorities and a fringe religious group known as the Separtarian Sect.”

Spencer jumped up, joining Morgan and JJ in the middle of the room, his mind still not coming to terms with what was happening.

“JJ,” Morgan breathed, standing up, his eyes not leaving the TV, “That’s not the ranch where Prentiss and Ambers-”

“They’re still inside,” she said, softly.

Spencer’s legs almost gave out underneath him.

“HOTCH!” Morgan screamed.

The unit chief was rushing out a moment later to see what was going on, but Spencer didn’t pay him any attention. His eyes were glued to the screen in front of him. Where’s Lydia? Where’s Lydia? Where’s Lydia???

“...While no one knows for sure how many people are inside, it is believed that at least three of the child service members are still trapped within the compound.”

~ ~ ~

Spencer sat on the couch of the jet, his head in his hands, listening intently to the ongoing news report on Morgan’s laptop.

“...turned deadly when the Colorado state police officers tried to serve a warrant. Colorado Attorney General Jim Wells says the reclusive cult has been the subject of a 6-month weapons investigation.”

“Six months,” Morgan repeated. “We didn’t check?”

“No. We checked,” JJ argued. “I had ATF call Wells. He told ATF there were no pending state investigations. He lied.”

“Why?” Rossi demanded.

“Wells is challenging the governor in the next election. He thought that ATF was about to poach his big election-launching weapons bust,” JJ explained. “Now, it’s clear he didn’t know there were FBI agents there. He just thought the best time to serve a state warrant was when the kids were safe inside the school being interviewed.”

“Agent,” Spencer corrected quietly, his head finally lifting from his own grasp.

“What was that?” JJ asked.

“There aren’t ‘FBI agents’ in there. There’s only one.”

It seemed to slip everyone’s mind that Lydia wasn’t an agent. They looked around nervously, noticing the edge in Spencer’s voice as he corrected them. Hotch was the first one to speak up.

“Ambers may not be an agent, but she’s not a civilian, Reid. She can look out for herself.”

“The FBI only worries about their own,” Spencer hissed.

“She is one of our own,” Morgan fired back. “We’re going to get her out of there, just like Prentiss.”

“Just like all of the hostages,” Hotch continued.

Not wanting to argue more, Spencer nodded at him, then jumped up from his seat and walked to the back of the plane, unable to listen to any more. The media wouldn’t be able to tell him what he wanted to know, anyway.

“Hey, Spence,” JJ called as she approached him at the refreshment table. “I know you’re worried about Lydia, but we need your help on this case. You gotta stay focused, okay?”

“JJ, she’s in the middle of a deadly standoff and she’s still recovering from getting shot last May. Injured tissue takes months to repair itself and it’s going to take even longer for her to regain abdominal strength.”

“I’m sure that she’s safe inside the church with the other hostages.”

“Even if that’s true, I-” He shook his head. “I always seem to be away from her when she needs me most. When that bomb went off in Annandale, when Sonia had a stroke, when Frank got her… Why does it always feel like I can’t reach her?”

JJ sighed, contemplating his question. “I don’t know, Spence. I wish I did.”

~ ~ ~

Once the police had fallen back, Cyrus brought the two of them into a seperate room. Clearly he wasn’t sure how to deal with outsiders being barricaded in with his people. As him and his men tried to assess the damage done to the church and get people back inside, Emily was prepping Lydia for the worst.

“Don’t antagonize them,” she tried to reason. “I know you’re not a fan, but we need to know everything we can. They won’t tell you anything if they don’t think they can trust you.”

“There are two ways to find things out, Em.”

“What are you talking about?” Her voice was sprinkled with annoyance. Emily knew that Lydia tended to be very blunt. She didn’t need to worry about Cyrus killing Lydia when she was supposed to be helping the team get these people out.

“You keep Cyrus’s favor. But someone here doesn’t believe him, or else we wouldn’t have gotten that phone call. They’re going to seek us out.”

It wasn’t a terrible plan, she realized. One of them learn from the higher ups, the other speak to the underdogs. “You want to play two different sides?”

Lydia nodded. “For the time being.”

“Okay. That means we have to distance ourselves, though. Act unfamiliar with one another.”

“Brief me faster, then.”

She was on top of it from that point on. “The hostage negotiator’s job is to slowly get the women and children out. They want as few innocent people inside when they raid. But if they think anyone inside is in danger, they’ll come in, no matter what. We can speak to them through the mics on the windows, but they have no way of talking to us. So if we need to know anything, they’ll tell us through other means. Look out for signs from them. They’ll be listening to our every word…”

~ ~ ~

Hotch had put Rossi in charge of being the lead negotiator, in the hopes that he was both objective enough to not be blinded by his care for Prentiss and Ambers, but also knew them well enough to predict how they’d react while still inside.

Frankly, Spencer wasn’t sure he could do either. He hoped that Lydia would play it safe, but a part of him knew that she was just too impulsive.

The entire team gathered around as Rossi made his first call to the church, waiting to find out what happened to their friends.

“You killed my mommy and daddy. Are you going to kill me too?”

A kid. A little girl had answered the phone. It wasn’t surprising that Cyrus had set something like this up, but it was frustrating nonetheless.

“No one is going to kill you, honey,” Rossi said calmly.

Then, there was a shift. A new voice. “This is Benjamin Cyrus. Who am I talking to?”

“David Rossi. I’m an FBI agent. We sent the state police away. There’s just us and the local sheriff. All we wanna do is resolve this before anyone else gets hurt.”

“Then leave us alone.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Benjamin. One of the police bled out on the way to the hospital. So let’s just stop this before things get worse. Please, just put down your guns and come out.”

“We’re believers, Dave. We believe God says what he means and means what he says. His laws don’t depend on what state you live in.”

“I have no issue with your beliefs.”

“You don’t, but the state does.”

This was taking too long. Spencer needed to make sure they were okay. He needed to make sure Lydia was okay.

“I can’t answer for other people.”

“Oh, God will answer for everyone in the final battle I’ve foreseen.”

“That’s why I’m here. To make sure that this is not that battle.”

“We shall see.”

“Now, the three child service workers...” 

“One of them is dead.”

Everyone’s heads shot up. Dead. Dead…

“It wasn’t us.”

Rossi leaned away from the phone, trying to take in a deep breath before continuing. “I need a name to inform the family.”

“Her name was Nancy Lunde.”

The relief between them was almost a solid entity, letting their eyelids hang heavy as they realized neither of their friends had died. But someone had.

“Okay. Now, please, Benjamin, send out your wounded. I promise you they’ll be well taken care of.”

“With enough supplies we can tend to our own.”

“Okay. I need a few hours to put it together. I’ll bring them up myself at first light.”

With news that supplies was coming, Cyrus hung up the phone and the rest of the team was left to ponder what to do now.

~ ~ ~

Lydia and Emily didn’t know much about their situation until the next morning. Everyone was assembled in the chapel to pray. Cyrus had sent the two of them to the end of a row of chairs, trapped in by the wall. Not that there was any point in running anyway. There were men at all exits, guns at the ready.

A soft knocking came from the church entrance and to Lydia’s surprise, Cyrus opened the door. It was difficult to see at first, with all the armed men surrounding him, but after a moment of discussion, Lydia was able to make out Rossi walking through the front door, a box of bandages in his arms.

Despite everything Emily had told her, Lydia could feel a twist in her heart. The BAU was right outside. Spencer was here.

Dear lord, he was never going to let her leave their apartment again.

Lydia reminded herself to steady her facial expressions. Cyrus had no suspicions of their connection to the FBI yet and she wasn’t about to give him any. She silently prayed that whatever Rossi was bringing in was bugged, so that she wouldn’t have to make sure all the important dialogue happened by a window.

They took his supplies, patted him down, and then Cyrus walked him down the center isle. Lydia couldn’t make out much of their conversation, but it seemed like Rossi was trying to convince Cyrus to let some people go.

Their discussion took all of about 30 seconds, then Cyrus was ushering him back out the door. With Rossi gone, Cyrus started giving instructions to his right hand man, Cole, then indicated for Lydia and Emily to get up.

The two of them exchanged a look before standing and walking to the back of the chapel.

“We’re going to have communion,” Cyrus informed them. “Feel free to stand and watch for the time being.”

They nodded politely, noticing Cole at the front with a jug of wine and stacks of plastic cups. A few of the men went around, passing them out while Cyrus poured each person a sip of wine.

“We are celebrating,” he announced. “Everyone drinks. Everyone rejoices. Because today we are one day closer to being with Him.”

“Look at Jessica’s body language,” Emily whispered. “The way she looks at him.”

Lydia nodded. “She literally worships him. There’s no way she made that 911 call.”

“Trust in God with all your heart. Lean not on your own understandings. Trust in mine.”

As Cyrus kept talking, Kathy stood up and walked over to the row her daughter was sitting in, leaning over her and speaking quietly. Jessica tried multiple times to nod and turn her attention back to Cyrus, but her mother kept talking.

“Look at how she comes between Cyrus and her daughter,” Emily continued. “She’s inserted herself between them.”

“Acknowledge Him in all things and He will guide your way. Drink to acknowledge him and I will guide our way.”

Everyone lifted their cups together and followed Cyrus in raising it to their mouths. Men, women, and children alike drank the entirety of their share and watched him intently.

“We will be with him soon. We have drank the poison together.”

Lydia was almost too distracted by the audience's reactions to comprehend what this meant. Some seemed completely calm, maybe even relieved. While others gasped or looked around wildly. It was easy to see a line between the diehard believers and the… less-so believers.

“Mothers… Fathers… Children… Though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we fear no evil. For thou art with us. And God will wipe the tears from their eyes, and there will be no more death nor sorrow nor crying. And there will be no more pain. For all of the former things have passed away.”

Some families grouped together, mothers holding tight to their kids. A few of the loners cried silently while the rest nodded to Cyrus in admiration. It was a wild array of people he’d collected.

“What do we do?” Emily hissed.

Lydia blinked, beginning to realize that the team was probably thinking the same thing. They wanted to save these people. If the bugs were working, they could hear Cyrus announce their imminent death.

“I don’t think he’s telling the truth,” Lydia admitted, looking Emily in the eyes.

She looked frantic. Her instinct to help was kicking in, but there was no way for her to act on it. “What makes you so sure?”

“Look at Cole.” She nodded up to the stage. “He’s writing in a notebook. I think Cyrus told him to make note of the people who had a bad reaction to the news.”

Emily’s gaze followed that of Lydia’s. At that point, both Cole and Cyrus were scanning the crowd. “They’re writing down the names of the people who are crying,” Emily realized.

“It’s a loyalty list,” Lydia finished out. “He wants to know who will follow him to the end.”

“Be still.” Cyrus’s voice broke through their conversation just in time to confirm their theories. “There was no poison. Instead a test of faith. Because your adversary, the Devil, walketh about as a roaring lion! Choosing whom he may devour. Watch each other for signs of weakness. You are your brother’s keeper.”

“What’s he going to do with those that the Devil has devoured?” Lydia asked slowly, but Emily shook her head, not ready to consider it yet.

~ ~ ~

“You exhausted yet?” Emily asked jokingly as the two of them lay up against the stone walls of the basement. Cyrus had brought the two of them back down there a few hours ago and left them on their own.

“You’ll excuse me if I didn't get much sleep last night,” Lydia shot back. “A cement bomb shelter isn’t exactly my idea of comfort.”

“No kidding.” She was on the opposite wall, one leg propped up on the wooden bench she had taken. “You should try to get some sleep now. We don’t know how long we’ll be here. I’d rather have you well rested when the raid starts.”

“I would try, but-”

They swiftly stopped their discussion as the sound of footsteps echoed through the halls. Cyrus was at the door and he looked pissed.

“Ambers. Stand up.”

Her and Emily shared a curious look, but she did as he said and got up from her bench.

“Lift up your shirt,” he ordered.

“What the hell?” she demanded, but Cyrus had already stepped between her and Emily, reaching for the hem of her shirt and pulling it up above her waist. “Hey! what are you-?”

“That’s what I thought,” he grumbled. “Child interviewers don’t often get shot, do they?”

Lydia glanced down nervously at the bullet wound on her side. She had seen the weird look he gave her when his men had searched her and hit it painfully, but she never would have thought it would lead to blowing her cover.

“I don’t know why you…”

Dropping the front of her shirt, he reached up and grabbed a chunk of her hair, pulling her head back painfully. “We just got word that there was an undercover FBI agent in our midst. Care to explain that?”

Lydia hissed through gritted teeth. “What do you want?”

“You’re not CPS, are you?”

