#both of these are exclusive to eight’s structure because he made them

[chaotic-minds-think-alike]

More of them

[sillygoblinantics]

Click her for the first four generations!!!

Gobbo’s Semi-Complete Pokémon Retrospective!!

Pt 2.

The previous post wasn’t able to save the rest of the draft that contained the layout of Gen five and so I will be continuing my retrospective starting with Gen five, here! Please know this is based primarily on personal experience as well as some bits of bias but I’ll try to not let my word take away from experiencing these games from you! With new advancements of technology it’s now possible to enjoy if not through a not entirely exact structure and gameplay of the originals to replay these older games without a DS or cartridge via emulators! So if you can I highly suggest trying them out! Alright let’s get to it!

Heads up this will be quite long of a read so take breaks if need be

Gen V (halfway there!!)

My memories of this game is very limited as this was a very sad time where my brother and i’s pokemon journey would end after the 3ds came out. But I will share what I do remember and then go over some interesting findings of this game!

My mom usually took both of us to GameStop to get the newest pokemon games only this time when black and white came out, my mom took me to get the game I wanted (I personally wish I goth pokemon black because I personally loved the design of reshiram more and its symbolism/ties to daoism representing Yin) on our way home my mother kept reminding me to not let my brother see me playing the game to which I followed! Up until my brother saw me playing while I was chilling in my parents room to which he gasped and exclaimed no fair before racing downstairs yelling for our mom to take him to GameStop, I all wide eyed would race to advance further in the game before he got back only to lose the race! XD I had made it to the third or second town from the starting town when he caught me! Oh and my starter was a female oshawott I named Shelly! I also had a massive crush on N. And didn’t need to fight him four times to get further in the game.

Now for the trivia part:

The biggest addition that sadly didn’t make it out of Gen five was the changing seasons that would change whenever you next opened the game if my memory is correct? This was also a sort of reintroduction of the pokemon franchise! The small roster of new pokemon shaked things up for long time fans especially with the exclusion of older pokemon but in post as well as the sequels you could still get some of your favorites without having to hack them in like a certain ralts enthusiast has done to paint a biased narrative. LILY.

Unova being the first region not based on a specific area of Japan like the first four games were, unova took place in a ingame version of the Empire State, New York, NY! In an interview the unique meaning behind the region’s Japanese name truly illustrated the very common experience one has to traveling to a new country.

The Japanese name roughly translates to: “From afar there is one” if we take this in the context of the region’s real world inspiration and the perspective of someone who’s never left their home country and is travelling to a country they’ve only had a very limited understanding or experience with only going by caricatures or stereotypes. From afar they believe where they’re traveling has only one type of people but as they get closer they learn and realize that there is a much broader and diverse picture of a multitude of combinations of people of many different backgrounds and ethnicities!

New York cities Ellis island was the birth place and port that welcomed many different families of many different backgrounds that would disperse across the city and the states.

It’s no wonder that in gen five we are given not the standard eight gym leaders instead we have ten! Each one being a representation if not stand in for the different kinds of people you meet in NYC. And outside of trainers and characters the Pokémon themselves even reflect the diversity found in NYC and the states as a whole. From elgyem and beehyeem being the greys and flatwoods monster, the Gothitelle line being based on well goths but also Lolita-goth fashion, braviary being the national bird the bald eagle (and a continuous scientific paradoxical mystery that rattles my mind to this day XD), several exotic pets that get brought to the states, and something very interesting I learned given new information that I find is an example of GameFreaks’ attention to detail when it comes to making new regions:

Golett and Golurk

As I’m sure we are all aware of, these Pokémon are suppose to be the golem from ancient Jewish mythology. For those unfamiliar: the golem was a humanoid creature made of a special clay adorn with special ornament and prayers. The golem would only move when given a task that would be written on a scroll or parchment that would then be placed in its mouth, once active the golem would then fulfill this task and once complete return to a dormant state awaiting its next task.

But something that stood out to me has always been the arm bands and head spike golurk seemed to have apart of its design. When talking with someone who has given me insight of his culture I learned of a prayer that stood out in how familiar the concept was! This (below) is a

Tefillin. The way the belt on the arm is wrapped can mean a multitude of things when in prayer the box on the forehead also holds different prayers as well!

Keep in mind I’m just speculating this but the implied detail of this in a pokemon that debuted in a game based on New York City which has been a starting for many Jewish families who immigrated to the US while still looking for refuge in thousands of years of exile. Sorry I got sidetracked on the cultural history!

Please remember that I in no means intend to discuss or promote a political stance on my page and this is all I’m going to say on the matter, my only intent is to share information and insight into the making of these games and elements of the story and concept process.

Back to Pokémon! Outside of cultures that were brought into the use there’s a lot of native or indigenous influence as well!

But Unova has more than just the Pokémon and influences in design, there’s the mechanics and worldbuilding still left to address!

From the subway battles to the musicals and even the studio in the sequels there’s the secret world that varies based on game exclusives. But out of all of this there was a new battle mechanic that gets overlooked, I’m of course talking about rotation battles which involved three of your pokemon out in the battle where you could rotate and decide not only what move to use but which of your pokemon attacks first as the your opponent could easily rotate their pokemon to easily avoid or minimize damage from the move type. Essentially it was a triple battle with finesse!

Of course the story continues after the first games in the sequels unfortunately I wouldn’t get a chance to play them as my brother would end his journey one fateful day when his friend was over, taking all his ds games and ds lite into the garage and to my childish horror smashed all of them with a hammer beyond repair! I had no time but only to cry out “no not twiggy!!” Twiggy being the name of my brother’s starter in Gen four, turtwig. It would be after this where I began buying both games to keep the spirit of our tradition alive. We can now move on to…

———————————

Gen VI

Yes this is the generation where my oc Ripley came from as well as the backstory for Brid.

I also love Gen six however one gripe I had with the game was the exclusion of contests which if you remember the anime, was a thing for one of the characters and in universe something Diantha had done too! I’m still bitter about it but my enthusiasm and anticipation for PLZA is tenfold as now we get to see the possible era of French history known as the rebuild of France! Which lines up with some of the most impactful artistic historic movements in art, writing, science and fashion! I’m getting ahead of myself as this game is almost out! And this’ll have to this post into the second part of probably three or four.

Kalos is gorgeous with how bright and vibrant the world is with delicate touches of detail. Being the first of three games to be on the newest console that had the gimmick of being 3d, it also brought some controversy in regards to the transition from the top down 2d sprites to the jarring switch to 3d models. Of course the way the game opened was a way to transition that change from a restricting aerial or birdseye camera angle to a freeing and semi limited 360° camera movement. I chose fennekin as my starter and was sad when I didn’t get a girl but I didn’t let that stop me.

I nearly forgot to mention the big pull that Gen six brought to the battle mechanics of the competitive scene: Mega Evolution, the next step and true show of synchrony between a Pokémon and their trainer. And no Lily it’s not a sexual thing, we know what you wrote.

We also got introduced to what has to be one of my favorite types on a conceptual level: Fairy types!

It made more sense to add this type especially in a region based in Europe as many countries there have many variations of faeries or fey. And the added bonus of its type advantage being a reference to many children’s fairytales while the disadvantages being a call back to the Gaelic or Celtic origins of the faerie world! I.e. the weakness to iron which was used to protect children from being stolen by the fey. I also as of writing this had an epiphany as to where the poison weakness came from: the poison apple from Snow White or many other Grimm fairytales involving the use of poison! I just realized that!

This would be the last region where we would get a new eevee evolution that would not come back since the release of X and Y.

The fact these games are so heavily intertwined with such a rich usage of mythos and legends of Europe fills such a warmth for world building inside my heart. From the Nordic mythology the legendary trio of this region have ties to, to the dark ages of sickness and pain the black plague brought to even Arthurian mythology! With my personal thoughts of legends arceus’s art already set my excitement as of now calmed radiates as we get closer to the release of the legends ZA game’s art direction!

———————————

For now I think I’ll end here and continue when I’m more awake to finish off with the last three generations! Let’s hope I can get through the three games in one last post but I can already tell I’m gonna be going on about Gen nine so that’ll be fun!

[swanlake1998]

Article: For transgender dancers, progress can't come fast enough

Date: March 8, 2020

By: Avichai Scher

Sean Dorsey was tired of being the only transgender dancer in the room. So he took the bold step of starting his own company, the San Francisco-based Sean Dorsey Dance, and become the first openly trans director of a full-time dance company. It was a milestone for transgender and gender-nonconforming dancers and choreographers, and Dorsey hoped it would lead to a more inclusive dance world.

The company is celebrating its 15th anniversary this year, yet Dorsey remains the only openly trans artistic director of a full-time dance company in the country.

“We’ve definitely made progress since I started, when there was really no context for institutional or social support of trans dancers,” Dorsey said. “But there’s still a major lack of representation across the dance world.”

Dance, especially older forms such as ballet and modern dance, is mostly structured around strict gender lines. While the growing acceptance of transgender people in the United States has extended somewhat into the art form, trans dancers are often forced to choose between being their authentic selves and career opportunities.

Issues start in training

Dorsey’s choreography often deals with trans issues, and he is committed to being an advocate in the dance world for transgender people. But even in his own company, Dorsey is the only trans performer.

“In San Francisco, at least, I don’t have the luxury of holding an audition for trans dancers,” he said. “There just aren’t very many at the professional level.”

Dorsey said this is largely because barriers for trans and gender-nonconforming dancers start at a young age — as most training programs are gender-specific.

Jayna Ledford, 19, made headlines when she came out as transgender in an Instagram post in 2018. She was studying at the Kirov Ballet Academy at the time, a traditional ballet program in Washington, D.C. It was the first time a dancer at an acclaimed ballet school had publicly come out as trans.

Classes at Kirov, like most ballet conservatories, are generally separated by sex assigned at birth, and when students are combined, teachers offer different steps for men and women. Ledford, however, found ways to get the training that matched her gender identity, including dancing on her toes in special pointe shoes, which is done almost exclusively by women and requires unique training.

“I wanted to do what the females were doing,” she said. “I’d do it on the side and not pay attention to what the guys were doing. I’d also stay after class and practice pointe technique with my female friends.”

She hadn’t had the training other females at the school had, but she was hoping to transfer from the men’s program to the women’s.

“I knew I had a lot of catching up to do in terms of pointe work,” she said. “But just being in the room with the females, that’s what I wanted.”

The Kirov Academy told Ledford she could not join the women’s program unless she physically transitioned. Ledford was not ready for that, so she left the school. She was disappointed but now says she understands the academy’s position. The school confirmed Ledford’s account but declined to comment.

Maxfield Haynes, 22, who is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns, said the large, prestigious ballet school where they trained was not supportive of someone presenting as male wearing pointe shoes.

It wasn’t until Haynes enrolled at Tisch School of the Arts at New York University that they were able to explore the more feminine aspects of ballet technique. Ledford also found higher education to be more supportive than a conservatory. She now studies at Montclair State University and practices pointe technique daily.

Lack of professional opportunities

After NYU, Haynes chose to dance with Complexions Contemporary Ballet partially because the company is explicitly supportive of gender fluidity, and even had a specific role for Haynes that is gender-nonconforming. In the David Bowie tribute piece, “Stardust,” Haynes dons pointe shoes and was partnered with male dancers.

“It was everything I could have dreamed of,” Haynes said of the role. “As nonbinary, I like to get to show all aspects of gender. I don’t think about dancing like a man or a woman, just myself.”

Opportunities to dance roles that are gender-nonconforming are rare in the concert dance world, even if dancers are becoming more open about being gender-nonconforming in their offstage lives. And those who want to physically transition face a stark choice, as none of the major dance companies in the U.S. currently have openly transgender dancers on their rosters.

Alby Sabrina Pretto recently made the difficult choice to begin physically transitioning with hormone replacement therapy at the expense of her performing career. She was a dancer with Les Ballet Trockadero de Monte Carlo, an all-male comedy troupe, for eight years. While she got to dance in pointe shoes, the style of the company is rooted in the comedy of men portraying women, which ultimately wasn’t how Pretto identified.

“There were moments I wanted to do things like a ballerina would and be ethereal and pretty,” Pretto said. “To dance like a woman.”

She knew that physically transitioning would mean she could not continue with the company.

“I wanted to have a career, and that slowed down my decision to transition,” Pretto said. “I waited until I felt like I had done what I wanted to do there.”

Liz Harler, general manager of Les Ballet Trockadero, said in a statement that transitioning does not disqualify dancers from the company.

“Dancers who expressed interest in transitioning to female have been told that their job would not be in jeopardy, though none have chosen to do so while continuing with the Trocks’ rigorous dancing and touring schedule,” Harler said.

Both Ledford and Pretto hope for the day when they can attend an audition and be hired without having to explain their gender identity.

Ledford said. “I’ll audition as any other woman. If I get in, then I’ll sit down and talk with them.”

Ledford is “optimistic” that this can happen in the next few years, but Pretto isn’t so sure.

“I am not naive, I know I cannot just audition for a major ballet company and join the female corps de ballet,” Pretto said. “But I would love for that to happen for me. It’s the ultimate dream.”

Her skepticism is partly based on the experience of her former Trockadero colleague, Chase Johnsey, who is gender fluid. He made headlines in 2018 when he was cast in a female ensemble role in the English National Ballet’s production of “Sleeping Beauty,” though it was not on pointe, and the heavy costume concealed his body. No additional female roles came his way afterward.

The question of who gets opportunities as a dancer often comes down to the taste of directors and producers and what they imagine their audiences want to see, not just ability.

Pretto danced a couple of character roles recently with Eglevsky Ballet, a growing ballet ensemble on Long Island, New York. The director, Maurice Brandon Curry, said he would consider Pretto for a female ensemble role next year, because her pointe work is “excellent,” though he wonders how some in the audience will react.

“Casting Alby in a female role would not be about passing as female, but I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge my concern about an audience member who was offended,” Curry said. “But art is not prejudice; it’s about inclusivity and open minds. If someone is not willing to have that experience, they don’t have a legitimate place in our audiences.”

Signs of change

Dorsey said that even having discussions about gender identity in dance is progress from when he started, and he’s encouraged by changes he’s seen: Most theaters either already have gender-neutral restrooms or create them for his company’s visit; trans and gender-nonconforming students attend his workshops in various cities and share with him their efforts to be accepted in their dance communities; the San Francisco Ballet persuaded him to lead a training session on gender identity in dance; and he was on the cover of Dance Magazine.

Ledford was recently a “Gaynor Girl,” a spokesperson for the popular pointe shoe brand Gaynor Minded. Pretto said she worked up the courage to use the ladies' locker room at one of New York’s busiest studios, Steps on Broadway, and no one seemed to mind.

Still, the art form has not yet caught up to reflect the audience, Dorsey said. His company has worked in over 30 cities in the U.S. and abroad, and he is usually the first trans choreographer a theater has presented. But he said the response from audiences is almost always positive.

“Dance audiences are ready and hungry for trans voices,” he said. “It's our dance institutions that are still catching up.”

[prettytoxicrevolver]

Walk | Colson Baker

Requested? Yup! I hope you like it :) 

Warnings? None 

Summary: After meeting your celebrity crush Colson Baker at a Hollywood exclusive ball, you and him decide to take a walk through the gardens together 

Word Count: 1,365

Part 1 is here

"Ms. (y/l/n)," he whispers. "It's a pleasure to meet you." 

You’re breathless, half because he knows you and half because you’re still in his arms. His sharp blue eyes stare into yours, searching for a response but you’re lost. How do you talk to your celebrity crush without sounding like a teenage fangirl? 

“Mr. Baker,” you say finally and he flashes a rare smile. “The pleasure is mine.” 

The two of you stand front and center in the ballroom, wrapped in your own little world. You didn’t know each other outside of your celebrity gossip but you were hoping that would change with this meeting. 

“Do you wanna take a walk with me?” he asks. 

The beautiful thing about the ball was that the ballroom was not only spacious and beyond marvelous, but there was also a flawless garden outback. It looked like it had been tended to practically every day and the various flowers and hidden pathways offered a fairytale feel to the place. As if the castle sized place needed any help in that area. 

“Lead the way.” 

His smile widens, and his hands drop as he pushes out an arm and offers it to you. You slip your hand delicately around his arm and he leads the way. 

The two of you slip through the ballroom with ease, your eyes wander around the room at the couples dancing. Slow and easy and completely oblivious to the world around them. You admired it. You always wanted a love that consumed you so much it made you dizzy and forget all else. 

Just as you’re pondering this, the two of you make it to the doors outside and Colson breaks from you to open them. He waves a hand to let you through first and you offer him a smile before walking through. 

The doors lead straight out to a stunning weather-worn staircase leading down to the garden. It spans the lawn, narrow at first before opening up at the bottom and displaying several pathways to the garden. 

“Woah,” you whisper looking at it. 

“I know,” Colson says and you turn to see he’s staring at you. Your face flushes from top to bottom and you turn away to head down the steps. 

You hear Colson follow behind you and when you get to the bottom you pause. Colson stops just behind you, his hand falling to the small of your back and your heart moving faster than those dancing in the ballroom to a pop song. 

“Lead the way,” he echoes your words from earlier and you nod and head to the path on the right, the seemingly most secluded but decorated with flowers. 

You meander slowly through the highly decorous pathway and Colson walks a few steps behind you. The silence is welcoming, but also nerve-wracking. You’ve had a big fat crush on Colson Baker since high school and now that you’re famous and meeting him you resort back to shy you? 

Ever since being famous you promised you wouldn’t change anything and for the most part, you didn’t, However, the only thing it did was really give you a confidence boost that you desperately needed after dealing with a bunch of stuff in high school that really set you back. But a lot of that confidence fades in certain moments like these. 

“So,” he starts and you turn around, gracefully walking backward as he continues talking. “Why a red dress?” 

“I clearly didn’t get the memo about all black and white dress code,” you retort and he smiles widely. 

“I like it. Kinda like a giant fuck you to this whole thing?” 

“Not what I was going for but sure,” you say nodding, and Colson nods and smiles. 

You two continue to walk in silence, your head spinning round to take in the beautiful scenery surrounding your every move. You were never big on flowers, all you knew was that you thought they were beautiful and would love it if anyone ever gave you some. But as you looked around now, you would kill to take this whole place in one swoop and bring it home with you. 

Colson couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He loved the way your head tilted back and around to stare at each and every flower decorating the paths and walls and every inch of the garden. A soft smile was spread across your lips and your eyes lit up like you had never seen anything so beautiful in your life. He was starting to think you were prettier than any of the flowers you’d pass by tonight. 

“Tell me something about yourself,” you ask, walking backward again to face Colson. 

“I smoke too much weed,” he says and you laugh. 

“No like something no one else knows. I’ll take it to the grave with me.” 

“I hate parties,” he responds without missing a beat. 

“I know that,” you say and he shakes his head. He takes a step forward, grabbing both of your hands and stopping you from walking. You stare up into his magnetic blue eyes and they search yours for a moment. 

“I hate parties. I hate going to parties and waking up the next day not knowing what I did last night or where I am when I wake up. I hate that my reputation has been reduced to a party king.” 

You don’t say anything, not sure how to respond but Colson intertwines your fingers and turns, pulling you along next to him on the path. You understood the fact that he had a reputation and couldn’t just end his party life. You wished you could offer a solution for him. 

“Your turn,” he says, nudging you. “Tell me something.” 

“I hate tea.” 

“Nice try,” he says and you chuckle. 

“I have anxiety and it ruins everything. I was mid panic attack the entire way here and I almost turned the car around about eight different times. I want to enjoy these things and this life without feeling like I can’t breathe.” 

“That’s heavy,” he says and the unintentional Back To The Future reference has you smiling despite yourself. 

“You told me your secret so I told you mine.” 

“Thank you for trusting me with it,” he says and you nod. 

You two continue to walk, fingers intertwined loosely as silence surrounds the air. You realize if you listen closely you can still hear the music playing in the ballroom and the sounds of a pop song play lightly in the back. 

You finally reach the end of the path and as you get to the center of the garden, an elegant gazebo is in the middle. You look around to see all of the paths had lead here, to the tiny structure in the middle of all of this beauty. 

The flowers covered the railings up to the gazebo, vines flowing freely across the white structure and you’re mesmerized by how it looks so clean but beautifully kept. Fairy lights hang loosely around the roof and the whole thing is straight out of a fairytale. 

Colson lets go of your hand, and walks into the gazebo. He wanders around it for a second, turning in  a circle before stopping to face you. He smiles, extending a hand towards you and you ascend the stairs to meet him. 

He takes your hand pulling you in, your other hand landing on his chest as he wraps an arm around your waist. You two sway around the tiny structure, the sounds of a slow song from the ballroom playing perfectly in the background. Your head lands on his chest and you could feel his eyes on you. 

“(y/n),” he whispers. 

You lift your head once more and your movements slow together. His arm slips from your waist to your side and then your cheek, carefully caressing it as you gaze into each others eyes. He ducks his head down slowly, his lips barely ghosting yours making every inch of your being pay attention to where he moves next. You can’t take it any longer, pressing your lips to his in the most beautifully heart-wrenching kiss you’ve ever experienced. 

[jungcity]

𝟓𝟎𝟓.

GENRE: crime, romance, slice of life

PAIRINGS: bandit!hendery, sacristan!female reader

WORD COUNT: 27,632

SONG PROMPTS: Godless - BANKS, 505 - Arctic Monkeys, Some Unholy War - Amy Winehouse, Robbers - The 1975 | [full playlist here.]

WARNINGS: Please observe proper discretion for this story deals with themes of adultery, orphanhood, child abuse, child neglect, deaths, violence, manipulation and suggestive stuff.

NOTE: This is a part of the crime!au collaboration held by @neovisioned. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Please be aware that this story would have references that revolves around Catholicism. I am by no means wish to be exclusive to those who has the same religion as I. Upon pondering the plot of this story, religion would be a mandatory part, hence I chose mine since it is what I know best.

TAGLIST: @legendnct @cloudysuh @eyypeach @mjlkau @cherub-vivi

i. I believe in God, the Father Almighty, creator of heaven and earth…

Trails of white smoke circled the candle as you snuffed out the fire from the matchsticks. The heavy rain raged on, with the branches slapping the gothic windows of Father Ben’s chamber. The priest sat on a rocking chair near the aperture, watching the thunder and lightning as they continue to battle for dominion over the heavens.

“Father,” you called out softly. He hummed but did not turn to face you. Over the months that you have worked and helped Father Ben tend to the church, you noticed how particularly silent he could be whenever the clouds are pouring. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” you asked.

For the past few days, Father Ben would tell you about shadows prowling around the church. Two boys, he claims. Sometimes they are three. Bandits, no doubt.

“Be careful on your way home, hija. Bring my umbrella so you won’t get soaked.” And that has been the last words he spoke.

You pressed your lips into a thin line. There would be no point forcing the priest. Perhaps he does not want your mother to worry about you.

You closed the door of the priest’s chamber and made your way down the creaky staircase. The church hadn’t been renovated since the middle of the pandemic that had swept across the whole world. This structure hadn’t tasted new paints and new rivets yet for ten years.

Father Ben resides where the choral sings everyday. Since Father lost all his relatives to the pandemic, he made it built for him. Perhaps that was the reason why he was too quiet. You haven’t lost anyone to it, but you knew a lot of people who died because of it and have friends who had lost their fathers and mothers, even siblings, to it.

You fastened the latch of every door inside the church before you walked towards the main door. Laying the lamp on the floor, you unlatched the wooden door. The blustery and frigid wind flows through the opening, misting your feet and right arm as you leaned to grab the lamp and struggle to open the umbrella.

By good fortune, the rain softened as you departed the church. Bougainvilleas wrapping the façade of the structure made eerie shadows as the moon casted down its light to it. You made your way to the small village you live in.

“Hail Holy Queen, Mother of mercy…” echoes the praying mothers and daughters in front of their altars.

You cannot not help but be fascinated by the orange lamp lights in their homesteads, as you saw the women of every family kneel and make their prayers. Ever since the end of the pandemic five years ago, your village has been humming novenas every six p.m. or eight p.m. at night. You heard it was the same for the neighboring village, too.

“Hail our life, our sweetness and our hope…” You heard the little voices of innocent children as they tried to copy the words. It made your heart flutter. “To Thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve. To Thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears.”

Until you reached your street, prayers echoed. Your house loomed as you turn left. Gathering your skirt, you hopped over a puddle of mud and continued walking.

“Mom, I’m home,” you declared upon stepping your feet inside.

Mom was on her usual place near the fireplace, knitting new pillowcases with the dim light from the fire. She turned her head to see you, then pulls down her reading glasses to examine your slightly soaked skirts.

“I thought you’re sleeping in the church?” she asked as she twiddled the needle with her fingers.

“Father Ben won’t allow me,” you simply answered as you trodded towards the kitchenette.

There was only one light inside the house. It was located between the kitchenette and living room. During the pandemic, all energy had been used to fuel hospitals as well as quarantine facilities for the affected citizens. Energy had been lacking ever since.

You went back to the living room with a plate in hand. Food has been scarce in this part of town. But your mother has a little vegetable farm in the backyard. So it’s vegetable salad every night.

“Tomorrow is the first Sunday of the month,” she began, “Did you prepare anything?”

You munched while watching the needle pierce through the fabric. “Mayor Rosales failed to give us sponsorship. But we have gathered some money from the houses nearby the highway.” Those people who live near the highway were what you could call the richer ones. They have convenience stores lining up, and they pretty much sell anything a villager might need. “Father wants to feed the children this time.”

“Would that be enough? The money?”

“We’ll make do,” you sighed.

Mother hummed. “Bring the vegetables tomorrow, then. I’ve harvested enough for ingredients.”

You smiled. “Thank you, Mother.”

ii. And in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord…

He came into your life like a fog in the dawn; mysterious, hazy, and cold. The boy with the secret of the universe in his eyes, and danger playing along his boyish smile rang your door in the year 2040. When hope has only started to rebuild itself after the terrors of a sickness nobody had been able to see.

Easy smile, childlike laughters and soft hair— that has been him.

Your first encounter had been outside the church. Where he leaned in a big motorcycle while puffing smokes from his cigarette.

“Kids, please line up according to your height,” you told the children softly. Big innocent eyes stared back at you with excitement.

When suddenly, Lucy, the other sacristan, gestured to you to come over the front line where the food is located. “No pushing,” you warned the kids before leaving them with Rei, another sacristan.

“What is it?” you asked.

Lucy motioned her puckered lips towards the exit. “Could you tell him to smoke somewhere else?”

You followed her gesture. And your gaze landed straight to him as he blew out smoke from his lips. He playfully inhales from the cigarette bud and puffed it carelessly in the air. He was looking straight at the spot where you were currently glued at. Both of you held each other’s eyes, and you felt lost in those mysterious orbs for a good second until Lucy cleared her throat to gather your attention.

Spontaneously, your brows immediately shot up in vexation. It was forbidden to smoke inside and around the church’s vicinity. You gathered your skirts and sauntered up to him. As you near closer to him, you have caught a sight of a black patch plastered on the side of his neck.

The boy cocked a brow as he saw you nearing. You ignored his reaction and cleared your throat. But your breath seemed to be sweeped out of your lungs yet again when you realized that the black patch was a tattoo. It reads the word pervivo. “Mister, it is not allowed to smoke around the church. Could you please take that somewhere else?”

Instead of tossing his cigarette, he took a long sip from the bud and blew the smoke to your face. Shocked and absolutely disgusted, you fanned away the smoke frantically while coughing out the chemical that has succeeded to reach your nostrils and throat.

“What the—”

“Fuck?” he finished. The smoke slowly dissipates, revealing his dead set of eyes staring at you. He, then, threw the bud to the ground before crushing the ashes with the tip of his boot. “Can’t really cuss in here, can you?”

Such audacity! Your nose flared while trying to collect the little patience left in your system. Boys like him never failed to irate you.

Smoothing out your skirt, you straightened your spine with as much dignity as you can muster. “Blowing smoke—”

For the second time, the boy interrupted you by waving his hand high up in the air. “Father!” he shouted. The boy jogged the distance towards the line of children in front of the church to clap Father Ben’s back. Frozen on your feet, you stared at him in horror.

“Do you know him, Father?” you motioned your head to the boy who was casually smiling from ear to ear beside the priest. As if he didn’t deadpan at you earlier.

Father Ben stretched his lips into what you could call a small smile. “Hendery’s from the city. He’s to be our new sacristan.”

There was literal ringing in your ears by what you have heard. Hendery? A new sacristan? “Wait…” You let out an incredulous noise. “What?”

“I’m Hendery Wong. I came here to be the new sacristan.” The boy stretched out his hand to you. You look at it with reluctance evidently etched through your face.

“I don’t understand,” you managed to say while shaking Hendery’s hand. He has been surprisingly calloused, juxtaposing his soft and pretty face.

“I know you will soon, hija,” Father Ben said, “And I trust you to help Hendery adjust to the work here. Can you do that?”

Hendery’s smile never left his face. It was as if he was relishing to the predicament that you were in instead of being friendly. However, you couldn’t really turn down Father Ben. And it was not right to jump on your prejudices. Cigarettes and tattoos doesn’t mirror someone else’s personality. Hendery deserved the benefit of the doubt.

So you sighed. “I can, Father. Rest assured that I’ll show Hendery around.”

Father Ben tapped your shoulder lightly before joining Lucy to prepare the food for the children, leaving you with the new boy.

“So,” he began, garnering your attention. When you turn to look at him, Hendery’s demeanor has already changed. Or perhaps it was only your judgment getting the best of you. But there was a spark of something dangerous in the way that he looked at you. As if his eyes were the tip of the cigarette he inhaled mere minutes ago. Flickering— with a promise of charring if you ever come close. “Shall we begin?”

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, you sighed deeply. “Could you wash and sanitize first? You know, you actually held a cigarette and we don’t wanna contaminate the food, right?”

His smile grew wider, erasing the enigma he exuded seconds ago. “Do you have a mask? You know, I’ve sipped a cigarette and we don’t want my spit to fly towards the food, right?”

You looked at him sharply. “Yes, we do have a mask. It’s become pretty mandatory since twenty years ago.”

Hendery stretcheso out his hand to let you walk first. From the long table on which the food has been placed, you grabbed a surgical mask to give to Hendery. When you turned to face him, he held up his hands suddenly.

“I haven’t yet washed my hands. I’ll appreciate it if you’ll put those here,” he said  while pointing at his ear.

He really was something. And you have found it oddly… endearing. You haven’t known ice and fire could co-exist in a single person. Until you have met him. You gulped— and you have no idea why— as you draped the strings of the mask around his ears. His mouth and nose disappeared, but that failed to decrease his beauty.

What is happening to you? In your whole existence, you have met boys with stars in their eyes but this has been your first time to see the whole universe in someone else’s irises.

You shook your head as Hendery departed in front of you to wash his hands.

Pretty boys are only boys until you try to make a verselet out of them. That was the line you have never wanted to cross.

Hendery would only be a word. Not poetry. Or would he?

iii. He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit, and born of the Virgin Mary…

When you were amongst the poor during the pandemic, your survival rate would be extremely challenged. Luckily for you, your father had run a small business that successfully provided for your family during those trying times.

Five years ago, the world made its reset when it came to economy and livelihood. Almost all businesses shut down. The luxuries and opulence of the year 2020 had been vanquished completely.

Billionaires finally witnessed that they weren’t the gods they once thought they were as the claws of the sickness reached their thrones and destroyed their castles.

Regardless of the Internet’s power, trade fell. With it the Internet celebrities in YouTube, Tiktok, Instagram, Twitter— you name it.

Notwithstanding, the 2020’s pandemic hadn’t been the only one to devastate the Earth.

There had been multiple environmental issues, like the raging of wildfires in sundry forests across the globe. World War III also threatened to break out of its cage as countries fought for dominance over lands they clearly had no business to claim.

Police brutality rages on. Their authority had been used for mayhem other than peace. It has breached the lives of people, especially to that of the black community. Everything went clusterfuck because the authorities think some people are inferior to them. They harmed rather than serve.

Chaos. Death. Fear. Those three things have managed to leave a blotch of bleakness that now blanketed the Earth.

The death toll exceeded that of the Black Plague that had swept across Europe hundreds of years ago. Hospitals transformed to that of a colony— the patients as the ants. Total panic enveloped everyone. Especially the poor, whose only shield against it had been a little bottle of alcohol.

Great Depression two-point-o, some would call the economy right now. Minimal jobs were offered, but the salary won’t be enough to feed a family of four.

Poverty’s poison didn’t fail to contaminate the globe. It strengthened its hold to the third world country, and flowed slowly to those in the upper level of society. Despite it all, everyone collapsed on its feet: adults with dreams for the younger generations. Teenager with dreams for the future. And children who were only starting to build their aspirations.

With it, the hopes of the seven-year-old boy who has the constellations in his eyes and a promise of tomorrow in his innocent face. It had all been obliterated because of heartache and neglect.

Hendery witnessed it every night; the shoutings of his mother, and the hopelessness in his father’s face as yet another job had turned him down. His bedroom walls didn’t muffle the sound— the silence only intensified it.

“You are a useless piece of shit!” her mother would scream.

Despite that, Hendery’s father would only cover his face with his hands. He would absorb every nag and every hurtful words his wife would throw at him. Because tomorrow would be another day to fight and he couldn’t afford losing the battle now. At least, that was what Hendery believed.

Never once did he hear his mother ask about his sake. Never once did he hear the words, “What about Hendery? He would starve!”

Starve he did.

A lanky seven-year-old, his neighbors would call him. Salt and rice every night. You only have to close your eyes and eat. Wash down the taste with water and sleep.

The home that was meant to give him comfort had turned his own hell. Its unfavorable walls would suffocate him every day. Its dull and dirty carpet would be his only friend for the days that would come.

And as if the world wasn’t done throwing knives and rocks at his back, Hendery found something that had completely deteriorated the little boy in him.

One day, when he was returning from their neighbor’s house— full and a little bit energetic— he found his mother’s clothes littered over the floor, with it were pants and shirts that didn’t belong to his father.

With his boy heart and still developing mind, Hendery sat in the kitchen. The noise of his mother’s adultery echoed across the whole house. Hendery patiently waited for it to stop, sitting there with his feet dangling from the chair.

Then the door clicked open, revealing his mother and the man he didn’t recognize. From his position to the kitchen, his mother failed to notice him. But Hendery could see everything unfolding before his very eyes. The unknown man picked up his clothes. When he was completely dressed, he fished for his wallet and handed Hendery’s mother money.

That night, there were sausages and eggs in the table. His mother was enthusiastic, but there was a dull spark in her eyes. His father, too, despite the smile on his lips, was a flash of apology in his orbs.

Hendery slept soundly. A tear escaping his eye.

“Why are you crying?” You crouched in front of a boy named Kristan. Snot and tear has already mixed up in his face to create dirty splotches. You held his hands softly to put beside his body.

Kristan sniffed. But did not answer.

“Kristan, tell me what happened,” you gently asked. His head bowed down deeper, as if he was embarrassed and scared to tell you anything. Kristan, he was one of your favorites despite his silent comportment and shy eyes.

Ever since Father Ben decided to teach the children from the village basic education at the church, you have been curious about Kristan. There was something about the boy. Sadness. Melancholy. Loneliness.

“I am here—” You were interrupted by Hendery, who also crouched beside Kristan. “What are you doing?” you deadpan.

Hendery ignored you, as he focused on Kristan. He puts his hand on his shoulder and pulls down his mask. “Tell me who among these kids beat you up,” he whispered, “Was it him?” Then he pointed towards the other boy who was curiously watching the three of you.

The slightest shock adorned Kristan’s face. He looked at you warily, obviously perturbed by Hendery’s presence.

You smiled at him to tell him it’s alright. And that he doesn’t need to be cautious around Hendery. Although you didn’t know about that yourself. Hendery was still a mystery.

“They… didn’t hurt me,” Kristan said through his snuffles. “Thank… you, Miss Y/N,” he added, then he looked at Hendery, “And to you… Mister…?”

“Hendery. Call me Hendery.”

“Mister Hendery,” Kristan said, practicing the new syllables of Hendery’s name. Kristan bowed before walking towards the line of boys again.

Concerned about the well-being of the boy, you sighed. When you turned to go back to packing the foods, Hendery walked up towards Kristan again.

“What is this?” he asked while slightly pulling up the little boy’s sleeves. There was a purple mark right on his arm. Something that definitely resembled a contusion.

When Kristan realized what was happening, he flinched away from Hendery.

