#for example he ends up heading east after getting some of his memories back and perhaps he winds up at Nuka World | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedrosbrat · 3 years

Text

Sorrow You Are My Light {Pero Tovar x Max Phillips x F!Reader}

CHAPTER II : Land Of Broken Promises

AU - Vampire Hunters

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Angst, Sad Memories, BLOOD, VAMPIRE FIGHT, Language, alcohol, yearning, violence (fight) , mention of murder, mention of children death, sword, church massacre, some feelings …

Summary: The three of you will go looking for Max’s creator, making unexpected encounters on your way, also discovering that you don’t hate vampires as much as you think...

Little Comment : Hi everyone, it’s my first series, I hope you will like it (if you see any mistakes let me know and I will correct it) & 1 chapter will be published every week, every Saturday⚔️reblog are appreciated ♥ Enjoy!

Chapter 1 - Series Masterlist

You've always known and understood that your life wasn't the way you wanted it to be, that it's a state of being that's pretty pathetic and that your whole life revolves around your grief. But collaborating with a vampire was never in your plans, and when you woke up this morning you really didn't think you'd end up talking to this Max Philips who seems quite comfortable with the both of you. That's when you knew you were really in a bad way… A vampire comfortable with vampire hunters…

Max for his part is not quite as comfortable as you think, but he doesn't show it still keeping that smug and amused look on his face, not showing that anything is getting to him. He tries to ignore the way you look at him with disgust in your eyes and a deep hatred in pero's eyes. He knows everyone hates vampires, but he thinks you seem to hate them in a rather personal way and wonders what has happened to the both of you to get to this point... Having no prospects, no attachments to anyone... A very lonely life, even spending it as a duo...

⊱•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •⊰

"We heard there was a massacre not far from here, Father," Max says with a more than innocent and sweet look on his face.

You turn to Pero and roll your eyes, tired of this little comedy he's been putting on for two days now. But Pero doesn't care, he's more worried about the rest of your little adventures, realising that he doesn't know his enemy as well as he thought he did, not understanding how a vampire can enter a church for example. "What do I know, Pero?" you answer him, more and more worried with each moment you spend with him too.

Not that you fear him... Or maybe a little, realizing with every step you take that, places that are supposed to protect you won't, and that every weapon that is supposed to hurt him has no effect on him... He must have a weakness...

So, two days ago, contrary to what you thought, Max had not taken you back to the forest where the massacre took place near your home and took you west, explaining that after attracting so much attention, members of his species never stay in one place. He explained to you that they have a method of travel that is not as random as you might think: When one superior vampire is spotted in the east, the other will head west, because when attention is suddenly focused on one place it can become too dangerous for all members of their species.

You have also discovered that what Max calls vermin, are vampires who were simply bitten and left for dead, that the ritual was not completed, bringing them back to life as mere vegetables that follow any order... Mere flesh to be slaughtered.

You've learned a lot in the last few days... Wondering if he was making it all up... Why was he telling you all their secrets? And how many of them are like him?

"Apparently there's been another massacre in the nearby town and..." "I always thought you called it a buffet." said Pero cutting Max off, flashing a smirk on his face, obviously very proud of his remark "... For there to be a buffet handsome, someone would have to eat." he replied simply as he got back on his horse starting to gallop, overriding the vampire joke, leaving you to follow closely behind him puzzled "He..." You hesitate to ask him too much, not wanting him to think at any point that you're even remotely close to trusting him "You can ask your question, I don't bite..." he said with a smirk, holding back from making his joke. Pero gave him a cold look, letting him know that he didn't find it funny at all, and Pero simply raised his arms in apology, "I was just wondering if... They don't eat them?" you say, disgusted with the image your mind has just created. "Oh no, not with the buffet he made himself less than two days ago..." he says, referring to the massacre in the forest.

He stopped talking for a moment, and you thought you saw a hint of sadness in his eyes for a brief moment, before he began to smile again, noticing that you were watching him "... No, this is all just a game to him, like a simple hunting party" "And don't you play occasionally MAX?" asked Pero as he turned to him, gradually moving deeper into the village "Not like this... But I can show you the other ways I entertain myself if you wish".

Pero frowned and turned his head. For a moment you thought you saw his cheeks turn red. Maybe I imagined... Like that night when we were both around the fire... That night when you told him that his scar didn't bother you, that it gave him a charm, on top of what he already had... But he wouldn't blush in front of this creature... So you put the thought out of your mind and just answer him as calmly as you can. Imagining for a few seconds the two men doing things that you could not name out loud, feeling a certain heat growing in your sex... God, what's happening to me? Pull yourself together!

"It's going to be dark soon, we'll go and inspect the place tomorrow" you say starting to head towards the nearest stable "No, we're going tonight" says Max as he pulls on your harness. You stop completely before dismounting your horse, "We don't hunt vampires at night. "And that's why you spend more time on it, or maybe it works with the little varmints you usually hunt, but with this one you're going to have to make an effort sweetie."

"Don't call her that," Pero says dryly. Max turns around quite surprised by this request, knowing that he doesn't react the same way, when he calls handsome.

You look at Pero who makes you understand that you have to try. You have no choice. So, when night falls and you have taken the time to tie your horses to a tree not far from the church in question, you follow your new travelling companion very closely, remaining more than ever on your guard, being convinced that you are walking into a trap. Nevertheless, you can't help noticing how broad he is, like Pero, and wonder what it would be like to be between these two men in bed...

You obviously don't notice that Pero has his eyes on the same places as you, thinking the same things as you, for a few seconds: what would it be like to spend a night with you in his arms as he has always wished and a man who doesn't repulse him as much as he thought he would... He wonders how he could have attached himself to Max so quickly, secretly starting to like him... He chases his thoughts away when your words bring him back to reality, avoiding a bulge that would have been more than embarrassing at this moment...

"He will feel us coming no matter what…" you say "Not necessarily... In the same way that you humans can't use all your senses correctly when you drink too much..." he says, leaving you to guess what he was about to say next. You don't know if you can believe what he is just told you, but as for the information about their survival, he hasn't lied to you so far... So why not...

The church that the village priest told you about the massacre is still soaked with blood. You feel your stomach lurch, never getting used to the loss of human life and bodies lying around you, starting to give off a putrid smell from the heat. Pero squeezes your shoulder lightly, knowing your aversion to this kind of sight, but you try not to flinch, gripping your sword tighter in your hands.

"We have to..." you start but Max rushes to put a hand over your mouth faster than you can anticipate. You find yourself pressed against his chest, being able to feel every part of his body against yours, his scent intoxicating your breathing space... He smells good, and his body is hard and pleasurable, you wonder what it would be like in another situation, but quickly push the thought from your mind AGAIN, thinking that you're probably just horny for the slightest contact you've wanted to have with Pero for years, and no men has ever satisfied you correctly...

He says nothing and stops in the direction of the open door near the altar, inhaling in that direction. Pero walks around the few benches still standing in his path, sword in hand, leaning against the wall where the door is, where Max is interested. But you notice that Max shakes his head with every step he takes, signalling him to back off. You wouldn't trust a vampire in any situation, but for this one, for Pero, you don't hesitate for a second.

You start to move towards him before Max can realize it, and try to silently reach Pero, telling yourself that if the vampire in the room next to him is there, maybe Max wasn't lying to you after all... But a woman suddenly appeared from the doorway, her face gorged with blood, black veins surrounding her eyes, turning her gaze directly towards Pero, who barely had time to raise his sword to hit her in the cheek, causing her cheek to smoke slightly from the contact of the silver on her skin, followed by a shrill cry and a black look of anger towards Tovar.

He didn't flinch and just tried to give her another blow with his blade, which this time he hoped would pierce her flesh, but she quickly avoided it, laughing, almost amused that you were trying to fight her. You glance behind you wondering where Max might be and see him struggling with another vampire who must have been watching you from behind. The two men are hitting each other with a strength you've never seen before, you've never seen two vampires fight before today... In a split second a second vampire comes up behind him, and you are about to warn him, feeling a sudden concern for him, but you don't need to, before you can see it, he comes up behind the vampire he's standing with facing the newcomer, rips off the head of his first opponent and grabs the new one by the throat to sink his fangs into it and rip out his throat before cracking his neck and dropping him to the ground. You watch him perform all these moves in a few seconds and find yourself slightly excited by this...

You shake your head slightly and come to your senses despite yourself, suddenly finding yourself thrown against one of the walls. A deep pain runs through your body, but you don't pay attention to it, you are used to this kind of feeling and you stand up to give a precise blow of your blade to your opponent, cutting his leg and then separating his head from the rest of his body.

You then grab one of your powder pouches and throw it in the face of the one who is still attacking Pero despite all the wounds he has inflicted on her to try and distract her for a short while. But it doesn't work, and only brings her attention to you. You then grab your sword and thrust it into her arm, driving it as deep as you can.

She doesn't scream, and smiles at you, preventing you from regaining possession of your sword, and grabs you by the throat, lifting you slightly off the ground with her fangs slowly coming out to rest against her lips, until something sinks into her chest and forces her to let go of you "Vete al infierno, hijo de puta" : Pero's sword. She looks at you for a short moment before her body turns completely grey and lies coldly on the ground before forming a pile of ash.

Pero leans towards you and checks your neck, pushing your hands away roughly, "I'm fine Pero... Pero..." Something grabs him by the throat in turn, but as always Pero reacts quickly, and grabs the dagger at your calf to slice the hand around it and turns to face his enemy, another vampire who he inflicts a dagger blow to the leg, knocking him completely off balance.

A hand suddenly appears at your side, you point your sword in that direction. But it's only Max, his hands completely bloody, blood still dripping from his lips, and strangely it doesn't repel you like it usually does, so you grab his hand without any hesitation. "Are you going to help Pero or watch?" you say, pointing in your friend's direction, "He's doing great, I think! We could just go and talk about the little looks you gave me instead of fighting" he says with a smile, pointing to the church exit. But you don't smile and put a more than serious look on your face, "I'm just kidding, sweetheart... I have to talk with our dear Ted anyway..." he says, dropping his jacket on one of the broken pews of the church.

Ted... Does he know him? Of course, he knows him...

He disappears before you can ask him the question and finds himself with his hands around the throat of this Ted, pushing his head down the stone stairs of the church, with remarkable ease " Where is he? " Says Max pulling out his fangs, " You'll never find him, he'll find you before my dear brother does, to kill you, when he'll be done with Tarja, and you'll join them... with your new friends ". he said, laughing. Max put a foot on his back and grabbed his hair and yanked his head away.

You glance at Pero, who doesn't really pay attention to you, staring at Max, who is also staring at him, waiting for an explanation for these last words, but he doesn't say anything and just goes around him and grabs his jacket to leave the church. "Pero..." "I don't think he's lying to us..." he simply said, cutting you off "... He's not lying to us Pero... You should have seen the rage in his eyes when he was fighting them... You know I hate them as much as you do, but apparently we're going to have to trust this one." you say, running your thumb over his cheek to get the blood off it. A hand gently grabs your wrist, and you turn to see Max looking at you with a neutral gaze "If you want to talk about me... Write. I can hear you from far away" he says licking your thumb as he stares into Pero's eyes, who says nothing and doesn't give him a disgusted look as he would like to do, that would be lying to himself and this strange attraction he has to this individual, so he just pass his gaze to you before turning back to the horses, leaving Max's gaze plunged into your finger sucking hold, making your clit swell in your trousers. And as if he could feel it, he smiles, letting go of your finger to head back to the horses, leaving you standing in front of the church confused at what just happened between the three of you.