His grip was getting stronger by the minute. She didn’t like the idea of blowing her cover, but he already knew it was one of them. Might as well let him think it was only her.

“No. You were right,” she admitted. “I work for the FBI.”

Now, Lydia didn’t expect him to thank her for her honesty and let her go, but it still came as a shock when he walked off, while still holding her hair. Her feet were immediately yanked out from underneath her, not prepared enough to steady herself, but Cyrus just kept going, not deterred in the slightest by her weight.

Lydia groaned, her hands wrapped around his wrist in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure, but it did very little. Luckily he didn’t take her very far, throwing her down on the ground inside a nearby supply closet.

“I told you not to put me in this position!”

She moved to look up at him, but he was faster, swinging an arm up to her chin and knocking her down onto her back. Upon her next attempt to stand, she received a swift kick in the stomach.

“Ugh.” Her left side lit on fire in an instant and she stayed on the ground, her arms and legs wrapping protectively around her abdomen.

“Get up!” Cyrus sneered.

He reached for one of her arms and pulled her to her feet. Lydia flinched away from him as he threw an arm above his head and brought it down against the side of her face. There was a mirror on the wall behind her which shattered as her right arm moved to steady herself.

“Proverbs 20:30 tells us blows and wounds cleanse away evil.” As he said this, he held her still against the broken mirror so that she could see herself.

It wasn’t until she physically saw the blood dripping from her nose that she could taste its warmth on the edges of her mouth. The temple that he hit was tinged pink, but from the way it ached, Lydia knew it would be a dark purple by evening. And her right arm, which was still lodged in the remaining pieces of the mirror was staining the white sleeve of her shirt.

She shrieked as he threw her backwards again, running into the shelf of canned goods against the opposite wall.

The BAU is listening, she remembered. And Emily said that if they thought someone was in danger, they’d begin the raid.

They needed to prepare. They hadn’t gotten any of the children out yet. If the team could hear her and decided to come in prematurely, a lot of people would die. Lydia wasn’t about to let that happen.

There was a window towards the back of the closet she was in. She could only hope that Spencer was listening.

“Careful.” Her voice was shaky and unconvincing, but she made sure Cyrus saw the anger in her eyes. This message wasn’t for him. “Hit me too hard and everyone will see the bruises on your knuckles.”

“No one is going to care,” he replied calmly. “You came here to shut us down! I’m protecting them!”

“From me?” Her laugh came out almost maniacal with her bruised stomach and battered jaw. “I’m fine! I got bruises on my knuckles too! I can take it!”

“Pride comes before the fall.”

His next blow sent her into the metal shelf again, this time her skull ricocheting against one of the sides and knocking her to the floor. She was just able to see a few drops of blood land on the ground below her, though she couldn’t identify where exactly on her face they came from, before her arms shakily gave out and her cheek hit the cold cement.

She prayed silently to whoever may be listening that Spencer understood. She really hoped she didn’t face all that torment in vain.

~ ~ ~

“We’ve got audio!” Morgan called from across their tent set up.

Spencer ran as fast as he could to the panel controlling the microphone feedback, throwing on a set of headphones.

Hotch hadn’t let him do anything for the past day, claiming he was the most emotionally involved in the situation. And although he couldn’t argue with that fact, it killed him to sit and listen. Lydia was right there. She was in the building just over that hill. And he wasn’t allowed to see her, talk to her, call her, save her.

When the fact that an FBI agent was in the church hit the news, Spencer felt an anchor drop to the bottom of his stomach. She wasn’t even an agent. There was nothing to suggest Cyrus would target her. But his instincts screamed that Emily wouldn’t be the one in danger.

And unfortunately, he was right. When he set those headphones over his ears, he immediately recognized Lydia’s voice. She was moaning in pain.

“We gotta go in,” Hotch said, but Rossi stopped him from throwing off his headphones.

“We’d be risking the lives of everyone in there.”

“Get up!” Cyrus’s words were followed by a crashing noise, like glass shattering.

Please be okay. Please don’t let it be as bad as it sounds.

“Proverbs 20:30 tells us blows and wounds cleanse away evil.”

There was more struggling over the line and Spencer threw off his headphones, unable to bear it any more. She was in pain. He knew this would happen.

“How could you let this happen?” he demanded of Hotch. “We have to go in! She’s not-”

“Sh! Sh!” Rossi hissed, one hand over his earpiece, the other between the unit chief and the boy.

Both looked at him confused, but he just kept listening silently.

“Everyone will see the bruises on your knuckles,” he finally recited. “Does that mean anything to you?”

Spencer didn’t answer, but put his headphones back on swiftly.

“-protecting them!”

“From me?” Lydia’s laugh sounded more like a wail over the mic. “I’m fine! I got bruises on my knuckles too! I can take it!”

“She’s antagonizing him!” Morgan exclaimed, frustratedly.

“She’s not talking to him,” Rossi argued.

“Pride comes before the fall.”

There was one more grunt, then the line went quiet. When Spencer finally breathed in again, all eyes were on him.

“She gets bruises on her knuckles when she lets off steam on a case,” he explained quietly. “I always worry for her, but she says she’d rather hurt her hands for a little bit then do something rash or detrimental on a case.”

“So what she’s saying is-”

“Don’t come in,” he finished begrudgingly. “She’s telling us not to go in.”

~ ~ ~

Cole had to basically carry her to one of the upstairs bedrooms. Every breath was agony for her lungs and a violent sting for her nose and mouth. And she figured it was psychosomatic, but her bullet wound hurt as if she’d just been shot yet again.

Who would have thought this whole hostage thing could get ten times worse?

Cole tied her arms to the sides of the bed, though frankly, she didn’t think she’d have the abdominal strength to sit back up anyway. And she didn’t want to try.

Kathy Evanson came by with a washcloth to clean the blood away from her nose, mouth, and temple. She tried to warn Lydia against lying to Cyrus, to which Lydia snapped back, “Do you speak from personal experience?”

Kathy didn’t say another word before standing up and leaving. It was a clear sign that she was hiding something and Lydia could only hope Emily caught onto that too. ‘Cause Lydia… she wasn’t going anywhere fast.

Downstairs, Cyrus had pulled Emily into his office, using some of his only medical supplies to disinfect the tiny abrasions in his hand from his fight with Lydia.

“Did you know she was FBI?” he demanded, as Cole shut the door behind the three of them.

Emily quickly shook her head, but her heart was in her stomach with fear for Lydia. Lydia was strong. She could take a lot. But she was also far too defiant to make this easy on herself. Emily silently wished she’d been smart.

“Nancy told me the woman was a child abuse interview expert from Denver.” Emily hated to put the blame on someone else, but Cyrus couldn’t hurt Nancy anymore. Nancy was gone. Lydia was still here and if Emily made her sound worse, it could fuel Cyrus’s anger towards her. “In the 4 years I worked with her, Nancy had never lied to me before.”

“As far as you know,” Cyrus replied. “Their law says that a 15-year-old girl is a child. Fifty years ago, that same law said a 14-year-old was an adult. Have children changed so much in 50 years?”

No, but people have, Emily thought. It was frustrating. Hotch had chosen Lydia because she was so good at acting calm. At least… in the workplace. She could have any unsub they met trust her entirely, or keep them constantly on their toes. Now, Emily could act, but she couldn’t do that.

If anyone’s cover should have been blown, it should have been hers. Emily knew more about CIRG protocols. She could diffuse a situation. Acting like she wasn’t totally disgusted by Cyrus’s morals was not in her skill set.

“I think it’s a matter of trust. People have stopped believing that kids can make good decisions, they’ve stopped believing in selfless acts, and they stopped putting their trust and faith into God.”

Her appeal seemed to work. Cyrus looked intrigued. She hoped it would hold long enough to make a good argument in her favor. Now was the perfect time to build up Cyrus’s trust with the FBI, because he had brought in the medical supplies Rossi had given them. There was absolutely no way that the BAU wasn’t listening.

“On your next call, you should test them. Test the negotiator. Make him prove that he isn’t a liar.”

“How would you suggest I do that?”

“Ask for the identity of the FBI agent.”

Cole looked unamused. “No. We already know her identity.”

Emily opened her mouth to respond, but Cyrus beat her to it. “They don’t know that.”

“Yeah. But the FBI would never tell us.”

“They keep asking you to release people,” Emily argued. “Tell them you’ll release a kid and you won’t harm the agent. If they really care about the children, they’ll have to tell you.”

“You’re trying to get us to release a child!” Cole accused.

“It’s one kid! If they don’t hold up on their end of the deal, then you know they can’t be trusted!”

“She has a point,” Cyrus conceded much to Emily’s relief. “What is it, Christopher?”

Emily glanced over her shoulder to find Cole pacing the room.

“Some people have been talking about… leaving.”

“Leaving?”

“Yeah.”

Cyrus glanced at his hands. “Wake the baby. Let’s let them meet the orphan that they’ve made.”

~ ~ ~

Cole held onto Lydia’s shoulder’s firmly as he led her back to the chapel. She’d been dozing for most of the day, unable to move from her bed, so her ability to process the situation was hazy.

Cyrus had everyone gathered in the pews. “It has come to my attention that some of our brothers and sisters have lost their faith in God. That they no longer love us. They want to abandon us. So, when I call out your name, please stand.”

Cole left her leaning up against one of the back walls as he went to usher the last of the people in and that’s when Lydia noticed Emily eyeing her, slowly creeping closer and closer while still looking as if she was listening to Cyrus.

“He looks pissed,” Lydia whispered to her when she was close enough. “He’s choosing the people who failed the loyalty test.”

“I’m so sorry,” was all Emily could say.

“Em, I’m okay,” she snapped, more forcefully than she meant. She knew she wasn’t okay. “You need to stay focused and tell me what to do. What does this mean?”

Emily cleared her throat quietly. “He’s releasing these people, because he knows it’s over. He’s getting rid of any possible threat to his mass suicide plan. I’ll try and figure out when it is and get word to the team. Be ready. There’s going to be a raid tonight.”

~ ~ ~

“Drugging the food’s not an option because of the children,” Hotch was saying as they passed around tubs of fried chicken. “We have to go in.”

“Best time to hit ‘em is when they’re least mentally prepared,” Rossi added.

“3 AM.” All eyes turned on Reid. “Biorhythms are at their low point then.”

“Reid, I told you to stay with JJ,” Hotch argued, already on his way to lead Spencer out of the room, but he stood firm.

“Please let me help. I can’t just sit here and pray that she’s going to walk back out of there. I need to do something.”

There was a moment of silent tension between the two of them. Hotch didn’t want him to go. Technically, he shouldn’t let him go. But he didn’t have the time to argue, and Spencer would no doubt be helpful when it came to setting up this plan.

“The plan depends on Ambers and Prentiss separating the diehards from the followers,” Hotch continued, turning back to the group.

“And delaying Cyrus’s diehards from reacting to our assault,” Morgan said.

“No, that’s not my main concern. Ambers and Prentiss know what they need to do. I don’t know how to tell them when we’re coming. This whole thing hinges on them being ready for us at 3 AM.”

“Reid? What the hell are you doing?”

Hotch and Rossi followed Morgan’s gaze to the young genius who was covering the top of one of the food trays with red sharpie.

When he stepped back, the tray read, ‘New owners! New hours! Open ‘til 3 AM!’ The time was underlined multiple times.

“They’ll recognize my writing,” he promised. “Just write this on a few different plates so that there’s a better chance they’re near someone with a sign.”

“Let’s just hope it’s that easy,” Morgan grumbled.

~ ~ ~

Lydia watched curiously as Emily slipped into her room and carefully shut the door. She wasn’t sure how Emily had gotten away from Cyrus’s men, but she was positive something big was happening, else she wouldn’t have taken such a risk.

“3 AM,” she said, reaching the bed and helping Lydia sit up. “We need to get all the women and children down to the basement before 3.”

Lydia had no clue what time it was, only that the sky was completely dark and their time frame was getting shorter. “Find Kathy,” she told Emily. “I’m pretty sure she made that 911 call.”

“Pretty sure?”

“She’s hiding something,” Lydia admitted. “But no, I’m not positive that that’s it.”

The unease was more than a little scary, but there wasn’t much else for them to do. These people wouldn’t trust her or Emily. The only way to save them was to find someone they trusted.

“Stay here. I’ll be back for you before 3.”

“Don’t get caught.”

~ ~ ~

“They’re setting the place to blow up,” Kathy said as she ran into Lydia’s room.

Lydia’s heart fell. “Where’s Emily?” she demanded.

“I told Jessie that Cyrus wanted the two of them to gather the women and children. She’s leading them to the basement now,” she explained, untying the ropes on Lydia’s wrists.