You hurried beside him once more, brows furrowed. “Kristan, what is that?”

His eyes were fervent, lips quivering while wriggling free of your hold from his arm. Because of the fear that you might hurt him, you let Kristan go. He ran away.

Father Ben rushed towards you, robes billowing like waves against the pavement. “What is happening?” he asked.

You shared a look with Hendery before answering, “Hendery and I saw something in his arm— something like a bruise,” you explained. “Father, I think there’s something going on with Kristan, and I am deeply concerned about his well-being.”

The priest listened and nodded his head. “Follow me, the both of you,” he commanded before pivoted on his heel.

Without offering Hendery a glance, you followed Father Ben inside the church and to his chamber. When all three of you were secured inside, Father Ben locked the door.

You couldn’t help but observe Hendery as he roamed his eyes around the room. As if he was searching for something. Something valuable. But when he looked at you, he smiled and all your doubts vanished in a blink. How could happiness and sadness co-exist at the same time in someone else’s body?

The sound of papers shuffling woke you from your reverie. Father Ben raised up a paper, and studied it with his reading glasses.

“Here is Kristan’s birth certificate,” he announced. “His mother died giving birth to him. Kristan is being taken care of his father, his alcoholic father, at their house in the southeast part of the village.”

You listened carefully to each word. You already know that Kristan’s only living parent was his father. But never once did Father Ben shared the reality of him being alcoholic. Goosebumps crawled onto your back as realization slowly weaved its way through your mind.

“His father’s hurting him,” Hendery pronounced beside you.

Father Ben hummed. “That, we do not yet know. So it’d be really helpful if the both of you would venture to their house and check for your own eyes. I would’ve gone myself but I won’t be able to fight his father if it ever comes to that,” Father Ben continued, “He’s quite well-known as an aggressive man.”

“And… I suppose Hendery could fight him off?” You raised a brow. Hendery’s built wasn’t like that of a body-builder. He definitely belonged to the species of boys with sad eyes and skinny bodies. Dangerous. Utterly dangerous.

He chuckled— a quite rumbling sound that could stir butterflies inside a woman’s stomach. “I’m quite a fighter, Y/N,” he said.

You sighed. “Let’s just hope that it won’t come to aggression.” Then you focused your attention back to the priest. “What of me? What can I contribute, Father?”

Father Ben placed the paper back to his drawers. “You have your wits in you, hija. Convince his father to give us Kristan for a while until he gets his life on the right path.”

After Father Ben’s instruction, the both of you made your way down the stairs. You still couldn’t understand why Father Ben asked Hendery to come. He was from town after all. Townspeople weren’t so used to life in the countryside. In their towering factories and buildings, they still pretend that they have the glory of the past.

“Are you really from the city?” you asked, turning your body to face him. He descended the last step while you stood on the second.

His steps halted at the question, then he tilted his head quite a bit too see you. “What of it?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Having someone journey here from the city’s pretty unusual.” You descended the stairs and walked ahead of him.

“Having villagers in the city’s never been heard before,” he snorted.

Your brows furrowed. Was that an insult? Or was he simply baiting you? Whatever that meant, you halted. “What are you implying? That we don’t have the means to go to the city?” When Hendery shrugged, you puffed out your chest and held your chin up high. “Well, must I say to you that it’s pretty decent living in here than pretend to have riches in the city.”

He only chuckled, driving you irate even more. “We don’t pretend, Y/N.”

You have decided not to answer for your own well-being. He was truly a city boy. Arrogant. Condescending. Too full of himself. And you mustn’t bother yourself with him. Hendery was on the other side of your own spectrum. There was no point understanding a boy you have just met.

“Oh, wait.” You halted when you finally reached the exit door of the church. “I’ll ask Lucy if you could borrow her bicycle.” When you turned to leave, Hendery caught your wrist. Everything about you stopped functioning by the touch. It wasn’t as if you weren’t used to boys holding you— but yes, you could say that.

“We can ride my motorbike,” he suggested, “Much more convenient, don’t you think?”

Oh, no. No, no, no. If the year 2020 had learned its way towards openness and liberty, well, 2040 failed to adapt to that. “No,” you simply answered.

“No? What do you mean no? You’ll only ride behind me, then we’ll take off.”

You groaned. “City boys.” If anyone would see you riding a big motorbike, they would curse you as if you were the demon. You despised the notion yourself. And it was really tempting to try new things once in a while. Perhaps you were only being stupid— or naive. There was no harm riding a big black and shiny motorbike, right? You heaved out a deep sigh. “Alright, let’s go.”

Hendery’s confused visage turned to that of a bright one when he, once again, flashed you his pearlescent teeth. He jogged the distance towards his motorbike. Without any word, he hopped and snapped the pedal with his right foot.

“Hop in,” he said.

You raised a brow. “Helmet?”

“Church girls,” he groaned. You opened your mouth to speak, but Hendery once again cut you off, “Where is the fun in riding a motorbike if you’d wear a helmet?”

“Hendery, it’s a safety protocol if you aren’t—”

Once again, he groaned, “Where’s the fun in ‘safe’? Hop in.” He tilted his head to the side, encouraging you to finally hop in his motorbike.

“I think I’m gonna ride—”

“Y/N,” he firmly called, “Sometimes, you also have to taste the danger.” Then he reached for your hand. You would have flinched away, but the warmness of his palm hindered you from doing so. “Don’t you trust me?”

Trust? Mother says don’t talk to strangers. It has been a mantra of every little girl as they grow up. But you aren’t a little girl no more.

Other than his melancholic eyes, his name is all you know about him. And how could you trust the swirl of danger in his irises? However, humans are vexatious. They don’t always follow the rules.

When you are fed with deprivation of something extraordinary, you grow hankering after it.

You took Hendery’s hand. With your heart thudding inside your chest, you grasped your skirt and pulled your body upwards to sit on his motorbike. Hendery revved the engine, twisting his hand around the accelator.

“Please, slow down—!” Your chests collided against his back by the impact. Hendery chuckled, but he did not heed your cries. He rode through the road ahead, shoulders still rumbling of his laughters.

Skirt ballooning out, you prayed to God that you won’t meet your doom today. This has been a bad idea. A very bad one at that. What would people say if they witness a sacristan— a sacristan woman— riding this black motorcycle? With her skirts billowing out in the open? Oh, no. Your mother would whip you to shreds.

“Where are we going?” Hendery shouted.

You clutched on his front shirt tightly, afraid that the wind would surely swoosh you away if you do so much as to slacken your hold. “Where are we now?” you shouted back. Because you refused to sit up straight, you shielded yourself with Hendery’s body. And now your position shielded you away from seeing anything other than the road beneath the wheels.

“Y/N, please sit up straight.” He laughed. Oh, this boy relishes to your suffering. He really was. “We are currently entering a village…?”

You willed yourself to sit. Surely, it won’t kill you. You have seen actresses ride behind their own James Deans in big motorcycles such as this one.

“Alright, alright, I’ll slow down.” But Hendery’s words were muffled by the air. However, you felt the wheels roll slowly as it enters your village. Your village. Oh, no.

“No, please don’t! Faster, Hendery!” When he refused to rev the accelerator, you pinched his sides.

“Aw! Alright, alright!” Without another word, Hendery drove through the houses.

You obscured our face as much as you could. You couldn’t afford having someone recognize you. It won’t happen.

“Y/N, where are we going?” he asked for the second time. “We’re away from the houses. No one can see you here but the grasses,” he taunted.

You opened your eyes and saw the ground below, as well as the grasses. It only means you were well away from your village. You exhaled and sat up. “Turn left.”

“Left? Is there life at the end of this road?”

You deadpanned, “City boys.”

“No, seriously?”

“Yes, there is Hendery. It’s the most isolated part of the village— please look at the road,” you reminded him when he attempted to face you sideways.

“Kristan’s from here?”

“Apparently.”

He nodded his head. “He walks this distance every day?”

“Yes.”

It was somehow weird to talk about life in the countryside with a city boy. If Hendery was, indeed, from the city. You have no idea about the city ever since the pandemic. This has always been your home; the trees, the grasses, the kind neighbors, and a pious village. The liveliness of the wen— if claims were to be trusted— has been no more than a thing left in the back of your mind. It was almost a name you have no idea how to pronounce.

“You, too?” Hendery asked. A question you didn’t expect to hear.

“Uh-huh.” Then a chuckled. “We’re left with no choice since we have no resources when it comes to vehicles.”

“How do you go to the city, then?”

“We don’t go to the city. Unless it is needed.”

Hendery hummed. “And how do you go?”

“We ask the chieftain to lend us the ambulance.”

“The ambulance?” he asked.

The road becomes bumpy because of rocks, so you hold on him tightly once again. Hendery chuckled at your action, but did not bait you.

“Yes,” you answered. “Oh, we’re here,” you announced as Kristan’s village looms ahead. It was shielded away from your eyes because of the trees circling the whole vicinity.

“Do they sleep with snakes here?” There wasn’t any jeer to his voice, only curiosity.

You snorted. “Why don’t you stay for the night to try?” You gathered your skirt then planted your heel to the ground. With a swing of your leg, you hopped off his motorbike.

“I’d like to.” Hendery fished out a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket. He pressed one between his fingers and lit the tip with a lighter.

“Is that necessary?” you asked.

People in this part of town weren’t welcoming. That was why it didn’t come off as a shock to know that Kristan’s father was alcoholic. It simply was the way of living here: alcohol, cigarettes, cards. That being said, having an outsider such as Hendery venture here could provoke the most hard-headed fathers and boys alike.

Hendery sipped then  blew smoke out in the air. “What are you scared of?”

For a minute, you caught a spark in his irises. It was as if he didn’t ask about your fears— but your insecurities. And of the things you wanted to try but couldn’t. Or perhaps it was only you, digging deeper into the simple question.

“God,” you simply answered.

“There is no god,” he retorted.

That caught you off-balance. An aspiring sacristan wouldn’t say that. “Father says you want to be a sacristan. How could you? When you don’t have any faith?”

Hendery stopped for a second before blinking. “There is no god but God the Father Almighty in heaven.” Then he flashed you a smile. You furrowed your brows. “Shall we?” he asked, throwing out his cigarette to the ground.

You shrugged.

Different sets of eyes pierced your bodies as you and Hendery trodded the dusty road. Mothers with their youngest born straddling their waists peered through wooden gates. Fathers with their cigarettes and beer bottles scrutinized you from head to toe. You were covered from your neck down your heel, but they look at you as if you were naked.

Hendery beside you exudes indifference. Shoulders straight and chin up high, Hendery stared every man down. You didn’t know if that’s a good idea or not. The last thing you need was a brawl between him and the juveniles surrounding you.

Finally, you have reached Kristan’s home. It ws made of cement and sawali, just like most of the houses you have just passed by.

You smoothed out your skirt before knocking. One, two, three knocks before his Father greeted you with a grunt.

“What d’ya want?” he asked  in a rumpled voice.

Hendery stepped beside you. “We’re here to talk.”

Kristan’s father wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t have anytime for you—”

“It’s about Kristan,” Hendery stated, jaw clenching.

To be honest, you didn’t expect him to make the talking. You could do it yourself. But you were still thankful that he was with you right now.

Kristan’s father rests his body against the doorframe. “What about my son?” Yes, he did ask about his son. However, there wasn’t any trace of concern in his voice.

You cleared your throat. “Father Ben wants to take care of Kristan for a while, until we’re sure that he’s safe living here.”

You heard the crashing of his beer bottle first, before you felt the tightening of your throat by the way he grabbed your collar.

“No one tells me what to do—”

Your first instinct had been to lash out on him, but your anger got the best of you. Before you could act out on your own, Hendery wrapped his hand around the man’s wrist. With force, he pushes him away and twisted the bone.

You stared in horror as Kristan’s father screamed in pain while holding his broken wrist. “Hendery!” you shouted as he sauntered towards the man. Hendery grabbed his head and slammed his knees against his nose, once again cracking the bones.

Thunderstruck beyond comprehension, you flew towards Hendery. “Hendery! Stop!”

Kristan’s father was on the ground, clutching his bleeding nose. Hendery towered over him with clenched fist, ready to pounce at any given time. Before he could swing yet another blow, you already lay hold of his arm.

“What are you doing?!” you asked, out of breath.

“Beating the shit out of him,” he said in nonchalance.

“That— isn’t what Father Ben asked as to do,” you reminded him, despite the fact that Father Ben indeed expected a brawl.

Hendery’s muscles relaxed nonetheless. He pointed a finger towards Kristan’s father who’s still on the ground, glaring at the both of you.

You grapple for words— anything. “Did you hurt your son?” you ask.

“What of it? You don’t have a child so you won’t understand how it is to discipline one,” he answered.

Hendery crouched. You grabbed hold of his back collar. “You fucking hurt your son again,” he spits, “I will kill you.”

“Father, I’m home— Miss Y/N?”

The three of you turned your attention towards the little boy who entered the house. Kristan. He was holding a plastic of what you could tell was a bag of vegetables.

Kristan’s eyes turns to Hendery, and to his bloodied father. “Mister Hendery? What are you doing here?”

“You’ll come with us for a while,” Hendery said.

“What is happening?”

You crouched in front of the boy and lay hold of his shoulders. “Father Ben asked us to take you back to the church. Where you’ll stay for a while until your Father learns how to be a good one.”

“Really?” Kristan asked in relief.

Has this house been his hell that it’s a relief to be away from his father? You frowned at the thought.

“But… Father— he’s going to be alone.”

“Ask your Father. We still need his approval after all,” you explained.

Kristan walked towards his father, who was standing and padding his pants. Hendery crossed his arms over his chest, watching the man warily.

“Father, is it okay if I’ll leave for a while? Will you be fine?” the little boy asked.

“Go! Do what you want! Don’t come back!” he shouted.

However, Kristan didn’t flinch. It was as if he had been to used to this kind of treatment. “Alright, I’ll come back. Don’t worry, I won’t leave you.” Then he hugged his Father’s hips.

You looked away, unable to watch the scene unfolding before your eyes. It would seem as if Hendery couldn’t take it in himself, for your eyes crossed as he looks away, too.

“Take care and be good. I love you, Father.” Kristan turned his back against his Father. He smileed at you and took your hand. You held his hand tightly and spared his Father one last look.

He turned his back the same time his tear slid down his face. You swallowed the lump in your throat before bowing slightly as a goodbye.

iv. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried…

Pandemic and poverty, it truly was a wonder how Hendery survived such dreadful times. Perhaps there was really a god, lurking somewhere, ready to grant the wishes of the people during those awful times.

Yet as far as Hendery was concerned, nobody prayed for him when the pandemic striked him. Right, this lanky seven-year-old’s suffering didn’t end after he found out about his mother’s adultery.

At first, Hendery brushed off the heaviness of his eyelids together with his parched throat as a common sickness. He never told his mother or father about it, for the fear that it might fruit into something their financial stability won’t be able to answer for.

But then hours had gone by, with Hendery’s air passage slowly closing in on him. As if a boulder was placed right in on his lungs, demanding his life by choking him. Cough dry and head aching, Hendery twisted and turned on his bed, unable to think clearly. He felt as if he was dying— dying in the most horrible way possible.

Thereafter, he believed that he had gone in and out of consciousness, or perhaps it was only his vision going blurry from the ache his body was trying to fight off.

Hendery failed to recognize his father as he leaned to check his son. And he failed to recognize the feeling of being scooped up from the bed, with his father shouting for help as if his life depended on it.

Blotches of darkness swam in his line of sight. The cries of his mother as well as the panicked shouts of his father were muffled by his coughing.

Would this be the end? Was this the life the gods had planned out for him? To die young? To die without a fight? How do you accept this fate?

For once, he wanted to see the end of this pandemic. He wanted to witness the rainbow after this storm. For once, he yearned to see something beautiful. Just once.

Hendery fully succumbed to oblivion.

When he woke up, it was the white light that filled his vision. Was it heaven? Hendery tried to make sense of his surroundings, but no noise could be heard other than the beeping of machines around him.

His eyelids fluttered open completely. The ceiling to where his hospital bed was located flashed above him like a canvas of nothing but white. There was a tightness in his nose, and he realized that he was breathing through an apparatus.

Hendery tried to move his fingers. They were mobile, albeit frail. It’s the same with his feet. Perhaps it was the incessant ravaging of the cough against his lungs that made him sick to the bones. He would’ve thanked whoever there was to be thankful for, if not for the uncertainty that was still stretching out in front of him. The pandemic wasn’t a one-night killer. It would render you infirm for weeks— it’s only up to the doctors and your own antibodies if they won’t collapse and give up on you.

And Hendery’s feeble state, as well as his age, failed to give him much hope.

He would die, right there— alone. God has shunned him away. He refused to cry, since no amount of tears could appease the loneliness inside him.

Hendery closed his eyes again.

The second time he woke, the doctors were smiling in front of him. The nurses guided him out of his bed. They even helped him get dressed in new clothes. Baffled was an understatement for what he felt that day. Was he out of danger? Could he truly live now? With his mother and father once again?

For the first time since his life went downhill, Hendery smiled. There wasn’t a reason not to. If he could, he would jump from happiness. He did it. He survived.

Hendery excitedly roamed his eyes around him from the wheelchair, hoping to finally meet his parents after weeks of being separated from them. Yet no familiar faces greeted him when he reached the exit of the hospital.

A clawing feeling rested in his stomach, but he couldn’t afford to cave in his fear. Hendery remained smiling until a middle-aged woman stood before him.

“Are you Hendery?” she asked.

“Yes. I am,” Hendery answered without looking at the woman. He was busy searching for his parents.

“Thank you so much for taking care of my niece. I’ll  forever be grateful for your service. I’ll take him from here,” the woman announced.

“Wait—” Hendery turned around to see the woman taking the wheelchair from the nurses. “Where’s my Mom? My Dad?”

“Hendery, I’ll explain once we reach the house,” his apparent aunt said.

Hendery pursed his lips together. “Is Mom and Dad—”

“Be quiet,” the woman said softly.

Hendery had been quiet thereafter.

Hendery looked up to see the stars in the skies. How pretty they truly were. He won’t blame those who wishes upon these twinkling white lights. But he would feel utterly stupid himself to whisper his dreams to these scintillating lights that would die later on.

Supernova, scientists call it. It is the dying of a star. It is its return to atoms, particles, or whatever shit there is in the universe even before matter and time took its place.

Hendery let the liquor grate his throat as he took yet another swig from his bottle. Liquor and unwanted memories? Sign him up. Deep conversations with himself? He might be heartless in the eyes of many, but Hendery knew how to contemplate things. Too bad that he didn’t have anyone to share his thoughts with.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Oh, perhaps there was.

Aghast by the fact that there were empty bottles littered all around him, you gazed at Hendery.

It had been a week since he arrived at the church, telling everyone that he wanted to be a sacristan. So far, so good. He was a fast-learner albeit not showing any interests when it came to talking about the Bible. You still had your doubts in the pockets of your skirts. And seeing him drinking himself right behind the structures of the Church only intensified your wariness.

But the boy faced you with a smile. “Drinking,” he answered with a shrug.

“I know you are drinking,” you seethed. “But why are you drinking?”

It was past six p.m. already. You had completed your duties to the Church, and had also tucked in Kristan to the sacristan’s quarters just below Father Ben’s own chamber.

“To let off some steam.”

You stomped towards him with your chest puffing out of irritation. “First, you smoke on your first day. Then you drink on your first week. What on earth is wrong with you, Hendery?”

“Why don’t you sit with me for a while?”

You flew your arms to the air. “You are unbelievable.”

Hendery leaned back. “Aren’t you curious about me?”

“I am—” You closed your mouth. The words slipped out before you knew it.

His smile only widened . “Father Ben’s secured in his chamber. There is no need to fret.” He motioned his head down the space beside him. “Sit.”

They said drunk men speak the most truth. If you could squeeze anything out of him by joining him tonight, you would. With a heavy heart, you sat beside Hendery. The acrid smell of the alcohol whiffed your nose like a whiplash instantly.

“Now,” he began. “Ask me anything you want.”

“Where are y—”

Hendery pressed a finger to your lips. “In one condition: drink.”

You swatted his hand away with a frown. “I’m going.” But before you could stand up, Hendery held your wrist.

“I’m kidding,” the boy said  with a chuckle.

There. That smile. That chuckle.

“Seriously.” You sat comfortably again. “Where are you from?”

“The city,” he answered. “I was born in the city. It’s all I’ve ever known ever since.”

“The pandemic hit the city hardest,” you commented. It was true, though. Because of their lifestyle and opulence, the pandemic moved way faster in the city compared to the villages.

“Yes, it did,” he whispered before downing the last gulp from his bottle. Hendery burped softly before tossing the empty bottle to the grass.

“One, two, three, four—” You scrunched your nose. “Five bottles. Now tell me, where did you get these?” you asked, pertaining to the liquor.

Hendery looked at you as if you beguile him to the fullest. “Convenience store. You have it here.”

You shot up a brow. “And you decided it best to consume them here? In the Church?”

“If it wasn’t obvious, yes.”

“I don’t have anything against you, smoking and drinking, but we shall set a good example to the children.”

Hendery quirked a brow. “Do you think smoking and drinking are bad examples?”

“Personally? No.” It was true. You didn’t think they were bad examples. It was always the person. But the church-goers were mostly children. They still don’t have the capacity to balance the right and the wrong for their age. Eventually, they would know. However, it was your duty to protect their innocent minds as best you could. “But there are children here. We must guide them.”

“They’ll learn to smoke later on.” He shrugged.

You hummed. “That, we aren’t sure of. Until then, let’s guide them first.”

“You’re truly devoted to being a sacristan, aren’t you?” Hendery asked, his head looking up to the skies.

You watched him in silence. His side profile was undeniably beautiful. You have never seen such soft features, to be honest. “Yes, I am.”

“Is that your dream?”

You tilted your head up to see the skies yourself. The stars were sprinkled like white sands against the darkness of the heavens. You smiled. “I have a lot of dreams, though. Like the stars above, they are somewhat implausible.”

It was his turn to look at you. If he was to be honest, Hendery found your face marvelous. He had never seen your likeness in the city. “Why do you say that?”

Perhaps someone would find it funny that you were opening yourself up to this boy. A boy you just met one week ago. However, there was a space in your heart that tells you it’s alright to tell Hendery all your dreams and worries, your aspirations and your doubts. Strangers couldn’t judge you.

You sigh. “I am… stuck here. I’ve never been anywhere else but here.”

“Not even in the city?”

You shake your head.

Hendery hums. “Well, it’s not really different. If not, it’s worse.” He chuckles. “Everyone lives as if it’s the end of the world tomorrow.”

“Isn’t that wonderful?” You hugged your knees closer to your chests. “I’ve always wanted to experience a night like that.”

Hendery snorted. “It gets tiring. And it’s not really convenient when you don’t have the money.”

“For what? Can’t you enjoy without it?”

He strayed his eyes towards you. There was a spark of amusement dancing in his orbs. As if he found your question fascinating. “You can’t. What about drugs? Alcohol? Cigarettes? You can’t buy those without money.”

Oh. Of course. Hendery’s talking about parties. He looked like that kind of boy at first glance. Yet upon hearing his snorts and the dissent on his face, you have realized that perhaps both of you were yearning for something you weren’t been born to reach. You, the city. Him, the peace of the countryside.

“I wasn’t talking about those,” you said. Hendery fixed you with a curious look. “I’m talking about the city lights above the rooftops. The blare of the cars. The life outside this town.”

Hendery threw his head back, contorting the tattoo on the side of his neck, and laughed softly. “Of course.” His laughters ceased, like smoke slowly dissipating into the air. “But there is more to that.”

You stood up and smoothed out your skirt. “Perhaps.”

“Don’t you want more?”

With that, you looked down at him to flash him a small smile. “I’ve always wanted more. Perhaps there is more to the world than this little town. Perhaps I deserve to see it one day.”

Hendery didn’t break eye contact when he said the words, “There are millions of possibilities if you’d only dare.”

In which you didn’t have any answer for.

v. He descended to the dead. On the third day, He rose again…

Hendery waited. For hours, days, months, but he’d never seen his parents again.

The roof above him and the floors underneath his feet were a place he had never seen before. Wherever he looked, the unfamiliarity of everything would hit him like a tidal wave. From the couches to the television, to the doorframe and the windowsills, no one could deny that this house had seen better days.

Hendery sleeps in a cot of hard wood that leaves his back aching every morning. He eats in a kitchen with mice crawling in the corners and cockroaches flying in different directions. Nevertheless, there was food and somehow it was all that matters.

What happened to his Mom and Dad? Hendery was left with puzzles of an answer himself. After he survived the pandemic, he was met with yet another obstacle: orphanhood.

His aunt, Lilia, said that his father died. He died because of the pandemic, too. Hendery wept for days on end, refusing to believe what had befell his loving father. But as Lilia showed him the death certificate, Hendery’s world collapsed to shreds. That had been the time when he felt utterly alone, with no one to guide him and no one to tuck him in his sleep but the coldness of the world and the loneliness of the night.

His mother— no one knows what happened to her. They say she was in an asylum. They say what had betided her husband and son shattered her mind. Hendery tried to gather information. He tried to ask his aunt about his mother’s whereabouts. But whenever he does, he’s met with a slap on the cheek.

Aunt Lilia was a kind woman— she really was. But there had been times when she would talk to no one in the windows, or would cry with unknown reasons on the kitchen floors. Sometimes, she would sing lullabies to help Hendery sleep. Sometimes, she would whip him until he was crying and begging for help.

No one saved him.

One day, when Aunt Lilia was fast asleep and snoring on her couch, Hendery tiptoed to the door. It’s time for him to leave this godforsaken place. It’s time that he finds his mother. He was twelve years old.

According to the doctors themselves, you become immune to the pandemic once it has already hit you. Hendery braved the pandemic with a single mask and a little bottle of alcohol. And for months, he would live in the streets.

You sang your favorite song while walking. It was eight p.m., the road was almost empty, save for a few workers going home to your village. Fortunately, it didn’t rain tonight so there were no need for umbrellas and tiptoeing through the mud.

Hendery remained in the Church, to do what, you hadn’t bothered to ask. He offered to take you home, but you politely declined. After a series of convincing Hendery that you were going to be fine on your own, his shoulders finally slumped in approval. Your mother would collapse on the ground if she ever sees you riding Hendery’s motorbike.

You didn’t take him for a gentleman. However, there were still a lot of things you didn’t know about the boy. After your conversation with him on the grasses, perhaps he’s allowed you to slip through his visions, even just for a little bit.

As you neared towards your house, elders and children alike scattering around your street drew you in a halt. What is happening? A bad feeling rested in your stomach, but you sent a silent prayer that it wasn’t what you were thinking about.

Your mother was also one of the villagers out, so you sauntered straight towards her with your forehead drawn in a crease. “What’s happening, Mom?”

Her lips were pulled in a tight frown. “Bandits!” she seethed, as if the word had been the cruelest of all curses. “They took Loira’s money that she hid under the dresser.”

“How? Are bandits that skilled?”

As far as you could tell, Aunt Loira’s home was barred from ceiling to floor. She doesn’t go out of the house without locking all the possible holes that bandits might slip through.

“Evil knows no bounds,” your mother once again spat. “Yes, they are that skilled and heartless nowadays.”

The village chieftain as well as the other tanods circle Aunt Loira’s home with their lamps and flashlights. But you’d doubted that they would acquire evidence. Bandits had been pillaging your village as well as the neighboring ones for years. No one could ell what they look like. However, some elders think that the men from Kristan’s village were the ones responsible for the robbery.

“But Aunt Loira literally bars her whole house whenever she leaves for the market, right?”

Your mother made a strange noise through her nose. “She forgot to lock her back door when she left earlier.” Then she wrapped a hand around your wrist. “Come, the food’s getting colder.”

With one last look at Aunt Loira’s house, you let your mother lead you away from the mayhem.

You have been a victim of the bandits yourselves. Once, when you were ten years old. And it had been of your own fault. Father and Mother went to the market that day, and being the only daughter that you were, you had no one to play with whenever they were away. So you hopped out of bed, with your morning glory still stuck in your eyes and hair like the nest of birds, you hadn’t bothered to lock your house and flew straight to your childhood friends.

When you came back home, Mother was frowning at you. She would’ve had you whipped if not for your father, who kindly stood between you and your mother’s diabolical punishments. The money from the old refrigerator was stolen. It was the money for the renovation of your own room. Because of its looting, you still stare at the blotches of rainwater on your canopy every night until now, praying that it won’t collapse on you.

As you lay on your bed, silent contemplations ravaged your mind: the conversation with Hendery, the bandits, your unattainable dreams— are they though?

You have always dreamed of traveling the world. See the wonders of it for yourself. But how could you do that if you have been stuck here ever since? You have no idea what the city looks like. Mother said you were born in the city, but before the lockdown had taken place over the whole country, Mother went back to this village. Apparently, the isolated places were safer during the pandemic.

The pandemic has been over for five years now. Surely, there was more to life than this quiet town, right? You love this village with all your heart. However, you feel as if there were a lot more waiting for you out there. As Hendery said, there were millions of possibilities if you’d only dare.

Dare. What an audacious word. It made you feel dauntless just saying it.

You sat up and stared at the view outside your windows. What could truly happen if you dares the world? What could happen if you step your foot out of this town and dare?

vi. He ascended into Heaven, sits at the right hand of God, the Father Almighty…

“He’s not from here,” the other boys whispered.

Hendery continued ransacking the trash cans under the bridge. It had been exactly two weeks since he escaped Aunt Lilia’s hell house. And he wasn’t fairing well. The coins he stole from Aunt Lilia’s dresser were beginning to sound nothing in his pockets despite the fact that water was all his body consumed ever since escaping.

They say you could survive without food, but you wouldn’t survive without water. So he drank and drank until his stomach became bloated. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Hendery would buy at least one bottle of water with the stolen money and would consume it for two days. Sounds impossible for other people, but Hendery made it to two weeks of not fainting on the ground by that.

“He looks like he’s from here, though,” the other boy commented.

Hendery paid them no heed, for he found a bag of chips in the trash. It tasted like ashes in his mouth, but he couldn’t complain. He’d never complain.

Hendery fished for yet another chip when the boys snatched the bag away from him. They sneered. At long last, Hendery looked at them. And they were exactly like a mirror of him. Greasy hair, acrid smell, tattered clothes— and that something in their eyes: despair.

“Where are you from, boy?” One of them asked.

Boy? He didn’t look older than Hendery. However similar their situations might be, he had no time to linger around them. He needed to find his mother. So he turned his back and walked away. Not even a few steps ahead, someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. The boy smirked before landing a blow at his nose.

Hendery staggered backwards, aghast and angry at the same time. He touched his nose, and found it bleeding. Fueled by hunger and lost and a shit ton of problems, Hendery let his backpack fall to the ground and charged towards the boy.

They rolled off the ground. Hendery had him by the collar, and all the boy did was to choke. If no one would intrude, Hendery could surely kill him. But when they rolled once more and Hendery got on the boy’s stomach, he raised a fist only for someone to wrap a viselike grip around his wrist.

Hendery shot him a glare, but he answered him with a kind smile. That was when he noticed there were at least five of them there. Six, if Hendery was to count himself.

“There is no need for us to kill each other,” the boy said. “Stand up.”

Hesitant, Hendery wriggled free before standing on his feet. Once again, he turned on his heel to walk away.

“Why are you leaving?” the boy asked. “We have food here. And a shelter for the night.”

That sounded like a dream. Hendery had never heard of that for two weeks. Not even experienced any of that. Still, he didn’t turn.

“I promise we won’t harm you.”

He continued to walk away. If Hendery had come to a realization, it was that he could survive on his own. He’d experienced a lot of shit already being with people.

“We can help you!” the boy shouted.

With that, Hendery gripped the straps of his backpack tightly. He didn’t know if it was out of luck, or the boy really hit something that made his consciousness stir. If Hendery wanted to find his mother, it’d be better to have companions he could rely on.

He turned to face the boys again. “Really?” he shouted back.

They looked at one another before trodding the distance towards Hendery. The taller man stretched out his hand, with a smile he said, “I’m Kun.”

Hendery stared at the hand before taking it. “Hendery.”

“We can help you,” Kun said. “In one condition.”

You stared at your reflection on the mirror. The glass had a lot of brown blotches because of its age. But your reflection could still be seen.

Another day, another walk, another face to greet.

It’s Sunday already. The third Sunday of the month. You once believed that if people would pray day and night in the churches and in their houses, the bad things crawling in the world would somehow lessen. You were mistaken.

Bandits, bandits, bandits. They were everywhere these days. Mother even refused to go to the market in fear of being robbed. That left you with no choice but to go on your own. How? You exactly have no idea.

It was always best to visit the market at dawn, for the vegetables and meats were still fresh. You could still buy something after noon, but it won’t be as worth the money as they were in the gloaming. And the bandits had left yet another fiendish mess at Uncle Gino’s house. Your mother had been a cursing mess for hours since they stole a precious heirloom from Uncle’s treasure chest.

You sighed. Why is your village always prone to bandits? It wasn’t as if your chieftain never does anything for it, if not, he’s hands-on searching for the robbers. With no luck at all. Bandits disappeara like a bubble everytime they come close to capturing them.

At the church, everyone else was busy when you arrived. Save for one person; Hendery. He was leaning on the door frame of the sacristan’s quarter, watching everyone pass by him.

“Why aren’t you doing anything?” you asked when you reached him.

“Ah, my dearest Y/N,” he sighed. “How I’ve missed you dearly.”

You deadpanned. “We met yesterday, Hendery.”

“Then? Am I not allowed to miss you?” He raised a brow.

You compressed your lips in a tight line. Three weeks since the boy arrived and in some way you have found a common ground together: talking about your dreams. Well, it’s you who’s always doing the talking. While he listened and snorted whenever he disagrees with you. It had been somewhat challenging, having someone disagree with you.

“Let’s go,” you sighed. “The mass is about to start.”

Thankfully, he was already donned in his white robes. No matter how holy the color might be, it failed to make him one. If not, it had only intensified the danger lurking within him.

Hendery yawned all throughout the mass, resulting in you nudging his ribs with your elbow. You couldn’t still comprehend his goal for joining the church. He seemed disinterested about everything. You have to find out his true intentions or else you will lose your mind thinking.

And it was not right to think about anything but the Lord while the mass is going on.

“Our Father, Who art in Heaven…” The churchgoers starts to sing. They clasped their hands as if in prayer while singing. Father Ben already practiced the right way in singing the litany. No one holds hand any longer.

You clasped your own hand. “Holy be Thy Name— what are you doing?” In bafflement and shock, you hissed louder than what you intended to.

Hendery took your right hand to clasped with his left. He didn’t answer you, though. He kept on looking straight at the altar. “Thy Kingdom Come, Thy will be done…” he started to sing along.

Flustered on where you stand, you roamed your eyes around you. Lucy and Rei were busy singing their hymns, oblivious to the way Hendery was breaking Father Ben’s rule.

You tried to wriggle free, but his grip was viselike. It’s disrupting the mass for you. With a heavy intake of breath, you let it go. “On Earth as it is in Heaven…” you sang along.

When he heard you, Hendery slackened his hold. You looked at him the same time he looked at you. And there he was, smiling like an idiot. “Give us this day, our daily bread…” he sang as he focused on the altar again.

You blinked, heart doing somersaults inside your chest. “And forgive us our trespasses…” you sang.

Everything had come at once. The echoes of the singing churchgoers, as well as Hendery’s.

“As we forgive those who trespass against us…”

The beating of your heart was wild. For what reasons? You have no idea. It was just there, beating stubbornly inside your ribcage.

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil…”

After the mass, and when all the churchgoers finished asking for Father Ben’s blessings and advice, he gathered all the sacristan inside the church.

You sat between Rei and Lucy, while Hendery sat behind you. He still has that infuriating smile on his face. Truth be told, and no matter how hard you tried, you also smiled a little yourself.

“I’ve heard the concerns of the people,” Father Ben announced. “For years, we have faced the bandits.”

You straightened up. In his own ways, Father Ben had been a huge help for the people. You won’t call him rich, but he’s always ready to lend money to those who fell to the bandits’ wrongdoings. You have seen his treasure chest once, and you believe you had been the only one allowed to see it.

“As much as I would like to financially aid everyone, my coffers couldn’t hold everything,” he added.

Lucy intruded, “It is alright Father. You’ve been helping us since you came here in the village. And for that we are thankful. But you need not bother yourself for our problems.”