On your departure Pero decided to burn this place, even though you insist on the discontent of the villagers, he persuaded you, making you admit that no one wants to see what is in this place, that no one should have to see such a massacre…

When you were about to leave, the church cross fell into the field around it, and you watched it burn, upside down, probably announcing nothing good for you...

⊱•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •⊰

"You could stop looking at everyone like that Pero..." you say sitting in front of your plate in the tavern. "You scare everyone...".

"I don't mind, and I'm not the one who scares them..." he says as he points max up and down with the tip of his fork, making you aware that you are completely covered in blood, probably explaining the extra food the tavern keeper gave you probably scared of you. "And I'm only smiling for you, you know that" he adds silently, letting a simple smile form on your lips, touched by every little attention he expresses, rare as they are, even knowing that you're just a sister to him... It makes you wish he'd say it in another context, one where you wouldn't be just friends.

Your gaze shifts to Max who looks at you tenderly and amused, shaking his head, thinking that you are both blind "Who was that Ted?" you say trying to change the mood at the table. He frowns and doesn't answer, turning his gaze to the people in the tavern who are staring at him. A man completely covered in blood, who hasn't touched a spoonful of his food, accompanied by strangers. With the stories of demons coming to damn the land of your country since you were a child, it doesn't seem suspicious at all.

He then grabs his spoon and takes a portion of soup, without making a single expression. You widen your eyes in surprise at what you've just seen, and Pero frowns in confusion, realising once again that he doesn't know as much about their species as he thought he did, realising that anyone who can blend in could be one of them...“It taste like ashes to me…” say Max quietly, trying to remember what a soup taste like.

"She asked a question," he said, pointing his fork at him. Max smiled at him “It was my brother handsome, and I want you to talk nice to me. I can… feel, that you love to give orders, but I take them only in bed.” Pero didn’t say anything and just frown, faking to not understand what the man was proposing right now and putting some food in his mouth, hiding his desire like he always do with men, usually waiting to be alone. "He was your brother, and you didn't hesitate to kill him, so how can we be sure that you..." you start but Max roll his eyes and cut your sentence "You're not going to doubt me again sweetheart? This is getting lacy and redundant." he says as he puts his spoon down in his bowl"...He wasn't my brother per se... We just had the same maker... Like all vampire in the church tonight..." he says with a smile, but his smile doesn't fool you and lets you see a hint of sadness in his eyes. Something Pero doesn't miss either, something he thought about on your way to the camp, but doesn't say anything about it, interested in his story, nonetheless. "Who are you supposed to join when you die?" he said, breaking the silence around the fire.

He stared at Pero through the flames, and hesitated for a few seconds, but finally spoke, realising that you both trust him a little more every moment, step by step "My wife and daughter..." he said softly, almost inaudible. You and Pero stare at each other, eyebrows furrowed, surprised by this revelation. "I... A vampire child?" says Tovar, pretty sure he's never met one in his life. Max looked at Pero and laughed, "I was human before I was like this, handsome! ... I had a life..." he said sadly, looking into the flames and talking as if he hadn't been able to do so for years. "... I had a farm with my wife in the south of the country, a farm she had always wanted, a farm I had given her with promises of a better life... Our daughter loved the horses we had there... She would wake up and run straight to them every morning, although we told her every morning from the moment she could walk that she had to ask us or tell us... and one evening I asked her to go and check as she always did if all the horses were there..." He paused for a moment trying to smile, probably not wanting to show you that he has feelings, toward the both of you " ... That was the last time I saw her alive. My wife found her completely pale and bleeding in the stable… She let out a scream like I've never heard before. When I arrived, he was on top of her... Already dead with empty eyes, looking at me... and his own face... was so monstrous, soaked in blood, the blood of my beloved... ". he take a little pause, and you let him, putting your hand on his shoulder, before he said something who really broke your heart “I promised her the world to only die on a land of broken promises”

You feel your heart clenching hard in your chest and look at him with compassion, because you can see him as anyone could see him right now that he is not lying to you... Pero hands him a flask not really knowing if he is drinking alcohol or not, but he grabs it, appreciating the gesture and takes a sip before continuing "I grabbed my pitchfork you know... And I tried to struggle against him... But I woke up underground... And he told me later that he liked the fact that I wasn't afraid of him, and preferred to turn me to join him ... I would have preferred to die with them that night... And I was forced to follow him for so many years, I wouldn't have survived a day without it..." he says, passing you the flask.

"You must not be the only one like this” Pero said without an ounce of malice or teasing in his voice as he would normally have seen a member of this species suffer, he was sincerely starting to enjoy the company of this Max Philips, actually sad for him "There's Tarja, who left the clan many years ago before me, and who settled alone near the border in the east... At least that's the last time I saw her there... And if he's after her, she's probably already dead. She wasn't as well trained as us, and much younger..." he says, straightening up slightly and giving you a dry, forced smile.

“If she had lost her family that…” “Oh no it’s more complicated for her beauty… She was a saint in a monastery that he attacked a few years ago… She lost all her children in one night… And he turned her for fun, thinking that a saint with a damned soul would be something fun, I guess…”

Pero frowned his brows and there was silence between you for a few seconds. You put your hand on Pero’s arm and sent him a smile of compassion “… This monastery was in the north? A monastery by a river." asked Pero silently with his eyes closed. "How can you possibly know that you..." “Because your creator did not kill all the children that night...” Pero said, opening his eyes with a dark and sad gaze…

Chapter3

TAG LIST :

@absurdthirst @pascalldjarin @superflick @wardenparker @aisibaby @kesskirata @underwaterwonderscapes @jessie-writes-things

(Join my Taglist HERE)

63 notes · View notes

kaizokuou-ni-naru · 4 years

Text

The Voyage So Far: Paramount War (Part One)

east blue (1 | 2) || alabasta (1 | 2) || skypiea || water 7 || enies lobby || thriller bark || paramount war (1 | 2) || fishman island || punk hazard || dressrosa (1 | 2) || whole cake island || wano (1 | 2)

the introduction of the celestial dragons really is just so brutally effective. this is the first time we see them, and before they even show up on page they immediately establish themselves as both absolutely powerful and absolutely despicable. everyone is watching them commit atrocities in broad daylight, and nobody dares say a word.

i mentioned it back in the enies lobby post, i think, with spandam, but oda is very, very good at creating villains who it just feels so good and so deeply satisfying to see them get annihilated, and the celestial dragons are maybe the crowning example of it.

i really like how none of the strawhats are really intimidated or impressed at all by the celestial dragons, in sharp contrast to how everyone else responds to them. some of that is ignorance, but you can’t tell me zoro would have acted any differently in this scene had he known charloss was a member of the world’s ruling class. all the power the celestial dragons have comes from fear; of course their greatest weakness is someone who just doesn’t care.

obviously this moment is just excellent, no qualifiers needed, but one thing i really love about it is how all the bad shit that results from this does not detract from the sheer satisfaction of what happens at the auction house at all. like, even though this leads directly to the strawhats getting crushed by the pacifista and kizaru and scattered by kuma, i’ve never once caught myself thinking luffy shouldn’t have done this.

i’m a huge fan of how rayleigh introduces himself. he knocks out the whole action house with conqueror’s haki, but luffy is completely unaffected, and the two of them just watch each other down the aisle for a moment as everyone else collapses around them.

i don’t know that i’ll ever get over the fact that oda created and designed the supernovas as he was writing sabaody. they’re all such distinct and memorable characters, and almost all of them have fit neatly into the post-timeskip story one way or another. they really feel like a part of the world that was always meant to be there.

i think the way roger as a character is handled is very, very cool, because we don’t really meet him as a person- when we first learn of him, on the very first page, he’s a myth, a story, a framing device. which is fitting, because that’s all the characters know him as. the rest of the world doesn’t know what roger was like as a person or why he did what he did, and so neither do our main characters and neither do we.

and then we learn, slowly, by following in roger’s steps and meeting the characters who did know him, like rayleigh and whitebeard and garp. and through their testimony and memories, over the course of the story, roger goes from being a faceless myth to being a proper character.

i think this panel, where luffy says he just wants to be the freest person on the seas, might be my favorite luffy panel. if nothing else, it’s definitely one of the ones i think about the most in terms of his characterization. luffy’s been defining himself by his dream since the very start of the story- he’s the man who’s going to be king of the pirates! but it’s only here that we learn what that goal actually means to him, and what he actually really wants. he just wants to be free.

the tone shift of sabaody really is impeccable. because up until a certain point, everything seems pretty par for the course. the strawhats make some new friends, get into trouble for their sakes, get into a hard fight where they all have to work together but eventually scrape out a win.

but then kizaru shows up, and another pacifista, and kuma himself, and for the first time in the story luffy says this is a fight they can’t win-

and then zoro disappears, and all of the audience’s expectations for how this is going to play out get thrown completely out the window.

it’s not that we haven’t seen luffy upset before this- his fight with usopp in water 7 and merry’s funeral are the two obvious examples that come to mind- but we’ve never, to this point, seen him as crushed as he is at the end of sabaody. it really drives the abrupt tone shift of sabaody home, because we’re used to seeing luffy be generally cheerful, and if not that, at stubbornly determined to power through. but here, he’s just wrecked- and the paramount war saga is just getting started.

every time i see hancock i’m reminded what a lesbian i am.

i’m talking a lot about character introductions this post, but a lot of really good characters get introduced in the first half of this saga, from the supernovas to rayleigh to jinbe. on that note, i really like hancock’s introduction, for reasons similar to what i said about roger earlier. she’s introduced as a cartoonishly evil one-dimensional bitch, and she leans hard into that characterization for the first half or so of amazon lily.

and then luffy narrowly keeps her and her sisters’ worst fear from being realized, and her facade starts to slip, and we get to know her as- still kind of a bitch, but also a deeply traumatized person who has very valid reasons for being the way she is, and someone who is overall a lot more complicated than she appears at first glance.

one of my favorite things about luffy is his ability to always, always defy expectations. hancock is dead certain he’ll take her offer of a ship and abandon marguerite and the others, but he doesn’t even hesitate before doing the exact opposite. luffy is always turning people’s worlds upside down.

i have a friend who coined the term “conflict of interest arc” to refer to the arcs where a crewmate is forced to choose between the crew and some obligation or baggage from their past- arlong park for nami, whole cake island for sanji, etc.

marineford is luffy’s conflict of interest arc- he has to make the choice, here, to prioritize saving ace over reuniting with his crew. where it differs from all other such arcs, then, is that nobody else can come to back him up. he’s well and truly on his own.

i love how thoroughly expectations get turned on their head with jinbe. for the longest time, all we know about him is that he’s a shichibukai and arlong’s former captain, so given what arlong was like and what the shichibukai encountered thus far have been like, it’s a fair guess to assume he’s pretty awful.

and then we meet him, and he’s ace’s friend, sitting bloody and beaten in the deepest dungeons of impel down for refusing to fight in an unjust war.