Oh, thank god. Lydia thought for sure when Emily didn’t come back that she’d been caught.

“It’s 2:45. We’ve got to hurry.”

Kathy pulled Lydia along by her arm, Lydia’s other hand wrapped around her waist. Her entire torso burned as she ran down the stairs towards the basement. Almost out. This was almost over.

The sound of gunfire was muted through the walls and Lydia didn’t have time to place where it was coming from.

Get out. Get out.

As they were reaching the door, Lydia could see Emily leading the group into the basement.

“Let’s go! This way!”

“Let’s go, kids!”

“This building’s going to blow up!”

There was shouting in all directions. Lydia’s legs barely held her steady as she ran alongside Kathy. The only thing that was keeping her from passing out was Spencer. He was just outside. She needed to see him.

“Lydia!” She looked up as she passed through the door frame and found herself face to face with Morgan. She didn’t have time to open her mouth before he had pulled her into his shoulder. “I’m going to kill Cyrus.”

“You don’t have long,” she said, almost jokingly, but the timing was badly placed. Not a moment later, the ground and walls began to shake and a deafening sound filled the basement.

Everyone still inside hit the floor, protecting their heads from possible falling debris, but the ceiling was solid. Lydia had been through earthquakes before, and she’d survived an explosion, but this was somehow worse than both. She felt so claustrophobic she didn’t even try to breathe, out of fear she’d find herself unable too. For many seconds, she stayed on the floor, unable to tell if the rumbling had stopped.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” She didn’t realize it was Emily who was talking until Morgan and Rossi were helping her off the ground. “That was the explosives. If Cyrus planned a second round, the basement might crumble too.”

The four of them made a run for the secret door in the school, Lydia now holding onto Rossi for support, so that Derek could lead the group and make sure the rest of the kids got out.

“How’s Spencer?” she asked as they climbed back into the school building.

“I imagine Hotch has got at least seven guys holding him down right now to keep him from running into the rubble to find you. How are you?”

Lydia didn’t want to answer that. Not only was she in a lot of physical pain, but after that explosion went off above her, her heart rate had been soaring.

Everyone’s eyes were on the smoking ruble that was the chapel, amazed by the destruction. Many kids were crying and women were no doubt waiting to see if their husbands had survived. Rossi kept pulling Lydia along, not letting her stop to watch. They walked through the barricade of armed men with ease.

“Lydia! Lydia!”

It was Spencer. He was looking for her. Lydia tried to yell back, but Rossi could tell she didn’t have it in her.

“I’ve got her, Reid!”

Not too long after, she saw her boyfriend pushing through the crowd, his eyes looking around frantically.

When their eyes met, it was like Lydia’s whole world muted to a dull roar. Three days. Three days she’d been trapped in that building, trying to reach the team and getting the shit kicked out of her. Three days she’d been quiet, accepting Cyrus’s blows. All to see him again.

She wanted to run to him, but she just didn’t have it in her. Luckily, he was eager enough for the both of them.

His arms were so tight around her that she felt like all her ribs would break at once and her nose was so deep in the side of his neck that the bruises burned. She couldn’t care less.

He pulled away all too fast and she was about to protest, when she realized why. As she looked up at him, a breeze hit her cheeks, making the wet trails going down her face apparent. She took in shuddering breaths.

She was crying.

“I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say, the back of her hand reaching to wipe them away, but for some reason, it didn’t feel like they were gone. “Sorry, I can’t-”

Before she could finish, he leaned down and kissed her. He kissed her in front of the whole team. In front of everyone. He’d never done that before. PDA was a very rare thing for him. But all her shock died on her lips, suffocating between his own.

“I love you,” he whispered, barely moving an inch away. “I love you so very much. You don’t need to apologize for your tears.”

Such kind and affirming words should have quelled her tears, but she just sobbed harder. “I love you too. Please don’t ever leave me.”

Tags: @kris-stuff​, @wooya1224​, @bispences​, @anotherr-fine-mess​, @eddysocs​

[kurowrites]

So, I remembered that I promised to write about sokushinbutsu 即身仏 a little while ago. I’m trying to keep this short, because it gets complicated fast. Also I’m basically writing this all from memory, so don’t blame me for any inaccuracies.

Sokushinbutsu translates approximately to ‘becoming a Buddha in this very body.’ It was a mummification practice, but as the name might already suggest, its primary goal wasn’t the mummification of the body itself: it’s really about proof of enlightenment. Japan is not the only place to have a practice such as this. There exist numerous practices in regions where Buddhism is practiced, although I’m not sure whether these practices developed (at least partially) independently or not. In the case of Japan, there have been suggestions that Chinese Chan Buddhist practices did influence them. However, the center of practice of sokushinbutsu was Dewasanzan, and Dewasanzan technically belongs to the Shingon school, though the so-called Shugendō that they practice is extremely syncretic and a weird mixture of everything from Shintō to Daoism. Zen was only really introduced in Japan in the 12th century as a Buddhist school, by which time Shingon had already been established a few centuries.

Side note: I hate Buddhist schools. My brain starts to hurt if I even think about explaining this mess to the uninitiated.

Be that as it may, in Japan itself, one of the first mentions of a similar occurence was the ‘death’ of the monk Kūkai 空海 (774–835). Now Kūkai was a massive baller and had his fingers in practically every pie, not least of which was being the founder of the aforementioned Shingon school, which also happens to be one of the last remaining lines of esoteric Buddhism. Don’t ask me what that means, I WILL cry. To do so, he went to China and brought a ton of very smart texts back. And wrote a ton of very smart texts himself. In any time, when the time came for him to die, he was like, ‘wow, not for me, thx.’ He reportedly stopped eating and drinking and meditated in a cave on Mount Koya. According to legend, he never died, but entered a deep meditation and still remains in that cave to this day, awaiting the arrival of the future Buddha Maitreya (which is... going to take a while). 

This story seems to have been quite popular, because it frequently appears in Buddhist-themed literature in the following centuries. During that same time, there are historical records of a number of monks and noblemen who either became mummies didn’t immediately start to decompose after death. Also, several cases of self-immolation, which, yikes. In any case, we have an established pattern here of people who had accumulated religious merit during their lifetime whose body did not decompose after death. You wanna thumb your nose at your archrival? You better make sure your body remains sweet-smelling and lovely after your death. Something something dying well is the best form of revenge, perhaps?

The sokushinbutsu themselves only appear much later, namely mainly during the Edo period (1603-1868). As mentioned, most of the practitioners were from Dewasanzan. The sokushinbutsu that still exist today can primarily be found in Niigata and the Tohoku region, which might suggest that local customs also had an influence, since Tohoku has always been culturally different from Kansai or Kanto. There is one known sokushinbutsu in Kyoto, though, I went to the cave where he’s still supposed to be entombed.

Now I can’t currently find my list of sokushinbutsu, but we actually know their names (well, their titles) and when they lived in nearly all cases. I think it goes without saying that they were all male. None of them was below the age of 40 when they died, and some where like in their 80s or 90s, so they were old old. That generally has to do with the fact that they were expected to complete a really hardcore ascetic practice that took years. This was not very comfortable for the practicioners, but apparently a pretty good income for Dewasanzan, since donations tended to flow for whenever ascetic practices took place (and, I think, some of them basically did their ascetic work on comission. I have to dig up my papers though.)

Generally, it seems like many of the practicioners were former criminals or came from a very poor or otherwise misfortunate background, though I have to double-check that too. In general, however, though there were many different kinds of laypeople, monks and practitioners at Dewasanzan, only an extremely small number ever completed the ascetic practices necessary to be able to ‘ascend’ into this group of people.

Those who aimed to become sokushinbutsu generallly practiced mokujiki, which means they were only allowed a very limited variety of food, things like berries or seeds, though definitely no cereals or rice, and we don’t even need to talk about meat. They also seem to have consumed foods that contain resin, because resin... is an excellent preservator. The exact procedure seems to have differed in every case, but it wasn’t easy, and they did it all while basically living in a tiny hut in the mountains, while adhering to strict religious rules. After this training was completed, many of them became travelling monks for a while, because they were reputed to have gained miraculous powers through their practice and I guess people in the past were wild for that kind of stuff. And again, donations.

Before the final act of becoming sokunshinbutsu, they stopped eating entirely. Like Kūkai, they continued with meditation practices, and some of them let themselves entomb in a cave, while others were buried alive. They died during this practice, presumably while achieving enlightenment(?).

Then they were left in their tombs for a while, before the tombs were reopened. Some of them were smoked like a ham, and their bodies put back into the tomb and left there for a little longer. It’s not like they had no outside help to achieve their goals, if we’re entirely honest. Eventually, they were usually taken out, dressed in nice robes, and placed on an altar in a temple, to be used as an icon for worship. Some of them still remain in temples until this day. (Sometimes you were only allowed to see them when you paid a fee, though. I really need to dig out my papers, there are some interesting stories.)

The practice was eventually banned in 1879, but I know there are one or two cases that happened even after that - in secret, of course.

“10/10, would practice the hell out of it again.”

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

You Only Live Twice (HugoxReader)

Requested by @redroseedits​

@owba-chan​ @war-obsessed​ @inglourious-imagines​ @tealaquinn​ @struggling-bee​ @frozenhuntress67​ @kwyloz​ @sodapop182​

Let me know if you wanna be added to the IB or OUATIH taglists! :)

A/N: (p/n) here means your pronouns :)

A/N 2: If dialogue is in italics then the characters are speaking to each other in German

________

"Oh, come now, Herman. This is serious!" Hans Landa was in no mood for jokes.

The basterds had just broken Hugo Stiglitz out of prison.

Landa was tasked to find him.

Find them all.

Herman shook his head, "What you're looking for...it’s something only one kind of person can do."

"Herman...enlighten me. Who?"

Herman grinned, "What you're looking for, sir, has no allegiance. No uniform."

"And what is this anomaly? Now and days everyone's got something to die for." Hans sputtered as he shuffled through his files of contacts. "I can’t trust just anyone with this."

Herman laughed, "Oh please Hans. There are things that are beneath us. Squandering our time to find some yank GIs and some runaway in the forest? It's insulting."

"It's a classified case given to us by high command."

"Send one of their own after Stiglitz. A common criminal after a common criminal."

Hans narrowed his eyes, "What are you proposing, Herman?"

"The Lion's Den."

Hans sputtered with disbelief and waved him off, "A rumor spread by petty thiefs and drunks. Unbelievable, Herman. How could you even believe-"

Herman smirked, "Follow me."

*****

Herman showed Landa the way to a hidden oasis. A tavern, reserved for the most ruthless, bloodthirsty criminals, all hired for some heist or high stakes murder or other.

Landa was amazed, seeing that the den was a real place.

He immediately shook his head, and thought, to hell with it.

He stood in the center, and practically demanded as he waved around his insignia, "Bring me the best killer you have."

People sneered, spat, and laughed, then carried on with their usual dealing, betting, and...well, business.

Herman shook his head, "Are you out of your mind? That could've gotten us killed!"

He scoffed, "Do they know who we are? If anything happened to us-"

Herman and Hans' disagreement was interrupted by an abrupt silence.

Followed by footsteps, and murmuring.

"Your rank means nothing here."

The constant, incessant word on everyone's tongue was 'Vier'. 'Four.'

Your name.

The name everyone in that tavern feared and the streets feared.

Herman managed to stutter, "We-we're here t-to see about a-a job?"

"Anyone who comes in here is. Sit."

Herman nodded to Landa, and they both sat.

You leaned over the table, pressing your palms down on the corners, overshadowing them. "I assume you have payment."

Herman nodded, and held up the briefcase. In it, was millions, meant to cover the cost of the operation.

It was then, that Landa looked up, and saw your face, which nearly stopped his heart.

Upon further inspection...it made him smirk. "Ah...look what the cat  dragged back from the dead. Y/n L/n."

You spoke with ease, as if nothing he said held any weight. You ran your fingers on the blade of your knife, and remarked, "Now, now, Landa. People will think you mad for speaking to spirits."

He nodded, understanding.

He remembered it well.

He was a detective.

In fact, he held your case once.

You were a common, petty thief from a young age.

But, by 17, you were on the rise.

Young, skilled, smooth talking, with all the right connections for all the wrong things.

By nineteen, it had gone to your head.

And...after a series of misfortunes, you were presumed dead, not but two years ago.

"So you faked your death. Is that it, Y/n?"

"Y/n is dead," you guaranteed, slamming your mug of beer on the table, causing hearts to stop around the tavern.

Landa was the only one not shaking.

He didn't understand the danger.

"My conscious is not haunted by what happened two years ago. Therefore, I wouldn't see a ghost of you. So, it must be you."