Father Ben smiled. “I am the priest of this town. I need to preserve peace just like the chieftain. It’s been a pleasure to help with my own ways.”

You cleared your throat. “How can we help, Father?”

“Ah, yes.” Father Ben placed his hands behind him. “I need you to be vigilant. Not only for your own sakes, but for the well-being of others, too. Help in your own little ways. Be it helping the townspeople pick the strongest barriers there is in the market, they’d appreciate that. I trust you all. And don’t forget to pray for your village and the neighboring ones, too.” Father Ben makes a cross in the air. “May God bless us all.”

“Amen,” you said in unison.

Father Ben returned behind the altar to check up on Kristan, more likely. As for the little boy, he was comfortable, he said. His father also tried to visit him, but found it hard to face his son. Kristan said  it’s fine, and that his father deserved time to think.

You stood up together with the other sacristan with a sigh. Bandits are such headaches. It gets tiring having to deal with them. It feels as if dealing with the wind. Invisible. And there was yet another headache you have to face: going to the market.

If you were lucky, you could reach the market at one p.m.. But vehicles during this time of the day were rare. Not to mention the village was isolated.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Hendery asked as he stood in front of you.

You sighed a pensive one. He’s your third headache of the day. “Please, Hendery. I’m thinking.” You started to walk away, but he followed beside you.

“Perhaps I can help.”

You drew in a halt. Mayhaps it was a blessing in disguise— him. Hendery has a motorbike. You’d get there and come back on time if you would ride with him. But courage was a luxury you couldn’t afford, so you shun the thoughts.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

Your tongue ached to say the words. And your body yearned to feel the wind on your face, too. It was not everyday that a chance opens up like this in front of you. Dare.

You straightened your shoulders. “Can you take me to the market?” The market isn’t as far as the city. But going in there is a once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity you couldn’t afford to miss. It was a step, no matter how small.

Hendery raised a brow. “What business do you have in the market?”

You played with your lower lip with your teeth. A fleet of a moment, and a moment you had surely missed: the way Hendery looked at your lips when you rolled it between your teeth. “Well,” you said, “I need to buy some food. And mother wouldn’t leave the house in fear of bandits robbing us.”

“Understandable,” he said. “But I have a condition to make.”

“Forget it—”

“Kidding.” Then he laughed. “You are one hell of a heartless woman, do you know that?”

A ghost of a smile painted your lips. “It is not right to say ‘hell’ inside the church. And why do you say that?”

“What about my wage?”

You blinked. “Oh, I— I didn’t bring any extra cash—”

Hendery placed his hand on the top of your head. “I’m just kidding.” Then he pivoted on his heel, his keys dangling between his fingers.

You followed.

“I thought you didn’t have a helmet.” You shot up a brow to your forehead upon seeing one helmet resting on his accelerator.

Hendery shrugged. “It’s for you.”

And there it wasagain, the wild beating of your heart. As if it was an animal begging to be unleashed to the world. “That’s… kind of you.” That had been the only thing you were able to say. “But how did you know to bring one?”

He disentangled the helmet from the accelerator. “Because I am always waiting for you.”

“For me? What do you mean?”

“I’m always waiting for you to ask me to take you to the city.”

Without giving you any time to comprehend his words and form coherent answers, Hendery fixed the helmet to your head. But before he could fully lock it under your chin, you stopped his hands.

“I think I’ll prefer to feel the wind.”

Hendery smiled, but continued to lock the helmet nevertheless. “Not today. I drive relatively fast, and the road to the market’s pretty bumpy. You won’t enjoy it.”

“I appreciate you, bringing this, but—”

He tapped the head of the helmet. “No buts.”

Hendery climbed his motorbike, then nudged his head to invite you to hop in. Just like the last time, you pulled up your skits and climb behind him. He revved the engine and you rode together.

The feel of riding behind him had become a reflex inside your body. A peaceful one, despite the blare of his engine and the harsh slap of the wind on your face.

“Hold on,” he reminded you before he accelerated the engine yet again.

You wrapped your arms around his torso. This was the second time you rode a motorbike, but the feeling compared to last time has drastically changed. There was no fear now. Only fascination and curiosity of what lies behind everything you have ever known.

If you’d only dare.

An hour before the clock strikes two, you have finally reached the buzz of the market.

When the pandemic ended, the livelihood didn’t go back automatically to normal. There were millions of protocols and reminders from the government. Because the pandemic didn’t really disappear like a bubble in the air. It was there, still. But after the years of its ravaging, the human body slowly adapted to its hazards.

It became just like the flu. More dangerous, yes. But less hazardous now.

“Wait for me here,” you said to Hendery.

“I’ll come with you.”

You stopped. “Are you sure? It’s quite chaotic inside. And… city boys are city boys.”

A playful laugh resonated from him. “I’ve been here before, sacristan. I’ll be fine.”

When he said that he’d be fine, it was true. Hendery jumped from vendor to vendor to help you buy all your needs. Be it meat, poultry, vegetables, or fruits. Father’s coming home in two days after weeks of being away, so Mother wants to cook something special for him. And you, too.

“Is this all?” he asked when you finished. Hendery insisted on carrying everything, which you politely declined. But he didn’t stop bugging you about it until you gave up and handed him everything.

“I need to buy onions over there, across the street. Could you hold this for me? I’ll be quick.”

Hendery nodded. You fished for your wallet inside your pocket. Halfway across the street, someone bumped into you.

“I… I’m sorry,” you said. But the man ignored you as he continued to walk away.

Five steps ahead, you noticed something. Your wallet was stolen. Before you could shout, Hendery was running for the boy already. Shocked and confused, you did the first thing that occured to your mind; run for them.

The wallet didn’t have much money, but it was given by your mother on your birthday. And you have been utterly sentimental when it comes to gifts. The boy can take the money, but he needs to give back your wallet.

Hendery ran pretty fast that you almost lost him in the maze of people and stalls alike. He turned left. You pulled up your heavy skirts and follow him. When you finally reached the alleyway he’s run off to, you have found out that it was a dead end.

Hendery was sitting on the boy’s stomach, and he had him by the throat. Few steps away from them, your wallet lays on the ground. You gulped and sauntered up to the two boys.

“What the fuck are you doing, Hendery?”

He knew Hendery? How come?

“Dude, you need to let me g—”

Hendery punched him straight. You gasped. The boy’s eyes rolled before his head collapsed to the ground. And he was unconscious.

Hendery stood up and picked your wallet. He didn’t look at you when he handed it back. “Let’s go home,” he says.

You stared at the boy with your brows narrowing. Is he a bandit? How did he know Hendery? Gripping the wallet tightly, you pivoted on your heels and walked away.

Something wasn’t right.

vii. From thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead...

“I say I beat the shit out of him right now,” Xiaojun seethed upon seeing Hendery enter the room.

Kun, while sitting on the table, raised a hand to stop the other boy from attacking Hendery. He had always been like that; the middle man. Yet Hendery could sense the disappointment as well as the inquisition in the air. This is going to be one hell of a night.

“Sit,” Kun announced as he stretched out his hand to the empty chair on his left side.

Xiaojun, Hendery’s comrade, had his fist clenched while sitting on the window sill. The punch he landed on his face has left a contusion to the bone right below his eyes. Hendery didn’t feel sorry. Not even a little bit.

Kun’s ‘office’ had been stripped off any furniture saved for a table and two chairs. There was only one light hanging from the ceiling. It casted off an orange hue to everything it touches.

If Hendery spends so much as an hour here, he would lose his mind. However, Kun has managed to make this empty place his abode whenever he plans out another robbery or crime. It was comparatively fitting, if he was to be honest.

When Hendery had made himself comfortable on his seat, Kun stood up. “I’ve heard entertaining news today.” He smiled. It would come off as a kind one if you were looking in the surface, but Hendery knew the depths of the edges of that smile.

Nevertheless, Hendery hasn’t been the one to be scared of anything. “Is it about me…” Hendery strays his eyes towards Xiaojun. “Punching someone?” The smile he casted after had completely set his comrade’s blood on fire.

Xiaojun jumped, attempting to attack Hendery once more. Kun gripped his arm in a firm hold. Xiaojun slouched back on the other chair, panting heavily.

“You’re fucking dead to me, Wong,” he spat.

Hendery leaned closer. “Bring it on.”

“Shut the fuck up, you both,” Kun sighed while massaging his temples. “Or just go ahead and get your guns, shoot each other in the head and be done with it.”

Tempting was the offer, but Hendery took it as a warning. However, it had been pretty effective. Hendery leaned back to his chair, hands dangling on his sides. “What’s the matter?”

Kun chuckleed. “You.” He licked his lips while pointing his finger at Hendery. “You’re really something else, aren’t you?”

“Well—” Hendery stumbleed and fell from the chair. That, he hadn’t seen coming. Kun had always been strong when it comes to boxing someone’s ears. Before Hendery could stand up, he spat blood on the cold floor.

Hendery wipeed his mouth with the back of his hand. It was his turn to chuckle. “I really am.”

Kun wrapped his hand around Hendery’s collar, then he slammed his back against the wall. Sight obscured because of of the hair falling down his eyelids, Hendery felt the blood flowing from the side of his mouth to his chin.

“Why did you do it?” Kun asked.

“What did I—” Hendery fell to the ground as his face met Kun’s fist. His vision blurs, causing him to blink languidly. Perhaps he heard Xiaojun’s laughters, or his sniggers, he wasn’t sure.

Hendery felt like a sack of cotton as Kun hurled him up with his back collar. His back was against the wall again. Now, he feels two warm liquid flowing from the sides of his mouth.

“Why did you do it?”

His mouth twisted in a leer. “None of your business.”

Hendery’s stomach caved in as Kun landed a punch to his guts. Air left his lungs for a moment, and he found it extremely hard to breathe. Hendery had always hated being punched in the stomach.

As he tried to catch his breath, he watched as Kun’s feet started to pace the space in front of him. Hendery continues to blink. Then Kun crouched.

“Who is she?”

She. Hendery stared at Kun. The years of them together flashed in his eyes like a projector in a wide white screen: the day he met his gang of bandits, his first time holding a gun, robbing a store, and shooting someone plays right in his eyes like a movie on repeat.

“None of you fuckers are going anywhere near her,” he stated in a voice so cold even the demon stared back at him in horror.

Kun was silent for a moment. Eyes hard staring at Hendery. Then he asked, “What the fuck is happening to you?”

Hendery realized that he had no answer to the question. But the thought of you, falling in danger feels like rotten food in his stomach. It made him want to retch.

Nobody had seen it coming, that was for sure. This feeling inside him— this wriggling feeling whenever he was with you. Whenever you smile at him. Whenever you tell him your dreams.

Hendery stood up and looked straight at Kun and then at Xiaojun. “Don’t fucking dare,” he warned before he pivoted on his heel.

Two steps away, Kun stated, “I’ll let you swim in your foolishness but don’t fuck this up, Hen. Remember why I sent you to the church.”

Hendery waved  his hand. “I remember.”

He’d gone straight to his own room and tended for his own wound. Hendery sat on his bed, meditating over his actions earlier.

For years he had been one of Kun’s best bandit. Ever since he met him under the bridge. Xiaojun landed his fist straight to his nose that day, too. And that had been all Hendery had known. To fight, to survive. Even if it means licking the edge of the knife.

The time Kun handed him a gun, Hendery knew his hands trembled. For that he missed his first aim. But as the days went by that all he’d ever held was a bullet, a magazine, and a gun, Hendery became as sharp as a pointed knife when it came to mowing down.

He stared at his calloused hand. The rough palms stares back at him, as if in insult. He’s lost count of the stores he’s robbed. Of the houses he’d stolen from. Of the individuals he pointed the barrel of the gun at. Is this what he has been born to do?

All he ever wanted was to meet his mother again. To hold that hateful woman in his arms. To tell her that her son survived and there has been an aching hole inside him ever since she disappeared without a trace.

Years of searching for nothing, Hendery thought he’s already turned every stone in this country upside down searching for his lost mother. And it all went in vain.

Hendery doesn’t know who to blame: the pandemic, his mother, or his own self?

You chewed on your bottom lip while walking the long road towards your home. The scene from the market, and the robbery that had taken place refused to leave your mind. You sigh, since those weren’t the only things trying to penetrate your brain. Hendery refused to leave, too.

Perhaps you should be thankful that he somewhat saved your money earlier. Bandits are heartless. The boy could’ve been carrying a pocket knife and Hendery would’ve been in grave danger. Yet he braved the possible risks and ran for the boy nonetheless. Worries aside, you cannot help but feel perturbed of the way the bandit called Hendery’s name.

Are they related? If yes, how?

Before entering your house, you straightened your back. Mother senses even a slip of your composure, and she’d never let you go unless you tell her what’s wrong.

You raised your fist to knock, then a familiar face greeted you when the door swung open suddenly. The bags you have been holding fell as you squealed and jumped to hug your father. “Father!” you exclaim.

He laughed as he wraps his arms around you. “My baby girl,” he chuckled.

“Dad!” you retorted, but laughed nonetheless. There is time for that endearment. “When did you arrive?” you asked as both of you pulled away.

“Earlier,” he saied as he muffled your hair. “I didn’t tell your mom, either.” As he said that, Mother occured from the kitchen with a spatula in hand.

“Time for dinner,” she announced with a smile.

Ah, that rare smile from her lips. Father was the only living thing who could pull up the edges of her mouth like that. It was refreshing to behold.

Father picked up the bags from the ground. “You carried all these by yourself?” he asked.

You automatically flustered. The image of Hendery carrying all you have bought earlier flashing back in your head without permission. “Y… yeah.”

It wasn’t as if they are illiberal when it comes to boys. But it was a topic you haven’t discussed with any of them yet.

“Hm, we really ought to buy a motorcycle, don’t you think?”

You turned to face him. “It would be convenie—”

“Who would drive? Me?” Mother interrupted. “Our daughter?”

Father placed the bags onto the kitchen counter. “Yes. Y/N is a fast-learner. She could defini—”

“I’m sorry but it is a no.” Mother smiled again, but there was an edge to it. “It is inappropriate for a lady to drive—”

“Who says?” you groaned. “It’s 2040, Mother.”

Mother crossed her arms over her chests. “And where would you go once you learn how to drive?”

You pursed your lips. Saying the word would only extend the argument. But it needs to be heard. “Perhaps then I could go to the city—”

“What?!” she exclaimed.

“... and study,” you finished.

Father cleared his throat. “That’s a good idea, actually.” He turned his head towards Mother. “Don’t you think?”

Mother made out an incredulous noise from her nose. “No, I don’t think so. The city is still contaminated with the virus and hedonism. There is no way I’m letting you—”

“Develop on my own?” you asked.

It had always been an argument: your dreams. And Mother always says no to every step you’d attempt to achieve them. You loved her dearly. But sometimes, you couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed of her decisions when it comes to your life. You were an adult— a capable adult. And yet you felt as if someone had clipped your wings before you could fly. It hurts to know that that someone was your own mother.

“Y/N!” she hissed, her eyebrows knitted together.

Father held up his hands. “There is no need for us to raise our voices. We can discuss this in peace,” he said.

But Mother wouldn’t back down. “There would be no discussion. I won’t allow it.” Then she turned on her back to finish preparing the food.

You looked down at the floor, eyes suddenly breaming with tears. This conversation had never failed to put you to misery.

“Cheer up,” Father whispered. “We’ll find a way.”

No. You will.

The next day, you couldn’t help but frown upon your reflection in the mirror. Same robes, same skirts, same hairstyle. There was nothing new.

You loved being a sacristan. You have devoted yourself in serving God and His Son, Jesus Christ. You have never missed a mass. It was a part of your life that won’t ever disappear. But duty and dream aren’t the same thing.

You have your duty to God, that you diligently and wholeheartedly accomplished for the last few years. But there was your dream, hanging like a blank canvas on the wall of your bedroom.

The village was your serenity. But the city holds everything that you have ever wanted.

Dare.

You harshly brushed your hair and fix your robe. The bones under your skin are unstoppable. You only have to dare. So with a deep intake of breath, you departed your bedroom, kissed both your parents’ cheek, and ran towards the Church. Where everything was going to happen.

Seeing Hendery casually sipping on his cigarette while leaning on the tree has put your rushing feet in a halt.

This boy. Always so alluring, always so mysterious, always so stubborn.

Hendery remained staring at the ground when you sauntered up to him. It would feel as if you were back on the day you first met him. When he exuded such obscurity that you found him irritatingly blurry yet interesting.

What happened yesterday still lingers in the back of your mind. Perhaps you should talk to him about it to quench  your interest. “Hey,” you greeted.

When he looked up, you covered your mouth with your hands in utter stupefaction. “What happened to you?!” you blurted out.

There were purple patches on the bone underneath his right eye and another on the side of his lips. Did the bandit get back to him yesterday? The thought made your stomach lurched.

“You look devastated,” Hendery commented.

You blinked. It was him who looked like an absolute wreck right now. How could he tell you that? “No. You are.”

“You are.” Hendery toucheed your chin to lift up your face. You let him. “See? It’s missing,” he said while staring at you.

His stare made you nervous. But you couldn’t look away. “What is?”

Hendery let his hand fall before he answers, “The fire in your eyes.”

The fire in your eyes. For the second time, you blink at him. You were a lover of poetry. Hearing this boy talk as if he had the verses of the universe in his tongue perhaps set your heart in a panic.

Sad eyes, bad guys, and a mouthful of verselet. You once thought someone like him won’t sweep you on your feet. Knowing that you were mistaken has left a bittersweet taste in your tongue. It was, indeed, beautiful to feel this way. This feeling you have for Hendery was a flower beginning to turn into a fruit. So fragile, yet so heavenly.

Would it be ready for the plucking?

You gulped. “Did the bandit get back to you yesterday?”

“This is nothing,” he said. “I found myself in a brawl yesternight. Nothing for you to worry about.”

You raised a brow. “I am not worried.”

That was his cue to laugh before puffing his cigarette again. “One hell of a heartless woman.”

“I am not heartless.”

Hendery looked affronted. “Really? Prove it, then.”

“Prove it?” You let out an incredulous sound. Then you crossed your arms over your chests. “How?”

“Admire me back.” He tossed his cigarette bud away. “Simple as that.”

Admire me back. You gaped at him, unable to form lucid words. What was that? Did he really ask you to admire him… back? “Is that…” you paused, “Is that a confession?”

Hendery placed the tip of his pointer finger against your forehead. Then he pushed lightly. However, he didn’t answer, he only walked past you. “You’re pretty unique,” he added. “I like your fire.”

“Wait!”

You ran for him. You have no idea what it was, but talking to Hendery has stirred the emotion you once felt earlier before leaving the house. The extreme drive to do something you haven’t done before and prove your mother that you are worthy of being left alone with your decisions.

Hendery turned to you. “What? Have you reciprocated my feelings alr—”

“Take me to the city,” you panted.

His smile grew wider. And the stars in his eyes shone, rivaling the blare of the sunlight above. “That’s better.”

viii. And His Kingdom would have no end…

A month ago, you would never have imagined yourself going out of the village. But here you wee, riding with a boy you only met four weeks ago, in his black and shiny motorcycle that was like a much safer version of a Harley. However, it didn’t lessen the agitation in your heart.

After years since you were born, this would be your first time to see the world beyond your village. You didn’t expect it to be beautiful. Since a global pandemic has swept through the continents twenty years ago. But you could say it was something you didn’t expect to behold either.

Copse of trees became a blur of brown and green as Hendery picks up the pace. There was nothing to see but the unending stretch of tall grasses and trees and the isolated road ahead. There weren’t even streetlights to guide you back later.

The wind slapped your face, with it the grimy feeling of running at 60 kilometers per/hour, and sniffing Hendery’s virile scent.

Hendery sure drives like the road was his and he’s alone in the world.

For this adventure, you refused to wear any helmet at all. It took minutes of disagreement, but Hendery had come in peace with it. If this was the first time you were riding towards the city— a place as strange to you as anything in the world— you wanted to caress it with your whole body. After all, this was an event more special than your own birthday.

As Hendery revved the engine faster, your grip on his torso tightened. Nonetheless, you bite your tongue to stop the squeal that was threatening to come out of your mouth. You will brave this ride. And there was nothing that would stop you from relishing this feeling.

All your trust and all your hopes of a safe travel were in Hendery’s hands today. And if you were to be honest, a sliver of doubt still flows in your veins. It has to be normal for a village girl to feel this way. Hendery could be infuriating at times, and he sure has this mysterious secret in his eyes, but he’s never done you anything hideous. Or perhaps you were only a naive girl, too blinded by ambitions and the overflowing courage in your heart, that you walked right into the devil’s trap.

You sent a silent prayer to God to guide you safely despite breaking the rules of your parents.

Slowly, the copse of trees became an expanse of water. Then you were traveling on a bridge, with a river below you. Busses, cars, and motorcycles alike run along the bridge, adding much to your adrenaline. You couldn’t remember the last time you have seen a bus. Perhaps it was when the students from the city took a trip to your village.

You turned your head to see the water. Few birds were flying as well as diving into the water to catch some fish. The wind coming from it was briny and sticky. But you loved it nonetheless.

Then the tall buildings loomed ahead, at the edge of the bridge. You cannot help but gape at it. How isolated have you become to marvel at tall buildings? Embarrassed as you were, you didn’t let it douse out your excitement.

Hendery slowed down as you meet the highway. On the pavements there walked the passersby. Some were hurrying, some were jogging with their dogs. Inside the coffee shops were lovers laughing while sipping on their drinks.

Despite the pandemic, the city felt alive. It thrummed with an energy you haven’t experienced before. It made you feel dizzy with excitement.

“It’s two p.m.,” Hendery stated before parking his motorcycle in a dead alley.

You hopped off. “Won’t you get in trouble parking here?” you asked, roaming your eyes around the two buildings covering the alleyway. In the village, there would be no problem parking your car wherever. But as far as you were concerned, city policies were different.

Hendery snickered. “Nobody would dare.”

By that, you raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. “Nevermind.” Then he faced you with a smile. “Where do you wanna go?”

You deadpanned. “I’m not from here. You’re supposed to show me around.”

He feigned laughters. “Oh yes, I almost forgot. But—” Hendery raised his pointer finger as if in warning. “May I warn you that I’m not a ferris wheel type of guy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m adrenaline embodiment.” Then he grabbed your shoulder softly and guided you towards the buzz of people.

As you walked with Hendery on the side streets, you looked up to the sky. It was gray but bright nonetheless. The type of weather wherein you wouldn’t know if it would rain or the clouds were only keeping the sun away.

Different honk of cars resonated everywhere, with the giggles of students as they walk home. There were teenagers sitting on the narrow alleyway, their clothes black and their pants ripped. You regarded them with narrowed brows. Then the two teenagers kissed.

“Oh,” you gasped as you cover your eyes. It felt private, albeit the fact that they were kissing in a public place.

Hendery chuckled. “That’s like, level 0.1 of the things that happens there.”

Before you could ask him what did he mean for the nth time that day, Hendery held your hand and tugged you. “See that sign up there?”

He stood extremely close to yours. Strands of his hair flew towards the sides of your face. You gulped before following his pointer finger with your eyes. He was pointing at the sign across the street. It was surrounded by different types of people, but students dominated the whole entrance. Above their heads was a huge sign board that says ‘Wonderland’.

“Yeah.” You nodded your head. “What is it about?”

“It’s a circus,” Hendery said as he turned to look at your face, “Last to arrive pays for the tickets. Deal?”

“Wha— wait! That’s not fair!” you shouted when he bolts away.

Hendery took a look at you while laughing. His hair obscuring his eyes. “Run!”

You exhaled sharply before gathering your skirts and running towards him. As your shoulders slammed to different bodies, you shout apologies on your wake. If this was a normal day, you would have to stopped and say your apologies with a bow. But this wasn’t a normal day. And Hendery didn’t even bother to stop even if he had to push students out of his way.

However, he drew in a halt as a little girl suddenly appears from a boutique. Hendery was still ahead of you by five steps, but because of the circumstances, you tapped his shoulder and run past him.

At last, it was time for you to cross the streets. The streetlight says red. You muttered, “Green, green, gree—”

“Didn’t take you for a… runner,” Hendery breathed with his hands on the sides of his waists as he stood beside you.

You ignored him. Then the lights went green. You stormed away from him, dodging the elders crossing the street. Hendery laughed behind you. And he was extremely close.

With one last force of a leg, you jumped the one meter distance from the pavement to the entrance line of the circus. “I won!” you shouted in triumph.

Hendery shook his head, disbelief visible in his face. “This is unbelievable,” he muttered.

“A ticket for two,” you taunted, displaying two fingers in front of him. “The deal is the deal.”

Hendery sighed and fished for his pocket. Perspiration trickled down your back as you follow Hendery towards the ticket booth. After he received the tickets, he handed you his kerchief. “For your sweat.”

You immediately raised your hands. “Oh, no! It’s okay!”

Hendery tilted his head to the side. “You are sweltering like a waterfall. Here, let me,” he said before pulling you and patting the kerchief to your forehead.

You looked away blinking, unable to form words as you felt the fabric pressing softly on your skin. As if you were a thin, breakable glass he feared that might break if he wasn’t careful. “Thanks,” you whispered when Hendery finally folded back the kerchief to his back pockets.

Both of you turned and faced the entrance of the circus.

The door opened, revealing two little person wearing brightly colored jumpers. Their faces were made up to copy the image of a clown. Both of their heads look up, then they scrunched their noses, clearly irritated of a customer.

“Come in,” they blabbered in unison.

You looked at Hendery. He had that same smile on his face when he walked through the turnstile.

The hallway that displayed itself in front of you were made of corrugated roof ceiling and walls. You felt as if you were in a box.

Different posters of performers adorned the corrugated roof walls. There is the two little person, on their jumpsuits, balancing themselves on a large ball. At your right side, there is the image of a mermaid. Of course, circus such as this one would have a fake mermaid. Then there is an image of a man playing with fire.

You cannot help but stare in awe. You have a knowledge of circuses since you have read books and watched movies to have a distinct image of it in your mind. However, you haven’t really experienced one.

Hendery walked beside you, not bothering to see the posters plastered on the wall. That gave you a hint that maybe he has been in Wonderland already. He was born here in the city after all.

“How many times have you been here?” you decided to ask, voice echoing through the hallway.

“Too many times to count.”

The two little person opened another door. You gaped in astonishment as you take in the picture of the whole circus. Lambent lights hung in different trees, giving the whole area a soft glow.

There wre families resting under the trees and students hopping to different food carts to another. It was a whole new world in the middle of the city. And it was so lively that you feel the energy thrumming in your veins.

Hendery stared. Not at the circus, but at you. Pure amazement adorned your face. And perhaps your eyes twinkled brighter than the lights, too. Hendery couldn’t help but smile. It was somewhat fulfilling taking in your expression. He took you for a woman difficult to impress. Yet he was mistaken. There was that glow in you that he hasn’t seen before in anyone else’s eyes.

And for the first time in twenty years, Hendery has seen the rainbow he was waiting for. It wasn’t in the end of the pandemic. It’s in you.

When you craned your neck to look at him, Hendery blinked and looked away, his heart thudding madly inside his chest.

He couldn’t believe it. This feeling. For someone as sinful as him, Hendery had never expected to feel this type of… fondness.

“I thought you weren’t a ‘ferris wheel’ guy?” You lifted a brow while quoting the air.

The ferris wheel was located at the very corner of the circus’ vicinity. As if on cue, Hendery’s childhood memories weaved their way back to his mind. The laughters of his father and his own giggles whenever they would ride the said ferris wheel.

After seconds of being taciturn, Hendery answered, “I’m not.”

“Really?” you teased. “You needn’t deny it!”

Hendery placed a hand above your head and ruffled your hair. “Come, I’ll show you around.” Then he stretched his hand to you.

Clearly flustered, you stared at his outstretched hand for a minute. You wrapped your hand with his. Taking his hand felt as if a manifold of experiences in itself, but it was thrilling nonetheless.

Both of you entered the tent where the mermaid perfoms. Of course, she was fake. But the craftmanship of her tail almost made you doubt your own eyes. It was simply marvelous.

Next that you visited was the fire-breathing man. The thing was, he was extremely talented and… cute. However, when you mentioned it to Hendery, his amazement deterred and he pulled you out of the tent.

Now you stood in front of a food cart, trying to pick between corndog or fries. You chose fries with lemon iced-tea. Hendery preferred the former.

“We need to go home,” you said while looking up at the sky. There wasn’t any brightness in the heavens any more, only darkness. The stars were hidden in the clouds, which give an ominous sign that it might rain.

And you couldn’t afford to rain. Your mother would go nuts. But then you thought how you have already defied her. Might as well enjoy the night, right? You heaved a sigh. No. You have to go home.

“Yes,” Hendery sighed. He was looking at the heavens, too.

Contemplative of the adventure you have experienced today, you looked at Hendery. Four weeks ago, you have resented his presence in the church because of your own preconceptions. But if this boy beside you didn’t arrive, you wouldn’t have the courage to defy your mother and finally go to the city.

In spite of everything, the saying proves true— that someone could go rebellious if ensnared for a long time. Yes, it was not pleasant to flout parents, but this freedom… you almost felt like a bird with its wings spread wider.

Hendery shifted, then he turned to face you. “Just one last destination.” He spoke the word with a certain anticipation. How could you deny him the chance?

Then you departed the circus.

“Is this safe?” you asked Hendery while you climbed the stairs of an unknown building near the alleyway where he parked his motorcycle.

“Yeah,” Hendery hummed. “This seems empty but trust me, this could be a party place.”

When he said that, you noticed the littered cigarettes in the corners. There were candy wrappers… and some rubber that you had no name for.

“This place is creepy,” you announce when you reach the last set of stairs.

Hendery’s laugh echoed through the empty place. “It’s not,” he said before pushing open a door that leads somewhere.

“A rooftop,” you stated as a-matter-of-factly. Your boots made a clocking noise against the pavement as you walk towards the railings. You stared in awe as different lights from the stores below twinkled like fireflies.

The darkness intensified the colors of everything. The city wasn’t perfect, but was beautiful at this time of the day. With the wind softly nuzzling your face, you breathed a sigh of relief at everything.

“This is beautiful,” you said in utter adoration.

Hendery leaned and grabbed the railings. His floppy hair dancing with the wind, once again falling down his eyelids. “It is,” he breathed.

At the horizon, some far away land stared at you, probably wondering of your unfamiliar face, too. There were mountains and there were also lights flickering from it. The sky was a darker shade of magenta turning black. It’s a pity that there were no stars to grace the heavens.

“Thank you, Hendery,” you whispered.

Hendery looked at you, a smile adorning his lips. “For you.”

Your shoulders brushed against each other, sending your heart into a marathon again. Then you sighed a heartful one. “I want to live here.”

“Really? This was only a façade, though. Bad things crawls out in this city.”

Bad things. There were bad things all around the world, though. “In the village, too,” you muttered, “Bandits. Everywhere.”

“Yeah. Bandits,” he repeated with the same contemptuous voice.

“What do you like most about this city?” you decided to ask. He’s from here. And he won’t stay if he doesn’t find anything beautiful here, right?

Hendery’s eyes were looking at the horizon while he answered, “My…” Then you notice the curvature of his throat as he gulped. “The memories of my family.”

Something inside you insisted to ask him further. So you opened your mouth to speak. “Where are they?”

Hendery displayed a painful smile before a chuckle resonated through him. “My dad died because of the pandemic, and my mom… she’s missing.”

You tasted something bitter in your mouth by the revelation. You shouldn’t have asked. Then you placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” The boy tried to smile when he looked at you. But an old pain still sparked in his eyes.

People tend to say it’s okay even when it’s not. You supposed it’s one of the ways for them to cope. Instead of forcing Hendery, you tried to smile for him, too.

“And your mother.” You cleared your throat. “Just ask me if you need any help.”

“Thank yo—” Hendery’s words were interrupted by the large pitter patters of the rain.

You gasped and shielded your head. Hendery does the same. Then the both of you run towards the building. The ravaging of the rainfall could be heard against the ceilings. It was the sound that pierces the ears. And you were afraid that it’s not going to stop any sooner.

“We have to go home,” you said while biting your nail.

“We can’t,” Hendery pronounced with a shrug.

You sighed deeply, forcing your knees to stand still. “My mother would kill me.”

Even though there was absolute dread to the words, you couldn’t feel any regret. You would’ve done it all over again if given the chance.

“You can call her,” Hendery suggested. “There’s a payphone down the next block.”

She would go absolutely unhinged once she knew about your whereabouts. But you have to at least tell her. Or lie about it. There was no other choice.

You mentally memorized your mother’s cellphone number. She has one, to contact father whenever he’s away. But she barely uses it.

“Let’s go,” you said.

While descending the stairs of the abandoned building, you thought about ways on how to dodge your mother’s possible questions. Lying has left a burning sensation in your chests. But it was the only way. And if it would somehow save you from the doom of being whip to shreds, you’d gladly do it.

Hendery offers you his leather jacket to use as an umbrella. You would have refused, but the rain was falling heavily. You cover your head before running.

When you reached the payphone, Hendery was drenched from head to toe. Due to some miracle that you couldn’t describe yourself, your corsage remained dry.

You delved for a coin inside your pockets and slid it with shaky fingers. Trying to squeeze himself inside the payphone, Hendery stoof mere inches away from you. Your chests too close to each other. Flustered, you focused on the phone still ringing against your ear instead of your bodies’ proximity.

You heard the click of the phone from the other line then the sound of your mother’s voice. “Hello?” she answered.

Running a damp hand through your hair, you gulped and said, “Mom, it’s Y/N.”

“Y/N?” You could see her eyebrow raising in your mind. And that made you even more agitated. Mother wasn’t easily convinced. You would need to slid through a needle’s hole if you ever wish to successfully lie to her.

“Yes, Mom. I’m here— at—” You bit your thumbnail as you realize that you cannot truly deceive her.

“Where are you?” she asked, “Why is it so loud in there?”

Shoot. The harsh sound of the rain was, of course, loud. And it probably wasn’t raining that hard to the village or not at all. You needed to think.

“Mom— I— I have an errand to run for Father Ben,” you lied. “And… well… I am in the market. And—” You take a deep breath. “I don’t think I would be able to come home tonight—”

“What?” she said with a voice louder than the rain. “What errand? And why aren’t you coming home?”

“Mother, it’s strictly confidential!” You added just enough panic to your voice to make your deceit more convincing. “And Father Ben told me not to tell anyone—”

“Well, I am your mother so I deserve—”

“Hello? Mother? Mom? I can’t hear you!”

“Y/N—”

“Alright, Mother. I’ll take care! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You dropped the phone immediately, not letting your mother say a word any more. Drawing ragged breaths, you let your back rest on the cold glass encasing the payphone. Then a laughter seized your attention. It was Hendery.

Baffled, you raised a brow. “What’s funny?” you asked, but you had a feeling that you know the answer to your own question. He found it amusing, your panicked conversation with your mother.

Hendery tried to shrug despite his laughter. “I just find it amusing,” he says as his glee receded. You glared at him, but the boy only pointed his finger right in front of your nose. “Now, quit being so strung up.”

“I am not,” your affronted reply. But he was right, your stomach was still tied in knots after the conversation. It was as if your mother would appear in front of you out of nowhere.

You looked at your surroundings. The buildings still towers over you. The road was drenched with rainwater and it didn’t seem to stop any time soon.

“Where do we sleep?” you asked Hendery, embarassed of the realization that you have no idea about the city and where you were supposed to sleep now that you were stuck in an unfamiliar place.

“‘We’?” he teased, “That sounds nice—”

“Hendery!” You hit his arm lightly, eliciting yet another fits of laughter from him.

“I know some place,” he said, “Don’t worry.”

You shrugged. “Well, aside from the fact that I wasn’t from here... and it’s my first time venturing to the city— yeah,” you sighed, “I really shouldn’t worry.”

He seemed not to sense the sarcasm lying within your words for he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’ve got me. I won’t let anyone harm you, alright?”

Ah, the vulnerability in a rather cold façade. It’s marvelous to behold. You couldn’t help but smile. Romance books were true, after all. Once an aloof boy shows some affection, it really feels like lying in a field of cotton.

“You have to promise,” you said. Hendery opened his mouth to speak his oath, but you offered him your pinky finger instead. “Lock it.”

Hendery stared at your hand for a good minute before exhaling a ruminative sigh. Then he placed his pinky finger against yours. The both of you entwined your finger in a lock.