bon-chan is really one of the greatest examples of one piece’s stubborn refusal to treat any character as disposable, and oda’s endless ability to find new and interesting ways to fit them into the story. in pretty much any other manga, it would be all but guaranteed that we wouldn’t see a character like bon-chan again after the conclusion of the alabasta saga. here, luffy straight up would not have made it to marineford without him. this is true for mr. 3 too- who would’ve thought his ability to duplicate keys out of wax, established and promptly forgotten some three hundred chapters ago, would be the thing that let luffy free ace on the scaffold?

magellan is a good antagonist. i’m not saying i like him- i don’t particularly- but he’s a great antagonist for a couple reasons, and one of them is that his powers are terrifying. magellan is essentially what might be called in video game terminology an advancing wall of doom- the only viable strategy for dealing with him is to run.

i had more i wanted to say here but it literally kept turning into a rant about one piece’s take on morality no matter how many times i tried to keep it short, so i’ll settle for just saying that magellan is an antagonist but not a villain and i think that’s interesting.

the absolutely ridiculous, eclectic mix of people that luffy winds up gathering to escape impel down is possibly my favorite part of the whole arc. i just think it’s so fun and so characteristic of him that even when separated from his crew, he winds up attracting the weirdest, most powerful bunch of people around to break out of prison with.

the relationship between luffy and blackbeard is a really interesting one. it’s been plenty clear for some time that blackbeard is almost certainly going to be luffy’s final opponent to become pirate king, and yet they’ve been mostly running on parallel paths through the world, only occasionally coinciding (such as here and in jaya) and generally seeming pretty unconcerned with each other. it’s a really cool way to handle the built to an eventual showdown, and i really like it.

this is one of my favorite spreads just for sheer smile factor. i love it so much. i think we should get to see jinbe’s whale shark buddies more often, it’s a crime we haven’t seen them since this.

#the voyage so far #one piece #long post #arc: sabaody #arc: amazon lily #arc: impel down #not japanese

165 notes · View notes

twdmusicboxmystery · 3 years

Text

The S11 Trailer - Analysis

Okay, let’s talk about the trailer. I’ll go through what I’m seeing shot by shot, and then focus on a couple of things that really stood out to me.

We start with Negan and Father Gabriel, with Negan looking distressed. FG asks him what’s wrong, and he says, “bad memories.” FG says, “of what?” We don’t hear Negan’s answer in the trailer.

Then we see the windmill in Alexandria, followed by horses running by Kelly and (I think) Magna. I think the horses will end up being important, as we see them again later. And this is really interesting. Take a moment to remember Buttons from S5, and I’ll come back to this.

Next, we see what I originally thought were overgrown street signs. But when I lightened this picture, I realized they’re not outdoor street signs. They’re indoor ones. Almost like the kind of thing you’d see at a massive mall or market or airport, directing you where to go. East Market. The “East” is jumping out at me as well.

Then we see Negan with a flashlight and other things in the underground tunnels from the sneak peek.

We see Daryl staring out over what I first thought as a mural. But when I lightened it, he’s really just looking down at a scene below him. If you look closely, below him on the left is a tank. So, at the end of 10x22, Carol said they were going to visit an old military base Daryl had found. I’m assuming this is it.

We see Judith, and then Daryl with mud on his face. This may be important. Keep this in mind. It looks a little like he’s covered himself either in red mud or perhaps walker guts.

Then we see various scenes of people fighting walkers and one person (we don’t see who) being bitten by one.

Then we see Negan dragging Maggie backward while she yells, “no!” I’ve mentioned this recently, but this is really interesting to me. It’s a nearly identical replay of Maggie being held back at the end of AOW (8x16) because Rick declared that Negan would live. Except this time, it’s Negan holding Maggie back from something else. The dynamic has changed. So, it makes me very curious to find out what he’s dragging her back from. It’s almost like he's trying to protect her.

There’s more fighting with walkers, and scenes from the underground subway tunnels. Most of these scenes are fast and it’s nearly impossible to tell exactly who is doing what or what’s going on.

This is also where we hear Daryl say, “I don’t leave anybody behind. Ever.” Because of Beth, we’re definitely side-eyeing that. In a way, it just proves that something happened to make Daryl believe Beth was dead and couldn’t be buried. This is him affirming that he would never have left her behind otherwise.

Then we see Kelly and Magna talking, and Kelly looking at a note that seems to have been written by Connie. It says, “Trapped with the dead. Walked with them for days. No light. No food. Little water.” Yeah, I’m kind of side-eyeing that note. It’s strange that Connie would write it and leave it but be nowhere around when Kelly finds it. (However, based on stuff we see later in the trailer, she does seem to have been kidnapped or taken prisoner.)

But more than that, the note feels thematic. Being trapped with the dead feels like a Beth thing. Walking with the dead is something we’ve seen a lot on the show. Michonne and her pets. The Whisperers, of course. Plenty of examples. And then the “no light, no food, no water” goes well with the drought and famine themes we’ve seen a lot. One of the most notable examples being in 5x10. I’m just saying.

Then more fighting with walkers, and we get the scene where Aaron says, “so you’re going to fight ghosts?” Followed by a teary-eyed Carol saying, “This is a path you don’t want to go down.”

My fellow theorists and I have discussed these a lot and who both Aaron and Carol might be talking to. I think there’s a good possibility that both may be Daryl. I’ve talked before about the possibility of him hearing something of Rick or Rick’s voice and wanting to go find him, but no one else believing him or that Rick is a live. Possibly questioning Daryl’s sanity. Both would go well with that idea.

Of course, that may be a little too convenient. Some people have suggested Carol might be talking to Maggie and trying to keep her from revenge on Negan. Or these could be secondary characters we won’t even care about overly much. No way to know.

Next, we see a person in a mask, with Dog standing near them, apparently watching Daryl. This is one scene that got our fandom very hyped up. I do have some things to say about it, so I’ll come back to it at the end.

We see lots of people running through the woods, a sickle hitting a tree. (I think it’s safe to assume that the sickle is a weapon/symbol of the Reapers.) And then a line of people in masks walking forward aggressively. Again, I’m assuming these are the Reapers. We’ve been told the trailer is misleading, so it may prove untrue, but I think it’s what we’re supposed to assume here.

We see more fighting and houses being broken into. Ezekiel fighting in a house and Eugene with bloodstains on his shirt. Then someone bound and hooded being dragged backward down a dark hallway. I’m thinking that’s Eugene.

Then we get a quick flash of what looks like feminine eyes behind a hood. These are what people assume could be Beth or Leah. And yes, they could be either. We do later see Maggie taking a skin mask off, so I think they could be her as well. It’s so quick, it’s pretty much impossible to identify them for sure.

The next scene is a super-tragic one. I’m pretty sure Dog is dying, guys. We hear what sounds like Dog whining in pain, as dogs do, and see a knife flash. Then Daryl turns around and screams, “no!” From descriptions of the episode, it sounds to me like Dog gets separated from the group and Daryl goes looking for him alone.

Some of us have wondered if this is when Daryl will “see” Leah again. When he’s on his own and it’s just him and her and Dog. That would, once again, suggest her being something only he can see. Just conjecture on our part as we really have no idea how things will play out, but it’s an idea we’ve batted around.

Anyway, it doesn’t look to me like Dog is going to survive. And while that SUCKS (poor Dog, poor Daryl ☹) because Dog is the embodiment of the Sirius symbolism, it does make a certain amount of sense that they might kill him before Beth reappears.

The other big deal about this is that it’s a clear parallel template to Beth. If Dog = Beth, she gets separated from group, Daryl goes searching for her, found her, but she apparently didn’t survive, dying right in front of him. (Or so he understands.) It kind of looks like the exact same thing will happen with Dog.

We then see a blood-covered knife hit the wall just under a frightened-looking Connie’s nose. She seems to be a captive or prisoner somewhere, and clearly her life is in danger. We also hear FG telling someone not to be scared and see what I assume is a Commonwealth soldier in an orange suit.

We also see a very decomposed walker tied to a tree. We’ve seen that pose a few times, and my mind always goes to the blond girl tied to the tree that Aaron and Daryl find in 5x15. So, chances are this will be very symbolic.

Then we see Daryl in front of some burning shipping containers, staring out at people. It’s not clear if the people he’s look at are members of TF, or perhaps enemies, but he doesn’t exactly look carefree.

Remember that in 10x17, he and Maggie and their group stayed in these same kinds of containers. Jadis also kept Rick in a similar once back in S8, so it’s a theme that’s been building.

We then here FG say, “God isn’t here anymore.” We see what looks like a walker but it’s crawling forward in a super creepy fashion, looking almost like a demon. Most walkers don’t move that way unless injured, so it makes me question whether this is a walker or a human pretending to be one.

We also see someone hung upside down by their ankles from an overhead pipe. I’m reminded of the Librarian guy in 6x16/7x01 who was hung over the bridge. Again, it’s just a theme we’ve seen before, but hard to interpret because the trailer gives us so little context.

More from the underground tunnels including what looks like it couple be corpses stuck in dried cement. And we hear an interesting line. “This a damn death march and you’re the pied piper.” So, Pied Piper theme. Something else we’ve seen a lot.

Then we see Connie and Virgil running through rooms. Now, I’d assumed that when Virgil found her, he took her somewhere or took her captive. I guess I didn’t really trust him even after Michonne sort of came to and assumed he was kind of a bad guy. But based on this, it could be that both were taken captive after he found her. They both seem to be running and trying to escape.

We see Maggie lighting a flare inside a subway train. Then, in quick succession, more masked eyes, Maggie looking distressed, and then someone’s fingers slipping from a handgrip, as though they’re trying not to fall but not falling anyway.

Then we see Maggie walking first through a parking lot and then some kind of defunct mall near an escalator. She says, “I lost something. And I don’t think it’s a bad thing that I did.”

And then we see what I think is Maggie and Negan helping someone who is injured. Because we only see the backs of their heads, it’s hard to tell for sure. But I think the two on the outside are Maggie and Negan. I can’t tell who they’re helping. It doesn’t look like Daryl or Carol, but beyond that, I could say. If you look to the right, you can see department store mannequins, so this still seems to be in the mall.

Things speed up again and we see lots of people in masks, what looks like walkers invading Alexandria, Carol hugging Magna (forgiveness for Connie, perhaps?), people wielding weapons and running different places, etc.

We then see a bunch more of the underground tunnels stuff. People killing walkers in trains and such. We hear Negan say, “this only works if we trust each other.” And then Daryl says, “if you say trust him, I’ll trust him.” No idea who Negan’s line is directed to, as it’s just a voice over here. Chances are Daryl is talking about Negan, but again, no way to be sure.

Then Maggie says, “The woman who lived is not the one standing here now, so keep pushing me Negan. Please.” When she says the final word, “please” we see her pointing a gun at someone with Daryl standing behind her.

A couple of things here. This is where we see her take off a skin mask, but that’s in daylight in the woods, so clearly, it’s a different scene than the subway with her and Daryl. What I’ll say is that, to me, this line from her feels very stilted, which means it may be spliced together. Remember back in the S5 trailer when it sounded like Gareth wanted to take Eugene to Washington to cure the virus, but in the show, he never said anything remotely close to that? The words really were his, but they just took lines of his dialogue and spliced them together. It was very misleading. I feel like this line from Maggie may be the same way. No way to be sure. I could be wrong. But it just sounds unnatural to me, like different parts of her dialogue have been spliced together. And who knows if the person she’s pointing the gun at is even Negan. We can’t see them.