You pushed the briefcase back to them, which stole the breath from Landa, and you whistled, which stopped Herman's heart.

A group of assassins rose from their game of poker, only two tables away, and surrounded the table.

"Alright. Alright. I apologize to the vengeful spirit," Landa teased, then nodded once, "Vier..."

You sighed, and called off the team.

"Name."

Landa grinned viciously, pushing the money back to you. "Hugo Stiglitz." "Fuck off." You huffed and turned around, "Leave with your head on your shoulders, before I change my mind." "I can tell you where they buried your brother and sisters, if you do this one thing." You stood up, without taking another look at the money. "It's a deal." Landa looked around, confused for a moment, until Herman pulled him outside, to the safety of the city, and explained that when a deal was struck, the money remained on the table until the kill was done. If it wasn't, or the hitman backed out, the money would be sent back to the contractor. Hans Landa looked up, and watched you, and smirked as you disappeared beyond the alleys. For once in his life, he was happy to give a case away.

**********************

Days later, you were sitting on the roof top of a building older than anyone knew, sometime between dusk and dawn, somewhere between Germany and France.

Then, you spotted them.

Ten men.

Ten basterds, sneaking down the alleys, attempting to move back into nazi-occupied France.

Then, between the broken light of the moon, and that of a flickering street lamp, you spotted him: Sergeant Hugo Stiglitz.

Shrouded by the heaviness of the night sky, and the very essence of surprise, you dropped among them, and attacked Hugo.

But...for the record, you were only human.

You, like any other  soldier, criminal, basterd, or any other human that ever lived, had an off day.

You made a mistake. You looked into his eyes for a little too long, and he looked at yours while you were on top of him. For the record, Hugo had never been so startled, in his life...

or confused.... As a matter of fact, strange as it was, he hadn't been as attracted to anyone in his life, as he was to you, the moment he looked at his would-be assassin. But....it was a mistake, nonetheless.

And...as a result, the basterds took you down.

It happened every once in a while. You'd get too cocky, and then this happened...

But, you didn't really mind.

You always found a way out, this wouldn't be any different.

They uncovered your face, and you appeared to be in an abandoned hostel in a run down town nearing the border between Germany and Belgium.

You knew it only 'appeared' that way.

Why?

Well, you'd run a few deals there before.

You left the blood stains and hidden escape routes to prove it.

But...they didn't need to know that.

They didn't even give you time for your vision to focus.

"Who are you?!" demanded a man with a scar on his neck, his hands at his hips, almost seeming disinterested in your answer.

Another man, a bit older than the others, spoke. From the accent you could tell he was from Munich. Somewhere you had contacts...once... He looked to you, and translated, "Wer bist du?"

You looked up, still feeling a slow drip of blood from your nose falling onto your lap. "I speak English."

The scarred leader nodded, "Alright then. Who the hell are you?!"

You felt something press against the back of your neck. The familiar cold press of the barrel of a gun.

Before you could give an answer, the gun pressed even more forcefully against your skin, and you heard a voice behind you, "You a nazi?" This time...you couldn't quite identify the accent. At least their leader, you knew from old smuggled western radio shows, was from somewhere in the American south.

This one,...you weren't quite sure. But you could feel his looming presence.

Still, what struck you wasn't that...it was the fact that they'd even dared to accuse you of being a nazi.

"Bite your fucking tongue, basterd." You lifted your head back to take a look at him, and felt blood trickle down your throat.

You heard another voice, confused, angry, sarcastic and...short. "Why else would you attack us?"

"For the record, I wasn't there for you, little man." You  looked past them all at the man crouching on a dusty overturned mattress, in the corner of the gloomy room. "I was there for him."

The leader spoke again, "Yeah? And why might that be?" He really wasn't amused, as he reasoned "Other than the fact that youre a na-"

You shook your head. If you heard that accusation again, you'd go berserk, and all hell would break loose.

"I'm a paid assassin. A hitman."

There was an errie silence overtaking the room, one of the basterds, who you'd later learn was called Omar, looked back and forth between his officers and you, his mouth open.

Someone choked on a drink.

Other than that, the room was still.

The leader, who in a few hours would remember his manners and introduce himself, crouched before you, studying your face carefully in  the light they had.

You could be no older than Utivich and Hirschberg, their youngest troops.

To hear that you were a hitman...and the skills you'd shown, well, it was surprising. In a strange way, it was impressive.

He looked up at you, and asked, "What's your name, kid?"

"Vier."

Aldo raised his eyebrow, "Fear?"

You shook your head, "Vier."

He struggled with it for a moment or two, batting between "veer," and  "beer".

Wicki was confused for a moment as well, as he repated under his breath, "Vier?" Vier? Wie die Nummer..." "Like the number?"

You nodded once at him, and looked to Aldo, "Just say Four. That's all it means."

Smitty cocked his head, "That's a weird name."

Omar rolled his eyed, "Obviously an assassin's gonna have a codename."

"Riiight..."

The man holding a gun to you, who you'd learn in a few moments was the famed Bear Jew, muttered, "Ain't you got more important questions to ask?!"

Aldo cleared his throat, and sniffed some tobacco, "Who do you work for?"

"Whoever pays," you chuckled, with a wink, and Donny murmured, "So you're a hook-"

Wicki muttered to get him to shut up in time to save his life, "Donny."

Hirschberg was losing his patience. You felt another gun press against the flesh beneath your ribs as he uttered, "What the fuck are you talking about."

You weren't scared.

You hadn't been scared in years.

You looked at nothing as you said, "The Lion's Den."

Hugo finally looked up, and looked at you directly in the eyes.

The more you said, the more he connected.

Wicki may have been old, but he knew a thing or two. "Oh shit..."

Hirschberg said what was on everyone else's mind, "What the hell is happening?"

Wicki quickly explained, "Everyone's heard of it...it's supposed to be a myth. It's not-"

You shook your head, feeling beads of sweat rolling fown your back, though you weren't nervous. At least, not because of the basterds. "It's hot. Can I take my jacket off?" You sounded nicer than you should have, "No tricks. I promise."

Everyone held their weapons, ready for anything, but Aldo nodded.

You were wearing a tanktop undernearth. Trails of ink telling the story of your life over your arms, and what was visible of your back.

You twisted your shoulder a little, there on the upper side of your back and shoulder, was a black ink lion, its mouth open, tearing apart a chain.

Wicki's mouth dropped.

"It...it's real?"

You nodded, with a slight smirk, "It's just good business."

Aldo looked at the boys, then back at you. "Who paid you for this?"

Hirschberg muttered, "Who do you think?"

You nodded, "He's right, you know."

Aldo grunted, "Alright. Tell us everything we want to know, or-"

You sighed, "You'll blow my brains out, and/or scalp me. I know, I know."

Aldo nodded, "Good, so you get it. Alright, question number one-"

Hirschberg muttered, "We're wasting time. We're gonna kill this asshole anyway."

You shrugged with a sighed, "He has a good point again."

Then, your intended target stood up. He spoke suddenly, which made everyone uneasy. "Don't kill the kid," he muttered as he stepped up, beside all the basterds.

All of them were incredulous, each murmuring some form of "why not?"

He repeated again, a little harshly, "Don't kill the kid."

Somehow, Hugo Stiglitz had enough heart to show his attempted killer some form of mercy.

"Let me alone with (p/n)."

The basterds all looked at each other, then, on Aldo's word, filed out of the room.

"Why did you do that?" You asked, genuinely confused.

"Do what?" He spoke in German, signaling you to shift as well. Even if they were listening, which they most likely were, only Wicki would understand. Meaning, you had some buffer time.

"Save me..." You slouched in the chair pensively, resting your elbows on your knees.

He raised his eyebrow, and was silent.

"You don't know me, Stiglitz. You don't know what you've just done..."

"What?"

"I'm a psychopath! A threat to society. To you. To-"

"I know who you are." He sat back down on the mattress, directly across from you, seeming as though he had nothing to worry about.

You clenched your teeth, "You have no idea who I am."

He was silent again.

So much so, that it frustrated you into saying a little more than you should have. "You were sanctioned by the OSS, but I was sanctioned by a very angry detective."

"And who might that be?" He was sharpening a knife, but somehow you knew that blade wasn't meant for you.

It was meant for whoever sent you.

But you shook your head, and you lied. Because Hans Landa was your personal target. "Don't know. I don't ask."

He was silent again, then looked up at you for a moment, and spoke softly, so even if Wicki was listening, he wouldn't be able to hear, "You're not a psychopath." before resuming sharpening his knife.

Just before lowering his eyes back down to his blade, they flickered over a specific tattoo on your arm. One you'd tried to cover up with another, but still, the older ink's fangs sank their teeth into what remained of your soul. Somehow, even Hugo Stiglitz could see that.

He was a silent but observant man, and it took just half a moment to know what it was.

A series of numbers etched onto your skin by a nazi.

At that moment, it was clear to him you really weren't a nazi. It would've been clear to anyone who saw it.

But now he was sure he knew exactly who you were.

He spoke again, "They branded you. They took your eyes and your soul."

You jumped to your feet. Anyone back at the lion's den would be shaking in fear, but he didn't even flinch. He didn't even look up as you reproached "Who the hell are you to say-"

"I was there."

You pretended you didn't know what he meant, but it was so painfully clear to both of you that you did know. "What are you talking about."

"I was there the day they killed you, Y/n."

That name...

Your breath caught in your throat, your voice locked in your heart.

All you could do was shake your head, and mumble as the shards of a painful lifetime stripped you of your courage, "Don't..."

He did, though. He told you what he knew. "I was just starting out, too. You do know why I joined the gestapo?"

Everyone knew about Hugo Stiglitz.

You nodded.

"It was my very first day. I had my gun aimed right at you, and I missed on purpose." He remembered that day, only two years ago. Even then, he looked at you in awe. He expected to find a hardened criminal, not a kid shielding three others so much younger than that.

You shook your head, recollecting yourself. "You know nothing about me, Hugo."

"They killed your brother and sisters that day, before they took you away" his eyes glanced over the hidden tattooed numbers, hastily scratched out with darker ink. Sending you to a camp wasn't enough. Only weeks later, you were being transfered to be publicly executed in Berlin.

He went on, "They killed everyone you cared about." He looked back at you, "You're not  a bloodthirsty serial killer, you're not psychopath. You cared about somebody, once. Three of them."

"Mind yourself, sergeant." You spoke fiercely, though your eyes gave you away.

He looked directly at you, "Your name is Y/n. You still have some good in you, somewhere. I don't care where you work, who pays you to do what, there's a reason you didn't take that luger out of your boot and take half of us out earlier."

How did he know about that?

"That's where you started. You killed nazis, and only nazis once. You used the money to give people a way to run away."

"I still do."

"You do more than that now."

"They were only six years old, the twins..." You didn't know why you were even speaking to him, but you were. "Johan," You sighed as your heart broke a million times over, "He wasn't even thirteen yet."

That was when you snapped. Petty crime turned into a rampage.

Hugo Stiglitz may be a bit questionable, but he was a good man. You knew that, and you knew he deserved some sort of explanation. "If I killed you, they'd tell me where they buried them."

Hugo related what he knew about your 'death,' "You were being moved to Berlin. There was an accident. You were dead."

"I still am, as far as anyone is concerned."

"Three people died in that accident."

"Four."

He raised his eyebrow.

"Three guards. One for Johan. One for Emma, and one for Inga. And me? I died twice."

Once with them, and once when the nazis believed you were dead.

It was then that he understood, "Vier..."

Four...

Four lives lost. Four burdens you always carried.

You turned to all you had left. A life hidden underground, where everyone was just as damned as you, covered in blood, without a cause, morals either grayed or gone. Reefer and lugers, francs and gold...

Hugo knew the rumors.

He once heard stories of a nameless crime lord, protected by the lion's den, a blood thirsty hitman, with a penchant for blood and an unknown revenge.

But, that wasn't what he saw before him.

What he saw was someone who'd never known mercy before the moment he stood up. Someone with four reasons to chase after a feeling of justice that would forever be a horizon away.

Someone who's stomach was grumbling.

"You're hungry." he noted, back in English,  as he opened the door, letting three or four eavesdropping basterds who leaned against the door tumble in.

***** They got you something to eat, while the basterds were filled in by Wicki on the heavy rumors surrounding you. Nazi killer turned crime lord turned hitman, never losing an appetite for blood and murder.

It wasn't all true...

Anyway, they got sidetracked when they realized Utivich, "Gave the fUCKING TRAINED ASSASSIN A KNIFE?!"