“Ah,” he sighsd at the sight of your coiled fingers, “You really are something else.”

If he was talking about the pinkies, you weren’t so sure how did he consider it something else. It was probably childish, yes, but on other spectrum of things, children rarely lies. That somehow strengthened his promise; the childishness yet purity of it all.

“Yes,” you said, a bit proud of the compliment, “I really am.”

You were in an unknown place, hugging the torso of a boy as you rode with him on his motorcycle. The lights of the cars the only lambency there is in an isolated road.

It should bother you— this unfamiliarity clinging in your bones. But all you could feel was the burning sensation of thrill as it flows in your veins; this strange freedom.

The night was a cacophony of rainwater splashing to everything it touches. With your body pressed against Hendery’s back, both of you braved the unforgiving rain. It was surely the night that would go down to your own history.

“Where are we going?” you asked, giving way too little acknowledgement to your soaked clothes and clattering teeth.

A new empty alleyway greeted you as Hendery turned left with his engine the only noise in the dead of the night. White street lights flicker as he slows down, then you come to a halt in front of an empty gasoline station.

Irradiant glow of pink and orange LED lights adorned the signage plastered above the store. At the sides of the vicinity, rows of motel rooms could be seen. Hendery killed the engine, then both of you hop off his motorcycle.

“Wait! I... I don’t have the money—” you tried to argue, but the boy only flashes you his most beautiful smile.

Still smiling, Hendery held your hand and you both ran to the columns of motel rooms. He roamed his eyes everywhere. When he saw no one, Hendery tugged you softly towards the stairs up to the second floor.

Now, there was no light adorning the second floor of the motel. But the glow of the moonlight casted its illumination towards the place, making a slanted shadow on the walls.

“How do we—”

Hendery turned to you and quickly placed a finger to your lips. “Shh,” he shushed.

There was something about the glint in his eyes that made you agitated and even excited. If both were possible to feel at the same time. Mischief oozes its way out of his body as Hendery pulls a piece of a metallic wire from his pockets. He, then, curled the wire with his fingers. Once done, Hendery inserted the wire to the doorknob.

“Hend—”

For the third time, he cut you off. “Trust me.”

In his eyes, something stirred. You caught a glint of it because of the moon. Hendery knows what he was doing, and it looks as if he’s done this a million times already.

You pressed your mouth in a thin line. Rubbing your hands against the skin of your arms, you look around while Hendery works his wonders to the door.

505, that was the number plastered above the doorframe. The room number.

Within a few minutes, there was a click. Then the door opened in front of you to reveal a typical motel room.

There was a bed near the blinds, then a bedside table. A 1960’s model of RCA television sat at the edge of the mattress, with a single ottoman beside it. The room had also been illuminated by a single deep yellow bulb.

It was 2040. Whatever remnants of 2020 remains, it doesn’t look like this. Motel rooms were a thing eighty years ago. However, you couldn’t complain. You have been wanting to sleep in a room such as this one. People can call you hopeless romantic, but that was the truth. There was a certain vintage love surrounding motel rooms which you yearned to experience yourself.

You looked at Hendery, who was currently standing beside you with a rascal grin on his lips. He was definitely proud of what he did. Notwithstanding of the circumstances, and of the fact that you have just sneaked into a private property, you couldn’t help but grin yourself.

This was way out of the rules of being a sacristan. And you would get a whole mass worth of scolding if Father Ben knew about your adventures today. Despite all of that, you couldn’t help but feel a swell of happiness and pride in doing what you did today.

“I assume this isn’t paid?” You raised a brow.

Hendery shook his head with a small chuckle. “Obviously.”

“Aren’t we gonna get in trouble doing all... this?” you asked him, voice laced with skepticism. Bold as you were, the thought of going behind bars in an unknown place still gives your heart a little bit of a jolt.

“We’re already in trouble,” Hendery said  nonchalantly, “Might as well enjoy it.” He placed his hand on your shoulders as he searched for your eyes. “Besides, this doesn’t happen all the time.”

You stared at the depths of his orbs. There seemed to be a permanent mark of roguishness dancing in his eyes that you only notice now.

What devilment in an angelic face. Bemusing as it was, you loved it. This Hendery.

“To me,” you said, “But you’re from here. And from

the looks of it, you’ve done this a million times before.”

Hendery’s shoulder shook from his laughter. He laughed so much for someone with sad eyes. “Yes. I won’t deny it. But this isn’t for me, though. This adventure is for you.”

It’s funny how a stranger could give you all you have ever wanted in a single day. By that alone, you knew that you would forever be grateful of this boy in front of you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, “So much, Hendery.”

You didn’t know what it was, but Hendery lost his composure as his mouth gaped open a little bit. The sincerity of your voice moved him and made his knees weak.

This has been the first time he heard the words from someone. All he had known were the frightened prayers every time he would point a gun to someone, the muffled cries, the tear stained cheeks. It’s his first time to see sincerity to someone else’s eyes that was meant for him.

Perhaps you have seen it, too— the perplexity in his expression, the slight glitch of his demeanor. And it made your heart happy to see that you have affected him as much as he has affected you.

Hendery leaned closer, his face utterly close that you could make up your reflection in his eyes by the dim light of the light bulb.

He gulped, you did too.

It would deem as if no one amongst you had the experience of this... intimacy. No one had come close to your defenses but him. It rattled your bones underneath. And perhaps the world stilled when your lips met his.

It’s exactly like those in a romantic movie. It wasn’f rash, it wasn’t blistery. It’s soft... it’s heavenly. The kiss would compare to cotton touching another cotton. Both of your eyes were still open as you tried to savor the kiss. You were still thunderstruck beyond comprehension, but your lips were glued to his and there seemed no turning back. Not that you’d like too, anyways.

Hendery cupped your cheeks with his hands and pressed his lips against yours. You closed your eyes. In the blink of a moment, the kiss went wild. Now you would compare it to a sea under a storm. Raging and unforgivable.

You hadn’t noticed how your back had come into contact with the bed. But the surprisingly soft mattress hugged your back as Hendery lays you down slowly.

Your heart had its own business thudding harmoniously wild inside your chest with the kiss.

Hendery pulled away. You felt your plump lips and his had been red, too. With a second of eye contact, Hendery leaned and kissed you again. With the same fervor, with the same hunger.

Your hand shot up to his hair. The sound of someone kissing and your attempts to catch your breaths against the kiss, the only thing that could be heard inside 505.

His hands started to roam your body. His touches were like that of devotees; careful, with little prayers in every friction.

Lips a mere inch from each other, Hendery whispered with a raspy tone. “May I?”

You were here, and you were ready to do whatever this kissing ends up to. So you nodded.

He smiled while the moonlight caressed half of his face.

Then he brought his fingers to the laces of your corsages. With deft motion of a hand, Hendery pulled, the laces had come free, opening your collar bones and upper chests for him to see. The reveal of the skin made your breath hitch.

Hendery brought his fingers to the open skin, then he trailed— slowly, oh so slowly— downwards. As if your skin was Braille.

He kissed you. He whispered his confession in your ears. He touched you like he longed for you. He cried your name in a euphoric bliss.

That night, you weren’t a sacristan. You were a saint. Worshipped by a boy with the devil in his eyes.

But nobody— not even the moonlight slipping through the windows — told you about the doom that awaits your blooming love.

It was past four in the morning when you wake up. The room was dark, with the heavy light from the skies illuminating the floors through the blinds.

Hendery lied on the bed beside you. The light casted parallel lines on his bare chests and stomach. While you laid on your side, your hands between your thighs and a smile on your lips.

Hendery leaned to trace your shoulder up to your cheek, sending goosebumps down your back. Then he whispered the words, “You’re so beautiful.”

You would’ve hit him with a jest, but your breath seems to clogged in your throat. Pure words for someone with jagged edges. Then you suddenly noticed his tattoo. You still didn’t know what that meant. So you reached out your hand and traced his skin.

“What does your tattoo means?” You asked him.

Hendery held your hand that was tracing his tattoo when he answered. “Survive. To live.”

ix. I believe in the Holy Spirit...

“You really don’t have to, Hendery,” you timidly stated.

Hendery sighed, but his smile never disappeared. “You know I won’t let you go, right?”

It’s six a.m., the both of you have already finished donning your clothes. Some parts of the fabrics were still sodden, but nevertheless wearable. You picked up a lone thread from your skirt before standing up and facing the window. The dream was finished, and you needed to wake up now.

A sigh went past your lips as you stared at the horizon displayed before your eyes. You weren’t sure when you would experience this kind of freedom again, so it was better to seize the remaining moments of not being trapped into a cage that was your own house by taking in the view of a small part of the city.

Hendery stood beside you, his eyes far away. “How do you feel?” he asked.

A sudden heat crept up in your cheeks by the question. The unbidden imagery of last night threaded its way back in your mind. Did you regret doing it with Hendery? Not one bit. Some might call you stupid for falling in a love supported by unspoken promises and confessions, but the union with Hendery have made you feel whole somehow. Like you were in the skies, and the stars were about your reach.

He made you feel powerful. He made you feel worthy of devotion. He made you feel utterly you. No inhibitions, no pretense.

The honesty slid smoothly from your lips. “I feel incredible,” you answered. You turned sideways to face him. Hendery’s face was ethereal in the night, especially when his lips were parted, sweats trickling down his face. But as the early light of the morning hit his features, you couldn’t believe that he could even be this more beautiful.

“How about you?” you managed to ask.

A chuckle. Your heart made the familiar jump at the sound. “I’ve never felt this happy for years.” And it was the truth. Hendery thought that the money and power a banditry offers would give completion in his life somehow, that it would serve as stitches for his tattered life. But as he recalled everything that has happened since he met you, he might be stupid, but he knew real happiness when it’s staring back at him in the wee hours of the morning.

He would’ve bottled the sound of your pleas and your cries if he would, he would’ve kept your laughters in a treasure chest buried someplace else he only knew, he would’ve given you everything and anything— and perhaps he did— if he could. As he stared at your face, so goddamned innocent and peaceful, Hendery knew one thing: you would break him into pieces, and he would let you.

A smile painted your lips, erasing the agitation of what this new day would bring. “I wouldn’t have experienced all of this if not for you,” you told him.

Hendery laughed. “You wouldn’t have experienced all of this if you didn’t dare.”

That was him: the beam that was supporting your life. He’s never failed to make you feel as if you could do everything despite the odds.

Your smile widened. “But now we have to go back.”

“Yeah, unfortunately—” Hendery’s words were cut off by the sound of the bedroom door clicking.

Your eyes widened, but he kept a cool façade. Then it swung open, revealing a middle-aged man carrying a broomstick and a dustpan. His forehead creased as he saw you standing near the window, then realization hit him. “Who are you?!” he shouted.

Hendery gripped your hand, then he dashed for the door, pulling you behind him. The helper was too dumbstruck to even say a thing again, let alone stop you from sprinting away. Hendery was laughing all the way down the stairs, while your forehead was coated with little beads of sweat.

When you reached his motorcycle, Hendery let go of your clammy hand. “That was... incredible!” he gleefully stated.

You tried to catch your breath by gulping large bouts of air. “That was scary!” you told him after steadying your breath.

Hendery fished for his keys from the back pocket of his jeans while still laughing. “Sacristan girls,”

he muttered teasingly.

Rolling your eyes heavenwards, you crossed your arms over your chests. “You don’t have to be a sacristan to know what’s scary or not.”

Once again, the roar of the innkeeper echoed across the gasoline station, bringing you on a hurry to climb Hendery’s motorcycle. With a chuckle, he ignited the engine and revved through the day.

The city was deserted early in the morning. And it was undeniably dull. The paint from different buildings were chipped, and they could really use a renovation. You were baffled at how you didn’t notice the dullness yesterday. Perhaps it was your excitement getting the best of you. Humdrum as it was, this city would forever hold a special place in your heart, along with the man you have traveled here with.

The ride back home was enveloped in utter silence, not that you could hear each other over the loud blare of the motorcycle’s engine. And as you neared to the village, your heart couldn’t help but thud abnormally inside your chests. You felt as if your throat was constricting, air passage clogging. It would deem as if there was an apocalypse waiting for you back home.

No. You have to trust your intuitions, no matter how indistinguishable it was. Your mother knew you were safe, there wasn’t anything to fret about.

But you knew better than to calm down. Your father was a lot easier to convince than your mother, you let your heart loosen up by that fact, even just a little bit.

With the empty and bumpy road ahead of you, the familiar stillness of the village welcomed you back home. A sense of familiarity splashed on you at the sight of tall trees and green meadows. This has been what you have known all your life, you were coming back to it after a night of pretermitting.

“Stop right there,” you said in a voice so low even you had a hard time hearing the words.

Hendery knew that you would never allow him to be seen in the village, much worse with you. But after last night, a slight stab in his heart bloomed at the thought of you, not being able to introduce him to your parents just because he rides a shiny-black motorcycle.

And as if you heard his thoughts, you cleared your throat before Hendery could kill the engine on the side road. “Or... you could take me home.”

It was stupid. Imbecilic. A voice inside your head whispered that it was a bad idea, but upon seeing how Hendery’s lips turned to a smile by looking at the side mirror, all your fear had been vanquished. Suddenly, you were ready to face the world again.

Your grip on his shirt tightened as you entered the village. It was mid-morning. There were a few elders fanning themselves in their verandas under the blistering weather. They squinted at the sight of you, a sudden contempt in their lips which they conveyed as a frown.

“Turn left,” you mumbled, praying that he heard you just right.

By the silence that was unusual of Hendery to exude, you have contemplated that maybe he was nervous, too. The thought made you slightly giddy and anxious at the same time. You have never brought a man home. Not even introduce a boy friend to your parents. Just when you thought that last night would be a history of your own, this morning has proved you wrong.

Your stomach was empty, but you felt like retching in the bushes as Hendery stopped the engine in front of your house. Mother was tending to her flowers when you hopped off the motorcycle. Father was nowhere to be found.

You looked at Hendery before sauntering towards your mother. The rustle of your feet against the grasses garnered her attention. She looked up to see you, then to the boy beside you.

You walked up towards her to kiss her cheek. Mother stood still as your lips made a friction against her skin. She was looking straight at Hendery, who had a polite smile on his face.

You cleared your throat. “Mother, this is Hendery.”

Hendery stretched out his hand to your mother. “Hendery Wong, pleased to meet you.”

Mother stared at his outstretched hand for seconds. Your knees started to wobble. Then Mother took Hendery’s hand. “I’ll prepare the food,” she said, the tone unfathomable.

When she attempted to leave, Hendery quickly raised his arms as if to stop your mother. “It’s fine, Mrs. I just dropped Y/N off.” He looked at you and nodded his head. “See you at the Church, Y/N,” he said.

Your lips coiled in a frown. The atmosphere was thick, and there was no doubt Hendery felt it. Your mother could’ve been warmer in greeting him, but you knew better than anyone else than to force the time when it obviously wasn’t ready.

With a tone of both reluctance and slight disappointment, you mumbled, “See you.”

He nodded one last time before turning his back and getting on his motorcycle.

The same time Hendery revved the engine once more, your father went out of the house with a glass of cold water in hand. “What’s that about?” he asked.

The garden shovel your mother was holding was dropped as she focused her attention towards you. You braced yourself for the imminent storm that was coming. And there it was, in a voice so loud even the houses nearby grew hairs and got goosebumps, your mother cried out, “What on earth are you thinking?!”

Father sipped on his water, his brows arching above the rim. There was no accusation in his eyes, only interest and confusion.

“What do you mean, Mother?” You tried to make your voice sound strong, but it came out as a breathy question.

“What do I mean?!” she roared. “Where were you last night? Tell me the truth.”

Truth be spoken, you were utterly rebellious to neglect your mother last night. But the wanting to experience something greater for once has overcome all your senses. Was it really abhorrent to experience such freedom?

You could feel your veins popping up your temple. Your breath was becoming ragged. And the stubbornness that was trying to envelope you didn’t help. It felt like a bomb ready to explode at any given moment.

“Where have you been—”

“The city!” you screamed back. “I went to the city with Hendery!”

Mother looked at you with a tormented face. From the way her mouth hung open with her eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, you could tell that she’s beyond horrified by the revelation.

“How dare you?” she whispered, “How dare you lie to me?”

Father was on her side instantly, laying a gentle hand on her back. “We all need to calm down—”

“Calm down?!” Mother turned to face him. “You’d expect me to calm down when my own daughter defied me?”

You bit your lower lip. What was the big deal? What the fuss was all about? It wasn’t as if you didn’t come home. Here you were, safe and sound.

“I’m sure Y/N could explain herself, right?” Father raised an encouraging brow at you. His lack of judgement pierced your heart with a throb.

“Yeah,” Mother said with enough scorn to make you recoil. “Let her narrate everything!”

You tried to catch your breath before forcing your face to look up to your parents. “What’s so wrong about going to the city?”

“Oh, you are one naive girl,” Mother stated as she made noises in her nose. “You could’ve been infected! You could’ve  brought danger into this home!”

“Mother!” you hissed. “The pandemic has already disappeared! I want to live a normal life now!”

Mother looked at you as if you weren’t her daughter but a mere stranger she’s picked a fight with. “Why are you so foolish and stubborn?”

“Why can’t you let me live my life?” you retorted.

“That’s enough,” Father warned with a commanding tone. His jaw was pulled taut. One more push and the three of you would burn right where you stood because of vexation.

Mother heed no warning for she continued to look at you as if she was contemplating to push you back to her womb. “I’m keeping you safe.”

“Safe?” You could almost laugh. “I don’t want safe.” I want freedom. I want danger. I want the sin. I want the rush.

“That’s enough talking back, Y/N. Return to your room and change,” Father commanded.

Mother’s lips were compressed in a tight line. You’ve expected her to say something, but no words were heard from her as Father guided her back to the house.

You were left alone in the garden, with your neighbors peeking at their fences to catch gossips.

You wish this world had been a little bit forgiving, a little bit welcoming for boys like him. He wasn’t cruel. He was kind... he was protective. And he was a tether to the dreams that you tried so hard to achieve. Without Hendery— the only person who believed that you were meant for greater things— you wouldn’t know what to make of your life anymore. Sure, you would get back on your feet. But you would never want to feel alone in the battle again. You didn’t want to start empty again. And you would never wish to be parted from Hendery. Ever.

x. The Holy Catholic Church…

“Oh, look who’s finally arrived,” Kun uttered with a shit-eating grin as Hendery appeared in the abandoned building Kun made a rendezvous in the outskirts of the town.

For weeks, they stayed and made their camp here. With Kun occupying the last and only good-conditioned room in the building. There, he’s beaten by Hendery for apparently mowing down Xiaojun’s jaw.

The grin Kun had on his face intrigued Hendery, but he wouldn’t let it show on his face. With inquisition was an annoyance Hendery didn’t know where he came from. It was just there, crawling on his skin. Perhaps it was his encounter with your mother, and the lack of warmth in her welcome.

But could he blame her? Not one bit. Hendery didn’t even think of meeting someone else’s parents and being introduced as a lover, but after getting chummy with you, his aspirations in life went a little higher than what he deserved. Hendery knew that it was a bad thing to be zealous, but that was what he had known after joining Kun’s banditry.

“What’s going on?” he asked, albeit not having the heart to inquire in the first place.

After a day and night with you, Hendery yearned for one thing: sleep. He just couldn’t close his eyes when you were lying on his side, with your peaceful face and soft snores. Hendery wanted to capture every moment, to memorize each line of your face, to be drowned in the serenity of the night.

His other comrades were nowhere to be found which was new. At this time of the day, all of them needed to report their sleuthing of a certain area assigned to them. Kun wanted to know everything.

Kun’s grin only widened. “How’s your job, Hen?”

Hendery ran a hand through his hair. “I’m still trying to make my way onto the priest’s chamber.”

Kun sat up on the swivel chair and placed his feet on the table laid before him. “If I’m not mistaken,” he started, “It’s been months since I sent you to the Church. And until now, you still don’t have anything useful to tell me.”

Hendery’s jaw twitched. He hated how he’s inclined to answer every Kun’s calls. And he had never felt this way before towards his work, that was if you could call banditry a job. He was always the best. That made him Kun’s favorite. But that was before he met you.

Meeting you really had changed most of his beliefs about life. He’s almost convinced to let go of his wretched ways and have a normal way of living— a life he could be proud of. And a life with you.

“Father Ben’s strict,” Hendery lied. The priest was as kind as a deer. If Hendery wished to enter his chamber, he’d gladly let him out of his trusting nature. And that would be the end as well as the start of everything. Hendery still wasn’t prepared to drop the new life he has, because that would mean he has to let you go, too. The mere thought made his stomach recoil.

“Strict?” Kun asked as he raised a playful brow. “But you’re my best asset, Hen. There is no ‘strict’ when it comes to you.”

If these were normal times, Hendery would’ve smirked by the compliment. But he knew what Kun meant. And he’s heard the warning even if it was unspoken.

Months ago, Hendery and Sicheng started searching for places to rob in the isolated villages near the local market. Until they had come across the Church. Upon their nightly visit and hawkshawing, Hendery found out that Father Ben has a golden necklace. The thing has become their target ever since. However, you wouldn’t see Father Ben taking the necklace off. Hendery won’t be able to steal it without violence.

He would’ve finished the work sooner than intended. Besides, he knew brutality like the back of his hand. It had become his armor through the years. And Father Ben didn’t hold a special place in his life, no matter how nonjudgmental the priest was. He could easily wrench the necklace away from his neck without any remorse. But he feared you.

The thought of failing you, of disappointing you, and of showing Hendery’s true colors to you has left his courage dwindling.

What cowardice. He would’ve punched himself unconscious if he could. Hendery wasn’t familiar to this kind of weakness, and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

Hendery shifted on his seat, shaking off the tension from his body. “The priest was surprisingly guarded,” he lied once more. Father Ben was as permeable as the Church itself. It was Hendery’s own choices that the work has slowed down.

Kun hummed. He withdrew something from his drawers. Picture, Hendery noticed, but he was too tired to even think about its connection to the current discussion. “Perhaps you need some boosters to help you do the work.” Then Kun slowly placed the picture flat on his table. Hendery couldn’t see the image well for he was leaning back on his seat. Kun waved his hand. “Look.”

He knitted his brows together. Whatever it was, Hendery had a bad feeling that once he leaned, there would be no turning back. Nevertheless, he didn’t have much choice, did he? So he leaned, like a good boy that he was, and stared at the image.

Hendery bit back the sound which tried to echo from him at what the image displayed. It was his mother. On a hospital bed, looking withered and close to death. She was too frail. Too weak.

Hendery swallowed a sob. “How...” He gulped a few times before willing himself to continue. “How did you find her?”

Should he be rejoicing? He should be happy, right? But why did he feel miserable now more than ever?

“I told you. I’ll help you find her,” Kun said.

Hendery kept looking at the picture, afraid that it might disappear if he blinked. “Where is she?”

Kun chuckled then stood up. Hendery fought the urge to grab him and punch his face. “You act as if you don’t know how to play this game, Wong.” Kun’s fingers grabbed the edge of the picture. He tucked it inside his pocket, his grin never leaving his face.

Hendery bit the insides of his cheeks. Of course, he knew how this game works. “I’ll bring you the necklace tomorrow.”

That night, Hendery washed away the sleep by downing cups of coffee. The liquid takes its root inside his system, pumping blood in a pace that would keep him awake.

He sat on his made-up bed, with a lamplight beside him, providing little to no warmth against the cold. With a white silky towel in hand, Hendery wiped his handgun. It had been a while since he last pulled the trigger. And the weight was dead in his hand.

Perhaps there was no more redemption left for his torn soul. Perhaps he was only fooling himself in believing that his life could be better. Perhaps he was glued to violence and not even you could save him from it. No matter how hard he tries to believe that you could.

xi. The communion of Saints. The forgiveness of sins…

A knock on your door woke you from your trance. You realized you were looking at your reflection on the mirror mindlessly.

“Come in,” you said, clearly indifferent to the possibility that it might be your mother standing and knocking on the other side of the door. But you knew better. She would never raise the white flag for her daughter.

With one last sweep of your hands along your robes, you waited for your father to finally enter. When he did, he went straight to the bed and sat. He’s cornered you, there was no escaping from it now.

“Spill it, Father,” you mumbled, trying to sound as friendly as possible. It was enough that you have stretched your mother’s irascibility. You didn’t need another enemy in this house.

“You do know why mother’s angry with you, right?” he asked. Before you could answer, he continued, “It’s not just about the fact that you went home with a boy. And that you went to the city without telling us.”

A sighed. Then you whirled to face him. “I don’t understand her need to be angry. I am safe. And if she’s talking about the pandemic... I am alright, Father.”

It was Father’s turn to sigh. “I don’t have anything against you going to the city. I know your dreams, your aspirations. But you must understand that your mother’s protective of you because she loves you. And the pandemic isn’t gone. It’s there, we just don’t see it now since its effects have died down.”

You looked out the window, feeling as if your tears might betray you anytime. “I just want to experience life.”

Father walked up to you and placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “I know. Hell, I want you to live life to the fullest, too. Have fun, have mistakes. Kiss boys. Be crazy. But it isn’t the time. Your mother’s still not ready.”

With tears brimming, you looked up to your father. “And when would she be?”

Father smiled his kindest one. “Soon, darling.”

—

Your walking towards the church was occupied with birds chirping in the branches, and flowers blossoming in the meadows. Perhaps it will be a bright day despite the darkness of yesterday.

Hendery never left your mind, even though you have a lot to think about. He was etched in your brain, like some sort of a tattoo you wouldn’t be able to erase. That made you think whether he was thinking about you, too.

You shrugged the thoughts away as you arrived at the Church. It was unusually silent when you arrived. At this time of day, the other sacristan should be running around and helping clean the surroundings. It didn’t settle well with you.

“Kristan!” you called out when you saw him running towards Father Ben’s chamber. Is the priest sick?

Kristan halted to wait for you. You huffed a breath as you laid your hand on his shoulder. “Where is everyone?”

The little boy bit the insides of his cheek. He didn’t meet your eyes when he said, “At Father Ben’s chamber.”

“What are they doing there? And what’s that for?” you asked, regarding the white and clean towel he was holding. Instead of answering, Kristan held your hand and pulled you towards the priest’s chamber.

The little bedroom was jam packed with the sacristans occupying most of the spaces. Father Ben was sitting on his rocking chair, with what you could tell was an ice-cube inside a clean towel being pressed on his left cheek by Lucy.

Your heart dropped to your stomach. “What happened here?” you asked particularly no one.

Father Ben winced. “I am alright, hija,” he said. But he looked nothing like that.

Lucy glared your way. Her eyes were full of accusations. “Hendery did this to him,” she practically spat out the words with venom.

Now you couldn’t even feel your heart anymore. Hendery did this? How? Why? Despite feeling numb, you stepped closer to Father Ben. “Hendery... did this?”

How... Why... Gods, why? Father Ben looked at Lucy’s way, then the latter pursed her lips. She washed the cloth into the nearest basin, therefore allowing you to see the cut in Father’s cheekbone.

“He... punched me earlier,” Father Ben said in a low voice. He was undeniably pained by what happened. You couldn’t even bring yourself to speak, let alone react to something other than a thunderstruck expression. “And he stole my necklace.”

By that, you grabbed the nearest chair and sat. You placed your hand between your chest. This is all too much. Your bones felt like collapsing. “The... the necklace your mother gave you?” you asked this without looking at him. It was hard to do that when you feel responsible for everything that has happened.

No, it isn’t right to hurt yourself like this. But Hendery has been with you since day one. If he planned something as horrible as this, you would’ve known. You should’ve known. How could you be so stupid?

“Yes,” Father Ben breathed as he absentmindedly reached for his necklace. As far as you could tell, the necklace was given to him by his mother when he was little. It was an heirloom of sorts. A treasured legacy.

“How could he do this?” Lucy interrupted. “We welcomed him here. Believing that he was good.”

“It was another thing to steal. And another to hurt someone to rob them,” Rei added.

You really couldn’t blame them. You were in absolute shock to even argue and pretend that Hendery was better than this. They wouldn’t tell you he was the culprit if he wasn’t, right? God, you couldn’t breathe.

“I think he’s a bandit,” Lucy stated once more.

With that, you looked up at her. “That is a grave accusation to make, Lucy.” Now, you are even making excuses for Hendery. You could laugh from your own imbecility.

“Yes. I know,” she said. Then she stood tall. “But what would you have me call him? A grave man deserves a grave name.”

“Perhaps he has his reasons.” Your voice sounded uncertain. For you have no idea what could be the reason behind all this..

Lucy sniggered. “I used to think you were reasonable, Y/N. Don’t stoop so low. He’s hit Father Ben. He’s robbed him. Whatever reason he might have, it was wrong.”

You fell silent. Lucy speaks the truth. Hendery has done something hideous. He could be a bandit all along. He could be the one who’s been robbing the villagers off their small riches all this time. And yet… how? How could he smile at you like he could replace an angel in heaven? How could you be so naive and stupid?

Without your own realization, you have run away from the Church already. To where? You have no idea. But you needed to free the tightening rope inside your chest— you need to salvage your heart off a heartache. Seeing Father Ben dispirited, as well as your co-sacristans, have shot a bullet to your heart.

You felt ashamed and wounded. But before mending your own wounds, you have to search for Hendery first.

xii. The resurrection of the body...

Million thoughts ran in Hendery’s mind as he looked at the emaciated body of his mother lying in a hospital bed. A glass separates them both, but he felt far away to her now than before. She was looking so frail— as if her bones would snap if you did so much as to hold her hand in a featherweight touch.

Her situation pierced Hendery’s heart with a sword. It didn’t matter that he’d found her now. He doesn’t feel happiness for this accomplishment. Misery. Hate. And that hole of missing his mother for years were the only things he could coax himself to feel.

Perhaps he was too far gone because of his loathsome heart. Or perhaps it was because of the teenager standing beside his mother’s bed, sobbing his heart out, while a middle-aged man pats his back to soothe him. As much as Hendery didn’t want to admit it, he could see the same nose and lips that he’s got from his mother in the boy to even deny the truth. He’s his brother. Half-brother.

He balled his hand into fist. Sudden heat coated Hendery’s tear ducts. He swept the lone tear away with his jacket-sleeve. He’s accepted the truth before— he’s made peace of the fact that his mother abandoned him. But why does it hurt to look the truth in the face? She’s cared and loved another son while Hendery longed for her embrace. She’s fed another mouth while Hendery starved in the streets.

Why must the world be cruel?

Hendery stepped back and sat on the chair beside the glass window. He made himself as unimposing as possible until the father and son departed the room. Hendery gathered himself and walked towards the door, towards his mother.  

“A... Alec, is that—” Her mouth abruptly clamped shut as she realized who was standing before her. Without another word, her shoulder shook and there were tears in her eyes.

Hendery looked up, biting his lip. He won’t cry. He won’t cry. He won’t cry. “Come on, mom,” he stammered. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me for a long time, right?” Then he looked at her. She was coughing and sobbing now. Hendery had to help her sit up to give her some water.

“Is that really you?” she asked, thin fingers crawling at Hendery’s cheek. Her hand was cold. But it gave Hendery the warmth he was searching for. “Son,” she choked, “I’m sorry.”

Her voice was too weak. Hendery felt like he shouldn’t let her talk. So he shushed her instead. “I...” he stuttered, “I hate you, mom.” That’s it. He won’t hold back. He needs to say it. “I hate you so much. You left me. You left me to die.”

If her mother looked thunderstruck, her sunken eyes didn’t show it. “Hendery, son, I didn’t—”

“I became a bandit to survive. I kill now, mom. I kill so I can live. I kill so I can find you. I’ve asked myself a million times whether it was your fault I became like this.” Hendery snorted at the end. “But it was of my own choice so I couldn’t really blame you, could I? I chose this path to survive.

“I learned how to hold a gun because I need it. I’ve robbed people for money. For my own glory. For you. You left me in the dust. And all my life I’ve wondered why. Why did she leave me? Didn’t she love me? But I’ve thought about it and realized that I don’t need answers. I just need to see you.”

Her mother sobbed again. “I’m sorry, son, I’m sorry— I was scared.”

“Scared,” Hendery repeated. “We would’ve been fine together, mom. You and I.”

“I know,” she choked. “But when your father died— I was scared of the reality that we were alone. During a pandemic. The both of you were hanging on for your lives inside the ICU. And I’d nearly lost my mind.

“When he died, I didn’t have the chance to say good bye. They took him and burned his body. I was alone. Alone, thinking that you could be the next one they’d burn and I won’t have the chance to see your beautiful face for the last time. Instead of facing it all, I called your Aunt. When she came, I left.”

Hendery wanted to tell every abuse he’s gone through with his Aunt. But he didn’t want to remember those times, and he didn’t want to add into his mother’s guilt.

“I’m dying, son,” she whispered.

That, Hendery could tell. There’s a pang in his heart, yes, but he knew that there won’t be happy endings for bad people like him. All of us die in the end, however.

“I’m happy to see you,” she said, “It’s all I’ve ever wished to God every night.”

God. Is this what it feels like to know that someone has been praying for you? He felt... empty. Like everything is too late. The wound has been crawling with worms and there’s no more gauges to stop the pus.  

“Do they... know me?” Hendery asked, voice low.

Her mother pursed her lips together. “No. I haven’t told them about you.”

Of course, Hendery muttered in his mind. He stood up, smoothed his shirt with a forced smile and looked down at his mother. “I’ll better be going, then.”

“Where are you going? Hendery, son...”

Hendery placed his hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about me. I am fine.” Far from it, but you didn’t need to know that, he thought.

His mother’s eyes were red-rimmed, thus accentuating how sunken they’ve become. “Can you... give me a hug?”

Hendery blinked as he did not expect such favor. But he leaned forwards absentmindedly, and hug his mother tightly. He first heard his own sob before realizing that he was crying like a little boy in his mother’s arms. This wasn’t the reunion he had in mind. He thought they could still reunite and make a life together. Be away from people. Hendery thought he would take care of his mother until she’s grey and old.

But life has other cruel plans. The path has been twisted years ago. And whatever he could get from this hug, it is enough.

It would be enough.

With an empty mind, Hendery drove through the night. He didn’t know where to go. His mind has been blank since his visit to the hospital.

What does he feel? Fuck, what does he feel? He felt ashamed. For everything that’s happened today. From the way he cornered and punched Father Ben just to get his necklace. He wanted to blur and erase the shame. He wanted to disappear.

Hendery revved the engine. Faster and faster, he drove without destination. The wind got harsher, the night still dangerous. He couldn’t take his mind off Kun’s smile when he finally handed him the golden necklace. Kun tapped his back and congratulated him, his eyes twinkling like stars. Hendery never wanted to see the same sparkle in the man’s eyes anymore.

Then his mind drifted to you. Knuckle white around the accelator, Hendery bottled up the scream that has threatened to explode from him. You. With your kind smile and angelic face. You’re so good. And Hendery let you down. For once, he met someone who was willing to accept his flaws and every bad thing about him. But he answered you with claws.

So after all the disgrace, why did he stop in front of your house?

The village was quiet. No more lights could be seen inside the house. A further indication that you are already asleep. Despite that, Hendery found himself walking towards the small alleyway leading to your room. There’s a tree, beside your window. Hendery hesitated for a moment whether he would knock on your window to wake you up. Besides, he has been reckless with his decisions and he didn’t need you to think of him as a creep.

However, he stood a few meters away from the window. And there, all his muscles strained. He was locked up in his place as his eyes met yours. Donned in your nightgown, you stood there looking outside. Your own eyes turned wide as you realized that Hendery was standing if not in front of you.

He gulped, then quickly pivoted on his heels to walk away. No. He isn’t ready to talk to you tonight. The shame was too overwhelming for him to ignore.

“Hendery!” you screamed, and that would’ve been enough to wake the whole house.

Hendery’s steps faltered.

“Wait for me,” you uttered just enough for him to hear.

He sucked in a breath. No. He couldn’t do this. But before he could decide to run away, a hand tugged him. Hendery faced you. You had your hand in your chest as you tried to calm your breath.

“Y/N,” he whispered. Here you were, standing in front of him under the pale moonlight. Everything would’ve been romantic if not for the circumstances.

“Hendery.” You say his name like he’s good. Like he deserves forgiveness. Why?

“I…” he stammered, “I did something hideous.”

He expected you to accuse him. To shout at him. But all you did was to hold his hand. “Why?”