I’m just saying, take it with a grain of salt.

Then we see the TWD logo. But it’s not over, yet. We see a coda, which is Eugene at the Commonwealth. We see a happy little “welcome to the Commonwealth” promo video, followed by lots of darkness and drama around Eugene.

Why is this important? Beth was the coda of the S5 trailer. For S6, it was Sherry and Dwight capturing Daryl in 6x06, which was replete with Beth symbolism. In the S7 trailer, it was Tara finding Oceanside. I could go on but, while Beth clearly wasn’t in any of the seasons after S5, the codas to the trailers tend to deal with symbolism or storylines that we’ve tied to her in HUGE ways. And we already believe she’ll probably come through Eugene’s story line when we, the viewers, first see her. So, it’s significant that they used Eugene, rather than any other character, as the coda.

I also noticed that in the CW promo vid, we see things like a mall or department store and a train station. Those are the same kinds of places we see Maggie and Daryl and the others exploring, except where they are everything is dark, defunct and overgrown, where in the CW video it all looks happy and functional and vibrant.

Not sure what that means. Are they meant to be the same places? Is there just a duality theme going on here? Are the Reapers and the Commonwealth connected somehow? We just don’t know, but it’s interesting.

I also notice behind the narrator is a monument with the words “The Great War” on them. Practically, the monument is probably referencing WWI, which was often called The Great War at the time it was happening, because it was the first worldwide war up until that point.

But I have no doubt that this monument is purposely placed by the writers and foreshadows the big, coming war, that we won’t truly see until the spinoff.

Okay, that’s pretty much it, but let me go back to that scene with the masked person and Dog staring at Daryl.

I think most people are assuming that it’s Daryl in the foreground (and I concur) and therefore the person watching him, who Dog is so comfortable standing beside, must be Leah. And it’s possible that that’s true. But keep in mind that, especially when Daryl isn’t around, Dog is equally comfortable with Connie and Carol. So, we just can’t know for sure who this is in the mask. I even think it could possibly be Daryl himself. I know that probably doesn’t make any sense to you but let me explain.

The angles and clarity of this shot are very suspicious to me. Let’s start with the angles. Clearly this is meant to be someone Daryl doesn’t see, but he feels he’s being watched, which is why he takes out his knife. But if you look at the angles, he’d only have to turn his head a fraction of an inch to see this person, so why doesn’t he? It just doesn’t feel like realistic positioning for the vibe they’re going for.

Secondly, the line between the right side (Daryl in the foreground) and the left side (Dog and the masked figure) looks a bit blurry and indistinct to me. And there’s a brown pole running down the center of the frame. At first glance, it seems to be a tree trunk, but if you look at it, it’s way too smooth and symmetrical to be one. I think it’s a metal pole. And what would that be doing in the middle of the forest?

Why am I telling you this? Just to show why I don’t think this is a “real” shot from the shot. Could Daryl be hallucinating? Sure. That’s one possibility. But I really wonder if this is just two different shots spliced together to create a creepy vibe for the trailer. So, one is the masked person standing next to Dog, and the other is Daryl in the foreground. And they’ve been put together with a computer.

That’s why I think the hooded figure itself could be Daryl. @wdway pointed out that this hooded figure wears a large knife very close to the center line of their body, and we’ve seen both Beth and Daryl do that in past seasons. Plus, remember that scene from the beginning of the trailer I told you to remember, where Daryl has either red mud or walker guts all over his face? I’m wondering if he’s just taken off a mask there. It would also explain Dog standing so calmly beside him.

And of course I could be totally wrong as well. Maybe it IS a masked person watching him. Maybe it IS Leah. There’s just no way to tell for certain. I guess my point is just to take everything with a grain of salt. We’ve been told this trailer is very misleading, and there’s absolutely no confirmation of who any of the masked people or random eyes are. Just keep that in mind.

Oh, I also said I’d come back to the horses. I didn’t write down exactly where, but at one point, we get a shot of Maggie walking up on dead horses. So, they’ll clearly play a role this season. Maybe it’s a matter of TF seeing some wild horses, and then finding them dead, and realizing this means there are bad people around.

But remember there was a dead horse near Princess and Eugene’s group last season when they walked through the field of landmines. So, it’s something that’s been foreshadowed. And I can’t help but wonder if clear back in S5, Buttons might be a foreshadow of what’s about to happen in S11. Especially if it leads to Beth, which we think it will, I’m gonna say it was. But of course we’ll have to wait and see what that’s all about.

Okay, I think that’s all I have for the trailer. Thoughts?

#beth greene #beth greene lies #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

12 notes · View notes

ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Puppet. Yan Charles Grey x Reader [COMM]

The phrase “your life” feels more like an oxymoron than an accurate description.

Every task that you carry out -- from the moment the sun rises from the east, and sets in the west -- is not of your own autonomy. A marionettist pulls the strings from above, you but a mere puppet that concedes accordingly to its wishes.

You play the role of the perfect daughter, hours of tutoring and diligent planning from your parents ensuring your success. In your heart, there is little abhorrence for the distant yet prickly relationship you have with them. They mean no harm, you often have to remind yourself, when your thoughts gain a negative edge. It’s all for the greater good of the family.

Pressing the cold glass you plucked from the buffet table against your lips, your eyes take in the sight before you. Inhabitants from high social standing cluster together, speaking of benign matters or hoping to further their position in some way. It’s a familiar scene, despite the significance of the event.

The Queen, in all her normal benevolence, is hosting this ball in hopes of raising funds for a new orphanage in London. To turn down an invite to such an occurrence would be a kiss of death to your social standing. Your own family invested a hefty sum into the charity, a small hope of getting noticed you surmise. It’s a gamble, but nothing is gained without taking a few risks.

Your parents have an apparent agenda of their own tonight, centered around you. They’ve been introducing you to a variety of possible suitors, since you are now of the age to wed. Throughout the flood of faces you’ve met, none of them have seemed inclined to lead the conversation to taking your hand. The barrage of social interaction has sapped away at your strength, weariness settling in as the night progresses at a snail’s pace.

Being left to your own devices for what feels like the first time in hours, you lament the thought of when it’ll come to an end. Perhaps tonight simply isn’t your night? Your mother gave you a stern look when you spoke those words, critiquing every little nuance of your prior interactions. It isn’t your fault the men simply haven’t been interested in marriage, you did what was expected of you. That leaves no room for fault of your own.

One common string of actions you picked up on, was their hesitation in initially speaking to you. It could only have been your imagination, however, they spoke to you with rigidity. Polite, yes, but they seemed eager to leave your side. Almost as if they were hesitant to even speak with you in the first place, though any reason for this is beyond you.

How peculiar.

Your parents have left your side for a few minutes now, undoubtedly searching for another possible suitor to introduce you to. The string of bad luck isn’t enough to stop them from advancing their goals. Standing here for too long on your lonesome isn’t an option, the public eye judgmental and lips prone to entertain gossip. This night couldn’t come to a close any faster.

Adjusting your position, you consider the best course of action here. It’d be ideal to find a suitable person to speak to, but most of the people here are already in conversation with one another. Stopping a sigh that threatens to leave, you decide to get some fresh air. Distant laughter, chatter, and orchestral accompaniments go ignored as you walk to the doors of the balcony.

Guards open the door for you, allowing you to step outside. The moon is shining brightly above, illuminating the various plants interwoven with the wood railing. Corset constricting you harshly, the ability to breathe without trouble feels like a distant luxury. Being introduced to a possible husband one after the other doesn’t help, the interactions a whirlwind of stress.

“Not into events like this, huh? Not that I could blame you.” A male voice, light and whimsical, startles you from behind.

Placing a gloved hand to your chest in surprise, you look back to see a young man around your age. With long, snow white hair, playful blue eyes, and wearing a white tailcoat with a black buttoned up shirt underneath. He flashes you a lazy grin, before taking his place by your side.

Your breath hitches at the unexpected advance. Whoever this is either ignorant to social rules, or cares little of them. As he takes a place by your side, you consider making an excuse to go back in. A light breeze caresses your warming skin, a few strands of hair tickling your face.

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that,” you respond in earnest, unable to get a solid read on his aloof attitude. “Looking at the stars is a pleasant change of pace.”

In saying so, the pair of you look up towards the sky. It’s a rarity tonight, the usual smog not as apparent. His attention returns to you soon enough, mouth set in a straight line. He considers your input, crossing his arms.

“Hm… really? I’ve always found these events to be a drag.” he replies with a raised eyebrow, a hand pressed against his hip. You take note of the sheathed rapier, but think little else of it. The understanding the fashion choice of men has never been your strong suit.

“At first glance, perhaps. Legends behind the constellations are what I take the most interest in. Take those five stars there, for example,” you point a finger for extra emphasis. “That one is named Cassiopeia. In Greek mythology, Cassiopeia was punished by the gods for her vanity; forced to forever be imprinted in the sky.”

Biting your lip for a moment, you manage to collect yourself. When it came to topics you found compelling, rambling came naturally. If your mother were here she’d scold you, stern eyes saying more than words ever could.

“Seems over the top, if you ask me.” he concludes pointedly, pushing his lips to the side in thought. It almost comes as a relief that he isn’t irate with your passionate speaking, the window to criticize you for it now gone.

A light laugh leaves your lips, skin around your eyes tightening in amusement at his blunt assessment. “Yes, well, Greek gods were not known for their compassion.”

Mimicking your earlier action, he points to a cluster of stars in the sky with childlike enthusiasm. “And? What about this one?”

“Ah… I don’t believe that is a constellation. It has a similar appearance, however.” you speculate with a frown, silently hoping the answer isn’t too disappointing. His shoulders droop at your lackluster response, leading you to attempt and patch it over.

“You could always make a constellation of your own. I recall doing that as a child, it’s a fun game to play with yourself.” Memories come flooding back to you of your childhood, the nights you spent creating impossible yet fun scenarios to go along with the night sky.

Turning on his heels, he bends his face down ever so slightly to get a better look at you. Tilting his head to the side, an unidentifiable emotion flashes through his light sky blue eyes, before he returns to his former position. You feel your pulse quicken, concern over saying the wrong thing rearing its ugly head once again.

Instead of admonishing your thoughts, he encourages them. “Humor me. What story would you give this then?”

That isn’t what you were expecting. It’s an entertaining request, different from the dreary talk you’ve slugged through earlier. A topic that you’re well endowed in. Childlike wonder returns to you, flashes of memories from your youth returning.

“I can’t think of anything.” you confess with a sheepish frown. “I fear my interpretations would leave much to be desired, anyhow. The original stories are too timeless to compete with.”

Before he can offer a rebuttal, the sound of doors opening hurriedly behind you gains your attention. Your mother, eyes darting around before landing on your form, strides over to you with practiced ease. She freezes her movements when she looks over at your eccentric conversation partner, gulping at the sight.

“Earl Grey, I take it you have met my daughter?” she guardedly inquires, showcasing a tight lipped smile.

His title and name registers instantly, and you instantly feel an ocean of regret collapsing over you. Not only did you lose yourself in conversation with someone, it happened to be such an important individual? He could have you socially ostracized if he felt inclined to do so, being a guard of the Queen herself.