They quickly turned to find you at the rickety table, everything untouched, the knife in the exact place where Utivich left it.

You smirked, "Oh please, I have some decency...and some self control....Also I can hear you."

Donny raised his eyebrow, "Self control...Wh...whaddya mean?"

You grinned, "If I picked that knife up, I may not put it down until it was in somebody's artery."

"You're joking, right?"

You shrugged, "Whatever helpd you sleep at night, soldier."

Aldo sighed,  "We're running out'a time. It's almost dawn. If we gotta stay in Germany another night, we're gon' get caught. Especially since you haven't gotten back to your boss, ain't that right, kid?"

You shrugged, "Boss isn't the...you know what, yeah. You could just...send me," you grinned cheekily, and they all muttered.

You sighed, "Ok, ok. Where you taking me anyway? OSS? Oh! Interpol might give you a pretty penny," you winked, half joking...but considering a few negotiations you'd made with the Serbian, Russian, and Italian mafia....maybe they would get a pretty penny...or two....or...

They all started grumbling, and dragged you along as they slunk around in the shadows. You looked down at your left wrist, on your now cracked watch,  realizing they had two hours tops before sunrise, which wasn't enough time to stealthily cross into France.

"This also might not be great timing...but...I haven't eaten in about thirty hours, sir..."

Aldo spoofed, "So?" as he cleared them to  sneak down another alley.

You shrugged, and bluntly said "Hypoglycemia."

Donny scowled, "Don't care."

"I know you don't now, sure.... But since you're trying to stay under cover, if you're dragging a bloody, bruised, tattooed person down the back alleys of a city, that wouldn't be much help would it?"

Hugo couldn't help but smirk a little, though Aldo grumbled, "Oh for fuck's s.... Utivich, get (p/n) some bread or somethin'. I don't care what, let's just move."

Utivich scrambled around his pack, and pulled out an apple, and hastily handed it to you.

You smiled kindly, "Dankeschön." You raised the apple, and threw it across the alley, toward a shady figure walking down the street, undoubtedly going to a block away you knew well. There were people there you owed, and this would just about cover it.

Before any questions were raised, Omar scurried over to the screaming man, "You broke his eye socket in!"

You shrugged, "Good."

"What the fuck is happening?!"

You turned to the rest of the basterds, "That man is a nazi. There's a bounty on his head right now. I owe a few people down that way, where he was headed to anyway and d-"

You looked down at Omar, "Do shut him up, please. He'll blow your cover."

Omar found some papers in the man's pocket confirming he was a nazi.

Aldo nodded to him, clearing the kill.

You looked at the awe struck basterds. "Now then. He was heading down that way which is what you'd call....a red light district? Is that it?"

Donny asked, "Hookers?"

You nodded, "Hookers. Reefer. Anyway...I have....friends in this city. That clear?"

Omar, who had grown up in Hell's Kitchen in New York, knew a thing or two about how it worked. "We're fucked....we're fucked...we're-"

You smiled a little, "Maybe, if we...cash this in, per se...arrangements can be made."

Aldo muttered, without many alternatives, "Fine."

Hugo smiled a little, only enough for you to see as he commented, "So you do have redeeming qualities?"

You laughed a little, this time, without a sign of cynicism, but sincerity, and it captured his heart.

About halfway there, you started stumbling, and instinctively leaned against the wall.

Smitty's eyes narrowed, "Wait, you're actually hypoglycemic?"

It was then, that Hugo noticed your jacket tied around your waist, even though it was cool night, some sweat over your back, and your hands still slightly shaking, "Why the fuck would I lie about that?"

They were all silent, looking around at each other, when they heard glass shattering. Hugo emerged, with a pastry he'd taken from a bakery they just so happened to pass, and he handed it to you.

You smiled, again kindly, and this time with the intention to eat, "Dankeschön"

He held it out until you took it, "Essen." 'Eat.'

It wasn't much, but it was enough to get you to where you needed to go. Along the way, you lightened the mood a little, as Donny dragged on the dead nazi, and Hugo stabilized you, "Utivich?"

He turned around, and you knew you had the right name, "Didn't think of a criminal as a real person, huh? All those radio shows you Americans listen to."

"Ok, look," Donny chuckled, and you shrugged, "Did you know that Al Capone has syphilis?"

Donny turned to you, "The Al Capone?"

"Syphilis as in....syphilis?"

"Al Capone-Al Capone?!"

You nodded, "Mhm! Syphilis."

"How the hell you know that?" Hirschberg demanded, and you smirked, "I know a few people." And then, you arrived at your destination. Which appeared to be no more than a risque, run down cabaret.

"Can we...come in?" Donny was just about halfway through the door.

You rolled your eyes, "Ten men carrying a dead German local? You'll scare away the regular people, and snitch yourselves out. Wait here." Donny grumbled something, and you chuckled, "Just remember about Al Capone."

And so they did...

And once it was a moment too long, once they started questioning your honesty, you emerged, followed by two rather large fellows, with their faces hidden by the remnants of the night.

They took the dead nazi, and disappeared down the alley.

You carried a box, and held it out to them, "For your troubles, boys."

It was full of brand new weapons and bullets for them. "We can stay here until tomorrow night."

Donny grinned, "Alright," he started making his way to the front door and you cleared your throat. He turned, and you gestured to the alley where your two associates had disappeared down, "This way." You mumbled something under your breath that made Wicki and Hugo chuckle. And just like that,  when the sun set once again, you guided them to France, keeping them safe, which convinced at least Aldo that you were telling the truth. The attack was nothing personal. Odd, but he understood. Still, you were unsure of your fate once they reached their point in France. You knew either way, it didn't bode well for you. "I know what I deserve. No less than a six foot ditch, no name, no marking." You sighed, and looked at Hugo, and you raised your eyebrow, "Don't make that face," You nudged Hugo with your elbow, and smiled to encourage him. He looked down. He heard stories, once, not too long ago, of a rebel named Y/n. A face only locals knew, and the gestapo searched for. Back then, every hit, every deal made you a dime. And every single dime went to helping innocent people escape the nazis.

But one day, you snapped. Since then, every penny was used to cover tracks in your pursuit of revenge. In the process, you got a taste of blood, and it would never be enough. The  basterds didn't know that. They were just thankful you'd gotten them relatively safely out of Germany. Aldo sighed, and nodded, "Maybe...this kid here, maybe Four's got some merits." Wicki grinned, "So, we're letting Vier go?" Donny chuckled, "Look, Four might be a hitman...but did you say how p/n took out that nazi? That's gotta be the best goddamn pitcher I ever saw. Aldo's right." So, it was decided, you were free to go. They weren't saying anything about the attack, as long as you didn’t come back. But, you pulled Hugo back, just before he joined the rest of the basterds, and you basically pleaded, "Don't let me go..." He shook his head. "Go home, Vier." "You don't understand!" He looked you in your eyes again, and said, "I trust you, Vier." "You don't get it... I like it. I like the blood, the rush. I'm a fucking assassin. I can't leave that anymore. I fucking like it. I'll kill again. I'll-" He nodded but said, "Then use it for good." "How?!" He said something he never thought he'd say.He sighed, "I believe in you." It had been a long time since Hugo believed in anything.

He didn't need to say anything else, but  you knew what he wanted to say. He wanted you to do what you did in the past, and nothing more. Only take hits out on nazis. Nothing else. "There's still a soul in there," he tapped on your chest, "A soul with a name." He turned his back on you, and you watched as the basterds disappeared into the forest. You turned around, and marched back to Germany, and his words stuck with you, each day, after that. You did the best you could... Two years passed. Hans Landa came back. Two years before, when the money was sent back to him intact, he tried everything to get back to the Lion's Den, but the case on Hugo passed on to other hands, which stained Landa's reputation as a detective. But, the case made its way back to him, and he was willing to make a deal with the devil. So he did the next best thing. "If you don't kill them, every single basterd. Every last one, and bring me their cold dead bodies, I will put a bounty on your head." Your hands grew clammy, but not  because  you cared about what he said. You looked at your still cracked watch, and sighed. You had given Landa a chance to walk away with his life before. He didn't seem to get that. "Time's running out Hans." You looked at the case he was carrying. It was bigger than last time, and you needed quite a bit to help a few more families. "Show me the money." It caught him off guard, but he grinned cynically as he looked at you, at your scars, your tattoos, at the skilled, nameless ghost that got away with it all. He admired you. In a way, you were one of the only cases that slipped his hands, without him knowing. After all, who looks for the dead? He opened the briefcase, and revealed it was lined with millions of dollars instead of reichsmark. You sneered, "Oh, you remembered?" He smirked, "I will guarantee your safe passage to wherever in America you'd like to go to. I hear that Nantucket Island is nice this time of year." You matched his cynical twist, and grinned yourself as you mused, "And if I decline this offer?" "I have the entire high command, the SS, the Gestapo. You have a few mongrels with rusty knives and old lugers." "Hm..." You chuckled, and remarked "I raise you to...I know where your mother lives, Hans. Beautiful retirement home." He stopped smirking. "Oh don't bother asking  her about me, she won't remember. Poor old woman. Dementia, right? I did speak with her, Mausezähnchen." You grinned. Only his mother called him that, there was no other way for you to know that. You weren't bluffing.

And you weren't done, either. "Oh, so that is you! She gets a little confused between you and your brother, Heinrich. He's in that veteran hospital in Munich, for that bullet to the knee, that so?" Landa scowled, but you weren't done. You wanted to make it clear that you'd take everything from him if you wanted to, just like the nazis had done to you.  "At least that beautiful sister of yours, Greta! Yes, yes, she lives nearby to take care of him, and visit. Shame about her husband, though, isn't it?" Landa glanced up at you, and knew at that moment what you were talking about. His brother in law was in the gestapo, and died about a year ago under strange circumstances. He was also there the day you were arrested, and your brother and sisters were killed. At that moment, Hans knew it was you who killed his brother in law. He couldn't help but laugh. He laughed to hide his rage, and to block out the absurdity of circumstances... Somehow, sick as it was, he admired you. But you weren't the only one who could raise the stakes. "Ah, Vier...you don't know what you've just started." "Nothing can hurt the dead, Hans. I thought you'd know that." "Vier, Vier. What pains you the most is the fact that you're still alive. You're not really dead." He grabbed your wrist, "Late for your insulin shot?" You pulled your arm away, and signaled for all your allies to sit back down. You looked back at Hans and he said, "I will keep you alive. I can send you back." His eyes fell over the numbers that were hastily covered on your arm, "I can track down each and every person you ever helped, and everyone you're going to use this money for." You glared at him. You had to admit, he had an excellent poker face, and you couldn't tell if he was blluffing or not. He as not... "Few of them are still hiding in Bavaria, right? Three Romani couples, and a Jewish family. Seven still waiting to move from occupied France to the other side?" He leaned over the table, and spoke lowly, "You're not the only one with contacts, Vier. I know about Iowa." Your heart stopped... You'd gotten a few families land and homes there years before. "No one will look for them. No one will know where to begin. Clever, Vier. You've been very clever until now." He stood up, and started walking away. He hesitated for a moment, he half turned and remarked, "What is it you always say? There is a price for everything?" and flipped a piece of gold onto the briefcase. "For your troubles."