Hendery’s hand abruptly trembled. He bit his lower lip so hard, it bled. “My mother,” he choked. “Y/N… I saw her. Everything is for her.” He couldn’t stop his sniveling no matter how he try to stop it. In between sobs, Hendery told you what happened, his hand never letting go of yours. The shame that he’s felt has been obliterated clean. He didn’t even care about the tears rolling down his cheeks.

After he opened himself up to you, you reached for him and hugged his body tightly. Hendery fought the urge to cry again. So he hugged you back instead, drowning in your scent.

When you pulled back, there’s a lone tear sliding down your cheek. Hendery wiped it away with his thumb, cupping your cheek with his cold hand.

“Now. This is what we’ll do,” you began.

xiii. And life everlasting…

You paced in front of the altar, trying your hardest to contain your heart inside your chest. It’s been at least twenty-four hours since you last saw Hendery. Your mind would explode thinking of what could’ve happened to him now. He’s supposed to come back an hour later.

You started to think that maybe it was a stupid plan all along. But you couldn’t blame him. He wanted to redeem himself to Father Ben, albeit it’s hard doing so. And he really didn’t plan to do exactly that. Hendery only wanted to return the necklace.

After his visit last night, where in he told you all that has transpired between him and his mother, you told him how important the necklace was for Father Ben. It is an heirloom, given by his mother.

You tried to coax Hendery that he should go to church and ask for Father Ben’s forgiveness. And yet he insisted that he would return the necklace. No matter what happens.

No matter what happens. That didn’t sit well with you.

In the end, you couldn’t argue with him anymore. He was determined to prove himself: that he’s worthy of good things and of forgiveness. Such raw emotions. It made you cry.

You agreed to meet here in the Church. Hendery says it’s safer this way. It is still the house of God, according to him. No one would attempt to harm you here.

You faced the altar and knelt, but before you could chant the first prayer, the latch of the door sounded. Hurriedly, you stood up on your feet.

In the dark, the silhouette of Hendery was drawn. He limped towards you while clutching something in his hand. You ran towards him, relief flooding your system. Tears pricked your eyes by how at ease you’ve felt by seeing him.

“Hendery!” you squealed and hugged him tightly.

He chuckled weakly before pulling away. “Here,” he says. “For Father…” Then he coughed. He coughed. With blood spurting out of his mouth. Your heart dropped on your feet. No.

Before you could think, Hendery fell to the floor, kneeling. Bouts of cough attacked his throat.

“Hendery,” you sobbed, “What happened?” You knelt in front of him, holding his shoulders to support his frail body.

“This is nothing,” he tried to say, but the world were muffled.

Panicking won’t help. So you strived to remain calm although your heart was beating jarringly inside your ribcage. And in the end, you sobbed and cried. “Help!” you cried out with all your might. “Help us! Hendery!”

You locked Hendery’s arm around your shoulder and hurled yourself up. But his weight was dead and he doesn’t seem to be doing well. “Hendery, please!” You were a crying mess. Vision blurry, throat wrapped up in pins and thorns and needles. You placed your arm around his waist and tried to hurl him up for the second time, but Hendery screamed in pain as you made contact with his side.

He fell to the ground.

And there was too much blood.

Blood. You stared at your trembling hands.

“No!” you screamed. “Hendery!” You sat and scooped him up in your arms, tears streaming down your face to his. “Stay with me! God!”

Hendery’s eyes were drooping now. They look like crystals, frantic and wild. “I…” He coughed. Blood came out of his mouth again.

You shushed him, brushing away his hair sticking to his forehead. His skin was feverish. You choked again and again, trying to gulp down your cries. “Stay. With. Me.” You give emphasis to each word. “Hendery! No! No! Stay awake! Please!” You even started to slap his cheeks just to keep his eyes open.

Then his bloodied hand found your cheek. You sobbed as it made contact with your skin. “You…” he uttered under his breath, “you’re... so beautiful.” Hendery flashed you a smile. His teeth coated with blood.

“Please.” You bit your lower lip. “Stay with me.”

Hendery stared at your face, tears streaming down from his eyes. “So…” he whispered again, drawing circles on your cheek, “... beautiful.”

Then his hand fell.

Hendery spent his last breath with you. In front of the altar. With God your only witness that night.

Amen.

[spooky-z]

NETi

NeTi au is from @rhub4rb Maribat (Daminette) from @ozmav

The songs NETi sings are Shameless & Easy by Camila Cabello.

Warning: This is 4K and has brief mentions of suicide in the "EXTRA".

The red carpet was full of journalists, fans, curious and bloggers. It was the night of the Paris Music Awards, where musicians like Jagged Stone and Clara Nigthingale competed for the biggest prize of the night.

But beyond expecting to see Jagged, there was also another buzz. One that could be bigger even than the prizes themselves and competitors.

NETi. The musical revelation of 2028, the sweetie of almost every artist (even non-artist), the girl who broke records and records in less than a year.

Someone who, despite all the explosive success, still kept her personal life private and secret identity. No one had found out who NETi was, and she had made it clear that she would only reveal herself at PMA. Then the mood was high.

At any moment the exclusive of the year would happen.

The red carpet had already passed some other important personalities, both from the music industry and the entertainment industry.

Even people from the fashion world was here.

People like Mayor Bourgeois and his family; Kagami and Tomoe Tsurugi; Luka Couffaine and his girlfriend Aurore Beauréal, TVi's new climate host; American tycoon Bruce Wayne with his wife Selina Kyle; the four Wayne heirs had also passed the red carpet. They were accompanied by their loved ones.

Among the four couples, Damian Wayne and his wife, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, stood out. Also known as MDC, a designer who had entered the fashion industry shaking the structures of everything.

The couple had dressed to impress. There was no doubt that these were original MDC.

Damian Wayne alone would not have attracted much attention had it not been for the red kufiyyah on his head. He was wearing a completely black suit, as was his tie. So, the highlight was all in his head.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was her own show. With a front slit in her black dress, the highlight went to the upper torso. The gold and red details, the raised feathers, the tight belt at the waist. She made it clear where the inspiration for her outfit came from.

Their passage across the red carpet had been a blast. Everyone wanting a piece, an interview, a photo of the couple, as Wayne's family was famous for leaving their personal lives in private. Apart from what they purposely let others know, the rest was a complete mystery. So everyone was euphoric to get some of their attention.

A pleasant surprise on the red carpet had been the famous couple of reporters, Clark Kent and Lois Lane. They were accompanied by son Jonathan (another reporter in the family), who was holding hands with another sweetie from Paris, Adrien Agreste. All four with huge smiles on their faces.

When a more fearless reporter got an opportunity to interview them, she jumped at the question everyone was asking.

“Adrien, could you please tell us why you are holding hands with Jonathan Kent?” She waves the microphone at the model's face. All cameras facing them.

The blond looks at the brunette, who smiles and blinks mischievously, before returning to the reporter. He looks straight into the camera, a shitty smile on his lips.

"He's my boyfriend." And leaves. Waving to everyone, signing some posters and fan notebooks. The boyfriend firmly by his side, never failing to smile.

When all the guests had arrived and there was no one else to walk the red carpet, the rumors that it was possible that NETi would not actually appear began and that made everyone upset.

Until, well, notification of an official tweet from NETi.

NETi @NETiOfficial

Are you ready? Because I am!

#NETiatPMAs

And they all went crazy again.

She had passed without anyone noticing. Probably using the entrance to the paying audience to keep everyone expectant.

-

Nadja Chamack and her team were the ones covering the event inside. She was standing at the camera, waiting for the signal from Jean (the cameraman) so she could finally start talking live with viewers.

Some interviews had already been done, ready to air as the event unfolded and when Jean “ok” with his fingers, pointing at her, Nadja smiles.

“Good night, Paris!” She begins. “I am Nadja Chamack at a special event. The Paris Music Awards, or rather PMAs. Where our greatest talents come together in wonderful performances and awards are given to those who stand out!”

-

“I'm so happy for Lila!” Sabrina squeaks.

"My girl will be the highlight of the night." Alya brags and Nino laughs at his girlfriend.

"Too bad she won't walk the red carpet." Mylene sighs sadly. "It would have been a triumphant entrance."

"She already explained why, My." Ivan comforts the girl.

Nathaniel says nothing, but laughs at his friends.

Although they were busy with their careers, they had found time to gather to attend the PMAs. Watch when NETi-or rather, Lila, revealed herself to all of Paris.

Yes. They were proud to be friends with such a talented person as Lila. She could have time to be such a good friend! Even when her schedule was so tight being a humanitarian and now a successful artist. Besides being a model.

“And is Adrien Agreste there? Oh my gosh! Is Adrien Agreste holding hands with the famous American journalist Jonathan Samuel Kent?!” They were startled by the reporter's scream and went back to watching the live TV shoot.

They sigh in surprise.

"I didn't know Adrien knew Jonathan Kent!" Alya shouts.

"And who is Jonathan Kent?" Nathaniel asks.

She turns to him, a familiar fire in her eyes.

“He's just the youngest voted best journalist in the world!” She replies, hysteria in her tone. “Adrien Agreste will pay for hiding it from me!”

“Could you tell us why you are holding hands with Jonathan Kent?” The reporter asks, placing the microphone toward his face, waiting for an answer.

Adrien exchanges glances with Jonathan before turning to the camera, a mischievous smile on his face.

"He's my boyfriend." And keeps walking the red carpet.

The reporter is speechless, looking shocked. She shakes with the screams of the fans and goes back to interview other famous as they passed. Pretending the embarrassment had not happened.

In the living room of Nino's, everyone's mouth was open. Without understanding.

"Wait- Is Adrien gay?" Sabrina asks, looking at Nino.

He looks as lost as the rest of the room.

"He never said anything to me." He says. "I'm his best friend and he never told me!" The anger in his tone.

Alya feels sorry for her boyfriend, not knowing how to comfort him.

“Maybe he wanted to make a big revelation?” He says. "Do you know how he is-"

“It's MDC with Damian Wayne! Hey, MDC!”

Once again, their attention was diverted back to the TV and there was the camera focusing on a couple posing for the photos on the red carpet. Of the two people, one was recognizable.

"Marinette...?" Alya sighs, not believing what she saw.

The couple finish taking the pictures together and start posing alone, turning only to get a better angle for all photographers.

"These are Damian Al-Ghul Wayne and Marinette Dupain-Cheng." The reporter says, looking at the camera. “Damian, son and one of Bruce Wayne's heirs, came with his wife MDC, the newest successful designer in the fashion world. They are known for not being very open about their relationship, but it is obvious that the two love each other and make a powerful couple.” She blinks, wiggling her eyebrow.

“What-” Nino chokes.

“Look! They are coming. I'll try to get an exclusive for you!"She squeezes among other journalists, almost falling on the red carpet after tripping over someone's feet, but is saved by none other than Marinette.

Damian right behind her like a shadow, his face serious. The camera takes everything.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" The girl moans as she stands up. "I hurt you? Pardon. I'm very clumsy.” She doesn't even fake an act for the camera, nor does she notice Marinette's affectionate smile.

“It happens to the best of us, Manon. It's okay.” Marinette says, the flashes doing nothing to diminish her beauty and kindness. "Good to see you. You look beautiful."

The reporter-Manon straightens, her face red. She seemed to have forgotten she was live.

"Thanks. You look awesome too.” Coughing, straightening her clothes and hair, before turning to the camera again. “Would you mind giving a little interview? In the name of the old days when you took care of me.” Teases.

Marinette laughs, dyed red lips and flowing hair. Damian's expression softened at that.

"What I don't do for those puppy eyes, isn't it?!" Marinette plays with Manon, making the girl blush.

“So, could you tell us something about your relationship? I don't want to be invasive, but a lot of us are curious.” Manon says. “I know you've been together since you were fourteen, but a lot of people don't know that. There are plenty of rumors about you with Adrien Agreste and Luka Couffaine.” She extends the microphone to the designer, looking more professional than a few seconds ago.

Marinette rolls her eyes. This was clearly a subject she was fed up with.

“Like you said, we've been together since I was fourteen. Eight years of dating, one of marriage.” She responds, raising her left hand to display the gold ring with a huge blue diamond in the center. The sassy expression on her face. "About Adrien and Luka... Well, you got your answer when Adrien came in with Jon and Luka with Aurore."

Manon jumps when Marinette mentions Jonathan Kent. The eyes shining.

“Can you tell us something about Adrien and Jonathan? Like how long they've been together.” She asks. “Just for everyone to cry over from missing the start of such a good ship.”

The designer looks at Damian quickly, eyebrow raised, and he responds for her.

“We had to put up with them being gross for five years now.” Despite the laid-back affair and the funny speech, his voice was pure steel. "I don't understand why nobody noticed this before, it wasn't as if they were hiding."

Manon moans, upset. (She hadn't really seen it coming. Of course they had photos together on Instagram, funny tweets to each other, traveled together, but she was sure it was purely platonic.)

“FIVE YEARS?” Nino gets up from the couch, indignant. “FIVE YEARS AND I DIDN'T KNOW NOTHING. MARINETTE DID KNOW! EVEN DAMIAN WAYNE KNEW AND I, THE BEST FRIEND DIDNT!” He shouts in frustration.

"Marinette has been dating for almost ten years and I didn't know." Alya whispers, still not believing. "I was her best friend and she never told me."

"Guys..." Mylene mumbles, heartbroken for her friends.

“Thank you for giving us this interview, Mari! Hope to see you at family dinner on Thursday! You too, Damian.” Manon nods, a bright smile pasted on her face.

Marinette smiles, returning the wave with her hands and Damian with his head. They walk until they enter the theater, disappearing from camera view.

Other famous people were passing and being interviewed, but no one else was paying attention to it. They were more focused on understanding what had happened. Alya, especially, was the one that was most shaken, because she was a journalist (intern, but journalist) and was proud of it.

But here were things she didn't even realize. Things that were no secret, but that everyone seemed to know but her.

The break came and went, no one daring to say anything. Each trying to assimilate what had happened, when suddenly the cell phone of the six began to beep, signaling messages. Chat messages from former students of Ms. Bustier.

Sabrina was the one who got the phone first.

[Alix 8:40]: Hey, did you guys see Mari on tv? [Max 8:42]: Yes! She said she would show up with Damian. [Alix 8:42]: Dude. They were beautiful. [Kim 8:42]: Adrien had texted that he was nervous. [Max 8:44]: Nervous?! [Juleka 8:44]: I think it was because of Jon. [Rose 8:45]: They are both so cute! [Kim 8:46]: Damian was very funny with the question about them. [Juleka 8:46]: Luka said he's still complaining about both of them. [Rose 8:47]: He sent pictures!

Mylene looked up from her cell phone, confused.

“Does that mean they knew? I don’t understand."

"There's only one way to know." Ivan replies.

[Ivan 8:49]: Did you know? [Alya 8:50]: HOW DID YOU KNOW AND I DON’T?! [Nino 8:51]: Why would Adrien tell you and not me? [Sabrina 8:51]: Can you explain that? [Mylene 8:52]: I'm very disappointed with you. [Nathaniel 8:52]: Guys.

They waited for answers, seeing the "writing" balloon disappearing and appearing several times before a single answer appeared.

[Alix 8:55]: Shit. Wrong chat. Sorry guys.

After that she went offline, as did the other four.

"They just...?" Nathaniel muttered incredulously.

"What the hell is going on?!" Alya screams in frustration.

“-and awards are given to those who stand out!” Nadja Chamack's voice comes from the tv. “Now what everyone was expecting: NETi. The presentation of the latest music discovery will start anytime!”

"Oh my God! It's now.” Alya shouts, forgetting what had happened.

The stage light goes out, everyone screaming for NETi.

The screen turns on, starting a quick sequence of indistinguishable images before stopping on an empty avenue.

The camera begins to slowly approach a person standing in the middle of the street. The sound of the bass playing rhythmically. The camera focuses on the person dressed in white in the middle of the street.

NETi.

MDC.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

“What the hell is going on??” Ivan snorts, already annoyed by everything he has seen.

She walks slowly, powerful and barefoot. The sharp eyes. Her lips move and she whispers "Shameless" before the screen goes out and red lights take over the stage.

The audience screaming at the top of their lungs. The cameras filming the reactions of guests and fans, each one more surprised than the other.

Don't speak, no, don't try It's been a secret for the longest time

NETi's voice echoes through the theater, the audience calms down.

Don't run (oh), no, don't hide Been running from it for the longest time

The camera focuses on NETi standing on the stage, her hair loose and wild. It was not possible to distinguish the color of the dress she wore, but it was noticeable in certain parts of the fabric and had sleeves. The cleavage dropped to above the navel, details with flowers on the side of the ribs and a dangerous slit in the thigh.

She was still barefoot.

So many mornings, I woke up confused In my dreams, I do anything I want to you My emotions are naked, they're taking me out of my mind

She squats on stage, the slit in the dress giving wide mobility in her movements and the microphone was firmly in her right hand. The left arm resting on the bare thigh.

Right now, I'm shameles Screamin' my lungs out for ya Not afraid to face it I need you more than I want to Need you more than I want to

She closes her eyes, running a hand through her hair and pulling tightly. Showing despair.

Show me you're shameless Write it on my neck, why don't ya?

The hand goes down to the neck, showing that there was something written there.

Damian Wayne

The camera focuses on him standing next to his family, the Kents, Adrien, Luka and Aurore.

Jonathan and Jason tease him with pats on the back and malicious smiles. He just remains mesmerized by the presentation.

And I won't erase it I need you more than I want to I need you more than I want to

She opens her fierce eyes and stands up. The dancers come in, circling her, dancing to the powerful beat of the music.

No, uh, uh, don't wanna do this now No, uh, uh, don't wanna do this now No, uh, uh, don't wanna do this now No, uh, uh, don't wanna do this now

She swings the hips to the beat, the camera surrounding her with the dancers and she never looking away from the camera.

There's just inches in between us I want you to give in, I want you to give in, oh

The camera comes closer to her as to her face be the only thing in sight, before pulling away again.

There is tension in between us I just wanna give in And I don't care if I'm forgiven

She reaches the middle of the stage, where a microphone stand rested and the dancers leave. That's when the melody cuts off abruptly, before a softer one starts. More innocent.

NETi attaches the microphone to the stand and the lights brighten.

Her dress was lavender with purple accents.

(Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha)

The camera refocuses solely on her and she does not take her eyes off the lens.

You tell me that I'm complicated And that might be an understatement Anything else? (Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha)

She blinks at the camera. A sly smile on her face.

You tell me that I'm indecisive Fickle, but I try to hide it Anything else? (Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha)

NETi shrugs, demonstrating that she didn't care.

You tell me that I overthink 'Til I ruin a good thing Anything else? (Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha)

She tilts her head, daring. Never failing to look at the camera.

You tell me that you'd rather fight Than spend a single peaceful night With somebody else (ha-ha-ha-ha-ha)

The camera zooms out a bit to catch a full-length scene. The whole dark stage, just her lit up.

You really, really know me The future and the old me All of the mazes and the madness in my mind

The voice rises a little and she closes her eyes, feeling the letters.

You really, really love me You know me and you love me And it's the kind of thing I always hoped I'd find, yeah

A satisfied smile appears on her face and she squeezes the microphone in the hands.

Always thought I was hard to love 'Til you made it seem so easy, seem so easy

She dances along with the beat of the drums, the melody rocking her body. It was hard to take the eyes off.

Touch me 'til I find myself, in a feeling Tell me with your hands that you're never leaving (no)

She pulls her hair, showing once again, despair.

Always thought I was hard to love 'Til you made it seem so easy I never liked my crooked teeth You tell me they're you're favorite thing (mm-mmm) Anything else? (Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha)

The eyes back open and she smiles at the camera.

The stretch marks all around my thighs Kiss 'em 'til I change my mind About everything else (ha-ha-ha-ha-ha)

Her hands navigate the bare skin until they close around her waist in a single hug.

The camera returns to film Damian, capturing a rare smile from the man.

You really, really know me The future and the old me All of the mazes and the madness in my mind

She stares at the camera.

You really, really love me You know me and you love me (uh, huh) And it's the kind of thing I always hoped I'd find

She winks and the audience screams again in delirium.

All I know is you Heal me when I'm broken, heal me when I'm broken, oh

Eyes closed, she intones the voice.

All I know is you Saved me and you know it, saved me and you know it

The raw emotion in her expression and voice.

Always thought I was hard to love 'Til you made it seem so easy, seem so easy

The song ends and there is hysteria. Screams, applause. It is a mess.

NETi moves away from the microphone to take a breath before returning.

“Thank you, PMAs. That was amazing.”

She waves her hand at the audience, greeting everyone gratefully before having to leave the stage.

The camera goes back to Nadja Chamack who was the example of the confusion.

“Well, great day to know that my daughter's old nanny is a designer and a pop star.” She jokes blandly. “Now we are going to take a break and we will be back with Luka Couffaine's performance.”

The group of friends were sitting motionless. A hard lump to swallow stuck in their throats.

Sabrina is the first to speak.

"There has to be some explanation for that."

Nathaniel smiles weakly.

"Yes. Of course, there is.” But there is no conviction in his voice.

Alya quickly pulls out her phone, typing something and waiting.

“Al, what-” Nino is interrupted by Alya's hand spread out in a “stop” sign.

Her cell phone beeps and she chokes, her eyes teary.

"Alya, what happened?" Mylene asks, already desperate.

She doesn't answer, just passes her cellphone to her friends before leaving the room.

"I'll go after her." Nino says and leaves.

Mylene, Sabrina, Ivan and Nathaniel come together to see what had left their friend in that deplorable state, but they regret not long after.

[Alya 9:26]: Did you lie to me? [Lila 9:28]: ...I didn't lie. [Lila 9:28]: Just said what people wanted to hear.

Sabrina sighs, her eyes wide.

"Does that mean she-"

"Yes." Ivan whispers shaken.

Marinette and the others were right. They were blind.

Alya returns to the room next to Nino, eyes red and unrivaled fury.

She reaches for the phone and Mylene gives it back.

“She lied to me for years. Fool me all these years. If she thinks this is going to be it...” She says. "Then she better gets ready, because I'm going to destroy her life."

"And how do you intend to do that?" Nathaniel questions.

Alya stares at her friends.

“I have everything recorded. Everything. And I'll still look for more.” Growls. "She'll regret everything she did and said."

She would do not only for her, but also for Marinette.

Alya owed it to her former best friend.

It was the least she could do.

EXTRA:

“Earlier today, the Italian model Lila Alois Rossi, was arrested by the Parisian police. It is still unclear whether she will remain in prison here in Paris or be deported back to Italy, but we have had access to the prosecution and I tell you: there is no way she can escape it by just bailing.” Nadja Chamack was sitting in the armchair her studio. The expression was hard as stone.

"Along with the prosecution, irrevocable evidence was attached, giving no breach for Ms. Rossi to mount a defense."

Nadja's image is placed in the corner, highlighting the video of Lila Rossi being handcuffed in the police car to the police station.

The Italian had lost the healthy tone of her skin. Her pale lips and the obvious discomfort with the flashes. They didn't realize they would ever be able to see this: Lila Rossi hating the attention on her.

“Among accusations of defamation, there are also many about sexual harassment, blackmail, bullying and… accomplice of murder. Apparently, she was the reason for some suicides in the schools she studied, told no one and even encouraged the victims.”

Damian raises his eyebrow at the television, turning to Marinette and Adrien, sitting beside him on Chloe's couch.

“How do you think this happened?” He asks. He was right that Lila Rossi would get over after all these years of trying to knock her down.

Adrien tilts his head, thinking.

"Alya." Marinette doesn't even have to think before answering.

Adrien nods frantically.

"Certainly, Alya."

"She must have finally discovered Lila's lies and that's her way to get revenge." Marinette says.

"And raise a white flag for us." Adrien continues.

Damian turns his attention back to the TV. He was impressed by Césarie's work. She could be a decent reporter when she researched and checked her sources first.

[tag list]

@northernbluetongue @crazylittlemunchkin @cynicalwonders @casual-darkness @auradonfairy @bitterheart12224  @mycupisbroken   @virgil-is-a-cutie  @luciferge @crazylittlemunchkin @2sunchild2 @unholykrow @poshplumcot @ayuchan07 @michellemagic @tazanna-blythe @slytherinsheashire @roseinbloom02 @xxmadamjinxx @momo456200 @mewwitch @kuroko26 @sassdowflame @neko249 @wookiestephen @wookiestephen @captainmac6 @yamadochie @emjrabbitwolf  @alvaery @yin-390 @dragonfruit2017​ @st0rmy-w1th1n @vixen-uchiha @iggy-of-fans @indecisive-mess-named-me @im-here-for-the-content @seraphichana @mochinek0 @g-arya @taleeuuhhh @ezio-demon @quipsquaps  @elspethshadow @normal-piece-of-shit @sweatyruinsstudentbored @interobanginyourmom @elliecake5 @resignedcatservant @theatreandcomicfreak @hetalia-lover-is-here @yazz-frost @astoryyettotell @blue-peach14  @ivymala07 @spider-person95 @kandi-pie @zebrabaker @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @skyel0ve @bigcheeseyboi @octoberscorn @certainvoidsludgeskeleton @superrrpc @romanoff-queen @saphiraazure2708 @ladybug-182​ @mjisntme

[artyphex]

The Official Post About the TMA Dragon Age AU

I talked about this before but have now finally made a long ass post with everyone’s roles + past roles but cleaned up. I love TMA and Dragon Age just That Much (Only the first couple descriptions are Super Long and the rest are under the cut) 

(If there’s typos in this I’m sorry this has been in my wips for so long I’m so TIRED OF LOOKING AT IT) 

The Tower

All Circles of Magi are governed differently depending on the templars that run them, this circle is known for having some...odd practices. The mages within are largely tasked with the study of the more “forbidden” practices. Especially the Fade and demons. They’ve become known for their expertise in this area, and reports of demonic possessions or any other “dark and forbidden” occurrence is brought to them.

This is done with the Chantry’s consent, with the belief that the understanding of such things is the best method to learning to combat them, but it has given this Circle a bit of a reputation among the rest. It is allowed by the Chantry under the assurance all research is done under Knight Commander Elias’ strict supervision, and all findings are given directly to him.

The tower itself is particularly tall, and has a glassy structure at the top that can be used as a viewpoint. Those passing by it and the few that live near find its gaze unnerving, gaining it the name “The Eye.”

Jon

Jon is an elven man, not unskilled in magic, but not nearly the skill level one would expect of the newly appointed First Enchanter of the circle. There were several mages more senior than him who could’ve easily taken the position after the previous Enchanter’s death, and no one is more aware of this than Jon himself. The obvious doubt coming from his fellow mages has not at all helped to ease the pressure of this sudden change in rank. Nor has the arrival of an apostate, allowed to enter the circle under the approval of Elias, and without any consent from Jon.

Regardless, Jon takes his role as First Enchanter incredibly seriously, trying his hardest to fill a role much to big for him. He has to, he owes Elias so much. 

Jon has been in the Circle since he was eight years old, far younger than most find themselves gifted with magic. Jon might have still been able to live outside a Circle for a few more years had it not been for the “incident in his village.” Never has anyone in the Circle heard him speak of it, Jon himself giving no indication that anything of the severity of what happened occurred, but Elias knows. 

Any other Circle would have executed him instantly for what he did. Child or not, the whole village saw how he summoned a demon to kill a boy in his village. Sometimes evil is simply bred from birth. But Elias took him in, and has not whispered a word of it. 

Martin 

A half-elven man, though Martin is an example of the rare scenario in which a half-elf looks more elven than human. His father the elf, and his mother the human, his father walked out on their family when his mother began to show signs of some sort of illness. Martin was too young to remember him, but his abandonment left his mother with a deep bitterness towards Martin and all elves, something he had to quietly live with. 

Martin has, unlike most mages, lived the majority of his life outside a Circle. He began to show signs of magic when he was fifteen, and disappeared from normal life because of it. Doing his best to go unnoticed so he could continue to live outside of a Circle and care for his mother. Martin never used his magic openly, even going as far as to conceal it from his mother, but he did use it to assist him in making potions to ease her pain as her illness worsened. To this day, he does not know his true magic talents, if he has any beyond potion brewing at all. 

He was only recently turned over to the Circle after ten years of life as an apostate. He doesn’t know how he was discovered, and has had trouble adjusting to life inside a Circle. Where he’s under constant supervision and his First Enchanter determined to hate him for his “dangerous lack of skill.”  

Tim

Tim doesn’t seem to take the study of magic nor the practices of the Circle seriously. He constantly toes the line of what’s “allowed” in a circle tower, making him the bane of the Templars and a controversial figure among the mages. Some say his antics are fun, while others say it brings on unneeded- and unwanted- Templar attention. 

The reality of it is that Tim is actually a very skilled mage, always surprising people with what he knows, and he hates the Circle to his core. He and his brother both were mages, taken from their home young, and when the time came for their Harrowing, the proving that they are able to master their magic, and will not be a danger, Tim passed, and his brother did not. 

Sasha

A talented mage, and many believe, if the Knight Commander was going to chose such a young mage to be the new first enchanter, it should have been her. If Sasha herself is disappointed, she doesn’t show it, what is she going to do about it? No, Sasha would rather focus on keeping herself busy, she’s in a tower after all, it can feel very small very quickly if you don’t have something to do.

She is one of the tower’s most prized researchers, and she is particularly fearless in their studies in demonology, and while he hasn’t made her First Enchanter, Elias has indeed taken quite an interest in her. 

Daisy and Basira 

Two of the most notorious Templars in the tower. “Daisy” as she is called by her partner, is the Knight Captain, one step below Commander. Elias keeps a frighteningly tight hold on all the Templars below him, but he especially seems to have quite the hold over her. She is feared by the mages, as she is known for dealing the harshest punishments. Her gaze is inescapable, the mages say she stalks the halls of the Tower like some hungry animal, waiting for your single misstep, her excuse to strike. 

Basira is often seen with her, and while she isn’t held on as tight a leash nor is she as cruel, she never speaks up against her partner’s actions. Making her no more favorable in the mages’ eyes. 

Georgie 

A Chantry scholar, with an interest in the study of the occult, anything forbidden caught her eye, this made her a bit of an outcast amongst her fellow sisters. But what did she care? Georgie’s research eventually lead to her briefly gaining the ability to study in the Eye, she being one of the very, very few to willingly seek out and ask for entrance into the tower. She was allowed, but just barely. She was permitted to study in the library under only the strict supervision of the templars as well as assistance from a tower mage. This assistant, came in the form of an Enchanter by the name of Jon. 

He did indeed help her with her studies and in the process the two formed a romantic relationship that they were able to carry on in secret for quite some time. They were both smart enough to be very, very careful, and carried the relationship almost exclusively through notes and whispers, it was thrilling for a time, but where could it go? The relationship ended, as one could argue it was always doomed to, and the two have not seen each other since. 

Georgie did go on to publish some of her studies in books. Several of her works were banned by the Chantry, but they have earned her a bit of notoriety, and just might have found their way into the tower’s library. 

Melanie

An apostate, like most apostates, one that never stays in one place for long. The Chantry IS aware of her, as she tends to leave, at least in their words “a path of destruction” in her wake. 

The reality of it isn’t as dire, but she is more than willing to use her magic to defend herself, and that magic might become a bit untamed if she’s angry, and she might be angry often. What? Wouldn’t you be? She’s never known another way to be, never known another way to stay safe. She doesn’t like it. She knows this is all because one woman said one line hundreds of years ago, and people have decided to damn her for it. She didn’t have to live like this. Wouldn’t you be angry? 

Elias 

Knight Commander of the Eye. All things considered, he is a rather...lenient Commander, selectively at least. He is known for being especially merciful towards apostates, while many Knight Commanders execute adult mages that have thus far lived outside of a circle for their “danger to the tower mages” Commander Elias will take them in, and offer them a place in his tower. It doesn’t exactly matter what goes on IN the tower after that, at least those mages are allowed to live somewhere. 

Of course, mages in the tower tend to go missing often, but who outside is going to notice? 

He claims that the research he has the mages doing on the Fade and demons is known and approved by the Chantry, but the reality is if the Chantry knew exactly what went on inside this tower, and what was being allowed, his Circle would be annulled in an instant, and Elias is well, well, aware of it. But what’s the worry? So long as he is Knight Commander, the Chantry will never find out, he’s quite proud of his ability to forge reports. 

The realities of Elias’ existence are far, far worse than anyone can imagine. Elias is one of the original Tevinter mages that sought to enter the Fade, extending his life through grizzly, hellish blood magic. Thousands of years ago, he and his fellow mages entered the fade to take their place on the throne of the Golden City, but we all know the story, there was no throne, and the city was black. 

But what destroyed Elias’ fellow magisters sparked something in him. Oh, there was a city, empty and godless, with a bare throne for the taking. Whoever sits in it, becomes the god of this world and whatever world comes after. This is what the Eye is truly researching, a way back in, a way for Elias to wear the crown of the gods. 

[themangledsans0508]

Big Gnome

Craig Tucker was in no way oblivious, he could tell when his stuff was going missing. In particular, his sweatshirts he was so fond of. Yes, he did indeed have multiple of the same sweatshirt, his mother insistent on making sure he had extras in the case he lost one, or it tore, or perhaps it was stolen. 

Yes, he was aware that someone was stealing his sweatshirts, in particular, a younger shakey blonde. He gave him one to borrow, and it was returned, and then it disappeared, along with Craig’s spare. 

Tweek basically lived at Craig’s house, spending a lot of his free time there and spent the night most days. Yeah, they did spend quite a lot of time together, but they still hung out with their own friends. Craig would hang out with Clyde, Token, and Jimmy and play some video games or just chill out. Tweek would meet up with Scott or Butters and they would do stuff on their own, whether it be board games or just talking about what was going on.

There was no jealousy, and they trusted each other. Being in a relationship for six years helped too, as everyone knew they were exclusive. 

That being so, Craig was rather convinced that his sweatshirt disappearing was Tweek’s doing. 

He didn’t just forget things, he’d remember if he set his sweatshirt down. He doubted anyone would steal it either, it was just a plain blue sweatshirt.

Unless, of course, they wanted to send a message.

Not to him, but to everyone else. A message that said; “Back off, he’s mine.”

Tweek didn’t need to, he had no competition. To Craig, that twitchy blonde was the universe, someone he was committed to. Tweek could be a murderer, and Craig would still be head over heels for him.

The only problem was, he had no proof it was actually Tweek. 

Craig may have been (and occasionally, still was) a level fourteen thief, but when it came to Tweek, he outranked him. The only man who could steal from Craig Tucker and not get caught was Tweek Tweak. Even the level fifteen thief, Douchebag, had gotten caught trying to sneak past him. Tweek however, could rob Craig blind right in front of him and he wouldn’t notice. Not because Tweek was stealthy, but because he would be distracted by the beautiful man in front of him.

He decided he wanted to find out if his lovely boyfriend was in fact the reason his sweatshirts kept disappearing, and to do that he decided that instead of spending the night at his house, they would be spending it at Tweek’s instead.

 So that being said, he sent a text to tell Tweek he would be spending the night at his house with him. The only reason Tweek was home was because his father wanted him to spend some time at least in the house for “the family aspect of the business.”   

Craig hated Richard for a few reasons. The main one being that he didn’t truly care for Tweek and only used him for his own gain. He once thanked him for dating his son, like he was doing it for Richard or like it was a burden he had to carry.

Thinking about it made his blood boil. He didn’t understand how someone could not care about their kids. He knew it happened, he just didn’t understand why it happened.

Yes, Craig was typically cold to most. Yes, he had been a bully. He was different now though. Maybe not to the outside eye, but to those close to him it was obvious. He was less irritable and cruel, and more patient. It would be difficult to connect these changes to anyone but Tweek. He could, in theory, be maturing. In reality, however, Tweek taught him a lot.

Of all the couples in South Park, they were the pair seemingly guaranteed to last. Soulmates, dare he think. 

He would make it last. He was sixteen, young enough to be told he wasn’t old enough to know what he was feeling, but in his opinion, he was old enough to know what he was feeling.

What he was feeling was love, he decided when he was thirteen. Three years later, the feelings had only intensified, confirming his suspicions. They were like two puzzle pieces; they fit perfectly together. Their bodies, their personalities, just like pencil and paper or the moon and the stars.

What didn’t fit together was his sweatshirts and disappearing.

Which is exactly why he was walking down the street as the sun set, daydreaming away. He arrived on the Tweak’s doorstep and noticed the lights on in the living room. He sighed in annoyance. Richard was probably sitting on the couch, watching the news to see what trends he could hop on board of. He knocked to be polite despite the fact it was no longer necessary, and to his dismay, saw Richard stand from his seat.