In a desire to save face, you mirror your mother’s stoic visage; praying she didn’t catch anything you said earlier. You gulp as he holds off on a response, her eyes narrowing briefly at you in the silence.

His own relaxed demeanor doesn’t change in the slightest at the new company, finally breaking the tense silence. “Indeed I have. We were having an exciting conversation.”

She shoots you a look that makes your blood go cold, fingers twitching by your side. The carriage ride home will be a harrowing event. You can already picture the chastising comments she’ll make at your expense, critiquing you from head to toe.

“Ah, I’m pleased to hear she was good company for you then. Please forgive her for any slips of the tongue, she’s always been an imaginative child.” she offers a timed laugh, one that you know well. Another sign of how you’ve surely upset her with your antics.

Your mother doesn’t need to say anything else, you more than capable of reading in between the lines of her strained gaze. She’s smoothed over any possible grievances to the best of her abilities, and wants you to dismiss yourself.

Earl Grey has kept his attention on you, paying little mind to her. You silently inhale, praying that your face doesn’t waver at your next words. Face burning in defiance of your wishes, you excuse yourself.

“It’s been a pleasure, Earl Grey. I thank you kindly for your time.”

---

When your father called you to his study this afternoon, you knew it would be grim news.

The past month has been a tense one, misfortunes piling up one after the other. It all started when one of his companies main investors pulled for no understandable reason, not even offering an explanation.

Matters only grew worse as rumors of scandal plagued him from an anonymous source, further discrediting the company's name. The staff of your house whispers that perhaps he’s been cursed by a malevolent spirit. While you initially scoffed at such an unfounded notion, you can’t help but begin to wonder if it holds some truth.

Weariness was apparent in his gaze, skin tight to the bone and dark circles underneath his eyes. Money is running out, he told you with a shameful sigh. There will be lifestyle changes in the near future, such as cutting a significant amount of staff at the estate; and even having to lay off employees under his company.

He wanted so desperately to shield you from this frightful information, but the times are growing dire. It’s frustrating -- how all of this could happen from out of seemingly nowhere -- leaving you at the mercy of the law. There must be something you can do, but what?

It’s the question that has led you to the gardens outside. Birds chirp contentedly, leaves rustling about in the wind. Nature always brings with it a taste of sweet solace, but today, even it fails to mitigate your anxiety. Negotiations for any possible engagements have also led nowhere, to make matters worse.

‘I could offer to sell some of my wardrobe… would that even do anything, though? It’s surely couldn’t hurt.’

Delicately wrapping your fingers around the teacup handle, you take a sip. Could it be you were not a desirable enough wife? With all the problems your family has had of late, suitors must be too cautious to approach you. As unfair as it may be, it frustrates you further.

“I was told I’d find you out here.”

Whipping your head around, you’re met with a sight that brings back pleasant memories. Earl Grey walks from behind a hedge, inviting himself into your presence without any hesitation. There’s a light spring to his step, like something had put him in a good mood.

This melts away instantly when he sees your downcast gaze, frowning deeply at the pitiful sight.

“Earl Grey,” you greet with a strained smile. “If you’re looking for my father, I can show you his study.”

Grey waves off your offer with disinterest, plopping himself down next to you. “There’s no need, I just finished speaking with him.”

You cross your legs at the information, muscles taut and frown deepening further. The investigation into possible racketeering brings a sense of shame, knowing in the depths of your heart your father would never do that. He’s been a lawful man his entire life, instilling in you good morals and reverence of the law.

It would be impolite to ask for the state of the investigation from Grey, who was assigned to look into the rumors by the Queen. It is still a tempting prospect, but you bite your tongue nonetheless.

‘How embarrassing… The Earl has only ever seen me in compromising situations such as this.’

“I wanted to speak to you before I left,” Grey explains, leaning closer to your person. “Not as an interrogation or anything relating to the recent allegations. I’ve been curious about you.”

Even at his insistence that this is off the record, it does little to help you. In the short time you’ve spoken to him, you’ve found his laid back personality to be off putting. Grey speaks whatever comes to his mind without caring how others might interpret it. This foreign confidence must come as a right to those in high power.

“About... me?” you repeat back for further clarification, blinking rapidly and tilting your head.

“We didn’t get to talk as much as I wanted to,” he explains, finding amusement in your wide eyes. Maintaining eye contact never felt so difficult. “And I just so happened to be here. It’s worth taking advantage of.”

Shifting in your seat, you respond. “I’m all yours then.”

He picks up on your poorly hidden discomfort with a frown, resting his chin on his hand.

“Don’t feel the need to be so tense around me,” he chastises, thin eyebrows furrowing together with displeasure. “I liked how you were before more. So open and honest! It’s a breath of fresh air, really. Everyone can be so stiff and boring... it drives me mad.”

“You must be worried about the ongoing investigation. It’ll be fine, really. There’s been no hard evidence found -- only rumors -- which is a different kind of damaging. But in the eyes of the law, it’s ultimately useless.

He winks, causing your face to flush. “Just a little secret between us.”

You feel yourself eased by his spontaneously serious words, the affirmation much needed. Offering him a natural smile, you express your heartfelt appreciation.

“Hearing you say that makes all the difference,” you fumble over your words, incapable of hiding the well of emotion within any longer. Putting a gloved hand to your mouth, you continue. “You’ve offered me such kindness.”

Grey perks up at your gratitude, leaning in closer. “I’m only being honest. I’ve seen the worst humanity has had to offer, but your father is nothing of the sort. And neither are you.”

Guilt over your previous assessment of the Earl sprouts like a weed within your mind. You thought little of him at first, believing him nothing more than a soul too lighthearted for their own good. But here he is, offering you comfort in one of the darkest seasons in your life despite having nothing to gain from it. If anything, it could be a risk to his own character to associate with you.

Yet he’s here nonetheless.

“There actually is another reason I wanted to speak to you,” he interrupts your thoughts with an excited hum. “Seeing as your father is almost entirely cleared of suspicion, we had discussed arrangements relating to you. I asked for your hand, and he enthusiastically accepted. Wonderful, right?”

“W-wait, what?” you sputter in utter disbelief, uncertain of whether or not you’re dreaming. Is Grey being honest with you, or is this a practical joke in the works? Men from lesser standing than him looked over you as a possible wife, what does he stand to gain from this arrangement?

He seems happy enough to repeat himself. “We’re engaged. There are some little details that still need to be ironed out, but, other than that...”

You never were expecting to receive news of an engagement like this, your thoughts incoherent. It’ll do little for your image to so clearly reflect your inner feelings, prompting you to gain any semblance of control of your outward reactions.

This is a good thing, after all, perplexing as it is. With his connections and influence, no one would dare question your father’s integrity again. Doing so would be questioning the Queen’s own bodyguards, an extension of herself in many ways.

Grey looks at you expectantly, unusually silent while giving you a moment to process. From his upbeat, almost sing song tone, you get the feeling he wants this engagement himself.

“So don’t worry about those things anymore. I’ll be taking care of you from now on, after all,” he hums, looking down at you. Lithe fingers grab hold of a strand of your hair, playing with it. He’s close -- closer than a man has ever been to you -- warm breath hitting your face. “My only request is that you be yourself around me. That’s what drew me to you, and all I care for.”

Giving you a moment of respite, he tucks your hair back into place. Grey takes in the sight of you. Afternoon sun shining upon your face, highlighting your flushed cheeks, and soft lips. Smiling with contentment, he leans back into his chair, closing his eyes.

“Do that for me, and we’ll have no problems. A win-win situation.”

#charles grey #black butler #yandere black butler #yandere black butler x reader #charles grey x reader #yandere charles grey x reader #kuroshitsuji #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere #yandere x reader #my stuff #commissions

424 notes · View notes

demwhore · 4 years

Text

Maniac (Mark Lee.)

pairing | Mark Lee x Female Reader | greaser! mark | soc! reader description: After a sudden drink at the West side with your soc friends, alcohol kicked in your senses; showed up at your ex boyfriend’s home, alone, carrying a shovel and a rose. words | 4k genre | young adult fiction, smut warnings | language, drinking, scenes of making-out, violence. this is a problematic fic because it is based on the novel “The Outsiders” a/n | I do not condone the actions depicted in this fic. This is written for fictional purposes only. I dedicate this to @xuxi-rolls [i love u, thank u] to @hyuck-me [hi min thank you!] and @bumblebeenct [thank you for proofreading the trash ver.] this was rushed. i apologize. taglist | @renjunlite @mjlkau @xyyydream @jungcity ps | my muse for this is maniac by conan grey

🔙 main masterlist

There are always two sides of everything. Two sides to every coin. For example, in a neighborhood; there is an east side and a west side. There is a fine line between the two, and that is exactly the world you live in. You are a Soc (pronounced as Soches, or short for Socials), as fancy as it is, that is what they call it. This meant that you lived on the west side of the neighborhood; together with other wealthy Socs. Mainly the jocks, cheerleaders, or snobs. The Socs despised the Greasers, so much— to the point, after seeing one, they would either end up slashing out each other’s throats with their fancy switchblades or to get into an old-fashioned fist-fight.

Greasers. One world but it possesses a lot of definitions. Quite notorious. They were known to be problematic, criminals, a bunch of chaotic guys who always flunk their classes just to smoke and drink, hair literally drenched in grease with leather jackets and ripped jeans. A typical James Dean. They are situated on the East side of the neighborhood. Considered poor, not low-class but, poor, poorer than any Socs, poorer than any of the people alive. They merely survive by committing crimes, or when they are lucky enough— jobs at gasoline stations.

Greasers. People who have trouble chasing after their tails, and adding to the list, they really have a distinct vocabulary. Which always surprises you. “What’ya try’na do Soc?”

Greasers were known for their bad reputation but even so, you ended up falling in love with one. His name was Mark Lee. It all started when you were about to head home from a night out at the drive-in theater, when Jacob, a Soc that also went to your school, ended up harassing you to be his girl. Wanting to butter your ‘muffins’ since they weren’t buttered at all. You didn’t know what he was trying to imply, but it didn’t seem right and appeared insulting on your part. Mark’s gang happened to cross the path you were taking, and heard your distressed yells of ‘stay away from me’ that Jacob did not seem to understand. The first meeting with Mark wasn’t that extravagant like how prince Philip met Aurora in the forest, it was rather dark; full of sweat, blood, and switchblades. You heard the yells of Mark’s gang telling him to stay the hell out of the Soc’s business but he could see that Jacob just wouldn’t stop and you were on the verge of tears. Mark knew what to do. He had Jacob down in a second. Jacob tried to fight to get loose; he even did for a few seconds before Mark tightened his hold. Jacob laid still, swearing at the greasers between gasps. Then, things turned bad, when Jacob stabbed Mark’s shin with his switchblade. In the end however, it was Jacob who went home ruined and blue.

“Are you all right, uhm, Socs?” Soc.

You nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

He rubbed your hair, “You’re an okay kid, Soc. Always have someone, some, er--soc join you on yer’ way home.”