Once he was gone, you grinned, closed the briefcase, and carried it as you made your way out the door. On the way, you saw one of your allies, "Elise," you smirked, you were always one step ahead than you let on, "Get back to that British officer for me, please? Tell him I agreed to go to the movies." *********** But....you did have terrible timing, and that was maybe another off-day. Still, you made your way back through France. Late as you were, you weren’t too late.  Hugo was covered in blood, but there was still time. "Y/n?" You raised your eyebrow, but nodded nodded hesitantly, "Y-yeah...It's me....It's...Y/n..." He smiled, "So the soul does have a name..." He took your hand in his and you shook your head, "There's no time, Hugo. Come on, where's your friend?" You looked around, spotting Wicki. "They left you both behind?" Wicki mumbled, "We told them to go on without us." "Stupid. Stupid..." You muttered as you started tending to their wounds. Suddenly, you heard shuffling upstairs. You looked at them, "Play dead." "Wh-" "Do it." You jumped behind an overturned table, just as a herd of nazis walked into the tavern."Ah...Hugo...You've moved up on the world. Look at you, Lieutenant First Class. And with your record of insubordination, truly remarkable..." He had just pointed out the odd scene, "It appears somebody is missing. Somebody  fashionable." Then...you made another one of your infamous mistakes. You'd been leaning against the overturned table, and it fell over with a loud, bellowing slam. "Fuck." You scrambled and pulled out two guns, acting as if it were all planned,  shot down Landa's companions, and faced him. "Everything has a price, Hans." You aimed your gun at him before he even had time to let go of von Hammersmark's shoe, "And the price for being a nazi is your head." A moment and a gunshot later, there was one less nazi in the world. In that moment, for the very first time in years, you felt some sort of peace. You looked down at your cracked watch. Without Landa...the basterds just might make it as planned. The war would finally end... You looked at Hugo and Wicki, and smiled a little, wiping blood and sweat off your forehead, "Let's get you boys out of here, huh?" So you helped Wicki out first. You sat him in a car you'd hijacked and left waiting outside. "You're a good kid, Vier." "Y/n." He nodded, "You know the rest of the boys think you're nuts?" "They should," You laughed, and Wicki smiled, "You're a good kid, Y/n." You went back downstairs, and pulled Hugo up. You both looked down at Hans Landa, a long time scourge. Both you and Hugo were blemishes on his record: two unsolvable cases. Two threads that unknowingly were spun together by fate. As he gargled a wordless, bloody farewell to the world, his eyes went wide with realization. You'd double crossed him... He was able to say, "Bravo, Vier... Bravo..." He took his final breath, his eyes dead set on you and Hugo, two ghosts that haunted him to the very end. Hugo raised his eyebrow, suddenly realizing, "I still owe Aldo one more nazi scalp." You laughed, "Everything has a price, Hugo." "According to you, the price of being a nazi is his head...but what's the price for a nazi's head...or scalp?" You chuckled, "What do you have to offer?" Hugo smiled, genuinely, for the first time since the war began, his shoulders eased up, and he looked at you. He knew you'd listened to him, you changed again. He carressed your cheek, though his hand was covered in blood, it didn't matter to either of you. You'd given him a second chance to live two years ago. And in return, he gave you a second chance...Or a third chance. True, he'd spared your life once on the day of your arrest.  But gave you a chance to live again when you were face to face, not as a ghost. You both understood that. He softly kissed you, and murmured, "Whatever you ask for," he winked and you giggled, as you helped him up the stairs, "It's a deal."

[itsuki-minamy]

BEFORE ZERO: CHAPTER 2 “BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION”

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

A cat that has disappeared recently appeared at the front of the garden with a prey that it had killed.

When Akio, who went to a distant university, visited a young man about six months later, Shiotsu was immediately associated with such a scene.

"Marry this boy."

Contrary to Akio's expression at the entrance, which is something she's good at, she brought a strange one.

Shiotsu thought.

The young man in front of him is slightly shorter than him. The age is the same as her, who is 20 or two younger, but when it comes to Akio, who is mistaken for a high school student at eighteen, she appears to be an adult and a child.

What kind of person does it mean to show up at someone else's house after being after a girl?

No, the reason he sees them with such colorful glasses is that he has probably been involved in Akio's love affairs several times in the past. If he looks at it without prejudice, the young man in front of him seems to be a very ordinary person without any special points. On the contrary, polite behavior makes he feel even better.

However, there was a sense of incongruity, like "why is Akio such a genuine person", which made him feel like it was strange.

Unfortunately, there was no advance notice for the day's visit, and her parents were paying, so Shiotsu decided to deal alone.

"I'm sorry to have arrived suddenly."

The young man, who called himself Hayatoshi Minato, sat down by the table and bowed deeply.

"Today, I was visiting Akio's parents' house to receive a greeting, and suddenly there was a story that said," I will show my face to Brother Gen."

From the first glance impression, it was a reasonable greeting, he was calm and uncomfortable.

On the other hand, Akio,

"Well, this is also like a family home. It's another home."

She immediately stretches her legs to make it easier.

"Akio... I don't mind if you relax, but at least after the greeting."

Minato nodded his head as Shiotsu frowned.

"I was planning to show you what I'm doing today."

"Oh, by the way... it's a pain."

Akio sat in a sitting position next to Minato, even though she was scared. Since she is experienced in kendo, when she sits down seriously the form is determined.

"Oh..."

It wasn't his attitude that attracted Shiotsu's interest.

Akio obeyed what the others said.

It is the fact.

"Akio told me that she has a family relationship with Shiotsu-san."

"Oh..."

Shiotsu returned to Minato's words.

"Well, it's a long-distance relationship, but this street and my house are in the neighborhood."

"Especially, Shiotsu-san was like a brother and sister, and they went to the dojo together."

"They told me to be careful not to hurt their son..."

"I see... Akio-san is committed to everything. The parents would have been relieved to see Shiotsu-san."

"Yes, I'm fine with that."

He was caught up in an indirect conversation, and Akio got in the way.

"Yes. Then..."

Minato corrected his posture towards Shiotsu.

"I think I was surprised by the sudden story, but I'm not overly cheerful. I don't know if it will be five or ten years before I get married, but I look to the future. I would like to apologize for the relationship I established."

"Ah..."

It is a long time to say that two people, who have just met, will ask for forgiveness ten years in advance...

"Sorry, nothing... what if I say 'I won't forgive you'?"

After blurting out such a word, Shiotsu rushed in and added Minato.

"No, I'm sorry. Right now, I want to say, "I don't mean to speak in the first place."

As a social resignation, it should be possible to say "Congratulations" or "Cheers to Akio" here. However,

"But it's okay."

Once again, he was afraid to say it again.

"Besides, brother Gen says that."

Akio sharpened her mouth.

“It's the cancer that makes you think 'it's not going to last any longer', so I came all the way to see you. You'll be fine next time."

"Eh?"

Minato bows his head and...

"Oh. Are you hanging me "decently"? I see, I see."

He didn't seem to feel uncomfortable with "next time", Minato cried, laughed and turned to Shiotsu again.

"Again... that's why, Shiotsu-san..."

Minato said, leaving a smile on his cheek.

“I want “brother Gen” to support me. Both Akio-san and me."

++++++++++

After that, the situation changed more quickly than originally expected.

Far from "five years, ten years ahead," he entered the group six months after the greeting, and a year later, Akio had twins.

Akio wanted to get married and give birth, of course, but Akio's parents and others around her with their "we want to summarize the story this time" and "we want to calm Akio" helped.

The other party, Minato,

"So, it's faster than I thought, but let's start over."

He made arrangements for important things like finding a job and moving.

Minato's parents died prematurely and it was said that a small inheritance had allowed his to earn a living until his income was stable. He said, "It's a long time before we can give back to all of you...", but he had no tactic to rely on public support or the home of Akio's parents.

Although Minato is calmer than the average person, Minato, who has not passed the age of 20,

"It's okay. You have plans for the future; I think there is something like a life plan."

I confirm Shiotsu every time,

"If I say it strongly, my plan is to complete it with Akio."

Saying that, Minato laughed at ease.

"I will not be bored for the rest of my life."

"Not boring." Shiotsu, who tends to accept unplanned situations as stress, is an idea that never comes to light.

"If it is okay..."

Rather, it is less flexible.

Have thought about it,

"I think it's good for Shiotsu-san to have the ideal of 'being there' in things," he said.

About five years later, the relationship between Shiotsu and the Minato family continued unabated.

Shiotsu, who dropped out of college to become a policeman, and Minato, who became a general clerk. Akio, who has had several short-term jobs while raising her twins. In general, they are a very ordinary citizen.

Akio's parents died one after another when the twins were three or four years old, and Shiotsu decided to take care of them on behalf of their relatives, but Shiotsu also had his own job and his own life. When he visited the Minato family on occasion, he was surprised by the growth of the twins.

The reason it changed is the appearance of a person named "Blue King".

The "Blue King" Habari Jin recently established an organization called "Scepter 4". As a result of the aptitude test within the police, Shiotsu was chosen as one of them, and was soon placed in the position of the King's official lieutenant.

Furthermore, the Minato family, who were related to Shiotsu, underwent a similar test, and it was found that everyone, including children, was fit to have powers.

Unlike Shiotsu, who originally had an ideal of social order, they had the option of living as ordinary people while being watched by the authorities. However, mainly due to Akio's high hopes, the Minato couple received an installation from the "Blue King", and they both became members of the "Scepter 4" maneuvering section.

Of course, Shiotsu objected. The functions assigned to the new organization are those in which the exchange of lives is normal.

Not recommended for couples with young children. That is something common sense cannot admit.

But there were some extraordinary factors in the situation.

One is that Minato Akio has displayed unusual aptitude that surpasses Shiotsu's. If she accidentally wakes up to a Strain and become a stray person, along with her own direct personality, it cannot be left out in the general public.

And one more thing is the rise of the "Red King" Kagutsu Genji. The number of people who can control the members of the red clan led by Kagutsu is scarce, and the breakwater that stops the collapse of society must be reinforced no matter what.

++++++++++

These are ancient stories.

Akio's twins are 12 years old. They will become middle school students this spring. It seemed to him a great achievement that this family was able to enter milestone season without missing any.

By the way, the twins' birthday is in early March. He tried to adjust the shift for the Minatos to celebrate this with their family, but he couldn't make it easy for Minato and Akio to go home at the same time, so the month was halfway there.

And now that day.

"It's a bit late so start first."

Said Minato who got the phone call from Akio,

Shiozu was a bit gloomy.

"Uh."

There are already five plates on the table. Minato's home cooking. He knows it's always good to work, but it will take a certain amount of time to prepare this beautiful dining table.

It was planned that Minato after the night shift would get ready for today's party, and Akio, who will be leaving the office for the night, will join him later. Shiotsu, who happened to be working at the same time as Akio, also decided to participate, but he remember that he was just an "uncle of a relative" and is in an extra position.

Although, that's...

Akio, the mother of this family, wonders what she would do later than that. Where the hell would she stray on a day like this?

While Shiotsu was irritated, Minato and their sons were...

“I can't help it. Hayato and Akito. Let's cut the cake."

"Yes, I'll get a knife."

"I'll serve you a plate."

Then she changed her schedule and started working. He's used to Akio not moving as planned.

Also,

"I'm glad Shiotsu-san is here. Only three of us really lack emotion."

"Oh."

It made him worry about it.

Akio returned home about an hour later.

"Oh, have you already given a gift? Did you give it to Hayato and Akito, brother Gen?"

The twins waited in time, looked at each other and responded with their voices.

"Catalog gift."

"Buhahaha! What is that?"

Taking the catalog brought by Hayato, Akio laughed even more.

"Brother Gen, this is what you will give them! It's like tableware or futon!"

"It's not interesting and I'm sorry."

Truth be told, a paper cutter similar to the one custom made the other day for "Blue King" Habari Jin.

The twins of the Minato family are said to have a strong longing for the "Blue King" Habari Jin.

If he gives a gift that matches Habari, Shiotsu's thoughts that would make him happy would collapse on his birthday.

The paper cutter that was supposed to be given to Habari was used to kill the member of the “Purgatory” clan at the hand of Zenjo, a member of the Mobile Task Force. A similar one is too sinister to give away.

"Brother Gen is really boring. He's too boring to laugh."

"Akio, I'm not saying that."

Minato gives up on Akio who keeps laughing,

"I am happy, Shiotsu-san."

"I have fun choosing."

The twins said to Shiotsu.

"It's good to be funny."

Akio said with a smile and satisfaction.

“Because we are like that. It's just ordinary boredom."

Namely, this year's gift that the twins were given with the couple's joint name, chosen by Minato, is a fountain pen with the names Hayato and Akito.

“It is a souvenir. It won't force you to be interesting."

Minato smirked.

"Thanks Dad."

"I appreciate."

The twins said.

"This house would be useless without me."

Speaking like this, Akio went to the front door and returned with a large box in both hands.

"What are you doing with that big box?"

When Shiotsu asked, Akio raised the box to her face level,

"I bought a set at an electronics store."

"Wow!" Said the twins.

"Akio..."

When Minato yelled, Akio looked back in trouble.

"I know. I spoke with the children and "decided to graduate the toy". This is not a gift, it is mine."

"Is there such a graduation?"

Akio ordered the twins, ignoring Shiotsu's words, if there was such a graduation.

“Hayato and Akito. I'll let them do it, so I can connect various things."

While Akio was late and ate, the twins clashed, hooked up a game console to the TV in the living room, completed the initial setup, and started playing together. For the game software, they choose what they bought together with the main unit and tested it.

Finally,

"Okay, let me do it too."

Akio, who had finished eating, also intervened there.

"The controller is not enough."

"There are only two."

"I am the owner. You take turns."

"She is not willing to give it to her son."

Minato said to Shiotsu who leaned forward.

"Apparently that was the correct answer."

"Correct answer...?"

"The children said:" We are adults now.", So I thought about putting them together... but I'm afraid I still don't have enough time to play."

The appearance of Akio and her children addressing the television in the living room is more like a close brother and sister than parents and children.