“Hello Craig,” Richard said with a smile, “Are you spending the night on this fine evening. Fine, like the freshly ground coffee-”

“Yes I am,” Craig interrupted quickly. He didn’t need to hear him go off about coffee, no matter how many years passed or how many times he said it, his coffee still tasted like shit.

“Alright son, Tweek is upstairs.” He patted him and returned to the couch, watching intently for anything teenagers may be attracted to.

 Craig moved swiftly up the stairs, eager as always to see his boyfriend. He didn’t think he’d ever not be eager to see his boyfriend, not after ten years, not after a thousand years, not after a million. 

He opened the door slowly as to not startle Tweek and saw the blonde sitting at his table and working on a lego set. He was focused, his head snapping from his book to the blocks in his hands. Craig wasn’t sure that he had even heard the door open. He took a few steps towards the blonde and tapped his foot a few times to mimic knocking.

“Hey babe,” Craig said. Tweek carefully placed the lego structure on the table and hurried towards Craig, wrapping his arms around him. 

“My God, man! I thought you were joking when you said you were coming over tonight!”

“Why would I be joking?”

“I don’t know, I just thought you weren’t actually coming!”

“Don’t want me here?” Craig smirked.

“No, no, no! Opposite of that, dick.” Tweek stuck his tongue out playfully. “Whenever I’m here, my parents drive me crazy!”

“I know, honey, I know.” Craig squeezed him and then released his grip. “One day we’ll be out of here, Tweek,” he murmured, running his hand down Tweek’s cheek.

“Someday soon, I hope,” Tweek muttered. Craig kissed Tweek’s forehead and rested his chin atop his head.

“After we graduate, we’ll get a place of our own, baby. I promise.” Tweek placed a kiss on his chin and smiled.

“Did you eat already, Craig? Because I can go grab you something if you want.”

“Yes, Tweek, I already ate. It’s like eight at night now,” he chuckled. “What about you, Tweekers? Did you eat?” Tweek nodded.

“Yeah, I was just gonna finish this set and then go to bed.” Tweek pulled away and sat in front of the unfinished building. Craig followed swiftly and picked him up, seating himself in the chair and placing Tweek on his lap.

“I’ll keep you company,” Craig breathed into his neck. Tweek shuddered but continued his work. 

It took around three hours for Tweek to finally finish his project, no thanks at all to Craig who kept running his hands up and down his body, planting random kisses on him, and squeezing rather vulnerable spots.

Craig completely forgot about why he had even come over to spend the night in the first place. That is, until Tweek asked to be released so he could brush his teeth and shower.

“It’s eleven at night, and you want to take a shower?” Craig asked, “Why not just forget it and go to bed?”

“Because I didn’t take one this morning. I like being clean. It won’t take long dude. You can do what you need to in there first so you don’t have to wait for me.” 

“Yeah, I’ll go first. But I’m still going to wait for you.” Craig took his hand and kissed it before removing his grasp to allow Tweek to get up. 

Craig went to the bathroom, feeling suspense now that it was almost time for his plan to come to full fruition. He gave Tweek a kiss as they passed in the hallway and returned to the bedroom.

He took a moment to really look at the lego creation. It was a city block, with a pet shop, cafe, and living space. Three of Tweek’s favourite things in one creation. He shook his head, he was getting distracted.

Focused on his mission, he opened the closet door and looked inside the small space.

He was surprised, not at the fact that indeed, both of his sweatshirts were in there, but at how many other articles of his clothing were there as well. Shirts in particular, but there were a few pairs of pants hidden around too, most likely however from Craig himself throwing them in a random place. He suspected there was more too, just not as organised as the ones he found. He smiled a little thinking about why Tweek had stolen the clothes in the first place.

Craig moved to the bed, taking his shirt off and tossing it off somewhere off to the side and laid himself on his side of the bed. He listened to the running water in the other room, the soft humming coming for a beautiful angel, and the wind gently blowing against the windows. If he hadn’t been at the end of a mystery he may have fallen asleep.

Tweek kept to his word, soon coming into the bedroom wearing a shirt that hung loosely off his body (perhaps because it belonged to Craig). His hair was drooping downwards and sticking to his face due to the water. Craig reconsidered his opinion that Tweek was an angel. He thought he was a god in disguise now.

“Craig, I thought you would have fallen asleep,” Tweek yawned. He wouldn’t normally be tired, thanks to all the caffeine in his system. With Craig, however, he didn’t feel as stressed or the urge to drink (as much) coffee. His addiction to caffeine was wearing off but in turn, he was picking up a new one.

At least the new one didn’t cost anything and was much more pleasing in his opinion.

“Nah, I told you I would wait for you.” Tweek chuckled quietly.

“You can’t control sleep, dear,” he smiled. Craig smiled back and pushed himself off the bed.

“I can try. Also, that shirt looks familiar for some reason.” Tweek looked down at the white shirt that was now slightly sliding off his shoulder and back to Craig.

“Yeah, I found it on the floor over there. I think someone lost it in here somehow,” Tweek teased. Craig couldn’t keep his smile from growing but shook his head gently. He moved past Tweek and opened the closet. He gestured slightly to the stash of his clothing and crossed his arms.

“You know, I’ve been looking for these,” Craig pointed at his sweatshirts dangling from hangers. “I need at least one of them.”

“Well, I need one too for when I’m trapped in this hell hole,” Tweek huffed, crossing his arms. 

“I need one too so I don’t fucking freeze to death Tweek.” Tweek made a few small sounds and one of his hands moved to pull at his hair. Craig took a few quick steps forward and took his hands to keep them from doing any damage to those golden locks.

“You can’t freeze to death, what would I do?” Tweek twitched slightly and Craig sighed.

“I meant it as an expression, babe. I would never leave you,” Craig said softly.

“You better not, asshole.” Craig laughed.

“Nice to know you love me. Now can I please have one of my sweatshirts? I don’t care about the rest of the stuff you stole.”

“No, you can take it tomorrow when we go to school. It’s time to sleep for fuck’s sake.” Tweek wriggled out of Craig’s grip and went to the bed, laying with his back against the wall. “Well? Are you coming?”

“Of course,” Craig snorted. He slid into the bed across from Tweek so their faces were only inches apart. He looked into those blue eyes that he so often found himself getting lost in and found himself absentmindedly wrapping his arms around Tweek and pulling him closer, earning a squeak from the boy.

Tweek flipped himself so instead of facing the room, he was now facing the wall. He pushed himself so he was flush against Craig and sighed in content. God, he loved cuddling.

There was nothing sexual in their closeness, instead it being love and trust. Tweek would never have his back to someone if they were alone in a room unless it was his partner, and even then they had to have a strong trust. Craig, in turn, would never allow himself to appear soft or even caring for that matter. Simply cold and distant. 

They had something special that almost no other couple in South Park had.

Hey! I already uploaded this onto Wattpad! My username is TheMangledSans0508! Check me out!

[ltwilliammowett]

Fireships

They were already used in ancient times, the first missions being known from the Athenian expedition to Sicily (415-413 BC) and the siege of Tyros (332 BC). And even in China in 208 A.D. the use of them during the batlle of the red rock was documented. But its main use was from the 13th to the 19th century. While only used sparingly during the Napoleonic Wars, fire ships as a distinct class were part of the British Royal Navy until 1808, at which point the use of permanently designated fire ships attached to British squadrons disappeared. Fire ships continued to be used, sometimes to great effect, such as by the U.S. Navy at the Battle of Tripoli Harbor in 1804 and by the British Navy's Thomas Cochrane at the Battle of the Basque Roads in 1809, the very last mission was probably during a battle during the Greek War of Independence 1821-29.Because for the most part they were considered an obsolete weapon by the early 19th century.

The Defeat of the French Fireships attacking the British Fleet at Anchor before Quebec City.  28 June 1759.

Structure and Function

Mostly small, old or retired ships like the pinasse or the sloop were used, but also larger ships could be used as we can see it on old paintings. A so-called fire chamber was installed on board the respective ship, which was mostly closed below deck between bow and main mast by a bulkhead or a shed from the other rooms. The combustion chamber was filled with bundles of reed grass, hemp heaps, shavings, tow and bush branches, all of which were covered with flammable liquids.

On a framework or gangboards, wooden tubes or gutters were laid in several parallel rows over the entire length and width of this combustion chamber, resin-coated from the inside, which were connected to each other and in which the running fire required for the ignition of the main burning material ran along.  On each side of the fireman there were usually five to six hatches closed by flaps which, in contrast to piece ports, could be opened from top to bottom by a hinge attached to the underside. In front of each of these closed hatches, a ten-inch iron tube with a five-inch diameter, closed at the rear, was installed, which can also be called a chamber gun. These chamber guns were loaded exclusively with powder and a wooden plug was driven into the tube in front of the propelling charge. In use, the chamber guns were later fired by the ignited barrage via a fuse in the ignition hole, so that the previously closed hatches were blown open by the shots and the additional fresh air that flooded the combustion chamber could provide more activity for the spreading conflagration.

Dutch fire ship attack on the English flagship Royal James at the Battle of Solebay (1672) by Willem van de Velde the Younger

Below the main and forestay shrouds, vertical tubes were installed in the firebox, under which a fire barrel stood. These tubes were covered with wooden plugs and a tarred tarpaulin on deck to prevent unintentional ignition or ignition by the enemy. Immediately before the ignition both were removed, so that the fire ignited in the fire chamber could spread over the vertical tubes fast at the shrouds and at the remaining rigging of the fire ship.

The fire barrels as well as the aforementioned fuel materials such as bushes, chips, reed grass, etc. were dunked in ethyl alcohol and sprinkled with fine gunpowder with a cotton fuse and could thus be ignited with a time delay.

In the upper deck there were also two further small hatches, through which the ignited fire could also spread well on deck, especially as the upper deck planks were specially resin-coated for this purpose.

The Burning of a Turkish Frigate, Constantinos Volanakis

On the sides of the fireman, pieces of canvas, so-called fire shirts, mixed with sulphur and gunpowder, were hung, which could be ignited with a pistol shot.

Since a fire could not be controlled and ignited by a single person, there were also crew, officer and captain's cabins on board, which were located in exactly this order behind the closed firebox and in which the ship's crew was accommodated according to their rank. Tradition has it that the crews of 10 to 12 sailors received double pay due to the high degree of self-endangerment.

Fireships were used particularly successfully against anchoring fleets, as they could not get to safety quickly enough. Sailing fleets sometimes had to perform breakneck evasive manoeuvres for the same reasons. Thus the order of an attacked fleet could disintegrate, which often led to defeat. A well-known example for this is the fate of the Spanish Armada, which had to accept a defeat against an English fleet equipped with only eight fire ships. The effect of fireships could be more devastating than gunfire, as the rigging, sails and hulls of the wooden sailors were often bone dry and sealed with tar against moisture. Completely undamaged ships could therefore be almost completely on fire in a few minutes and had to be abandoned.

Fireships on the Hudson River, by Geoff Hunt

In the battle, the fireship went behind the line(s) of the own warships. This usually prevented him from being ignited by enemy fire before he was deployed. The ship was equipped with grappling hooks at the cams and sailed during the battle towards the enemy. On the way there the protective covers of the vertical tubes and the fire barrels were removed and thus made ready for action.

The fireship then sailed through his own lines towards a certain ship and ideally hooked the grappling hook on the enemy ship, while his own crew also tried to moor on the enemy ship using grappling hooks. The ideal position for a fireship attack was a bow-to-bow position, as the enemy could not reach the burning fireship and countermeasures were hardly possible. If the fire had come close enough to the enemy or had even managed to moor, the captain ignited the two tubes with the wildfire and went with the rest of the crew via a hatch near the tube into a longboat and rowed away hastily.

The flames of the burning fireship, who was hooked to the outer wall of the destroyable ship, then spread to the enemy ship and ideally made it unfit to fight or manoeuvre. Often the action ended with the total loss of the enemy ship if the fire could not be extinguished in time and reached the powder chambers. To prevent a fireship from setting oneself on fire, i.e. when evasive manoeuvres with one's own ship or sinking attempts by the fireman were unsuccessful or impossible - fire hooks were used. Fire hooks were strong trees or spires that were spread through the piece ports to prevent the fire from getting stuck to the hull of the ship. However, it was most expedient to send out armed dinghies in the direction of the fire ship and to hijack this or the longboat of the enemy.

Special types

Dutch Hellbranders,

were first mentioned in the chronicles of the siege of Antwerp in 1584/1585.  On 5 April 1585 they were deployed on the Dutch Schelde off Antwerp against Spanish troops. Constructed by the Italian war builder Federigo Giambelli, they were used here against a ship blockade bridge reinforced with garrisons.

Although it was not possible to destroy the bridge and restore the navigability of the river, one of the unmanned Hellbranders ran up against a part of the bridge near the garrison there and exploded here. The explosion and its consequential damage apparently killed nearly 1000 soldiers in one fell swoop.

An engraving entitled "Pontis Antwerpiani fractura" showing the blowing up of Parma's pontoon bridge, used in the siege of Antwerp in 1585. Print from a book by Famiano Strada, 1623

An English infernal machine or hellburner,

was an armoured fire ship, which was further developed by the English on the basis of Dutch design patterns of Hellbranders and first used in St. Malo on 27 November 1693. The aim was to destroy the fortified city of St. Malo with such a ship, but this was not possible because the unmanned infernal machine ran aground before reaching the fortification walls. Another use of English infernal machines became known during an attack on a pier in the French port of Dieppe in 1693 during the Nine Years' War.

Section of a infernal machine with its various explosives and firing system. French print, circa 1692-1693

Rocket ships,

I had already written about them in a separate post. This can be read here again.

Structure and Function

English infernal engines as well as Dutch infernal burners were ships loaded with the fuels usual for fire ships. In addition, they were also equipped with a considerable number of black powder barrels in the combustion chamber and thus represented floating bombs, which were detonated by a combined clockwork and flintlock mechanism or another ignition delay mechanism.

In addition to the fuel and explosion materials described above, there were also scrap metal parts (e.g. ploughshares), gravestones and marble balls on board, which had a kart-like function due to the explosion of the black powder barrels and could therefore result in severe or even fatal injuries, if these were accelerated by the shock wave directly on people in the vicinity of the explosion or simply rained down. Buildings and fortifications could also be seriously damaged. The upper deck of the ships was often still covered with granite slabs, so that on the one hand a protective function against enemy fire was given and in the context of the intended explosion granite splinters or hitting whole granite slabs had correspondingly damaging effects on the enemy.

In addition to the devastating consequences of the explosion, the fuel originally loaded on the ships also caused additional fires to break out in many places on the periphery of the explosion site.

[luulapants]

Hale Royal Family AU - Part 5

Based on @shey-elizabeth​‘s post:

”Me reading the Prince Harry-Meghan Markel royal family drama:

Wait… I think I read this fic already. (Starts scrolling through my AO3 history)

#random #royalty au #someone write me a steter fic #reading the news before coffee”

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

September 2019

“Lady Danu’s is the largest adoption service for non-human children in the state. Which, as you can see, isn’t saying much,” Dot, the facility director, explained. She made a sweeping motion with her hand to indicate the relatively petite size of the facility. It was a large estate house, but certainly not large enough to hold more than a couple dozen children at a time. “Placements, of course, can be tricky for our kind, but we place exclusively with non-human or mixed families, and we have nearly unheard of retention rates for family placement.”

As they made their way through the front hall, Peter peeked into an empty room, which looked to be some sort of study room. There was a chalkboard on one wall, bookshelves on the opposite. The tables and chairs in the middle had bits of paint and marker stains.

Peter thought about all of the obscenely expensive furniture in their home and found himself horrified almost to the point of delight at the thought of little finger paint hand prints marring the wood.

Stiles squeezed his hand as he tugged him along to keep up. “What age ranges do you have?” he asked.

“We have a couple of teenagers at the moment, brother and sister, but that’s not typical,” Dot answered. She started up the wide wooden staircase. Teenage wolves would typically stay with their packs if any remained. Either they weren’t wolves or they had lost absolutely everyone. “They’ve taken over part of the basement so they can have their own space.”

Peter found himself wanting to ask about the teenagers, see if they needed some help. Maybe he could make arrangements for them. But that wasn’t what they were here for. This was the compromise: instead of surrogacy, they could adopt, so long as it was a werewolf baby.

“Eight through twelve are on that end of the hall,” Dot said, pointing toward a large set of French doors. “Four through eight next to them. Babies and toddlers have the largest space, over here.”

Lady Danu’s was partly funded by the druid’s council, Talia had explained as she gave him the pamphlet for the facility, but the majority of their funding came directly from the royal family. Their doors would be open to Peter and Stiles. There would be no wait list, no agony of false hope. One visit, and they could walk out with a bundle of joy that would satisfy both the family and the press.

Well, she hadn’t said it like that, but she may as well have.

----

She had brought up the subject over brunch, just the two of them. Peter had known something unpleasant would come up – the last time they’d had brunch, just the two of them, had been after Stiles’s infamous leather rant.

“I heard you and Stiles have decided not to pursue surrogacy,” Talia had said over the soft scrape of her knife against porcelain. She lifted a bit of egg to her lips, staring him down while she chewed.

Peter nodded, resigned to let this argument happen. He reached for his wolfsbane mimosa, knowing he would need at least a bit of a buzz to get through. “We discussed it and decided it wasn’t for us,” he explained. “It doesn’t seem right, going to all of that trouble and expense to bring a child into the world when there are children already here, needing homes.”

“Adoption, then?”

“That’s the idea.”

She sighed, and Peter felt a vein in his temple throb in irritation.

“I don’t see why it should matter to you or anyone else,” he snapped.

Talia set her fork down and fixed him with a tired expression. “Of course it matters, Peter. Our bloodline -”

Peter barked a laugh. “Our bloodline? Dear sister, I don’t know if you’ve gotten a good look at our family tree lately, but it’s practically overgrown. I’ve lost track of how many nieces and nephews I have these days.”

“You’ll adopt a werewolf, then?” she pressed.

Then it was Peter’s turn to set down his fork, letting it slam noisily against the table. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but my husband is a human. We may very well adopt a human.”

“Peter,” she practically growled.

He raised his voice, couldn’t help it. “How are you talking to me like I’m being unreasonable when you’ve practically ordered me, as my alpha, to acquire a baby by any means necessary?”

Talia, stubbornly, infuriatingly, kept her voice calm, though condescending. “I know you’ve made it your personal brand to challenge tradition at every turn. And might I remind you, I have been extremely accommodating to it thus far -”

Peter flashed his eyes at her. “Oh, yes,” he shouted, “you didn’t excommunicate me from the family for marrying a man! Have they put you up for sainthood yet, Your Majesty?”

She stood abruptly, her chair clattering to the ground as her eyes flared bright red.

As he felt himself involuntarily cower in response, Peter felt his rage boil down into a quiet resentment. Talia was his alpha and his monarch, but she was supposed to be his sister first. That she would pull this sort of tactic on him stung in a way he hadn’t been prepared for. “Really?” he asked, voice softer than he wanted it to be. “Over how Stiles and I start a family? That’s what you pull rank for?”

Talia softened, her eyes fading back to human. A servant hurried in and righted her chair for her. She sat. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “It should just be about you and Stiles – I know that – but it’s not. This world we live in, our position is more tentative than it seems. Peter, our traditions are more than media grabs and money. Humans fear us, instinctively. We are predators. We are stronger than them. We’re a threat.” Her words came gently. Practiced, but honest. “By all logical strategy, they should hunt us, eradicate us, as they did for centuries.”

“Like they still do in many parts of the world,” Peter conceded.

“Exactly.” She offered a weak smile. “And do you know why they don’t, here in this country?” He did, but ducked his head, signaling for her to continue. “Because our structure of monarchy gives us an appearance of structure, of stability. It makes our kind seem integrated and like less of a threat. We let them see into every corner of our lives, poke and prod and evaluate. We show them that we have nothing to hide, and they transfer that sense of trust to every member of our species.”

Peter had received lectures of similar flavor from their parents, but they hadn’t been so brutally honest. He lifted his eyes to meet Talia’s. “And you think that the species of mine and Stiles’s child will make so much difference to that balance?”

“No,” Talia admitted. She reached for her coffee. “But a member of the royal family that challenges our traditions at every turn? That might.”

----

So he and Stiles found themselves in the babies and toddlers wing of Lady Danu’s Home for Children. A caretaker sat in a rocking chair in the corner, bottle feeding an infant. Another stood by the cribs, a baby in each arm, rocking and humming. It felt strange to Peter – no, downright bizarre – to come here and pick out a baby like one picked out a pair of shoes at a clothing store.

“I’ll leave you two to discuss for a little while,” Dot said. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I’ll be just down the hall – anyone here can come fetch me for you.”

Once she was out of the room, Stiles stepped in front of Peter with a slightly panicked expression. “I have no idea how to do this,” he whispered.

“Do I look like I know?”

“Are we just supposed to… pick one? It feels weird.”

One of the caretakers glanced up at them, clearly listening in, and Peter huffed a sigh, glancing around the room. “Let’s just… try to settle in for a few minutes?”

This wing of the home was rather large. They had come into the section for the youngest babies. Another set of doors lead through to a play room for the toddlers where a handful of drooling, chubby little were-tots sat around a kitchen play set, gnawing at plastic fake fruit and miming cooking with a sauce pan.

Peter wandered over to them, giving a wave. One little boy stared up at him with wide eyes, most of his own fist crammed into his mouth. It was refreshing, at least, to not be greeted with a bow.

He glanced around to see where Stiles had ended up and found him sitting on a play mat where an older girl with poorly brushed hair sat with a baby girl, maybe a year old, propped up on a pillow. The older one wore overalls and had a toy dinosaur in her hand. “Who?” she asked Stiles, a bit rudely.

“I’m Stiles. Is it okay if I sit with you?” Stiles had already sat down, but seemed to be second-guessing it under the girl’s intense scrutiny. When she didn’t answer, Stiles asked, “What’s your name?”

She turned back to the baby, ignoring Stiles. “So T-Rex can eat this guy,” she explained to the baby, holding up a smaller dinosaur toy, “but dog is too big.” Peter’s eyes settled on a big stuffed dog next to her and smiled.

“That’s Malia.”

Peter jumped a little, not having noticed the caretaker coming up behind him. He turned and smiled at her. “Isn’t she a little old to be in here?”

“She’s five,” the woman agreed, “but she’s been having some trouble fitting in with the kids in her age group. She’s great with the babies, though.”

“Rawr! I am hungry!” Malia said, rocking the T-Rex back and forth.

Stiles stretched and grabbed another toy off the floor and offered it up. “Can he eat this?”

Malia stared at him suspiciously for a moment, then broke into a bright smile. “Yeah!” She snatched the toy out of his hand and fed it to the tyrannosaurus with delighted violence.

Laughing softly, Peter watched as she slowly accepted Stiles into her game. “How long has she been here?”

“A couple of months.” The caretaker hesitated. “She’s not a wolf,” she told him. “She’s a were-coyote. There were some… safety concerns. With the mother. She was removed from her custody.”

The mother-child dynamic for coyotes was a troubled one, Peter knew. Their powers were passed down during pregnancy. He frowned. “Thank you for explaining,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Tracy. And I know who you are, of course.”

Peter ducked his head and smiled. “Of course.”

He made his way over to Stiles, watching the way his face lit up as Malia’s game devolved into a toy massacre. The baby seemed just as fascinated with her, taking toys as Malia handed them to her, then sucking on them.

Talia would think this was just more of his defiance, more of his stubborn desire to fight tradition. But maybe this could be a compromise on a compromise. Not a baby, no, but young enough. Not a werewolf, no, but not human.

Peter crouched besides Stiles and nudged his shoulder. “What do you think?”

Stiles glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really?” He glanced at Malia, then back to Peter. “She’s not...” Not a baby, he meant. He didn’t even know about her being a were-coyote.

“I don’t care,” Peter assured him.

Stiles reached over and brushed his fingers against the nape of Peter’s neck, scenting him. He bit his lip, then turned back to the Malia. “This is my husband Peter,” he told her. “Can he play, too?”

Peter waved at her. “Hi, Malia.”

Malia sniffed at him very obviously, her little nose scrunching as she did so. “You have to bring a food for T-Rex,” she told him, her brow furrowing and eyes flashing blue. He knew already that she would be an absolute terror. Forget finger paint on the nice furniture – she would rip it to shreds.

“Fair enough,” he agreed.

----

In one of her less thoughtful attempts at reassuring Peter and Stiles about fatherhood, Laura had told them, “You know, a lot of what people talk about when they talk about being ‘ready’ for parenthood, it just doesn’t apply in our world.”

They had been playing bocce in Laura’s garden, Marco lining up his bowl.

Stiles huffed a laugh. “Why, because we don’t have a choice?”

“No, you absolutely have a choice,” Laura said, and Peter had wondered if she really believed it. “But a lot of the things new parents struggle with – the late nights, the feedings, the expense – we don’t have to worry about that. You would have a wet nurse and a couple of nannies. You already have staff for meals and laundry.”

Peter knew she didn’t mean it to sound as callous as she did. As much as she had inherited her mother’s leadership skills, her poise and ferocity, she had inherited that emotionally tone-deaf streak as well.

Stiles had watched Marco bowl his shot and shoved his hands in his pockets. “That doesn’t sound much like parenting to me,” he had admitted.

A few short months later found Stiles in their daughter’s room, calling for their morning nanny, yelling, “Oh my god, where is Hayden?” while Malia wailed like an air raid siren, shrill and with a truly spectacular lung span.

Peter rushed down the hall to find Stiles kneeling in front of their daughter, frantically trying to extricate a hair brush from the back of her head while she writhed and screamed.

“Malia, please hold still!” he pleaded. “Pulling is just going to  make it hurt more!”

“HURTS!” she shrieked.

“I know, I know, I just -”

“We gave Hayden the day off, remember?” Peter knelt down on the other side of Malia. He reached for her and, though she flinched back at first, managed to press his fingers to her cheek. One tiny, barely-there tendril of black crept up his fingertip. “Now, Malia, that barely hurts at all,” Peter chided. “What are you throwing a fuss about?”

She sobbed loudly and thrashed away from them both. Stiles finally gave up and let go, letting her run away with the hairbrush dangling from the back of her head. Malia threw herself onto her bed to sob into her arms like a distressed Jane Austin heroin.

Stiles held his hands out helplessly, looking to Peter for confirmation that, yes, this was the most absurd show of melodrama this house had ever seen. It was saying something, seeing as Stiles lived there.

They both got up and approached the bed. Peter sat on the edge, not reaching for her just yet, since she was still heaving angry sobs against her comforter. “Malia, sweetheart,” he cooed. “You’ve gotten yourself all worked up. Can you take some deep breaths for me?”

It took a moment, but she sucked in one long, shuddering breath. Peter smiled and reached over to rub a hand over her back. Instead of settling, though, she fucking growled at him.

“Malia,” Stiles started to chide, because they had talked about the growling.

But then her whole body started to tremble uncontrollably. In a blink, Peter found a coyote pup curled up on the bed where his daughter had been, her dress pooled around her. The hairbrush, liberated for lack of hair, fell off to the side.

Peter looked up at Stiles and smirked, shaking his head. She did have quite the flair for the dramatic. “That bad, hm?” he asked, teasing a little.

She growled again.

They were supposed to take her to Talia’s today. His sister had come over to meet Malia a few days after she moved in, but the poor girl had still been reeling from the change, too shy, and they let her retreat up to her room to play before more than a few minutes had passed.

Today, she would finally be meeting the rest of the family.

Peter slid down the zip on the back of the dress, and Malia immediately began to wriggle free of it. Her little dress shoes had dropped to the floor at the edge of the bed. He had to help tug her hind legs free of the tights, though. “Alright, come on, then,” he said, scooping her up off the bed. She growled again and he pressed a finger to the top of her nose. “None of that, now.”

Her eyes shone blue at him, but she settled. Peter passed her off to Stiles, who carefully folded her tail down to hold her against his chest with her front paws curled over his shoulder. “You know, you’re much more snuggly like this,” Stiles commented. “We’ll just have to work on human cuddles, okay?”

“What are the chances we convince her to shift back before we have to leave?” Peter asked doubtfully.

Stiles shook his head. “Hey, if anyone can appreciate a full shift, it’s Talia, right?”

----

“Princess Malia Bit The Queen!”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. The tablet was balanced on his knees. Beneath the headline, a photo of Malia waving at the camera. Beside it, a stock photo of a coyote. A real coyote. An animal.

“Who leaked this?” he growled.

Stiles shifted closer to him on the bed, nudging their shoulders together. “Come on, Peter. She’s five – who’s actually going to care? It’s a little funny, isn’t it?”

“It’s not,” Peter gritted out. His mind flashed back to the talk Talia had given him before they went to the children’s home, about the games of public perception they were playing. He sighed and looked over at Stiles. “Malia’s species is nearly extinct outside of Mexico, and they’re still hunted like animals in parts of Mexico. Most humans in the US and Canada have never met a were-coyote.” He tapped the screen. “This is the impression they’ll form of them. That they’re wild, violent, dangerous. Uncivilized. They’ll take this one little girl, and they’ll extrapolate it to every were-coyote. Or they’ll say that clearly she was abused – that were-coyotes must be unfit parents.”

Horror overtook Stiles’s expression, his eyes moving back to the article as if seeing it for the first time. “Fuck. They can’t – she’s a little kid. They can’t put that on her.”

“They will.” Peter rubbed at the back of his neck. He felt wrung-out. It was only ten o’clock. He and Stiles had been getting to bed earlier, so they would have time to start their day before Malia woke up. “God, what were we thinking?” he muttered.

Stiles slipped his hand up the back of Peter’s neck, fingers sliding through the curls on the back of his head to scratch his scalp. “We had no way of knowing it would get leaked,” he reassured. “It happened in Talia’s house, for god’s sake.”

“Not that,” Peter sighed, leaning into the touch. “I mean, what were we thinking, bringing a child into this life at all?”

The scratches stopped. “Peter,” Stiles breathed. “You’re not saying...”

Oh, god. Peter pulled away so he could look Stiles in the eye, wanting to be very clear on this. “No,” he said firmly. “No, of course not. I wouldn’t even think about...” He couldn’t say it, couldn’t say, returning her, like Malia was an ill-fitting jacket and not their family.

“Okay, good,” Stiles said, still looking panicked by the idea.

“But I still wonder,” Peter explained, “what gave us the right, you know? To put her in all of this mess? She never asked for any of this. She never asked to grow up endlessly scrutinized by these vultures.”

Stiles’s expression softened. He reached out and cupped Peter’s cheek. “Neither did you.”

“It’s different,” Peter insisted.

“Why, because you’re Hale blood?” Stiles challenged, though his tone stayed gentle. “Because you’re over it? You’re clearly not.”

His husband’s ability to call him on his bullshit was one of the reasons Peter had fallen in love with him. It was also deeply, deeply annoying. “I just...” He closed his eyes, trying to get his anxieties into some form coherent enough to be voiced. He settled on: “I don’t want her to grow up resenting me for bringing her into this world.”

“Don’t you mean ‘resenting us’?” Stiles cocked his head to the side.

“I brought you into it, too.”

Stiles glared at him. “Peter Hale,” he scolded.

“I know, I know, you chose this,” Peter agreed.

“And, again, I’m the only one in this household that did,” Stiles reminded him. With a sigh, Stiles caught him around the shoulders and reeled him in until Peter was snuggled against his side, head on Stiles’s shoulder. He was quiet a moment before he asked, “Did you resent your parents?”

Peter didn’t talk much about them, and Stiles respected that, understood that Peter had never felt close with them, that they hadn’t been warm people. The press brought them up sometimes, usually around the anniversary of the accident. A helicopter crash in the Rockies. Conspiracy theories had flown about for months, most insisting that militant anti-were hunters had shot the helicopter down. When they finally found the black box, it revealed nothing but a simple engine malfunction.

Peter had been just shy of his thirteenth birthday. He remembered how numb he felt, walking down the street in the funeral procession with a stiff expression as the public wailed in mourning around him. He remembered thinking that these people, these strangers, had been allowed more emotional closeness with his parents than he had. They had owned his parents in a way Peter had never been allowed.

“I did,” Peter admitted quietly. “Sometimes I think I still do.”

Stiles pressed two fingers under his chin to tip his head up, and kissed his lips, soft. “We’ll protect her, okay?” he said. “Whatever it takes. We’ll make sure it isn’t so bad for her.”

Letting out a breath, Peter leaned up and kissed him again, then again until he was pressed flat on his back on the bed. Hovering over him, Peter took in the soft flush on Stiles’s cheeks, the sweet adoration in his eyes, the gentle curve of his mouth. “I love you,” he murmured. “More than I can ever say.”

[calitraditionalism]

Religion: The Paragons

Welcome, deputy. Are you ready to receive your gift?

The Clan’s leaders are all given nine lives, which marks the importance of their positions, as well as being a way to honor all the hard work they’ve done in their lives to get up to this rank. It was originally believed by warriors from back before the Union that eight cats that were significant to the deputy would each give one life, representing a trait of some kind that the deputy would need to rule their Clan wisely and well. A short while before the Clans became one, however, the word got out that leaders were now simply being visited by one cat who embodied the trait they needed the most and gave eight lives on their own. These cats have identified themselves over time, though no records of their presence in the living world can be found. They are each believed to represent one group in the Territory, even if they were not alive for that group to come into being.

PIPISTRELLEBRIGHT, PARAGON OF COMPASSION: A round, plump and soft-looking calico molly with fluffy fur, she is said to stand for the Marish. This is amusing to some, given that the Marish are seen as less than compassionate. She appears to leaders who are in need of understanding and empathy, both for themselves and for the cats they will be caring for across the Territory.

GEMHEART, PARAGON OF HONESTY: A young dark brown tabby tom with a white underside, white back legs and white feet. He was an apprentice who tragically died young because he stood up against the corruption running through his group. StarClan gave him his warrior name, and now he speaks for the cats of Versant. His gift inspires others to say their truths and fight against deception, especially within the higher ranks of the Clan.

ACORNSHINE, PARAGON OF RESILIENCE: A runty, golden-brown tabby tom, and a former seer of Brae. At a meeting with a new leader, he tells of his history: how he was a seer in a dark and difficult time for his family, and worked tirelessly to speak with StarClan and bring good news from the future, even as it took a toll on his health and drove him to ignore food and rest beyond the sleep needed to communicate with the dead. As such, he encourages leaders to fight the good fight for as long as they can and refuse to give up, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

CLARKIASTRIKE, PARAGON OF CONFIDENCE: A huge ginger-and-white molly and the representative of Plage, Clarkiastrike is well-loved for her sense of bravery and tendency to inspire others to gain courage. Needless to say, anxious and self-hating leaders are visited by her on their ceremony night and gifted a taste of her aggressive cheeriness and stalwart heart. Those who are a little more cynical and faithless in others are also given this cheeriness, though it’s directed outwards this time. Sometimes this works a little too well, as history has proved over time, but it’s generally in the Clan’s favor.

MULLEINBERRY, PARAGON OF AMBITION: The plain fawn-colored tom of the Clast. His history is a surprise to many who meet him in dreams – he was originally a kittypet that came to the Clans and introduced the role of medicine cat (later specified to healer) and may have actually brought several types of herbs into the valley. His ambition is less focused on rising through the ranks (a leader has already gotten to where they’ll top out, after all) and more on expanding the knowledge, health and safe areas to roam for the Clan.

GROSBEAKRAIN, PARAGON OF WISDOM: A blue molly and the calm, intelligent face for Hillock. She was an exceptional mentor and a deputy for the vast majority of her life, never quite making it to leader status and being content where she was. What made her so invaluable as a living cat was her advice, experience and level-headed nature, and to the young and inexperienced, that gift is what they need the most. She is said to have a voice that is hard to place, but is comforting regardless.  

SKUNKFLIGHT, PARAGON OF VIGILANCE: A black tuxedo molly that stands for the Fleet. It should go without saying that a sharp mind and eye are the most treasured traits in the Fleet, and so anyone who meets with her will quickly grow observant and quick to react. Not many leaders are lazy or oblivious, but she is of the belief that one can never be too watchful, especially when ruling a group several hundred strong that has so much going on in such a vast area.