Then he left with his greaser friends. Mark was handsome. You hated to admit, but he was. He was the same type of handsome as a young Johnny Depp, if more, he was gorgeous. His hair was jet black, with the signature grease lingering within. He wore his worn-out denim jeans with a leather jacket that complemented his white shirt underneath. You couldn't see his face clearly, but it was full of cuts and bruises. Yes, they were the guys your parents warned you about. Cigarettes and switchblades.

Yet you couldn’t stop thinking about the greaser. You absentmindedly poured toothpaste on your hand instead of your toothbrush; mind too occupied by the young boy you met. You had mentally slapped yourself for being so timid, you could’ve done something nice to treat him for saving you from Jacob, or at least ask for his name. It made you insane, head empty except for thoughts of the greaser. You felt hopeless but fate had other plans, since you both crossed paths, again. This time in a local diner, specifically by the concession stand. You insisted on paying for his strawberry shake and from that interaction, the greaser boy stole your heart. You exchanged smiles and names. You felt conscious under his gaze, intimidated even, but Mark proved that their tough appearance was just a façade. Behind the rugged persona hides a boy; who is carefree, a greaser boy that loved you more than his switchblade and comb.

The months you had together were paradise. He never forced you to embrace the greaser culture, and he’d let you do your thing. You were still the awkward Soc girl who wears beige cardigans over a fitted dress shirt and plaid skirt. Eloquent. Articulated. But ever since you’d started hanging out more on the east side, the soc in you started to fade and Mark didn’t know if he should be boasting with pride or afraid. You learn to spat at people, (which made your mother mortified as to where the hell did you would’ve learnt that? You just answered her with a meek smile) both literally and figuratively, the latter one because you’d seen Mark spit as a smoker and the aftermath is an itchy throat. You were staying up late and the alibi you’d use was studying at Amber’s house. The truth is, you were with Mark and his friends at the drive-in theater, making out till the guards kicked you out.

The memory wasn’t vague. But the movie flashed by the theater’s projector was ‘Rebel without a case’ starring James Dean. It was a good movie, indeed, but you are busy with Mark’s lip at the time. He was more entertaining than the movie you had paid to see. Straddling his lap you found your hands detangling his heavily styled hair. You felt his hands cupping your ass as your lips practically crashed into each other. Teeth to teeth, tongue interlacing. You were timid, but with Mark, it suddenly went away.

Pulling away momentarily you asked “Are you gonna wham, bam, thank you sweetie, me?”

His brows furrowed as his hot breath fanned your face, “What?”

You grinned, “Nothing.”

Mark rolled his eyes, his hands leaving your body as he struggled to remove something from the car’s cabin. He handed you a rose, and you found the ends of your lips twitching. You took the rose from him and shifted your attention to him. His lips were slightly parted, lips red, hickeys all over his neck. Mark was a guy full of troubles yet he was so charming. There was just something in him that made you feel enchanted, maybe it was his candidness. He doesn’t deny that he isn’t the right guy for you but he is willing to change his bullshit, just for you. The gesture made your heart turn somersaults.

“Where did you get this from?”

“Well, I’m a penny short and I oughta buy you chocolates but I’ll be late for our date. Stolen these when old man Ricky wasn’t looking.” He admitted with a frown. Your brows arched up, you weren’t expecting a blunt answer yet there he is. He looked adorable with his eyes practically apologizing for his wrong-doings. A surprised laugh came out of your lips. The laughter from you urged him to continue on talking.

“I might not be rich as the socs in your place but you have my heart and dick.”

You chortled at his statement, “Is that the answer to my statement a while ago?”

“What? The wham, bam?”

“Yeah.”

“Yea, It’ll be cool to play here with peewee.” Mark named his car “Peewee’, a 1950s Chevrolet, 4 door bel air. His lips met yours again, but this time he exerted dominance, cupping the back of your head to pull you closer to him. His other thumb stroked your thighs lightly. Mark’s kiss was deep and passionate. The world around you seems to crumble as you are too absorbed with his existence. He nibbled onto your lip, before brushing over the spot with his sinful tongue. The kiss grew urgent, his hands gripping your waist tightly carefully grinding your figure onto his lap. It made him hard and you were already soaking in arousal. He groped your ass making you yelp. You wanted this. To drown in Mark’s kisses. Mark repositioned his seat to make more room for you before he connected his lips again with yours. His touch was innocent, feathery, slightly climbing its way to your dress to touch your inner thighs.

You felt goosebumps all over your skin. His intimate touches, turned your whimpers into quiet moans against his lips, which in turn, made Mark bring one of his slim fingers to your mouth, silencing you.

“You oughta keep your voice down, baby.” He mumbled on your lip. The end of his pink lips tugging a smirk. Despite his warning, you kept going, this time trying to hold into sanity, as the feeling of Mark’s erection sent chills to your spine. You shivered when Mark’s finger wandered to the inner part of your thigh. You immediately pushed your legs apart, allowing his fingers to cup the apex of your thighs, pressing a digit onto your soaked pussy. He played with the elastic band of your panties, then carefully touched your slit. You clit throbbing and eager for his touch.

“You’re soaking wet, damn, all for me?” He cooed. His voice low, lips tickling your ear, “Does it feel good? You wanted to be touched like this?”

“Y-yes, please k-keep going.” You whined, while frantically searching for something to grasp. You arched your hips to get more access to his torturing touches.

He gave you a sly smirk, “I will, because you asked so sweetly, baby.” He placed a chaste kiss on your lips. Then, he immediately slid in his index finger into your entrance. A sigh left your mouth as you felt your walls stretch; something you’ve never felt before. “Do you feel uncomfortable?”

If a word could explain what you were feeling at the moment, uncomfortable isn’t the correct word to describe it; rather, euphoric. Mark, at this point, had fully inserted his finger to the knuckles. “No, n-no, keep going, p-please.” You whispered as you took a hold of Mark’s shoulders and gripped them for dear life; knuckles turning white. You choked out when you felt his fingers found a spot inside you. Bingo. Mark chuckled quietly, running his tongue over his lips, the sight before him was divine. You, squirming under his touch while he played with your cunt. He prodded the same exact spot again, this time you had to bury your head onto his shoulders to keep yourself quiet.

“Jackpot, baby.”

“A-ah it f-feels good!”

You squeezed your eyes shut letting the waves of pleasure soak you. You arched your hips to meet his fingers. Letting yourself feel. After one digit, Mark carefully inserted his middle finger, just beside his index. You gasped, it was an unknown feeling; your body twitched momentarily from the sudden sting. Mark met your neglected clit and rubbed it; the sting fading out. You gritted your teeth, ragged breaths leaving your mouth. You felt the arousal building inside you; ready to leave your body. If it wasn’t for Mark’s lips, silencing you, the whole theater would know what you two were doing. He planted a kiss to your cheeks, “You cumming, baby?”

The movie was still rolling, but to you it was just pure noise. You are too engrossed, head clouded, muddled with pleasure. Jim Stark said his great lines, ‘If I had one day when I didn't have to be all confused and I didn't have to feel that I was ashamed of everything’. Mark played with your clit again, his digits busy poking your g-spot, you knew, you were on the edge of coming. Mark pressed your body into his and you trembled against his lap. Your walls tightened against Mark’s fingers. With one last rub, your arousal came, he pulled his fingers away from you. Your panties, now soaking wet. You made a mental note to throw those out to the washer as soon as you go home. Your body collapsed against Mark’s chest. He raised his fingers; wet and glistening with your juice. You felt your cheeks flare when you saw how he popped his fingers onto his mouth, leaving a satisfying groan at the taste of you. You covered your face in embarrassment and felt Mark’s chest vibrate with laughter. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you more.”

It was fun while it lasted. A typical bad boy and good girl, two teenagers in love. The relationship was almost as perfect for you. You never had arguments with him, because he was so chill about everything you do. Yet then, in the blink of an eye, the relationship turned into a complete fiasco.

Maybe you were too confident that people wouldn’t stick their noses in other people’s business, but they proved you wrong. You were oblivious to the fact that everyone’s eyes were set upon you. Eventually a rumour circulated around the school you and Mark were attending.

“Did you hear about Y/N, girls?”

It piqued your ears. You stopped your tracks to hear the answer, “Her and Mark, that greaser boy, oh God, he’s crazy and drives her mad!”

You were stunned at the outburst. The only person who knows about your relationship was Amber, other than that, your mouth was completely sealed. You opened your locker and grabbed your books. Just as you slammed the door shut, you came face to face with Avril, the school’s queen bee and apparently, Jacob’s new toy. She gave you a sly smirk.

“I never knew you’d be the type to date a greaser. That’s just out of your boundaries, eh?”

You raised your brow, completely facing her, “How did you know about that?”

Her smirk widens, showing sets of teeth with a slight smudge of her violet lipstick, “Good ol’ boy Jacob saw you two at the local drive-in. Next day, he had the rumors circulating like shit.”

You folded your arms to your chest, “Listen, what you’ve heard are all just rumours.”

“Oh yeah? Your brother’s gang happened to be with Jacob that time.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. It was now painfully clear; the night you came home, your brother, Jaehyun, wasn’t already home. When he returned, two hours later, he was panting heavily, cuts all over his face, and he was carrying his favorite baseball bat drenched with mud and a liquid colored crimson; blood. You seized her collar and the people around you gasped at your sudden movements. You hissed while she struggled to remove your grip, “Where the hell is Jacob?”

Avril sniggered, “And why should I tell you? So you can save your wimpy little greaser boyfriend? Well news flash he’s a maniac!”

You held her collar more tightly, holding the fabric close to her neck. Avril gasped for air, her arms flailing. She gave in and choked out, “Locker room.” You pushed her away and her body flung against the lockers. The other students jumped away in fear. You glanced over your shoulder, “He isn’t a maniac Avril. He is more of a gentleman than your misogynistic boyfriend will ever be,”. You trailed away, planning on beating Jacob up with one of your thick algebra books. You could still recall the moves Jaehyun had taught you. Aim at the jaw, because that is the human’s shut off button, and that is what you intend to do.

It didn’t take you long to find Jacob. After a series of turns, you arrived at the boy’s locker room. As you entered, there were few catcalls heard, but you chose to ignore— hey ya, sexy, as it was pointless— boys with their foul words because they never think with their minds. Jacob stood out among the other lads in the room. He was tall, had blonde hair, icy-blue eyes, a jock, and while it was hard to admit, he was really handsome. But he wasn't the right guy, and you were sure, as he never met your standards. His icy blue eyes widened at the sight of your marching figure, the ends of his lips tugging upward. Feeling triumphant as if he’d won his recent football match.

“Do you wish to continue our little rendezvous?” He gave you a lazy grin. You stopped your tracks and tilted your head a little bit higher to match his gaze. If books could give an exact definition of Jacob, he could be compared with Ares, the god of war; As Homer called him, murderous, bloodstained, the incarnate curse of mortals. But strangely, a coward, too, who bellows with pain and runs away when he is wounded. Jacob only knew how to fight, it's a giveaway, with his nice fit and physique. But he plays dirty and hides underneath a girl’s skirt when he knows he fucked up. He is too much of a coward, never using his brain, rather letting his dick think for him. Him and Mark have a gargantuan difference, and for that, loving Mark, was the biggest choice you have never chosen to regret.

“What is this all about Jacob?”

He ran a finger through his slightly damp, golden locks. His brows shot upward, his lip jutting out, as if proving to you, what he did was something you should never be mad about. He shrugged, “I just made a psa.” He leaned down to match your height, “Soc girls ain’t for greasers. I was simply just saving you.”