"But in high school, playing with parents would be boring."

"Perhaps it is a great distance from children of the same age. After all, the occupations of their parents and the qualities of children's blood are special."

"I see... it's a job."

"Even if I'm working or raising a child, I'm trying to find everything... I trust Akio's nose."

"What is that "nose"?"

"I call it instinct... She always looks messy and always makes the right decisions where necessary."

Shiotsu looked towards the living room. Both Akio and the children play seriously, shake their bodies and raise their voices. When he was really serious and Akio's legs stopped, Minato rushed over and stopped.

"That's it…"

Marriage, childbirth and enlistment in "Scepter 4". Akio's actions and choices thus far seemed to always be hasty and reckless from Shiotsu's perspective.

If everyone is connected to this scene,

"I see, it's true."

It certainly feels that way now.

(To be continue…)

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 260: GOD IS A WOMAN

Previously on BnHA: Virtually all of the known pro heroes in existence split into two big groups (each with its own weenie hut junior subgroup) to launch a massive surprise attack on the League of Pliff. Endeavor’s group, in Jakku, stormed the hospital where Ujiko works, which amazingly seemed to catch him completely off guard, so I guess we’ll see how that goes. Meanwhile off in the woods somewhere, Midnight’s group (ostensibly this is Edgeshot’s group, but I call it like I see it guys) prepared to attack the villains’ main HQ at the Overlook Hotel, while my infant son Kaminari Denki complained too loudly about being stuck on the front lines. Meanwhile the rest of 1-A (sans Tokoyami) is either tucked away safe in the woods, or perched just outside of Jakku ready to begin the citizen evacuation. I suggest that everyone enjoy this brief period where the good guys appear to be safe and victorious while it lasts.

Today on BnHA: MIRUKO!!! Okay lol. A lot happens in this chapter. Aizawa uses his quirk on Ujiko, who immediately starts melting away into a crispy-fried old man because apparently this motherfucker had the immortality quirk all along. And then Mic and Aizawa yell at him, and the other doctors are all “pardon us but what the fuck” and the heroes are all “NO TIME TO TALK, HE’S EVIL” and then we find out that Ujiko is a fucking Twice clone, so that’s just great. And the real Ujiko is of course down in the basement, along with LORD EVEN KNOWS HOW MANY HIGH END NOUMUS, and for a moment it honest to god looks like we’re screwed. But then MIRUKO, YOUR NEW FAVORITE CHARACTER, KICKS DOWN ALL THE FREAKING DOORS AND FLATTENS POOR JOHN-KUN AND IS ALL “BOOM, YOU LOOKING FOR THIS?”, and let me tell you guys, FOR A MOMENT I SAW TRUTH. Anyway so next chapter she’s probably going to have to fight zombie Jeanist or something, but for now? Life is good. REMEMBER THIS DAY.

so just like last week, before I get started I’m gonna do a quick follow-up on chapter 259. really, Viz’s version wasn’t all that different from the fan scanlation this time around, so this will mostly just be reactions to things I didn’t notice and that other people pointed out

first off, a couple people mentioned that the thing Mic is holding up appears to be some kind of throat spray. which seems to track, so I’ll just say again that I have a very morbid curiosity about whether or not Mic could actually kill someone with his quirk. and this curiosity has only intensified since my google search

so yeah. will we ever get to see something like this?? STAY TUNED

also, I got a couple of conflicting answers about Naomasa’s quirk. someone said his quirk was lie-detecting, but another person said that’s actually his sister’s (LOL I HAD NO IDEA THERE WAS A NAOSIS, I REALLY SHOULD JUST READ VIGILANTES) quirk. and I never actually followed up on that lol sooooo. let me just do that real quick

okay so he doesn’t have a quirk listed on the wiki, but it says that his codename (??) is “True Man.” so that does seem to imply that his quirk is similar if not identical to his sister’s quirk, which is indeed a truth quirk (Polygraph). although the “she can’t detect a lie if the person is relaxed” seems to call this ability into doubt a bit. still pretty powerful though I guess

moving on now, last but not least let’s discuss the most relevant and controversial thing that happened this past week. (incidentally, I added an ETA about this to the previous chapter recap a couple hours after I first posted it, so in case you don’t what the asks below are referring to, it’s that.)

so... I have mixed feelings about this. thing is, after reading up on it, it seems like the fans who were most upset were those from China, Korea, etc., which is actually completely understandable given the historical context. Japan doesn’t exactly have a great track record with being sensitive about all of the horrific shit their military got up to during WWII, so while I still believe that Horikoshi wasn’t intending to be disrespectful, I can understand them not being inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt

that being said, I keep thinking about this tweet by aitaikimochi:

and despite what Horikoshi said in his apology tweets (about how he didn’t intend for the name to be associated with that particular historical connection), I still can’t help but think that he absolutely did intend to reference Unit 731, with the intent of (a) linking it to this vile, disgusting piece of shit character as a commentary, and (b) perhaps subtly pushing some of his Japanese readers who have never heard about this particular part of history to learn more about it. like, I know he offered up some dubious explanation about it being a reference to Ujiko’s rotund nature, but that seems really iffy to me tbh. that’s one hell of a coincidence if that’s really the case. idk

and you know what else -- and here’s where I’m really whipping out the conspiracy goggles -- I also can’t help but suspect that the decision to go back and change the name in the volume release is coming more from Shueisha (who I half-suspect weren’t themselves aware of the “maruta” name association until this blew up) than from him. because unfortunately this seems to be the standard Japanese PR response any time this subject comes up -- offer a vague statement of regret, and immediately proceed to wipe any mention of the subject from existence. because god forbid people actually talk about this or acknowledge that it happened

and so ultimately, while I do empathize with those who were upset by the name, I think it’s unfortunate that this is just getting swept back under the rug so quickly and will no doubt be forgotten about within a couple of months, because my gut feeling is that Shueisha was ultimately more concerned about what their Japanese readership might think about the controversy than what the Chinese and Korean fans thought. I could be wrong about that, and maybe also giving Horikoshi too much benefit of the doubt, but meh :/

anyway! so now that we’ve gotten that topic out of the way, let’s see how many pages it will take before the heroes finally realize just how much of an “oh fuck” situation they’ve gotten themselves into!

so the cover page is Hawks and Endeavor, but more importantly (to me), it establishes that this is indeed a hotel/resort and not a mansion, as the readheroaca team randomly translated it as last week. like does that look like any mansion you’ve ever seen. come on now

anyway so now my question is what happens if someone actually tries to stay at this hotel. do they just book that shit on trivago and enjoy a week up in the mountains surrounded by very strange but seemingly nice people, and just never suspect a thing? like, Gigantomachia lives in the basement here. I’m just saying. how dense can these hypothetical travelers be

also the hotel is apparently 80km from the hospital, or about 50 miles for us troglodytes who still use the imperial system. so pretty safe to say neither team will be able to provide backup to the other in this case. I will try not to think about this

so now Ujiko, the man without a name, is screaming while Endeavor and his group just STAND THERE LIKE TWENTY FEET AWAY. what the fuck

I swear to god he looked so much closer in the previous chapter. WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING. HE’S GOT NOUMUS IN THE BASEMENT!! CAN YOU FUCKING ARREST HIS ASS ALREADY

YESSSS AIZAWA

what are the odds that the next panel features Aizawa Shouta looking more pissed off than we’ve ever seen him. oh my god. it’s probably going to be hot af. I’m not sure I’m ready

booooooo

that is more or less the opposite of hot af. Horikoshi why you gotta do me like that

well well WELL!

you mean to say Mr. Innocent Quirkless Philanthropist isn’t actually quirkless?? even though he wasn’t actually innocent?? and he wasn’t actually a philanthropist either?? well I am just SHOCKED. who saw this coming. how could this happen

also for real this is creeping me the fuck out though

it does make sense though. I just can’t picture AFO entrusting so much of his operation to this dude if he actually was quirkless. because he’d view someone without a quirk as being lesser/inferior. so Ujiko almost had to have something up his sleeve. although it’s possible he could have been granted a quirk, rather than being born with one I suppose

!!!!

DO NOT TELL ME THIS MOTHERFUCKER HAS THE FUCKING IMMORTALITY QUIRK. WHAT THE FUCK. IS HE JUST GOING TO SHRIVEL UP INTO NOTHING. NO FUCKING WAY HE GOES DOWN THAT EASY WHAT THE HELL

(ETA: and does this mean that if Aizawa ever visits AFO and uses his quirk on him, AFO will also instantly age like 200 fucking years? could that actually kill him?)

duuuuude. Nao’s speculating about whether the Noumus’ regeneration ability actually stems from this quirk. ...but that can’t be the case, can it? otherwise AFO would have been able to heal his injuries from the battle with All Might. we know for a fact he’s known Ujiko for at least 15 years. but still, either way it’s still one hell of a powerful quirk

which now seems to be unraveling before our very eyes. uh...

anyone else getting Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade vibes? “he chose... poorly”

oh MY GOD!!

do it Mic do it do it do it

oh my god. well he’s not killing him with his voice, but instead this is happening

nooo Mic. I need you to be less anguished and more murdery. I don’t want feels yet!! goddammit

I mean it’s not asking for too much, is it? I just want a teensy little bit of satisfaction before the shit hits the fan. just torture him a little bit. just a little!

oh hey some doctors are intervening because the heroes look like psychopaths right now

s2g if one of these fuckers gets in between Ujiko and Aizawa’s line of sight and he fucking gets away -- !! oh my god. I can’t fucking take this. ffdffjjjk I’m so anxious you guys, I could never be a hero the stress is too much

so instead of explaining it to these rightfully concerned people, the heroes are just pushing them aside and telling them to stand back. and like, on the one hand I get it. they’re on the clock, they have to eliminate John-kun before the hotel villains get wind of the attack, and they don’t have time to explain an entire series’s worth of backstory to everyone who asks about it. but on the other hand, I also just want them to shout “HE EXPERIMENTED ON CHILDREN AND CORPSES AND CREATED THE NOUMUS!” or something. just so they know. I need them to know goddammit

but at least the patients seem to all be pretty chill about it lmao

-- holy shit. okay, three things

that panel with them moving the beds is my favorite

the panel with Tora holding this one guy who’s suddenly IN LOVE is also my favorite. oh man. Tora you are the manliest

combat with the WHAT DID YOU SAY NOW

so they knew?? well that sure fucking explains why Endeavor made the executive decision to keep his son and the other kids as far away as possible. but also, what? so like they must not realize that there are more high ends, then. right? or else they surely would not be so casual about this

holy shit?!

just how thorough was this investigation?? I really need to stop underestimating the heroes huh. should have learned my lesson after Kamino. these guys do their homework. it’s just that there’s always some one last thing that they failed to account for

so what is it going to be then in this case? Tomura is the one controlling them now? shitttttt

oh god. yeah, Miruko’s just casually kicking down the mortuary door and she’s all “we know who’s controlling them!” so I assume they believe that it’s Ujiko. which is honestly what I myself assumed up until about ten seconds ago, so fair enough

SDKFJLSKHGLK THERE IT IS

hot. a. f. just like I said. excuse me sir but there are laws against smoking in a hospital. because you’re smoking. get it. ...it’s because you’re hot. ...yes sir I’m sorry sir I will stop now

so Ujiko is sobbing and screaming “let me go!!” and okay but where is Present Mic? do you see, Mic. this is what I wanted, okay. but it’s all right, I understand that you were upset

ohhhhhhhhhh ffffuuuu

Endeavor with a worried look and lots of dots followed by an exclamation point, and then a closeup of Ujiko’s mouth looking surprisingly sinister as he reiterates for them to let him go. I’M SURE THIS IS ALL FINE. WE’RE ALL FINE. THAT’S OKAY HORIKOSHI, YOU CAN END THE CHAPTER HERE, IT’S GOOD. WE GOT LIKE WHAT, EIGHT PAGES? THAT’S PLENTY, REALLY

FUFFFFFFF NO MIRUKO DON’T GO FLYING INTO THE VOID! THE VOID IS BAD

HOLY SHIT

jesus christ. Miruko does the exact same thing as Katsuki where she sees a wall and she’s all “FUCK YEAH.” goddamn. it honest to god gave me a boost of confidence even as I watched her announce that THE NOUMU ARE DOING THE EXACT FUCKING THING SHE JUST SAID THAT THEY WOULDN’T BE ABLE TO DO

and also that is 100% a black Noumu there on the right side. so confirmed, the big guns are here too

HOLY SHIT TIMES TWO

THIS FUCKING HOSPITAL REALLY HAD THE FUCKING ASTEROID WORM FROM EMPIRE STRIKES BACK IN THE FREAKING BASEMENT, AND YOU ALL COULDN’T FUCKING DETECT THAT?? GET BETTER DETECTING TECHNOLOGY YOU DUMB HEROES

but nice save, Aizawa!! I personally would not have had such quick reflexes upon being confronted by a giant monster lunging out of the floor to stick out its multipronged DRILL TONGUE WHICH IS ALSO ITS BRAIN, haha. can someone please check on Horikoshi to make sure he is doing all right. I have some concerns about the mind that drew this

holy shit the drill tongue Noumu is actually drilling into Ujiko. like there’s blood and stuff

-- SHIT

THIS IS WHY YOU HAVE THE DAMN GOGGLES YOU ASSHOLE!! “BUT MAKESTE YOU WERE THE ONE WHO WANTED ME TO TAKE THEM OFF SO THAT I COULD LOOK HOT.” WELL JUST LOOK AT HOW WELL THAT TURNED OUT! THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER LISTEN TO ME

(ETA: well it turned out not to matter BUT STILL.)

lmao Endeavor looks so fucking mad

“THIS IS WHY YOU HAVE THE DAMN GOGGLES YOU ASSHOLE.” I know, right?!