SPLITFACE, PARAGON OF JUDGEMENT AND REDEMPTION: By far the most mysterious of the paragons due to their appearance changing between visions. The only consistency is that their face is halved in some way, whether by color, damage or facial structure. All that is known for certain is that they represent the Scattered cats in the paragon pantheon. They are said to appear to new leaders in whatever way they would find the most intimidating, which is appropriate given what they symbolize. Depending on what a leader deserves, and how well they will serve their Clan, they will receive either Redemption, forgiving them for their faults and mistakes, or Judgement, condemning them and damning their future. More malicious and evil leaders tend to be exclusively visited by Splitface.

[seriouslyhooked]

The Same Soul (Part 2)

Available on FF Here and AO3 Here. Chapter 1 Here.

Our world AU where Emma and Killian knew each other as teenagers. Killian was sent to spend a summer with family in America. He met foster kid Emma while there. They fell in love but then he was forced back home and she couldn’t take the memories so she ran away, trying her best to move on from the dreams they’d always hoped for. A chance meeting brings them back together years later, and this time nothing and no one will keep them apart. Rated M.

A/N: Hey everyone! So thank you so much for your initial positivity and excitement about the fic. It’s inspired me to engage with this AU in a way I wasn’t planning originally, and I am so excited to keep writing and exploring this story. That being said, I’m delayed in posting because I had actually written a few more chapters of this fic and then my hard drive on my laptop decided to die. I lost the work, but not the commitment to this story or the idea of where things could go next. As such, this is take two of me trying to write this second chapter, and it actually takes place in the past. I want to explore not only the story of Emma and Killian finding each other again, but the story of how they first found each other too. This chapter is from Emma’s POV again, but rest assured we will be getting Killian’s eventually too. So, with that being said, I really hope you enjoy and I would LOVE to hear what you think. Thanks so much for reading!

Twelve Years Earlier

“And that, ladies, is how you make a personal, one-of-a-kind needlepoint pillow!”

The excitement that those words were said with was almost hard to fathom. In all her life, Emma had never met someone who would get so excited about crafting, never mind in a style that was so out dated, but she couldn’t help but smile at Mrs. Hubbard. Their activities director here in the arts and craft barn was a sweet older woman and she was the only person at this camp that Emma felt really cared about any of them. All of the other adults here either looked at camp as a job, or were alumni themselves and thus were convinced that a summer at Camp Pinewood was the most glorious and glamorous thing a girl of sixteen could partake in. It was an elite, invitation only camp, and only the best families in the area could even consider sending their girls here.

That mentality was understandably off-putting to Emma, since she was hardly glamorous by any stretch of the imagination. She was a foster kid, had been since infancy, and in the past sixteen years she’d been in nearly 20 different homes or facilities. When she was still little, it was mostly family placements, and a few had even been promising, allowing Emma to really believe she may someday find a real family to call her own. But they never worked out in the end, and for the past ten years Emma had been relegated to mostly group homes, all of which were noisy and cramped and stressful. The most recent one was the worst she’d been in yet, but it did have one benefit – an eccentric wealthy benefactress who provided a scholarship for any girl with good grades to come out here to Pinewood for the summer.

At first Emma had thought that offer was so stupid. Who would want a scholarship for camp? As a kid in the system there were about a thousand things she needed before she needed a summer trip to one of the richest neighborhoods in the country, but after a few weeks in her boisterous and bustling group home in the heart of the city, Emma was desperate for a summer away from the noise and the active dislike of her fellow lost girls. Emma didn’t fit in with the other foster kids she’d come in contact with, having been written off as uppity even though she wasn’t. At first, some of the girl’s who were staples at her group home had thought to pick on her, but everyone had largely stopped messing with her after Emma responded to a fight with a defensive skill none of them were expecting. She didn’t like to get physical, but Emma could hold her own, and she wasn’t about to let anyone mess with her when she’d done nothing to provoke it. But despite showing that she was strong and capable, the others still iced her out, making sure Emma knew that she was neither wanted nor accepted in any way.  She was a certified loner, and though that sad fact seemed to be transferring to this camp too, at least Emma had space and fresh air and some peace and quiet to go along with her loneliness.

Camp Pinewood was, according to everyone both running and attending the camp, the most exclusive summer commitment a girl could have. It ran only during the day, because it seemed that hanging too far in the woods overnight was a line a majority of these girls would never cross, but it boasted all kinds of famous alumni. There were politicians, judges, even a few actresses and other famous faces. But to Emma the exclusive club part felt more than a little out of reach. She highly doubted that her past was going to be completely washed away by rubbing shoulders with a bunch of American heiresses. No one had actually asked about her situation, and she didn’t think any of them realized she was here on scholarship from the woman whose family had originally gifted this town with the land the camp resided on, but they also knew she wasn’t one of them, and there was nothing worse to rich people than a lack of status. Most girls had come here with built in friends and enemies, and while they went about their business, Emma just observed, taking in how foreign a way of life this was before returning each night to her home for the summer – a small bedroom in the staff house at the estate of the woman who’d granted her the scholarship.

Emma still hadn’t met the unconventional old woman who made this summer away possible, and she doubted she would at any point this trip, especially since it seemed no other girl from her group home had ever actually qualified for this scholarship. Emma was the first ever to take them up on their generosity and it showed. There were surprisingly few rules for a sixteen-year-old ward of the state, and very little in the ways of entertainment for one. The housekeeper, Mrs. Dearly, had simply told Emma three things: breakfast was at eight each morning, dinner was at six thirty in the evening, and she was not to have any boys on the property. After that thirty second introduction, Emma had been shown her bedroom and pretty much left to her own devices. She saw Mrs. Dearly at meal times, but the woman was always so busy with running the estate along with her husband, that there was never much in the way of reciprocal conversation. Emma didn’t mind too much though. She’d rather have the distance between them all. It was a hopeless dream to think she could stay here when the summer was over, and if they were nicer it would be harder to keep her guard up from what would undoubtedly be substantial disappointment.

“Now I know what you’re all thinking,” Mrs. Hubbard continued, cutting through Emma’s unhappy thoughts and pulling her back to the activity at hand. “You are wondering who you should give such a thoughtful gift to.  Now sure, these pillows are great to keep, and there are any number of people you could gift them too, but a good choice might be a special someone in your life. I know a few of you have boys you’re sweet on, and any good beau would love a pillow like this!”

Emma bit back a wince at the thought of sharing this terrible pillow with anyone. She had absolutely no artistic ability, and while she’d been able to follow the structural instructions well, creating a strong and sturdy pillow, her needlework left a lot to be desired. She’d been trying to make a dog, but if she had to choose a mammal that it looked most like she’d say it was an elephant. Well, an elephant if elephants were kind of weirdly wobbly along the back and had some legs that were longer than the others. Okay, fine, she had, at best, created an amoeba like shape, but still she wouldn’t cut into Mrs. H’s enthusiasm. The woman was so nice that Emma didn’t have the heart to tell her that even if this was a fantastic pillow it would still be weird to give to a guy. Boys her age didn’t want handmade and carefully stitched decorative pieces, and honestly, Emma struggled to think that there had ever been a man in any time or place who would welcome such a gift as a sign of affection.

“Jesus is she crazy?” One of the ruder campers in the back asked in a harsh whisper. Emma made a point not to ruffle feathers, especially in a new place, but there had been a number of times where this girl in particular, Catherine Parker, had tested that strength. “I know she’s practically prehistoric, but she doesn’t really think we’d give these to anyone does she? Talk about delusional.”

“Yeah, totally nutso,” one girl responded.

“Seriously disturbed,” another agreed.

“I don’t even know why she still works here to be honest. I mean I know she’s been here forever, but at some point we’ve got to bury the fossils, you know?”

Emma couldn’t help the eye roll that escaped as she listened to this ridiculously ageist and asinine commentary, but she made sure to let it loose when Mrs. H was looking elsewhere. She didn’t want their instructor to think this was aimed at her or her ideas, because no matter how out there they were, Emma still appreciated them. All of Mrs. Hubbard’s suggestions came from a good place, and Emma would never disrespect that when she knew how rare it was for adults to really try their best to do right by kids their age. Luckily, before her peers could say anything else that Mrs. H might hear, the camp bell rang, alerting them all that this particular class was over and that the day at camp was now done with it. It being Friday, Emma knew that most of these girls were off to extravagant ‘barbecues’ (AKA what rich people called fancy parties as long as they were outside during the summer) or beach-side soirees until Monday came, but Emma would just be hanging around. Maybe she’d take a real walk around the town, or head to the public ocean access (which was still nice, but too pedestrian for the rich girls at this camp apparently), but whatever she ended up doing, Emma knew it would be a solo adventure, just as all of her outings tended to be.

The rest of the girls practically sprinted from the room and to the parking lot where their drivers awaited them. It was a mad scramble to get out of here each day, since no one ever seemed to carpool (honestly, even pitching the idea would probably make Emma a social pariah), but Emma wasn’t in the same rush as them. She’d be walking the back trail to the estate, which was directly adjacent to the camp property. She had no strict curfew and no place to be, and she planned to make her fifteen-minute walk back leisurely and relaxing. Emma wanted to enjoy the summer heat and the sun a little more. This wasn’t a forever place for her, and come the fall when she was headed back to school, she wanted to be sure she’d soaked as much of it in as she could.

“Thanks for the lesson, Mrs. H,” Emma said by way of goodbye, and she was taken aback again by the fact that this woman always appeared shocked when she said thank you. Sure, Emma hadn’t noticed anyone else doing the same when a class ended, despite their ‘good breeding’ and etiquette lessons, but still, it was basic politeness.

“You’re very welcome, my dear. Any fun weekend plans?” Emma shook her head at the question and Mrs. H only offered a smile instead of anything like pity, which Emma appreciated. “Well good things have a way of finding us in their time. I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself, Emma. See you next week, all right?”

Emma agreed and headed out, finding the path towards her summer quarters with ease, and setting out on the solitary journey. It was quiet out here, but also not at all. The ambient hum of the natural world was so different to anything Emma ever experienced back in the city. The birds, the bugs, and the breeze all played a musical part in their own way as the sun filtered in through the canopy above. This forest was bursting with life, and some smaller animals filtered in and out her path. If she pushed away reality for a little bit, Emma could almost pretend she had a completely different life. Out here, in the mostly untouched woods, she could be part of a totally separate world, one with knights and pirates, kings and queens, or whatever else she wished. This could be a journey through the past or a jaunt into the fairytales she’d secretly loved as a kid. It was the kind of place her imagination could go wild, and after spending so many years just trying to survive, it was amazing to have the space to just dream of new places and new adventures to embark on.

In the midst of these daydreams, however, a noise sounded out in the woods around her that startled Emma. It sounded like something was running in her direction, something big. She heard the crunching the earth below as feet pounded on the ground, and a foreboding rustling through bushes. Emma had very little time to prepare for what it could be, and her first thought was that maybe it was a bear or something. She didn’t think they were very common around these parts, but what did she know? Yet no sooner had she really begun to edge towards panic, than the culprit behind her worry came into the light. It was a dog in the end, granted a really big dog (she hadn’t been so far off with the bear guess in terms of size), but one that was friendly if the wagging tale and huge doggy smile were anything to go off of.

“Hey there, buddy. Aren’t you cute?” Emma asked and this seemed to make the dog even happier. It came lumbering towards her, pressing its head into her side and Emma laughed, crouching down to give the dog some love.

She’d always adored dogs ever since she was a little girl, and though she never spoke these wishes out loud, a dog was absolutely part of her dream for a family and a home. Kids in the system weren’t allowed pets, but Emma knew that they should be given them. Animals could go a long way in making life less lonely. But instead of dwelling on that, Emma just enjoyed this fleeting moment with… she looked at the collar on this big beautiful brown beast, but there was no tag and no name she could read.

“Are you lost, girl?” Emma asked and unwillingly her hope began to rise. Maybe this dog needed a home too, but just as she asked, she heard sharp whistle and a voice sounding out further in the woods.

“Missy! Here, girl!”

“So not lost, just hiding, huh Missy?” The dog barked happily and Emma couldn’t help smiling, even if she was a little sad at the fact that this dog would have to go soon. She was just so cute and affectionate, and Emma was so pulled in that she must have missed the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Oh thank God, you found her. She’s not usually a runner but she took off and…”

The stranger’s words faded away, and Emma turned to look at who had said them. When she did her heart clutched in her chest. Holy cow this guy was cute, and Emma had simply not been expecting it. Her brain hadn’t gone so far as to sketch out what she thought Missy’s owner would look like, but even if it had, she never could have made this. His hair was dark, and he was taller than her and maybe a year or two older. He looked strong and capable, carrying himself with a confidence that was quiet but pronounced, and Emma’s eyes moved across his chest to his arms which were muscled, tone, and tan from the start of summer. As Emma took him in, she couldn’t help thinking he was beautiful and far more handsome than any boy she’d ever met. Hell, maybe she was still dreaming, and this boy wasn’t real at all. He looked like something from the pages of a storybook, a tall, dark, and handsome hero just waiting to swoop in and save the day. But while Emma felt spellbound by this man on the whole, his eyes were the thing she kept coming back to. They were the most striking about him, all intense and blue and almost magical, and currently they were looking at her with this depth of emotion Emma couldn’t understand. For whatever reason he seemed just as taken aback by her as she was of him, but she didn’t get why. Emma knew she was just ordinary, but this guy… well, he made her feel like maybe she was more all along and simply didn’t realize it.

“Uh, hi,” Emma finally said after they’d both been staring for a little longer than they should. “You must be Missy’s owner.”

“Killian, Killian Jones,” he said immediately though she hadn’t intentionally asked him to introduce himself. Then he offered his hand and Emma was surprised. People their age didn’t usually greet one another this way, but she could tell he wasn’t from here. His voice was coated by a delicious sounding accent. British maybe? Emma didn’t know. All she knew was that she liked it. A lot.

“Emma Swan.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” he said, and though Emma didn’t detect any malice or artifice when he said that, her walls automatically came up again. Sweet as the words were, it was a total line, and a pretty cheesy one at that. Never mind the fact that it made the butterflies in her stomach go all kinds of crazy to be called beautiful by a boy like him. She didn’t have the time or the inclination to get to know a player, and he was probably a big one based on this game he was throwing her way.

“Right. Well I’m gonna go. See ya, Missy,” she said before pivoting in the direction of the estate.

“Wait!” 

The word from Killian was desperate, and it halted Emma in her tracks. She looked back at him and she could see his regret all over his face, and she couldn’t explain why, but she found it really endearing. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t ashamed of how much he felt. He was completely open, and Emma found that comforting in ways she never expected. As someone who was so rarely candid with her feelings, Emma saw his bravery in being so and yearned for the courage to be that way too. 

“I’m sorry about that, I know that was bad. I mean I meant it, you are beautiful, but I know that’s a corny thing to say and, well, I just don’t usually do this. You know... this,” he said as he waved between them. He must have realized that his hand gesturing wasn’t actually an explanation of what he was thinking so he cursed and then he apologized for cursing before accidentally cursing again.

Emma watched as Killian ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up further while also signaling how flustered he was. At the sight of this nervous tic, Emma found herself smiling, and when he looked completely shocked at that, she couldn’t help but laugh. It was funny after all, because here was this guy who from one look seemed out of her league, but he was bumbling about and falling all over himself over her. Her, Emma Swan! That was just wild, but Emma found she really loved it despite her lingering hesitations.

“You’re not from here, are you Killian?”

“What gave me away?” He asked with a responding grin that made Emma’s pulse quicken.

“You mean aside from the accent and the handshake?” she joked and he nodded. “I can just tell. You’re not as put together as the people here.”

He looked stricken for a moment and Emma rushed to clarify. “I didn’t mean it like that. Not in a bad way, it’s just I spend all day at this camp with girls who are so concerned with how they look and how they act, and you’re different. It’s refreshing, I think.”

“You think?”

“Well the jury is still out after that line you laid on me.”

“God that was bad. I’ll never live that down, will I?” he asked, but Emma could sense the humor in his words as he groaned at his own badly coordinated introductions.

“Do you want to?” She asked, genuinely curious.

“Yes,” he replied seriously. “If given the chance, I would very much like to make it up to you, Emma.”

“Okay, then prove it.”

So he did. Over the next hour or so, Killian rose to the challenge as they walked together on different paths through the woods, and Emma couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much in her life. It turned out Killian was really charming and witty, along with being distractingly handsome, and when he wasn’t so overwhelmed with first meeting someone, he was so naturally himself. It amazed Emma how comfortable they became with each other in such a short amount of time, just talking and playing with Missy when she demanded it, but Emma realized part of the wonder of all of this was because she’d been craving this kind of connection for so long. She’d never had a friend, at least not a really good one, and though she was certainly attracted to Killian, she had to admit that she also liked him for more than his looks. He had a great sense of humor, and they sparred verbally more than once, making Emma feel not only like someone understood her, but that they really saw who she was when so few people ever had.

“I hope you won’t think this is a line, Emma,” Killian said after they’d had a solid laugh at a story Killian told her about him and his brother getting in trouble when they were kids. “But I have to say that even though we’ve only just met, I feel like I’ve known you a long time.”

“It’s like we’re kindred spirits,” Emma said in agreement, quoting one of her favorite stories and then realizing Killian probably didn’t get the reference. “It’s from a book -,”

“Aye, Anne of Green Gables,” Killian filled in and Emma was surprised, and her shock only seemed to amuse Killian. “My Mum read it to us when we were kids. It was one of her favorites.”

A quiet moment fell between them, and though Killian didn’t say anything else, Emma could tell that conversation about his mother was in some ways painful to him. Emma would never pry, but she found that she really wanted to know what it was that Killian was going through. If she could help in any way she would, but she didn’t want to push him. Emma knew first-hand how hard it was to talk about the scars that she carried, and nothing hurt worse than being forced to revisit bad times because someone else demanded it.

They sat there quietly for a little bit, and though Emma kept expecting an awkwardness to descend upon them, it never came. It was nice to have someone there, even if they weren’t talking, and Emma hoped Killian felt the same way. He said as much a few minutes later, and Emma was thrilled to know that he agreed with her assessment, but unfortunately she couldn’t linger in this new found connection for much longer. The sun was starting to sink lower in the sky, and soon enough it would be dinner time at the estate. She didn’t really know what would happen if she missed the meal, but she thought it best not to find out, especially so early in the summer. 

When she broke the sad news that she should be heading back, Killian offered to walk her, and though she told him he didn’t have to, Emma didn’t fight him when he insisted. His determination to see her home safely made her feel special and important, and Emma knew that despite a bumpy first impression, Killian was a really remarkable person. No one had ever been this thoughtful towards her or had shown her this kind of attention, and instead of running like she normally would when someone tried to get close to her, she decided to give Killian a chance, no matter what hurt may come of it in the future. The only problem was that their walk back was over too soon, and Emma found herself wishing she had some way to make this moment last longer or to ensure that they could somehow see each other again.

By the time they arrived at the gate outside the staff house, Emma was still struggling to find something to say. From here she could see the window to her room and the many others in this large house. But ultimately her hands were tied. She couldn’t invite Killian in; that was like the one rule here, and it was one she couldn’t break and expect to stay. She also couldn’t ask him for his number because she didn’t have a phone and she was terrified he’d ask her why, prompting her to have to tell him about who she really was and what her life was really like. Damn it! Why did this have to be so hard?

“What’s your opinion on fairs?” Killian asked randomly, and Emma raised a brow even while the corners of her mouth began to curl upwards. 

“Fairs? Like with the games and fried food and Ferris wheels?” She asked and he nodded. “Well I don’t know, really. I’ve never actually been to one.”

“Never?” he asked, but before Emma could grow uncomfortable with her admission he pivoted, as if he could read her discomfort and wanted to ease it. “Well I haven’t been to one in a long time, and never in the States. But I was walking around town earlier, and I heard some people talking about one that will be here this weekend. I thought maybe you’d like to go.”

“With you?” Emma asked and Killian cleared his throat before nodding.

“Aye, with me,” he said and Emma nearly sighed at the way his words washed over her with that dreamy accent of his. Still, she took a moment to consider. 

This felt like a really big deal. Emma was so used to being alone and she’d built up defenses against other people so that she didn’t get attached. Seeing Killian again would put those boundaries up at risk, but even now Emma knew he’d made an impact. In fact, he’d created such a good memory in her life just from their meeting today that she didn’t think she’d ever forget him. And as for her instincts, which she had always trusted, they were screaming at her to say yes, because if she didn’t she’d always wonder what-if, and she didn’t want to wonder. For once, Emma wanted to know what it was like to invest in someone else, and to live a little instead of just surviving, and she felt like Killian was a person she could trust enough to try and do so.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

His responding smile was so bright and animated that Emma almost couldn’t take it. She tried shifting her stance a bit to try and cover up some of her own excitement, but Missy had crept up on her while Killian had been asking about the fair, and in order to avoid stepping on her paws, Emma jolted the other way. Unfortunately, Emma’s sense of coordination caught up with her actions too late, and she stumbled more than a little bit. It would have been mortifying, but Killian’s hands came to steady her, pulling her towards him as they did, and Emma felt warmth and electricity springing through her. Her eyes flew up to his and she saw the undeniable look of yearning in his cerulean gaze, and without any words said between them she knew that he felt this too. He was just as affected by this as she was, and it felt like magic. She swallowed harshly, barely breathing, but not daring to move at the risk of breaking the spell that swirled around them.

“Careful, love,” Killian whispered with a gentle sweetness and a hint of swagger that left his blue eyes sparkling. “We’ve a date tomorrow, and I need you in top shape. It would be a shame to miss anything when it’ll be your first time.”

“So it is a date?” Emma blurted out.

She felt her cheeks flush when she realized what she’d asked aloud, but Killian only smiled before he boldly brought his hand up to brush against the place where her blush colored her freckled skin. His fingertips lingered for only a few seconds before curling a lock of her hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. Emma shivered at the gentle caress, and her lips parted ever so slightly. Jesus, how was this possible? Sometimes he was flustered and a little clumsy in his manners, but Killian could also be this composed and seriously sexy figure. She felt like her heart would fly straight out of her chest it was hammering so harshly, but he was totally in control and confident almost to a cocky degree. It was maddening and dizzying, but also filled Emma with a thrill that she adored and wanted more of.

“Aye, love. It’s a date. Can I pick you up here, say seven o’clock?” 

Emma nodded, and though words failed her for a moment, she knew her smile must say it all to him so clearly. She was excited, more excited than she had ever been, and that outweighed all the nerves she had from this being an actual date. She’d never actually been on a date before and she was terrified in some ways. But for whatever reason, she knew that it was worth facing the fear. Whatever happened, Killian would see her through, and though it defied rationality and logic, Emma held close to that fact she just knew to be true. 

“I guess I should go in,” Emma hedged and though she could see the little flecks of regret in his eyes, Killian nodded. He stepped back, removing his hands from her body and leaving her missing the sensation of having his skin on hers. “See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed, and Emma smiled, delighted at the promise at all that was to come.

As she walked back to her summer home, Emma appreciated that neither of them actually said the word “goodbye,” because she hated to think this was over. In her lifetime, Emma had experienced too many goodbyes. People always seemed to leave her, and though she’d largely hardened herself from the pain of those farewells, Emma didn’t think it would be so easy with someone like Killian. He sparked something in her, something that had been dormant for maybe all her life, and if he left she worried that spark would leave with him. Even as she headed through the wrought iron gate and towards the house, Emma wished they didn’t need to wait until tomorrow to be together again, and she couldn’t help pausing at the door and stealing another look at him. He was still there with Missy, as she knew he would be, waiting to see her safely inside, his gaze never having left her though he could have already headed home. In that moment, Emma knew he was choosing her, putting her first, and making her feel like she was the most precious thing to him. That was huge and heavy for having just met someone, but Killian was right before – it didn’t feel like they’d only just connected. To Emma it felt like this was always meant to be, and like she’d been unknowingly waiting for this all her short but lonely life.

Post-Note: So there we have it. As I mentioned, I had actually written a version of this chapter before and I am so bummed that I lost it when my computer glitched out. But that being said, I feel like this version still accomplishes what I wanted. I really wanted you all to see what Emma’s life has been like and what her situation is before meeting Killian, because it will certainly change now that fate has brought them together. That being said, next chapter will definitely be from Killian’s POV so we can get some of his story too. Not sure when that will be posted, but doing my best to keep my muse chatty and engaged. Anyway, thanks so much for reading and I hope you’ll all let me know what you think!!

[theeeveetamer]

Extended Three Houses Thoughts

I’m about two chapters from the end of the Blue Lions route but I do have some extended thoughts on the game that I wanted to type up and share before I get back to it. Spoilers below the cut, in case that wasn’t obvious.

So first off I want to say that I have far more positive things to say about this game than negatives, but I do think this game has some negatives. These aren’t in any particular order I just kind of typed them as I thought of them.

I feel like a lot of what this game does was in direct response to Fates. There was a lot of swinging the pendulum back in very noticeable ways, and for the most part I think that’s a good thing.

The seriously slimmed down cast, for one. I was kind of surprised and a little worried when I first picked up the game and I found out that each house only had about seven core characters, but I like it. Fates had too many characters, and most of the time they ended up being redundant. You had, what, eight fliers in Revelation including children, with at least five more characters potentially able to become fliers through their normal promotion paths? When, at most, you probably needed three. And some were significantly better than others, so obviously you went with those and the rest kind of rotted away in your barracks.

With Three Houses each character feels important. Since you can now train basically any character to be anything it also means you can have some fill specific niches. You can have Sylvain be a sword cavalry unit, and Dimitri be a lance cavalry unit, and Ingrid an axe cavalry unit if you want, drop their breaker skills on them, and they can all be useful and important on the same team.

The supports also feel more meaningful. Don’t get me wrong there’s still a lot of re-hashing of already covered territory (basically all of Dedue’s supports involve either cooking or the fact that he’s from Duscur, most of Ingrid’s revolve around wanting to be a knight or marriage contracts, etc.) but the fact that there’s less of them makes this feel like less of a problem. And it’s nice that, now, they don’t try to force every conversation into a C-B-A-S format. Some characters only have C-B, others have C-B-A-A+, etc. I think it makes sense. Not every character will be as close as others, and not all support conversation threads need three parts to be meaningful and impactful. Some need more, some need less. Trying to squish them in or stretch them out always hurt more than it helped.

That said, I’m a little disappointed there’s no match-making to be had. Everyone in this game gets brother-zoned/sister-zoned so fast it’s kind of comical. There are a few A supports that hint at feelings but you can’t actually make them S-support. Also, a character might indicate feelings for more than one other character in their A supports so it’s not definitive. Maybe there’s more once the game is finished, but within the actual main story there’s nothing.

Don’t get me wrong, it makes sense to me. As young teenagers in school there wouldn’t really be any reason for any of them to get married. I thought that might change after the time skip but it doesn’t. I don’t necessarily hate that it’s gone, it’s just a feature I enjoyed fucking around with in Awakening and Fates (and I was looking forward to, hopefully, more gay representation. I was really hoping that they might allow characters to be gay for each other and not just the Avatar character, especially since they included so many lesbian options this time around. But alas, maybe next game).

The exclusion of child characters was a good call. Barring the fact that the exclusion of S-Supports would automatically exclude child characters, I still think it was a good call. Unless the game had a significant time skip (15+ years) then they just wouldn’t have made sense. They worked in Awakening because the central narrative included time travel, but they didn’t work at all in Fates. The narrative only had tentative connections to the “multi-verse/multiple realities” thing. And, let’s be real, it’s fucking weird to have kids walking around that are the same damn age as their parents (and parents that didn’t look a day older than 17). In Fates they’d just needlessly ballooned up the cast of a game that was already way too big anyways. If they did it then they needed to do it like Genealogy, where the main cast was essentially replaced by their children instead of strapped onto the game alongside them.

I was worried that Fate’s poor handling of them meant the series was doomed to include them regardless of relevance. Glad I was wrong on that one.

The calendar progression is pretty cool, as is walking around the monastery. It was pretty fun to run around and figure out where each character liked spending their time, which characters interacted with which, etc. I’m always a fan of a little flavor text and having each character say a few lines about current events was really cool and helped give each one a little more personality. The more structured pace of things makes sense for the school environment. Though it does take out some of the urgency when the mission is “FIND FLAYN IMMEDIATELY” and then you have to wait until the end of the month anyways to do it. But for other things, like a mission to march on enemy territory, it makes sense (your entire army isn’t ready to go immediately, there’s preparations that need done).

The designs of the characters themselves were pretty well done. I especially appreciate how they toned down a lot of the sexualization that Fates became pretty famous for. And considering basically all of these characters are between 15-18 all I can say is THANK GOD. Even their aged up versions don’t seem too bad, though I’ve only really seen the Lions (because I was dumb and didn’t recruit very aggressively).

I’m still NOT a fan of this “silent” protagonist thing. It just makes some of the cut scenes and dialogue sections feel really disconnected and awkward. From what I can tell a lot of your dialogue choices don’t particularly matter, anyways. You only have two options, and for the most part they have the same meaning (”You shouldn’t talk that way!” versus “I wish you would calm down.”)  and the character you’re talking to responds the same way regardless of your choice. Or you pick between two different options (”Tell me about the officer’s academy” and “Tell me about the church”) and the characters proceed to explain both anyways.

I think the biggest issues I have with this come from the fact that the game itself is fully voice acted. I think Three Houses fell into the same problem that Breath of the Wild did. Dropping a character that never speaks aloud into a cast of characters that are fully and beautifully voiced feels unnatural. I think they had two options here: Either go back to what they did with Fates (No full voice acting, just some lines spoken here and there) or they needed to have Byleth fully voice acted. After Echoes did full voice acting I really don’t think they would have been able to go back without some serious backlash. 

Personally I would have preferred it if Byleth were fully voice acted but they got rid of some of the dialogue “options”. They don’t feel like a meaningful feature, it’s just a thin veneer so they can say they had dialogue options, because that’s what every other game on the market is doing. Part of me wonders if they did this as a response to the Corrin hate after Fates. It’s hard to hate a character when you pick all of their dialogue, right? If that is the case, then they clearly didn’t understand why people hated Corrin so much.

Overall I don’t really feel any connection or attachment to Byleth. That might just be me, though. The three “lords” of the game are clearly meant to be the main focus, especially when it comes to character development. Maybe I’ll change my mind on that after I beat the game.

That said, thank fuck they toned down the avatar hero worship. Circling back a little bit, I just feel like the character of Byleth is handled much better than Corrin. It’s kind of unfortunate that Awakening, Fates, and Three Houses kind of have this avatar hero-worship vibe to them but if we’re going to have to live with it then I guess I’ll explain myself.

In Awakening the hero worship worked. Robin was, essentially, a brilliant tactician that brought a lot of success to Ylisse’s army. There were at least a few characters that were initially wary of Robin, but they were treated respectfully by the story and it’s presented as though they are just exercising a healthy amount of caution.

In Three Houses the hero worship works. It feels much less like worship and more like genuine respect and admiration. Byleth is a professor and a mentor to these young people so it makes sense. There are a few that were initially skeptical of him/her (which is totally justified in the story because Byleth appears to be barely older than them with zero teaching experience) but they come around after Byleth’s skill is demonstrated to them throughout Part 1. The only character I’d say seems to blindly worship Byleth is Rhea, and that’s justified because she clearly knows something about the main character that no one else does.

In Fates the hero worship was excessive. Corrin as a character is nothing really special. He/She isn’t particularly intelligent or particularly skilled at anything. The most you could say is that Corrin is probably supposed to be charismatic (since every character falls at their feet the second they meet) but Corrin doesn’t feel charismatic to me. They have multiple characters that seem to exist for the sole purpose of worshiping the ground they walk on (Camilla, Ryoma, Sylas, Jakob, Felicia, etc.), to the point that I felt it ruined otherwise interesting characters (Camilla mainly). Any character that doesn’t immediately worship Corrin is either forced to come around, brainwashed by the big bad and turned into a villain, or just wanted to love Corrin so much but circumstances made it impossible so they had to be evil. I could make an entire post about how much I hate Corrin but I’ll stop it here since this is supposed to be about Three Houses.

So considering where they were coming from... Byleth is fine. I don’t know if I like them more than Robin, but I definitely like them more than Corrin. I’ll feel more definitively about them after I’ve finished the game and played some of the other routes.

They re-use maps in this game. A lot. I noticed it pretty quickly about five chapters in, but IMO it’s a serious problem that this game never quite seems to shake. If the battle is in a city, they pick one of two city maps. If it’s in a forest they’ve got one of three forest maps. And I’m not complaining about Auxiliary battles because I only did a handful of those (and they always reuse maps for those, even in Fates and Awakening). I’m talking about main story and paralogue mission maps.

Sometimes they have a unique map (like the tomb/catacombs) but it invariably comes back later for a paralogue or another main mission. Sometimes it comes back less than two chapters after it first appeared (the monastery fight right before the time skip and then defending the monastery two chapters after the time skip.) I could understand if they re-used maps across different routes (because Fates did the same thing), but so far I’ve only been in one route and it’s the same maps over and over.

Finally, I have no idea how I’m going to survive playing this game two (three?) more times. I mean, I like it. It’s fun. But it took me like 40 hours just to complete one route I have no idea how I’m going to do all three (possibly four, since I’ve been told the eagles route can be different depending on if you side with the church or not).

[the-uptake]

Concrete Boxes Made of Ticky-Tacky

The Uptake, With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence. Book III, Chapter 9. Go to previous. Go to next. TW: Disaster area navigation. That’s not suspicious at all.

_________________________________

A month after Central Day, Tri-City announced acceptance of the initial wave of returning citizens, public transportation filled to capacity which was dedicated to just the task of easing the displaced out of Manhattan Premier. On the triple-decker bus headed to Level 10, ‘Choly’s wheelchair wedged up close to Cecil’s seat. Albeit grateful to be rid of the impermanence of the Hillock Plaza and its Overflow, none of the bus’s passengers felt any reprieve from the dread of uncertainty ahead.

“There’ll always be another page of billing,” Cecil finally sighed. He glared at the screen in the front of their floor’s cabin, as it looped instructional clips how to proceed upon returning home. He shifted in his seat at ‘Choly’s slowly elongating face. “We’re increasingly tethered, through lack of choices otherwise, to federal aid programs. Billing is the least of my worries. How the rolling sector housing provisional care will pan out is a definite concern. But what we’ve been allotted is all we’ve got at the moment. We don’t even have a ‘who’ or a ‘why’ yet. So we’ve got to make do.”

“It’s a long time before we have to worry about moving,” ‘Choly offered unhelpfully. “Silver linings, that we were federal employees, I suppose. Surely five years’ provisions will be long enough for them to get Central repaired, or even replaced.”

“It’s less that we don’t have to move, and more that we can’t. That’s probably the one thing I’ve signed off on in the past month that I straight up can’t stand the thought of.” Cecil squirmed in place to straighten in his fiberglass seat. “Look. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s all we’ve been discussing for days, between getting packed up and speaking with the FEMA attorneys. I’m going to turn off my ears until we’re at the complex, okay? Try out your new reader’s headset, get used to it. Chill a bit. We both need a chance to unplug from this shit for a moment.”

Cecil put a hand to ‘Choly’s knee, then used his other hand to gesture along the surface of the thetic halo to free the handshake. The faint glowing of the circuitry within the translucent organometallic structure encircling his head went dark, and he slouched back with a slow grunting exhale to stare out the window.

With a pouting nasal snort, ‘Choly pulled the bone conduction headset from his diamond bag, unfolded it, and slipped it on. He had many ways in which he envied Cecil’s survivorship. Here and now, he most envied the feature of his boyfriend’s accommodations which enabled him the ability to unplug from unpleasant discussions. He did wonder if Cecil had any theories as to motive and perpetrator, but despite all the time they’d already had to discuss the Central bombing, Cecil always conveniently found the means to sideline the subject in favor of just about anything else. But this felt nothing like how Cecil had withheld from ‘Choly that the Fulton Mass and the Supermarket Geek had been one in the same, despite vocal interest in both Web sensations. He could chalk up Cecil’s behavior to the traumatic nature of such an experience: Cecil had, after all, survived an explosion which destroyed a majority of the building which housed the city’s largest concentration of servers, networks, and energy sources.

Maybe ‘Choly was being insensitive, forcing Cecil to talk about it any more than he had. It was one thing, to disclose secondhand information about a tragic event, but another entirely to have been directly involved and impacted to the extent as his other half.