“You aren’t my dad so you don’t go dictating me what to do and what not to do!”

He raised his left brow, “Hell yeah? I cannot accept the fact you chose him over me, Y/N! Are you fucking insane?”

“No. But I am capable of choosing the people who are best for me.”

“Betcha brother didn’t take the news nicely.”

You gave him a glare and jammed the algebra book to his face. The reason why Jacob spread those malicious rumors about Mark is because he couldn’t accept the fact that you have chosen grease over money. He had an ego to protect and so, he went lashing out, ruining someone else’s image. You stormed out of the locker room to search for your brother. He must’ve gone mad at this point. The thought gave you chills, Jaehyun beating Mark to death. You could recall how he wore his adorning rings earlier in the morning before you both left the house. Those rings had helped Jaehyun beat someone into pulp, almost killing his foe with it. Bullshit. You had algebra at eight, but you have chosen to flunk it. Worried to death, all you could think of was mark.

Jaehyun seized Mark’s now bloodsoaked white t-shirt. Jaehyun felt extreme frustration, he couldn’t control the shaking of his fists as well as the baring of his teeth. Jaehyun made a beeline for Mark’s jaw, and not content with the results; he made another uppercut, straight into the greaser’s gut. Johnny released his hold on Mark’s shirt. At that moment, Mark couldn’t think straight; it was as if his mind had been a finished puzzle and Jaehyun’s assault had it jumbled to pieces. The greaser clenched his stomach; his head was throbbing like hell. He could almost taste the bitter, salty taste of bile. Fucking hell. Jaehyun surely shook the greaser’s system, like literally.

Jaehyun held his wrist and twirled it. He ignored the stinging sensation on his cheek. That wasn’t one of his concerns. His cheeks could wait but his fist couldn't. What Jaehyun hated and was concerned about the most was having a greaser fuck with his sister. It was just an overall no for him. Also, the fact that Jacob blurted out the news while he was in the midst of a football game just made him more of a misanthropic jock wanting to choke the hell out the guy who played with his sister.

Jaehyun breathed. “Stay the hell out of my sister’s life, greaser.”

Mark spat out blood. His voice was hoarse. “Why should I do that?”

“Because I said so.”

“Hell no, soc. I ain’t doing what’cha want, just because y’all want me to.”

Jaehyun’s patience was paper thin and the fact that his day wasn’t getting any better was wearing him down. “You’re testing my patience, huh greaser?”

Jaehyun nodded towards Johnny and the center gripped both of Mark’s shoulders. Mark gulped hard, trying to wiggle his way out of Johnny’s grip, but the guy was just big, he stood no chance.

Jaehyun gritted his teeth. Mark’s eyes trailed down the shiny metal Jaehyun was holding, a switchblade. Jaehyun twisted the blade elegantly in his hands. Mark never felt fear in his life, it was the emotion he had long forgotten. But he stood there, defenseless, with the socs dominating him, all he could do was to wait for his fate, or his death. “Stay the fuck out of my sister’s life, greaser.”

A girl's voice shook the three. “Jaehyun! Stop!”

You stood there disheveled, as if you had just run a few kilometers. Your blouse is crumpled, the first buttons were well, unbuttoned. Your chest rises with every exhale you make. Your eyes trailed at Mark then towards your brother. “Jaehyun, stop.”

Jaehyun glared at you. He never looked at you like that, ever.

His tone was strict. “Go back to your classes.”

“Jaehyun, I-”

“I said. Go. back. To. your. Classes.”

You stood there dumbfounded, staring back at your fuming brother. Then, he yelled at you, snapping you out from your daze.

You fucked up.

Years. You are not allowed to go out alone anymore. The last contact you had with Mark was the time, he and Jaehyun were ‘talking’. No proper goodbyes, no proper closure. You had blamed Jacob for all of that. You were beyond frustrated, you missed the boy who made you feel like a human, alive, loved. But, now he only exists in your memories. Markie and his goofish car, peewee.

Present time.

“Hey Y/N!”

You squinted. Madonna’s songs played loudly in the local diner. Your vision blurred while trying to find the familiar figure of Amber.

“Hey Y/N!”

“Whaaaaat?!”

You leaned on the diner’s counter. The alcohol had taken a toll on you and all you wanted to do was to dance the night away with Material Girl playing loudly in the background. You pumped your fist in the air, head bobbing up and down, you started to dance carelessly towards the dance floor. Having to drink alcohol had your appendages work on their own. You leaned too far and had your body bumping on someone else’s.

You slurred. “Sorrrry.”

Amber cursed under her breath. “This girl is unbelievable.”

You continued on, singing on the top of your lungs, “I’m a material giiiiirl!”

Amber mustered her strength to grab you out of the dance floor, and to avoid you practically flailing your body towards the other college party-goers.

I made it through the wilderness. Somehow I made it through..

You shoved your body through the crowd to sluggishly approach your car. Head empty, intoxicated with alcohol and all you can think of was Mark.

You pulled over the familiar neighborhood. The darkest pits of the society. You eyed the shovel in your trunk and the rose, a random guy handed to you earlier. You approached the door and pounded harshly on the door.

The door opened with a loud hiss. And the guy you’ve been yearning for, stood before you. He eyes the rose and the shovel in your hands. A slow smirk painted his lips.

“What’ya doin’ here?”

“Mark.”

“I’m done with you. Cause people like you always want back what they can't have. But I'm past that and you know that. So you should turn back to your rat pack, tell 'em trash.”

#cznnet #nct-writers #mark lee #nct127 #nct mark #nct dream #nct u #nctwriters #nct fluff #nct scenarios #nct fanfic #nct angst #nct smut #greaser! au

181 notes · View notes

iarixai · 4 years

Text

Over the Garden wall

Ok screw it im talking about ‘Over the Garden Wall’

For the entirety of otgw something always felt off all the time. And the end just gave me more questions. So spoilers, here is my theory on the unknown. also TW I am going to be talking about death and hospitals.

I don’t actually think the unknown is purgatory. Everybody there came back to the real world. However I do think you can only go there if you have a near death expierence. The reason I think this is because of Greg. Greg is very young that means his body isn’t very strong. That means if he really died in the river and then was brought back at the hospital, his body probably couldn’t handle it. It would be a miracle if his body could handle it. As well, everybody Greg and Wirt met in the Unknown were in the past, and didn’t have access to the resources modern hospitals have. But we see them all come back. That is why I think they almost died.

I think the Unknown can only be accessed when you are in a near death situation. For example,

- Beatrice and her family could have very well starved to the point to almost dying.

- The woodsman woke up in a blizzard, so he could have almost frozen to death.

- We know its halloween (fall) so Greg and Wirt could of had hypothermia.

Now you must be saying, Ari, what about the other inhabitants. Well, the main similarity between the characters i mentioned is that they were trying to leave The Unknown. The other characters didn’t seem to want to leave the unknown and had a life there. A good bunch of them had jobs too. Well, they are all dead in my opinion. Because they didn’t want to leave.

- Pottsfield seemed very happy in their cult, and since they are all skeletons, I think they have been there so long their bodies have started to decay.

- the Tavern folks were all cheery and happy and had jobs.

- The animal school people seemed to be having a normal life. With their own problems.

- The tea company couple seemed very happy with their wealth and with each other

But there comes another hole in this theory, Pottsfield. They have been there so long that their bodies have started to decay and that is why they use the pumpkins as a body. Well, the Unknown doesn’t really exist on a plane of time or at least our plane of time. While yes, stuff does occur and people have proper memories of a timeline. Its not the same as our timeline. You can see this with Beatrice, the woodsman, and Greg and Wirt meeting in the same general time, but they are all from different eras. Its another plane of existance, with its own timeline running on whatever shape or line it is. So while there is passage of time in the unknown, it is seperate from our passage of time. The Unknown picks up its residents at different times on our timeline, at random times. That is why Pottsfield is decaying, but Beatrice is still a Highschool age girl when Wirt meets her.

Also time dialation. From when Greg and Wirt fall into the river, to when they wake up in the hospital. At most that time would be 1 maybe even 2 hours if I am being generous. But the expierences in the Unknown would have lasted at least 1 or 2 weeks. I personally think one month. That would mean the plane of time and space they were on was not the same as their own. And it was all real, as we see with the frog with the bell in its stomach. Thats because its another plane of existance, grabbing people from our universe.

And the final nail in the coffin for the theory that the Unknown is a seperate plane of existance. The moon. When Greg and Wirt are walking to Pottsfield, which is North, they are walking towards the moon. And the moon was in a moon cycle not possible on earth. As well, if they were walking towards the moon, they would be going East or West. And seeing as they eventually make it to Pottsfield going that direction, that means they aren’t on Earth.

Now, the question is how does the Unknown choose its victims. For one, there has to be a near death expierence like I said before, but if it was every single one, the Unknown would be very crowded, which it doesn’t seem to be at all. Most of the residents are animals. But for now we are talking about humans. I think the Unknown chooses you when you feel small. When you feel forgotten about or everybody has forgotten about you. When you feel you have no hope. When you feel like nobody is going to help you. When you feel like people don’t care about you. For example,

- The woodsman felt like there was no hope for his sick daughter, and that people even forgot about them.

- Beatrices family if my starvation theory holds true, felt out of luck and they had no hope because it was winter and they couldn’t grow any food to eat

- Greg and Wirt were running from the cops, and literally jumped over a garden wall in order not to get caught. And Wirt definitely has some insecurities about his worth as a person and whether people will actually remember

- The tea couple both show signs of narcissism, meaning they got all of their money so that people would pay attention to them and not forgotten about.

- The schoolteacher shows signs of measuring her worth on her accomplishments, hence why she gets really sad about her boyfriend leaving and how the animal school is not working.

- The tavern people don’t even have proper names. They don’t feel important to the story which is why they introduce themselves with their job. They were meant to be forgotten about.

The reason I say this is because of the short OTGW was based on, had the Tome of the Unknown, and it had everything that was forgotten about in it.

But we have one more thing to address, and that is Greg.

But Greg doesnt seem to be a likely canidate to be lost in the Unknown right?

He doesn’t fit those requirments?

Wrong!

Greg is shown to have memory issues or having later reactions to things. That is why the frog seems to have a new name every episode, Greg forgot. And Greg knows that he has these memory issues. He may be a kid but he isn’t dumb. So I think he fears that these memory problems is going to make him forget about the people he loves, most of all his brother. So in that, he tries to please them in anyway possible. He raked his neighbors yard. He tried to get Wirt a date. In the boat episode, he is even willing to have his head drummed on so his friends will stay safe. When Wirt complains about Greg not leaving a trail, right after, Greg starts to leave a candy trail. Greg wants the people he loves to be happy incase he forgets about them. That is why Greg is willing in the last episode to sacrifice himself for his brother.

And the final thing to address is the trees and animals. As we know, the trees are actually souls that have already died, and the woodsman collecting them is using their souls for oil in the lamp. The Beast is a very obvious metaphor for death, more specifically the death of the hope they are going to survive, and through the trees that is how he carries out his duty of killing people in the Unknown because they died in there plane of existence.