...aaaaaand this is happening

lol. good job @blessedgirthma​ you called it. it’s a clone! hahaha, fuck

and so the bad man lives to see another day. bets on who will eventually be the one to take him out? just remember how long that list is. lots of enemies, Ujiko. you’ll get yours

but right now I guess we have some other things to worry about

by the way we best pray to god that it was Twice who made that clone and not Ujiko himself, because if Ujiko has managed to replicate that ability on top of everything else, we can truly kiss the world goodbye

but anyway! so that’s Noumu!Tomura confirmed then, in my book. and there are the 11! does this mean they’re not at the hospital?? all I know is they had better not be out on the outskirts of the city where my babies are

also is Ujiko talking to himself here. it almost seems like his words are coming out of the clone’s mouth. but Twice doesn’t have that kind of clone puppeteering ability. so then who is this guy bragging to. -- oh my god can he see us

lmao he’s plopping into his science chair and zooming halfway across the room

don’t misunderstand me though, one panel of being super relatable does not make up for a lifetime of horrific and nauseating crimes

-- THERE ARE MORE VATS!!! HOLY SHIT

THERE ARE MORE VATS. THERE ARE MORE VATS

there is at least one more row than I recall seeing in that previous chapter way back when. so even more high ends. in addition to the 12 (11 considering Endeavor subsequently fried one) we previously saw

and also I just realized, he did say “this” hospital. meaning he is still in the basement? so these guys are still right under their noses, then? oh god oh god so much to process and all of it is terrible god

GAAAAAAASPPP

MILADY!!!!!

holy shit. you guys. what the fuck. the hell was All Might thinking going to U.A. to pick a student successor when Miruko was right fucking there. like I’m just saying??

and also, fuck me he is getting away

OH MY GOD

SHE FUCKING MURDERED POOR JOHN-KUN JUST LIKE THAT WHAAAAAT. YOU GUYS I CAN’T BELIEVE MIRUKO IS THE NEW MAIN CHARACTER OF BNHA, TIMES ARE WILD

lmao and that’s the end of the chapter. holy shit. all I need is for her to say “I am here!” and I’m set. I leave it in your capable hands. why was she not in charge to begin with. number five hero my ass!! smdh for real though guys lol

[uta-h3m-vcd-tbw]

Who Am I?

I have attempted to dialogue the events in my life at least 100 times beforehand but probably more but could never bring myself to be completely honest.  Call this a personal inventory if you will.  I consider myself a better writer than most however when it comes to writing about myself my brain goes blank.  I know what I want to say, it’s just how do you go about telling anyone....”I am a Heroin addict.”  

I have read a couple books about other addicts & have watched countless documentaries, movies, & shows about addiction.  Always paying close attention to how the writer unfolds his/her story trying to translate it to my own with little success.  I eventually came to the conclusion that so much has happened in the two decades of drug use that there is no way fathomable to include everything...at least not in your standard literary fashion.  

A few days ago I stumbled across a new series on Netflix about a girl that liked to blog on Tumblr & suddenly I felt I may have an outlet to format this timeline of events.  Make no mistake about this...everything I write from this moment on is 100% true whether you choose to believe it or not.  Hell looking back....I don’t believe it sometimes & constantly find myself asking God why am I still here & why have so many perished before/besides me?  What makes me so special?

Most stories I read/watch about addiction are pretty generic.  It typically starts with someone who was injured & prescribed pain killers only to get cut off from the doctor & led down the dark & endless path of Heroin addiction.  They tell stories about the terrible things they did to maintain their habit & of loved ones they hurt along the way.  While I did horrible things as well, hurt & lost too many loved ones to addiction...this story is unlike any of the rest.  This is a story of addiction...obviously...but also one of organized crime, corruption, murder, extortion, jail/institutions, & love but mostly death.  

Every addiction specialist or rehab I have been to always had the same fault....they try to find some underlying reason as to why I started, “self medicating,” & attempt to address it.  I’ve had numerous heated arguments with councilors & doctors who insisted I was suppressing something deep down & may not even know it!  While I have heard of such instances to actually be the case I can very well tell you I am as normal as you are.  

I grew up in a child’s utopia in an upper-middle class suburb roughly 20 miles North of Detroit.  Think of the famous Tim Allen show, “Home Improvement.” Not only was I raised in Metro Detroit but I also come from a family of two parents, still married, & was the youngest of three boys.  I know most people’s perception of Detroit isn’t very high however in the 80′s & 90′s it was a great place to start a family.  Before the auto industry tanked most people skipped college to work on the assembly line at one of the, “Big Three,” (Ford, GM, or Chrysler) & lived comfortably.  My dad was a, “Safety Restraint Engineer,” for a subsidiary company with several patents still in use today!  We spent our days riding bikes through endless trails behind our house, building forts, playing back yard football, & camping in the backyard on warm summer nights.  My brothers & I were raised Catholic.  Went to Church every Sunday & Catechism on Thursday nights.  If I could change one thing about my childhood I wouldn’t.  It was that perfect!  My Father didn’t fail to raise a man...I failed to be the man he raised. 

When someone asks me why I started doing drugs I tell them because it was fun....simple as that.  I know it sounds cliche but it’s true, everyone was doing them.  My older brothers were way ahead of me, listening to Grateful Dead & dropping acid in middle school!  I just liked drugs a lot more than everyone else. My mother knew I had an addictive personality because I would take everything I did to the max & always looked for instant gratification.  I never wanted to wait/work for anything.  I think my brothers were aware of this as well because they would NEVER sell me pot in these early days.  They wouldn’t even talk to me about it.  So as far as being as normal as everyone else....maybe that one’s a stretch.  On the other hand I was years ahead of my classmates & understood how things worked much easier than the majority of my class.  

By the time I reached High School I was selling/smoking pot & hanging out with kids my age but it wasn’t long before I caught the attention of the older guys in the neighborhood.  I had already garnished a somewhat questionable reputation through my brothers by default & everyone knew my name from the paper route I had since I was roughly 12 years old.  At first they were intimidating & I hated whenever I had to deliver papers on one of their streets...praying they wouldn’t be outside playing basketball or something.  They always hung around the same two or three houses depending on who’s parents weren’t home that day.  If they saw me coming every one of them would stop what they were doing & aim their attention towards me.  All of them except one.  I knew his face & heard stories whispered about him in the hallways at school.  His name was Franco & he was not just the leader of their group...he was, “Head Fucking Hancho.”  You know the scene from mob movies where people from the neighborhood come to sit with the boss & ask him all kinds of favors in return for their loyalty?  That was Franco at age 15!  He had everyone’s respect....even that of my older brothers who looked up to nobody.  If you had a disagreement with Franco it didn’t go far.  I’ve seen him hit guys so hard they temporarily lost the ability to speak!  After a couple minutes of hazing from the guys he would shout from the porch telling them to leave me alone & they would scatter like roaches! 

These encounters would eventually lead up to my first drug deal.  Up until that point I had been stealing whatever I could from whichever brother wouldn’t notice at the time & smoking/selling it with & to my friends.  They eventually caught me & beat the living shit out of me.  I don’t think they were actually mad about the missing weed it was more about not stealing from your brother.  The same day I was caught stealing weed I planned on meeting several kids from school at a friends house & of course everyone was expecting me to bring the pot.  To this day I don’t know how I got the phone number or the guts to call it but I reached out to Franco’s best friend Mark.  I don’t really no why I chose him....any of the older guys could have found me weed.....but I knew Mark sold it regularly & to pretty much anyone.  There was no cell phones at this time so I had to call his house.  He wasn’t as angry as I expected & told me to wait 5 minutes before riding my bike towards his side of the neighborhood.  I did exactly as he instructed me to & before I could get to the end of my street he was pulling up in a dark green Ford Ranger...Frank was with him riding in the passenger seat.  Mark got out...threw my bike in the back of his truck telling me to hop in the backseat before getting back behind the wheel & pealing off.  The music was so loud I could barely understand the lyrics over the bass let alone what Frank & Mark were saying but it didn’t matter because they weren’t talking to me.  At the time I thought Mark must want to get out of the neighborhood before doing the deal but after getting to know him I learned...that was his, “thing”.  He loved to drive around, blaring music, & smoking weed with whoever was willing to tag along.  He hated driving alone & his truck was like his office.  Frank acted as if I wasn’t even there...holding a cool composure looking out the window while nodding his head to the music.  Eventually we pulled down a random street, where Mark turned down the music before pulling the truck over.  He turned around & asked me how much money I wanted to spend before opening a large grocery bag filled to the top with little, “dime bags,” or roughly a large gram of weed in each bag.  I don’t know if it was how he had them bagged up but it was more than I had ever seen in one place at the time & my brothers always had a lot.  I had a handful of crinkled five′s & one dollar bills I collected from my friends earlier in the day at school.  It came out to around $24.  I remember it was less than $25 because Mark insisted that an 8th cost $25 & that I was a dollar short.  I didn’t even know what an 8th was or how much it cost but didn't want to screw up my first deal so I pretended it was just an honest mistake & he threw three bags in my lap.  Franco asked where I was going & asked if I needed a ride which I humbly excepted.  

From that day on things changed little by little with every passing day.  I hung out less & less with the kids my age to be around Mark, Frank & the rest of the older guys.  They saw me as the kid who could sell a lot of weed since I already had that reputation from my classmates.  I saw them as a ticket to popularity.  In my mind it was an even trade.  My mother had an entirely different opinion.....constantly telling me I should be hanging around with my younger friends.  To me it was harmless....choosing to see it as normal for a kid my age.  I had no idea where this new found friendship would lead us.  I had no idea what I was getting myself into.  

As I was saying before....so much has happened since this day that I cannot even begin to piece it all together in a manner in which it flows conveniently into a timeline of events.  This is the beginning of my attempt & you will have to stick with me to learn more as I continue to publish.  I will warn you upfront that I will be changing some names, maybe even places or be vague as I am still getting death threats to this day & also don’t want to negatively impact any of the families that have already been ripped apart from unimaginable losses.  Lastly I am still weary about telling my story in it’s entirety.  I am sure those who are close to me will be able to figure out who I am since most of what I am going to tell you has never been a secret save one part.  I have never told ANYONE the FULL story other than my parents.  I feel it is the main reason I have struggled in all my attempts at telling/writing what actually happened.  Please understand that I take absolutely NO pride in the things I have done & only feel I need to document what I went through so maybe the next kid contemplating the path I chose....will rethink the decision.  I can tell you now their is no glory or honor in what we did & the end result was nothing but pain & suffering for our victims as well as ourselves.  I really hope nobody reads this the wrong way & that I am able to accurately portray the pain/anguish we caused so they realize how brainwashed we were & the impact you can have on others no matter how minor you think it is.  You have to stand up against what may seem to be the correct/hard decision at the time or even a harmless one that you know in your heart/gut is questionable & choose to do what you know to be right.  The definition of the word, “popular,” is; liked, admired, or enjoyed by many people or by a particular person or group.  The groups that are using/selling drugs are the minority & in the end you will find most are not truly your friend.  When I go on social media, looking back at all the kids I graduated with, I realize now that those who did well in school & actively participated were actually the, “cool kids.”  They are the ones posting pictures of new houses, nice cars & beautiful wives with blossoming families.  There is nothing cool about being alone & having nothing to show for the last two decades of your life but scars.  It is not romantic in any way shape or form.  You will not find comfort.  

Stay tuned for more to come!