So he focused on fidgeting with the new reader. The model nearly felt like a totally different type of technology compared to the reader ‘Choly had had for eight years leading up to Central Day. His last reader had been rooted and customized to his specifications, and he’d had all the settings just as he liked them and hadn’t had to adapt to a new model or interface every four months like the Levelers. This reader had nothing in common with his last one, barring the fact they were both readers. Last time he’d tried to set it up, to his chagrin he’d figured out how to handshake the cube tray wrist loop to the reader storage. It had no mounted cube tray, and he hated it, but he’d just have to deal. He still couldn’t figure out how to pull up the screen’s keyboard, and the Web settings were greyed out where he couldn’t edit them. The notifications reminded him on the regular that the reader’s operating system awaited pending updates. He couldn’t turn off these reminders, either. His jaw tightened.

A hybrid slasher sounded like an easy distraction at first, since he knew they had a long transit ahead of them, but he knew he couldn’t focus on a film in his mental state. As he set his music cubes to shuffle and adjusted the volume of his headset, he realized that the reason he couldn’t access Web settings was because Web in Tri-City had ceased to exist. Can’t pull up specs on a dead network. He swallowed and Cecil let him hold his hand, joining him in watching the cityscape flicker by around them.

He had to look at the time on his reader to be certain of the time of day, because the trichotomy of the rolling blackout made it impossible to tell just by the qualities of the neobrutalist building surfaces. Tesla Incorporated had divided the city into sectors five levels high and roughly one mile square. Primary sectors aligned with the first shift of midnight to eight in the morning, secondary sectors with the second shift of eight to four in the afternoon, and tertiary sectors four to midnight. The city already reflected the effects of the roll. Projected adverts and running lifts animated the active secondary sectors. Charged Wolfram concrete alone illuminated the stretches of yawning primary sectors. And tertiary sectors lay dark and silent, as they had not yet received any returning inhabitants. They’d have to get used to the Tesla employees, vehicles, and equipment now a present and constant sight in Tri-City for the indefinite future. Only emergency vehicles, public transportation, and ShipShop drones shuttled about the thoroughfares.

The denizens of the bus had all come from HP and HP Overflow. ‘Choly got stuck surveying the survivors. He didn’t often feel much camaraderie with strangers, and it dulled him to find himself reflected in the angles of others’ segmented thetic limb prostheses and cosmetic reconstructions, and the haggard fabric of their faces. He wondered if they, too, experienced the sense of this othering unity, like they all belonged to a new class of citizen altogether, when they regarded his wheelchair, and his leg brace. He shook his head of it and assumed no one else would entertain this brand of nonsense.

His eyes lolled in dismissal of his mentality, silently cursing out those living higher than Level 19. How dare they have access to solar energy? He had never really given the upper crust much thought or attention, but in that moment, his sentiment throttled him to tremendous jealousy. The disaster had all but not affected them. Besides the loss of Tri-City specific Web broadcasts, ‘Choly couldn’t think of a single way the Twentisomes didn’t simply go on as they always had.

He sneered. Except those in the Newark Bay area, of course. But somehow, ‘Choly was jealous of those evacuees most of all. They’d been affected by the bombing more than any survivor. Only the block directly adjacent to Central, Levels 5 to 19, had been evacuated until the reactor explosion. FEMA thought they had the nuclear facility under control, only for twenty thousand civilians to get irradiated by four of the nine reactors melting bottom-out. One of the four exploded outright, sending two reactors into the bay with it. The entire Newark Bay would be in a permanent state of phosphorescent excitation until federal employees could seal up the waste fuel and any irradiated debris. Newark Bay survivors would remain under the care of Overflow facilities throughout New Jersey and New York for indefinite supervision and medical care. ‘Choly had been glued to documentation of this nascent exclusion zone, and he endeared it as though some transcendental slurry of ghosts trapped in place for centuries to come.

The bus let out at its next Level 10 stop, this time in Journal Square. Everyone unloading here retrieved their luggage from the under-bus cargo, and besides those who lived on Level 10, they filed out to the public lifts appropriate to their final destination. Tesla operated the lifts with on-site generators dedicated just to this mode of public transportation, already acutely aware of not just the heightened necessity for vertical mobility, but also the varying injuries the returning population had sustained. Almost too graciously, the power company, cooperating with federal emergency agencies, had taken injury and disability accommodations into consideration, and extended all the help they could within the apartment complexes for those who could not simply take the stairs once they were on the right level.

‘Choly removed his headset, and Cecil turned his halo back on. Cecil pulled a piece rolling luggage behind them and put the smaller piece in ‘Choly’s lap, and pushed ‘Choly along inside the public lift. Once the lift was to its five hundred occupant capacity, the Tesla worker ordered the pocket doors shut and they were on their way to Level 15. Fortunately for the pair, they would exit on Level 12 about fifteen minutes later.

The facade of their apartment complex crawled with advertisements for ShipShop’s new drone program. They filed in with about a hundred of their technical neighbors, and waited in line for the Tesla-operated elevators. Many of those who had the option grew impatient and dragged themselves up the stairwells rather than wait ten at a time. When ‘Choly and Cecil rode, only eight could fit from the wheelchair, and the Tesla employee cited space and weight limits. At the last minute, a heavyset tall blond man in a white bodysuit and a thetic with insectoid quadrupedal limbs squeezed their way into the elevator, its ninth and tenth occupants.

Everyone in line yelled and groaned at him. The pocket doors shut, and the Tesla employee slapped him in the chest. The thetic’s heavily stylized mannequin-like holographic features swiveled around to apologize to the group in the elevator without turning its cylindrical head.

“Did you not just hear me, ShipShop?” the operator snapped. “You of all people should know better than to push capacity.”

“We just got off shift.” He rolled his eyes and slicked back his short sweaty hair. “Gimme a break.”

“Please forgive him, if you could,” the thetic insisted with hesitant posture. It telescoped itself tight up into the back corner of the elevator to occupy the least amount of space possible. “We’ve had a particularly dicey day of it.”

The Tesla employee ignored the pair and addressed the other eight people.

“Floors, everyone?” She instructed the elevator as indicated.

“–Wait.” ‘Choly couldn’t decide whether to stare at the ShipShop employee or the thetic, whose upper half very clearly had once belonged to some manner of public transit autopilot system. “You already got back home? You sure you’re in the right building?”

The blond shoved his gloved hands in his pockets with a matter of fact slouch.

“Never left. ShipShop associates weren’t allowed to evacuate. Ninth floor, by the way.”

The Tesla worker jammed the button a second time for emphasis. ‘Choly and Cecil both flinched that he lived on the same floor.

“That’s sure an interesting customization,” Cecil commented of the thetic, not making eye contact with either. “ShipShop approve that?”

“If you let me help you carry your luggage,” he sleazed, “I’ll tell you all about it.”

‘Choly flipped his sunglasses down and shrank in his chair. Despite obvious body language that ‘Choly disapproved, Cecil nodded and shrugged with a bored frown.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Not sure why you’re offering to lug anything after what you said was a particularly awful shift, but I imagine not too many of the neighbors we knew before all this are coming back. Might as well get familiar with our floor mates.”

The ShipShop employee tried to take the handles of the wheelchair to shuttle ‘Choly along, but Cecil shouldered the man away and gave him the luggage. Cecil pushed ‘Choly, and the blond let out a hesitant chuckle as he let the thetic carry both the rolling luggage and the carry-on from ‘Choly’s lap, trawling along on its four long spindly legs.

“A natural redhead, then, I’m presuming,” he grinned as he trailed along behind them.

“You were saying?” Cecil quipped, not looking back.

“Oh! Angel here?” It let out a digital chirp when mentioned, but said nothing. “It was the navigation system of the ShipShop delivery truck I was working on April Fools, but it crashed on the Lincoln Skybridge. ShipShop wanted to scrap it ‘cause they faulted its navigation matrix for the six-car wreck. Funny how I haven’t met a single person who had a good night on the First, right? Anyway, I smuggled it into the taxi that picked me up before crash collection could haul it off. Been working on it all month. It’s given me something to busy myself with, mostly alone here. The legs are a work in progress, but it’s pretty great, right?”

“Gives me the creeps,” ‘Choly blurted out with a sharp saucer-eyed sniff. “Fff. Franken-thetic.”

“Giving him the creeps is a good thing,” Cecil translated wryly. “I’d be lying if I said I weren’t a little impressed.”

“What are those legs even from?” ‘Choly continued, fidgeting.

“That’s my secret.” The blond grinned. “Name’s Jacob, by the way.”

“Cecil. And this is Melancholy.”

“Jus’ ‘Choly’s fine.” They got to Cecil’s door and ‘Choly glanced to Angel. “Hazarding a guess. Those legs are somethin’ salvaged from a yard on Level 2.”

Jacob straightened in place, not blinking for a moment while he processed the theory.

“Now that’s an interesting thing to suppose.” He whet his lips and pressed them together. “I guess I could say you answered one of many questions, by asking one of your own.”

“He’s on the level.” Cecil gestured for Angel to relinquish their luggage. “Though I wonder if you are.”

“What coy dialogue. I was right to help you along to satisfy my curiosity. Is it just the two of you here?”

“Yes– Wish I could say one way or another if it’s been a pleasure.” Cecil shrugged gratefully at the thetic. “Thank you, Angel.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. I was just acting on Jacob’s behalf.”

“I don’t like sayin’ stuff besides what’s meant,” ‘Choly started with a frown. He glanced both ways down the hall. “Why did you follow us? You didn’t just want our impression of your robot.”

“910-B. We’re down at 925-B.” Jacob eyed the apartment door. “You said it yourself, Cecil. What’s the matter with helping a couple of my floor mates get settled back in? We were going the same way.”

“Do let us know if you need a thing, will you?” Angel swiveled behind Jacob to the other side, trying to nudge him along, its features flickering anxiously. “Jacob keeps odd hours, but if we’re present, we’re more than happy to be at your beck.”

“Right. Y’all need help inside?”

“We appreciate the help, but I hope you’ll understand that we’re not inviting you in at the moment.”

“I’ll come borrow a cuppa glow later then.” Jacob kind of hopped in place and gave them a jerking salute with his left hand, his head askew. “I’m gonna go crash.”

“Goodnight,” ‘Choly called out after them jokingly as they walked off without further circumstance. He double-checked the time on his reader. Not quite three in the afternoon yet.

Jacob thoughtfully mumbled Melancholy under his breath, just loud enough to be heard.

Cecil already had the door open before ‘Choly noticed, and shoved him inside to use the wheelchair to prop the door open. He dragged the luggage inside. A good number of lights and appliances were still on. ‘Choly wheeled himself down the hall track to the kitchen, and spaced out in disgust at the thought of what the void of electricity might have wrought of the living space. He realized he was staring at the coffee carafe in particular. Cecil abandoned the luggage in front of his reading chair and joined ‘Choly in the back half of the apartment.

“I don’t like him,” Cecil remarked.

“I do. He’s just weird enough to get stuff. The. The coffee maker.” ‘Choly sniffed, and pushed his sunglasses lenses back up. “That half carafe’s been brewing for a month.”

“I’m not looking forward to investigating the fridge. We’ll deal with that later. Promise me if Jacob or that thetic come to the door, you won’t answer it. –Think it’s stuffy in here, or is it just me?”

“I promise,” ‘Choly echoed dully, registering the remark to the air quality. “Guess the HVAC hasn’t got working full swing quite yet.”

“Hopefully it’ll get circulating soon. It’s hot and… not dusty. Stale? in here.”

“Agreed.”

Cecil tried the faucet in the kitchen, eliciting a deep groan in the wall and little else. Then he tried the bathroom sink, and finally the bathtub faucet. A successful splatter of stale-smelling water spilled out into the tub, and he let it keep running, hoping to jog the plumbing a bit. He stared at the water for some time before leaving to fish through the kitchen cabinets, and returned to fill the one large resealable container they had on hand. He also filled a drinking glass and smelled of it before sipping it. When it passed his inspection, he filled the next two largest containers as well. All the while, ‘Choly had retrieved his cane from beside him and righted himself, leaving the chair in the kitchen to flop on the daybed. He pushed everything off the bed that he’d strewn about trying to quickly get ready to meet Augen for lunch a month ago, and readily dozed off. Cecil let him rest while he unpacked to distract himself.

“I’m thinking ordering dinner from ShipShop,” Cecil half-asked, half-announced from across the apartment. “Chinese?”

“Mm? Yeah. Sure.” ‘Choly took off his glasses and rubbed at his face. “Guessing that’s our main option until they get the lift situation hashed–”

The walls of the building hummed in decline, and everything fell dark. Only one of the two long walls of the apartment had exposed Wolfram concrete, and ‘Choly and Cecil just sat in place trying to accept this phase of the rolling blackout.

“–out.”

“Guess I’m done unpacking for now.” Cecil sighed. “We should buy some more Wolfram installments. One wall isn’t gonna cut it long-term.”

‘Choly got up and made the executive decision to open the blackout curtains over the window which took up the entire outer wall of the apartment. He stared out from where he stood with a difficult brow.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing the city only lit by the concrete,” he murmured.

“We’re inside. It’s fine. Come on, tell me what you want for dinner. The Web reception tanked with the power. I’ll go up to the rooftop kiosk and order in person. For once I’m glad we’re on the ninth floor of a twelve story building.”

“Let’s split something with shrimp.” ‘Choly started to walk toward Cecil, but stopped short. “I just put a finger on why that guy followed us. He recognized me.”

“From where?”

“The wreck on the Skybridge. He saw me and Augen walk away. Fuck–” He tugged at his sweatshirt in the twilight. “I’m even wearing the same shirt I was wearing–”

‘Choly could hear Cecil’s agitation mounting.

“…How were you two involved in that wreck?”

Go to Next »»»

[ginnympotter]

By Light-Years

Summary: Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley are professional Quidditch players and rivals, despite their secret (or not-so-secret) fancying of one another. As her brothers become mates with Harry, Ginny can't avoid her feelings much longer.

This fanfiction is an alternate universe story LOOSELY based off of the plot (and structure) of the film "La La Land." Very loosely.

A/N: As this takes place in an alternate timeline, here are some discrepancies from canon: James and Lily lived and helped defeat Voldemort (and due to that a lot of other characters are alive as well), and Harry and Hermione went to a different wizarding school than the Weasleys though that remains unspecified and not much talked about for plot purposes.

Also available on AO3!!

Chapter 1: Winter

Ginny feels the heat in her face and can only assume by the look Demelza is giving her that she must be turning bright red. Her arms crossed and her eyebrows furrowed, Ginny has to hold herself back from practically scoffing at her own Quidditch captain. It’s absolutely ridiculous that the entire team is being told off right now when it was clearly Romilda’s error.

Gwenog Jones, the captain, gives Ginny the opening she needs. “Something you’ve got to say, Weasley?”

“I have loads to say,” she starts. “I’m sorry, Gwenog. I know we’re a team and all but this is absolute bullshit right now-”

“Weasley-"

“We were up 140 points! The win should have been ours! Vane clearly should have been paying attention, but she was obviously daydreaming, feeling safe to do so by the lead the rest of the team upheld for her!”

“I thought we were up 170! I’m sorry!” Romilda injects, sticking her nose in the air. “Just because you played seeker a bit in school-”

“Merlin, please. You were ogling the enemy!”

“Enough, Weasley,” Jones asserts loudly. “Stay for a moment. The rest of you, go wash up and head home. I want you in a half hour earlier tomorrow for drills, alright?”

Ginny moves her hands to her hips, trying to mask the worry she feels of Gwenog wanting to speak to her alone. The others clear out and Demelza gives Ginny a look of sympathy as she walks out behind the rest of the team and closes the door.

“Out of line, Ginny,” Gwenog starts. “I understand you’re upset, but-”

“Gwenog,” Ginny says, attempting to cool down the blood boiling beneath her skin. “This is the third game this season where Romilda has made a blunder like that, and she’s lucky that the last time we were actually up by 170.”

Gwenog sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I am aware, and I will deal with Vane privately and separately. But this is also the third time you’ve spoken like that to her. I’m sorry, Weasley, but I’m going to have to ask you to stay home for tomorrow’s practice.”

Ginny feels her stomach drop at the absolute injustice of the situation. “And what good will that do?”

“It will help you cool off,” she states. “As I’ve said, we’re a team, and you can’t talk to your other teammates like that. I have no tolerance for it. Confront her calmly and speak like a level-headed adult, for Merlin’s sake.”

Ginny clenches her fist, taking a deep breath. “And wouldn’t you say it’s the team’s responsibility to make sure we are working as a cohesive team? How come I’m the only one holding her accountable? If she were really part of this team, she would take ownership of her errors and work on them.”

Gwenog looks at her for a moment, then puts a hand on her shoulder. Ginny usually loves Gwenog, but she has been testing her patience these past couple of months, and she fights the urge to shake her hand off of her. “I know how much you care about this team. And you are my star chaser. But I’m warning you...anything like that again, and you’ll be suspended from the next match. Understood?”

Ginny nods, lips tight. Gwenog pats her shoulder and strides away. The door shuts behind her and Ginny does her best to keep her tears at bay. She understands Gwenog’s desire to keep a peaceful environment, but it only seems to be making things worse. She sits there for a few more moments, gathers herself and her belongings, and strides out of the stadium locker rooms.

As she makes her way towards the stadium exit, she sees the strangest sight. Her brothers, Ron, Fred, and George all chatting up with Harry Potter, Puddlemore’s seeker. Ron’s ears are a bit red and Fred and George are high fiving as Harry laughs. She is tempted to back into the locker room until Potter leaves but before she could even turn around Fred spots her. “Gin!”

She stops in her tracks and puts on a thin-lipped smile, and she knows her brothers can see right through it. Fred and George approach her, but Ron, for some unforeseen reason, stays behind to keep chatting it up with Potter. “You were bloody fantastic,” George tells her, messing her hair. “One hundred points and ten assists!”

“Absolutely mad,” Fred adds, patting her back. “A shame your seeker is an idiot.”

Ginny snorts, but appreciatively. “Yeah, tell me about it. But I can’t go to practice tomorrow and I’m facing possible suspension for stating that obvious fact.”

“You’re serious?” asks Fred. “That’s rubbish.”

“You alright, Gin?” George questions, sensing her frustration.

She shrugs. “I just want to get out of here, honestly.”

“Alright, let’s grab fanboy Ronald over there,” Fred chuckles as they turn to walk towards Ron and the Puddlemore seeker, who seem to be laughing together. “We’ll apparate back to the Burrow for a bit, yeah? Dad wants to hear about the game.”

Ginny nods, marching forward towards her other brother. As she approaches, Harry Potter looks away from Ron and straight at Ginny, offering her a somewhat hesitant smile. Once close enough he says, “Hey, Ginny, right? I just wanted to tell you, you were brilliant out there, and-”

“Thanks,” she answers curtly, stealing the shortest of glances at his fallen smile before she shoves Ron and says, “C’mon, let’s go,” as she walks past him further towards the exit.

She crosses her arms and waits, staring away from her brothers and her opponent, when she hears the twins approach Harry and slap him on the back. “Sorry about her,” George apologizes. “She’s got a bit of a temper on her, that one.”

“And an awful competitive streak,” Fred chimes in.

“And too much pride,” adds George. “Isn’t that right, Gin?”

Without facing them, she sticks up her middle finger behind her back. All four boys laugh and she rolls her eyes, tapping her foot impatiently.

She listens as George, Fred, and Ron each say goodbye to Potter, hears him quickly mention her name once, and the conversation ending with something about a time tomorrow.

Once they reach her, Fred throws an arm around her. “Alright, miss brat, let’s get you home and fed so you could shrink back down a bit.”

Without responding, they all grab each other and apparate back to the Burrow. When they land and shake off the feeling of it, Ginny asks them, “What was that about tomorrow at eight?”

“Well if you hadn’t been so rude maybe you’d know, hm?” Ron comments, clearly annoyed as they walk down the path to the back door.

“We invited Potter to visit Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes,” Fred tells her, ignoring Ron’s attitude. “And he invited us to all get drinks afterward.”

“He was going to ask you to join as well,” George informs her. “So he passed along the message to us. Said the invitation was open for you, if you wanted, although we insisted upon excluding you.”

“Insisted,” Fred repeats, smiling.

“I’ll pass,” Ginny says, undoing her braid as they walk.

Ron groans. “What’s your deal? Didn’t you used to be in love with him or something?”’

“No,” Ginny responds, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Gin, it’s us! You don’t have to lie,” Fred assures her. “We all remember your exclusive Potter commentary before you made the reserves two years ago.”

“You practically had his name doodled in your books.”

“Surprised you didn’t magically stick his poster to your ceiling.”

Ginny scoffs at them. Although she knows they aren’t wrong. And as mad as she is at Romilda, part of her doesn’t even blame her for ogling Potter. She has been attracted to him since the moment she first saw him in the Prophet when he made Puddlemore. And of course, she knew who he was before that, being James and Lily Potter’s son. But she doesn’t want to make a fool of herself in front of him again like she did the very first time she introduced herself her first year in the league. She knows if she pays too much attention to him on the pitch, she’ll become almost as distracted as Romilda. And as much as she would thoroughly enjoy both admiring his technique and ogling his fit physique, her high-quality Quidditch performance is at a much higher priority than a fit bloke she’s had a fangirl crush on for multiple years.

Although she may have a rolled-up poster of him in her closet rather than plastered on her ceiling. That she opens up and glances at from time to time. Who’s really to say.

“Things change when someone becomes your competitor,” she shrugs, opening the back door that leads straight into the kitchen and going straight towards the fridge. She takes out the jug of pumpkin juice and pours some straight into her mouth, taking a big gulp. After she swallows, she turns back to her brothers, who are all sitting at the table. “Either way, Romilda is not even a fraction as talented as Katie was, and Potter tries to pull a Wronski Feint at least every other game because he’s so bleeding fast on his Firebolt that it works practically every time. He’s a pretty predictable player. She should have known.”

“The Potter commentary lives on!” exclaims George, raising a fist. “Keep it coming. What color are his eyes? When’s his birthday?”

Green. July 31st. “So I know one of his strategies. That’s my job. Study the enemy, you know? I just wish I could play seeker against him once to show them how it’s done, but I like being a chaser too much to even bother,” Ginny finishes before passes the pitcher of pumpkin juice to the boys.

“Right, just about Quidditch tactics, got it,” snorts Ron, leaning back in his chair.

“No matter how many fun facts you know about him, the offer still stands for tomorrow,” Fred reminds her. “We won’t tell him about your crush, promise.”

“I don’t have a crush,” she groans, trying to convince her brothers and herself. “This is what I get for being nice and inviting you guys to VIP access for my matches...And Ron, why are you even going to meet with Potter? You’re a Cannons fan! Fraternizing with the enemy, now?”

Ron shrugs, summoning a muffin from the counter and taking a bite out of it. “I don’t know,” he says, mouth full of muffin. “He seems like a cool bloke, when he’s not destroying the Cannons at least.”

“Just when he’s destroying the Harpies, your own sister’s team,” Ginny bites.

“Be careful, Ron, or she’ll bat bogey you to smithereens,” Fred warns his brother.

“No hexing in the kitchen,” says Arthur, finally making his appearance. He kisses Ginny on the temple and smooths her hair. “Your mother is asleep on the couch, so you better take it outside. No need to tickle a sleeping dragon, ay?”

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON FIX8′S LEAD DANCE, LEAD VOCAL ERIN YOO...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 20 DEBUT AGE: N/A TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 17 COMPANY: MSG SECONDARY SKILL: N/A

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): Haejin (Korean name, given to her by her paternal grandmother but rarely used by anyone but her family members in Korea), Vitamin E (by fellow trainees, because she’s known for boosting people up even when they feel down). INSPIRATION: Growing up, Erin knew about and liked kpop but she wasn’t particularly interested in it. She was a casual fan, knowing some groups by name but not being able to name members. That changed when she was scouted by Singularity and she found HER.oine. She was inspired by their girl crush concept and admired how powerful they were when performing. Erin wanted to be able to do the same. She wants to be able to capture an audience and make them feel good and happy SPECIAL TALENTS:

comedic dance covers - erin can and will cover any dance she’s asked of but it will rarely be the polished version audiences are used to. instead, erin will do a funny rendition with exaggerated expressions and movements that usually causes viewers to crack up.

heel juggling - erin played soccer competitively from the ages of six to seventeen. during that time, she learned many tricks with the soccer ball. her favorite of these is heel juggling: bouncing the ball back and forth on her heels and the backs of her legs.

flexibility - naturally very flexible,  erin has practiced and stretched over the years in order to fold herself into impressive positions. she can even touch her toes to her chin from behind.

NOTABLE FACTS:

Erin is a former Singularity trainee. She auditioned for all five major companies after Singularity’s fall.

She’s rarely seen with them as she almost always wears contacts, but Erin has glasses. She’s very nearsighted and has trouble seeing without corrective lenses.

Erin was known at her all-girl middle and high schools for taking on male roles in school productions. She never “passed” for male particularly convincingly but she played each role with enthusiasm.

Erin a particularly close bond with two of her cousins — they helped the most with her adjustment to living in Korea and she considers them the closest thing to sisters she’s ever had. She spends as much time with them as she possibly can, particularly after the end of Singularity.

While her Korean has improved significantly since becoming a trainee, there are (not so infrequent) times she still struggles.

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

Within the next few months, all Erin really wants is to find her footing at Koala.T. She was at Singularity for over two years. It became her home away from home and it all came crumbling down. Koala.T is an entirely different beast and Erin is finding it difficult to keep up with the new, more structured culture.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

Erin’s main goal, long term is to debut. She’s worked so hard for years; she wants to finally be able to perform for audiences bigger than a trainee group or evaluating coaches. Debuting would give Erin the attention and validation she craves. After that, Erin would like to move into acting, at least partially. She was a theater kid in high school and she misses being able to take on new roles.

IDOL IMAGE

If Singularity had a plan for Erin, it was never particularly clear to her. In the end, it was probably for the best. At least she doesn’t have to unlearn an image along with everything else. Koala.T is free to mold her to whatever they want or need. Erin is flexible — both metaphorically and literally. She’s more than willing to do whatever is asked of her so long as she gets to keep her dream of being an idol alive.

Koala.T had the concept of Fix8 in mind when they accepted Erin as a trainee. The idea of an idol group created for twitter buzz and trending topics, all free publicity, was ruminating in the minds of the executives when Erin walked into her first audition. She performed, if imperfectly, with complete enthusiasm. Her bright personality and total lack of shame match their plans for the girl group perfectly. Not to mention the international appeal she would most definitely have as an English speaker. Sure, they would have to smooth out the edges Singularity very much left intact — give her media training, fix her Korean, make her performances more consistent — but Koala.T viewed Erin as a diamond in the rough. 

Erin’s talented is admittedly lacking in some areas. Her singing, while interesting in tone, can be pitchy and despite the effort she puts into every performance, her dancing is messy and imprecise. Still, but your eye can’t help but be drawn to Erin when she performs. She has energy, charisma, stage presence, things no amount of training can teach.

Koala.T plans to highlight Erin’s positive points when they finally debut Fix8. A former footballer, Erin will take on the role of sporty, energetic mood maker. The popular captain of the soccer team type that pushes everyone to do their best and is admired by girls and boys alike. Hardworking but not uptight. Someone fun and not so proud that she’s unwilling to “tarnish” her imagine by doing something ridiculous for a laugh. The kind of person you desperately want to be friends with, the kind that would welcome anyone with a bright smile. Approachable, but ultimately far out of reach.

That’s the kind of image that requires time and investment. Erin went underutilized at Singularity, but Koala.T isn’t wasting any time. They were quick to sign her up for Mickey’s Clubhouse. On a show like that, they can get Erin use to performing with time constraints. low budgets and little preparation as well as subtly introduce the version they hope to include in Fix8 to the public. This, along with intensive training from Koala.T employees, executives hope, will make up for lost time. They are determined to turn Erin into a trainee worthy of Fix8′s debut in record time.

IDOL HISTORY

If there was ever a textbook case of assimilation, it would be Harry and Sarah Yoo. Sarah was born in Ohio grew up in San Francisco and went to school in Los Angeles. She was American through and through. Harry, for his part, was born in Daegu. He didn’t stay there for long. Before his third birthday, his family immigrated and settled in Seattle. He may not have known English when he started school, but Harry picked it up quickly and acted just the same as all of his classmates. When the time came for college, he decided on UCLA. This was where he met Sarah.

In many of the same pre-med courses, Harry and Sarah initially showed no interest in each other. Neither appreciated mutual friends trying to set them up because they had “so much in common”. They bonded over their mutual disdain for the idea and became friends. Shortly before their time at UCLA was over, Harry confessed that he’d fallen in love with Sarah. He’d understand, he said, if she didn’t feel the same way, but he had to tell her. He couldn’t leave school without her knowing. Faced with this new knowledge, Sarah made a confession of her own: she loved him, too.

They chose different medical schools, but Harry and Sarah maintained a long-distance relationship. The couple endured years of late-night phone calls, memorized timezone differences and expensive flights. When they finally settled down, Harry and Sarah chose to live in Los Angeles, where they met. They raised three children there. First two boys in rapid succession, then, eight years after the second boy, a girl: Erin.

When their boys were young, Harry and Sarah made sure to speak to them in Korean as much as English. As Americanized as they were, the Yoos wanted to make sure that their children could communicate with their grandparents and family members still in Korea. By the time Erin came along, though, both boys were in elementary school and heavily favored English. It was just easier for everyone to speak English all of the time. Erin never achieved the fluency of her brothers or parents. Erin rarely, if ever spoke Korean growing up. If she did, it was broken and stilted, though she more or less understood what was being said to her thanks to her grandparents’ continued favoritism toward their native tongue. Everyone she spoke to on a regular basis knew English anyway, so it didn’t seem like such a big deal. Her parents, her brothers, they could always translate for her if she somehow ended up in a situation where Korean was necessary.

Growing up in LA, it rarely was. The Yoos, with their doctor salaries, could afford to send their children to  private schools. Erin attended an exclusive all-girls’ school, filled with the daughters of rich executives. The Yoos were well off but not quite as much so as Erin’s classmates. They could pay the tuition but Erin didn’t have the latest and the greatest of everything, often inheriting old hand-me-downs from her brothers or cousins. It never seemed to bother Erin. Her jovial, boisterous personality won her many friends. She never felt like she was missing out.

In school, Erin was known and the quintessential class clown, always making her friends and classmates laugh. Her teachers often praised her creativity and effort while in the next breath lamenting her poor behavior and inability to control herself. Erin couldn’t help it. There was so much to see and do, so many thoughts bursting from her head. There were just so many opportunities to make people laugh, to make them happy.

Erin was equal parts curious and adventurous. Her up for anything nature meant she joined every school club at least once, only staying for longer than a few weeks if the activity managed to hold her attention. The two constant activities in her life were soccer and theater. Soccer gave Erin a place to channel all her energy. She was a popular member of the team, always lightening practices and boosting everyones mood. Theater on the other hand let Erin use all of her creativity in a constructive way. Comedic roles were her bread and butter. Erin never failed to make an audience laugh. Erin’s time at school was happy. Like her parents and brothers before her, Erin was just a normal American kid.

The summer before her senior year, Erin’s family took an extended trip to visit family in Korea. Erin had never been herself, though her older brothers had before she was born. She was excited. It would be one big adventure. Sure, she didn’t speak the language, (at least not well,) but most of her relatives spoke at least a little English. She’d manage.

Manage she did. Though her Korean vocabulary was small, she more than made up for it with her personality. Erin quickly made friends with the cousins she had around her age. They talked about normal teenage girl things, clothes, music and introduced Erin to a korean dramas she binged night after night. Erin was enjoying her stay in Korea. A couple weeks after her arrival, Erin’s cousins took her out shopping. During the trip, they had an encounter that changed the course of Erin’s life. The trio was stopped by a woman who spoke excitedly. Her words were too quick for Erin to do much more than catch the odd familiar phrase so she just smiled and nodded. Her cousins tugged at her arms but Erin accepted a piece of paper from the woman before being pulled away.

The paper was some sort of flyer, Erin could tell that much, but she could barely speak Korean, much less read it. She handed it to one of her cousins to read. The girls shared a meaningful glance before trying their best to explain to what happened. It didn’t all translate perfectly but eventually Erin got the gist. The woman was a scout for some obscure kpop company, offering Erin a spot in an audition. Or, she said she was. Erin’s cousins were convinced she was a scammer. Erin was less convinced. The three of them went home and Erin immediately googled the company’s name: Singularity.

The results were, at best, mixed. With the company’s relative youth and having only one debuted group, Erin understood why her cousins didn’t trust the scout. Still Erin liked what she saw with HER.oine. She thought their songs were catchy and music videos fun. Erin decided to give it a shot. What was the worst that could happen? At the very least she’d get a fun story out of it.

Erin convinced her cousins to take her to the audition. They were still reluctant to trust the opportunity but Erin had a way of being very persuasive. When they arrived, Erin was pleased to see that the whole thing seemed legitimate. It was a real company, with real representatives auditioning lots of other people. Her cousins became cautiously optimistic, gossiping with Erin about the idols signed to Singularity while they waited. After some time, it was Erin’s turn. She performed a song from her last play before the end of the school year. As far as Erin could tell, the feedback seemed positive and, she thought at least, they said they’d contact her soon. A few days later they did. Erin had passed her audition, they said. They wanted to sign her up as a Singularity trainee.

For her part, Erin was ecstatic. How could would it be to be a kpop idol? It was an amazing opportunity. She didn’t think of the reality, the logistics of it all. Her parents did.

“You have to finish school, Erin,” her father said.

“You barely understand Korean,” her mother added.

Erin had a retort for every objection they came up with. There were schools in Korea. She knew some Korean, she could learn more. Her parents always wanted her to get more in touch with her Korean culture. What better way than living in Korea, going to school there and becoming part of Korea’s most famous media export? Erin campaigned extensively. She wore her parents down; they’d let her stay in Korea. She was going to be a Singularity trainee.

Erin moved in with her paternal grandmother who moved back to Korea after the death of her husband when Erin was small. She would be allowed to train under Singularity provided she followed all of her grandmother’s rules and finished high school. The transition was less smooth than Erin expected. Her grandmother’s style of parenting was very different from her busy parents’ hands off approach. The language barrier didn’t help matters. Erin’s cousins helped as much as they could, but Erin struggled. She got to the point where she could read well enough but she had great difficulty writing neat Korean characters and she was nowhere near fluent by the time she started at her new school. She came in the middle of the last year for many of her classmates and had a hard time communicating. No amount of personality made up for that. School in Korea was nothing like it had been in the states. Erin’s grades were dismal. She even failed a class for the first time in her life. She would eventually graduate, though a year later than expected. But she was done and she could finally focus all of her attention on what had been the one bright spot in her new life in Korea: Singularity.

Erin put everything she had into her training. She wouldn’t waste the opportunity. It was the whole reason she was in Korea in the first place. And at least she could use what she already knew there. Dance practice? Well, that was like soccer practice, but with slightly less running and more or less the same level of kicking. Singing? Theater, no problem. Sure, Erin had trouble remembering honorifics initially but she got there eventually. At the same time she was floundering at school, Erin was excelling at Singularity. By the time 2018 rolled around, Erin had been there over two years and the future never seemed brighter.

And then it all came crashing down.

She never saw it coming. She couldn’t imagine, couldn’t fathom Singularity’s fall from grace. It was a constant in her life. The people there, her teachers and fellow trainees, they kept her going when she felt like throwing in the towel and taking the next flight home to LA. When she lost that, Erin felt like she lost everything. Everything she worked so hard for, everything she dreamed of. It was all gone in the blink of an eye.

This sense of devastation was not shared by Erin’s parents. They tried, somewhat, to hide it, but they were pleased. Erin had done her little experiment and now she could come home, take a few community college courses to make up for the embarrassing Korean portion of her transcripts and enroll in a real university. She could finally start doing something with her life.

She was doing something with her life, Erin insisted. Something she really, really liked. She wasn’t going to give up on it, not like that. Desperate to get back what she lost, Erin auditioned for any and every idol company she could find. She was accepted by only one: Koala.T. Though they did not tell Erin at the time, Koala.T’s executives thought her bright personality would fit in perfectly with their plans for a new girl group.

Erin has only been at Koala.T a few months now and she’s still trying to find her footing. The comforting support system she had at Singularity has been scattered by the wind and Erin is left to figure everything out  on her own. It’s hard, but she can’t give up now. Her parents want her to, before she gets in any deeper and loses even more time. Before she gets hurt by this pipe dream again. Erin just can’t do it. She’s spent nearly three years working for something, falling in love with the idea of being an idol. It would hurt too much to give up now.