But I think the animals are people who have been in the Unknown long enough to start losing hope.That is why a lot of the animals have some sort of sentience. They aren’t animals, they are people. When we meet Beatrice she is pretty obviously a Bluebird. That is because her and her family aren’t very hopeful they are going to make it out of the Unknown. Her only chance is to find someone who lady Adelaide wants.

As for the pets who come along on the journey, I have literally no explanation for that, unless the pets were tied to their owners souls. That is the only reason I can find.

The actual people in the series are still inbetween death and life, they still have hope they are going to live. Remember time dialation and the other plane of existance. But all the people who go into the Unknown and stay, will eventually become trees or animals.

Now leaving the Unknown is a task in itself. But after the main cast left to Unknown, they got some sort of wish granted after the got back. The woodsman had his daughter get better and even being able to walk. Beatrice and her family got food. Wirt finally got that date. And Greg got to see his brother happy. The lack of these things also almost got them killed. So I think after they came back, the universe fixed those things, so that they wouldn’t go into the Unknown again, and give them hope, that their life is going to get better. While yes, they definitely did have hope before, this gives them hope about their lives and loved ones, not just their life not being in danger.

I know this might have been really long and confusing. You can always ask me to clarify. But thank you for making it this far.

#over the garden wall #otgw #otgw theories #over the garden wall theories

62 notes · View notes

aswiya · 3 years

Photo

AHMADIYAH MUSLIMS PRAY IN THEIR OVER-CROWDED SHELTER IN MATARAM.

SEHABUDIN STANDS IN HIS FORMER HOME THAT WAS DESTROYED BY AN ANTI-AHMADIYAH MOB.

SEHABUDIN SIT IN HIS MAKESHIFT TENT NEAR HIS NOW-DESTROYED HOME.

MUNAWARAH AND HER FAMILY SIT IN THEIR SMALL ROOM IN THE MATARAM SHELTER.

SYAHIDIN AND HIS FAMILY POSE FOR A PORTRAIT IN THEIR OLD HOME. ALL PHOTOS BY AUTHOR

‘The Pain is Still Inside Me’: No End In Sight to the Plight of Indonesia’s Ahmadiyah

By Tsering D. Gurung

18.9.17

Syahidin has been attacked for his faith so many times that he keeps a record in a tattered notebook that lists each instance of hate, each time an angry mob rampaged through his village, and each time he watched helpless as his home went up in flames.

Syahidin is a member of the Ahmadiyah Muslim faith, a sect of Islam that believes that Indian religious leader Mirza Ghulam Ahmad—not Prophet Muhammad—was Islam's final prophet. This belief makes them one of the most-persecuted religious groups in Indonesia. Mainstream Sunni Muslims call Ahmadiyah "infidels" and "apostates," with some public officials going as far as saying Ahmadiyah Muslims should simply no longer exist. And others take their anti-Ahmadiyah sentiment even further.

In 2006, a mob of Sunni Muslim hardliners tore through Syahidin's small village on the Indonesian island of Lombok. Syahidin's home was looted, vandalized, and then set ablaze in a wave of violence that targeted as many as 30 Ahmadiyah households.

He offered to meet me at his old house in Ketapang, West Lombok, so he could explain what happened that day. We were standing in the now decimated village. It was a ghost town. The houses and the people had vanished but the rice paddies were still lush and green.

"This was our living room, this was our bedroom, this was the kitchen," said Syahidin, 46, as we walked through what remained of his family's home. The white cement walls were stained with dark scorch marks. Grass and small trees had grown through the rubble-strewn floor. The roof was all but gone. The home was supposed to be a second chance after Syahidin and his family were chased from their home on the other side of the island—in Pancor, East Lombok—only one year before. But trouble has a way of following Indonesia's Ahmadiyah community.

For the past 11 years Syahidin and his family—along with 120 other Ahmadiyah Muslims—have been living in a shelter for internally displaced peoples in Mataram, the capital of West Nusa Tengarra and a short 20-minute drive from Ketapang. Wisma Transito Shelter is overcrowded and lacking the facilities needed for long-term inhabitation. Syahidin and his family share a single room that serves as their kitchen, bedroom, and living room. "I thought we were going to be here for one or two months," Syahidin told me. "I never thought we would still be here after eleven years."

The shelter was originally built to house transmigrants—poor workers from the overcrowded island of Java sent to other provinces as part of a government program—as they transitioned to normal life. It was never meant to house more than 100 people for years on end. The conditions are so poor that the National Commission on Human Rights (Komnas HAM) released a report in 2013 criticizing the central government for their continued inaction on the Ahmadiyah issue.

"They are living together, separated only by cabinets and curtains," Imadud Rahmat, then the deputy chief of Komnas HAM, told local media shortly after the report's release. "This, of course, has given them no privacy and has caused discomfort."

The community has become emblematic of Indonesia's inability to protect its religious minorities from persecution. The central government recognizes six faiths under national law. There is no mention of a specific strain of Islam, but 99 percent of the country's Muslims are Sunni. That leaves the remaining one percent, mostly Shia and Ahmadiyah Muslims, prone to discrimination and violence.

The persecution of the Ahmadiyah peaked under the administration of former-president Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, who's popularly referred to as SBY. Between 2004 and 2014, more than 30 Ahmadiyah mosques were forcibly shuttered by mobs of hardline Islamists, according to data compiled by Human Rights Watch. In 2007 there were only 15 reported "attacks" against Ahmadiyah Muslims. Only one year later the number of reported attacks had risen to 193. By 2011 the persecution had reached its peak when hardliners murdered three Ahmadiyah Muslims in a brutal instance of mob violence that was all recorded and posted to YouTube.

Direct, violent attacks against religious minorities have decreased since President Joko Widodo took office, but hate is still on the rise. The Jakarta-based think tank Setara Institute recorded 270 instances of religious intolerance in 2016, up from 236 in 2015. The state, including local governments and the police, were found to be complicit in more than half the incidents.

A local government in Kuningan, West Java, was caught in July demanding that Ahmadiyah Muslims renounce their faith to receive a government ID card. Last year a different local government told Ahmadiyah Muslims to convert to Sunni Islam or be kicked out of their village.

"Discriminatory regulations towards religious minorities are increasing which is why the situation is going to get worse," said Andreas Harsono, the lead Indonesia researcher for Human Rights Watch.

To date, 16 provincial governments have issued bans on the Ahmadiyah community. Ahmadiyah Muslims have been present in Indonesia since before the country gained independence. But the faith was declared deviant by the Indonesian Council of Ulema (MUI), the nation's main Islamic clerical body, which issued a fatwa against the group in 2005.

A few years later, SBY's administration issued a decree banning Ahmadiyah Muslims from proselytizing their faith. Those found violating the decree are subject to up to five years of imprisonment.

"The MUI has been spreading false information about the Ahmadiyah faith," Udin, the president of the Ahmadiyah Association in Mataram, told me. "For example, the MUI said that the Ahmadis' holy book is not the Holy Quran but the Tuskira, and that we don't go to Mecca for pilgrimage but to Pakistan. These are all lies."

But these kinds of rumors have a real impact on the lives of Ahmadiyah Muslims like Munawarah. The 53-year-old mother of seven had to send two of her children to live with their grandparents after their one-room space in the shelter became too cramped. Her two teenaged children constantly ask when they can finally move out. The question, which has no easy answer, pains Munawarah.

"I don't know how to explain to them why we are still here," she said. "If I had the money, I would move out tomorrow. Not a second passes by when I don't think about getting out of this place."

Munawarah was visiting relatives in Kalimantan in 2006 when her house was destroyed in the same mob attack that left Syahidin homeless. When she returned to Ketapang all that remained of her house was the walls and a few broken window frames.

It brought back painful memories from her childhood, she said, when she was discriminated against by the school principal for being an Ahmadiyah Muslim. She told me that her teacher would slap her for no reason other than her faith.

"The pain is still there inside me," Munawarah said.

No one was ever held accountable for the violence that left the 100 or so families confined to the shelter homeless. The families told me that they received no money from the central government to compensate them for their loss. They have no idea when, or if, they can return home. Udin, the head of the local Ahmadiyah association, accused the central government of turning a blind eye to their suffering.

"We went to the governor, the mayor of Mataram as well as other authorities and told them we would like this case to be solved as soon as possible," Udin told me. "But they keep sending us back and forth saying it does not fall under their jurisdiction. As a consequence, these families have been forced to live in a refugee camp for over ten years."

Fauzan Khalid, West Lombok's district chief and the public official in charge of the entire region where Ketapang is found, denied the allegations in a phone call with VICE. Khalid told me that his administration had offered to resettle the community on a family-by-family basis, but they had refused the offer.

"Several offers were made in the past to the families including one to resettle them at different locations," Khalid said. "But they rejected the offers saying they didn't want to be separated."

The Ahmadiyah prefer to live among themselves and have always separated themselves from other Muslims, a trait, that Khalid believes, led to the violence in Ketapang.

"It's their exclusivity that's a problem," he said. "They had their own place of worship, their own village. They only became neighbors with their own kind. This is what bothered the other residents."

The Ahmadiyah I met told me that they always enjoyed a friendly relationship with their Sunni Muslim neighbors. That was, they did, until a local cleric named Muhammad Izzi whipped the crowd up into a frenzy during a sermon where he urged his followers to drive the "deviant" Ahmadiyah from their village.

The sermon continues to hold significant sway in the village today. I approached a group of men sitting idly at a gazebo about five minutes from the old Ahmadiyah community to ask them about the violence. But the men grew angry when I mentioned the incident and refused to speak with me.

I reached the village chief, a man named Murad Amin, on the phone. He promised additional violence if the Ahmadiyah Muslims tried to return to their homes.

"They're not allowed back here," Murad told me. "If they come back, we will attack again."

Murad told me that the Ahmadiyah were "infidels," who had no place in his village. "They are not Muslims," he said. "They should stop calling themselves that."

I found an elderly Ahmadiyah man named Sehabudin working a small garden in his old neighborhood. He lives in a small makeshift tent whenever he can't make it back to the shelter before nightfall. Sehabudin told me that some of the Sunni Muslim villagers have come up to him and apologized for their actions, even inviting him to visit their homes. But the apologies have done little to change his situation.

I asked Sehabudin how he felt about his former neighbors, the men and women who destroyed his life more than a decade ago. Is he still angry? Sehabudin looked at me with tired eyes and broke into a sad smile. "There's no anger left," he said.

#ahmadiyya #Ahmadiyah #indonesia #ASIA #MATARAM #Tsering D. Gurung #MINORITY #islam #religion #persecution #discrimination #violence

4 notes · View notes

fumingspice · 4 years

Text

guardians

original work! im bored to death and i have nothing much to do so i guess maybe i could post this and see if people like it or not. mallorie whyte is sarah paulson 🤜👱🏻‍♀️

01 | oakwood academy

october 24th 2022

eli, ma. andromadex

-Madison

THE FINAL WORDS that Madison's stepmother Inez had jokingly yelled out the car window at her before she sped off to work were fairly sticking with her all throughout the day. She had driven at neck-breaking speed as she often had a habit of doing, and then braked so hard that she probably would have given any other passenger in the car a pretty bad whiplash, which Madison was convinced that Inez is immune to it by now, and then rolled down her window and told her; "y’know, if you want to actually make some friends you should really quit acting so bitchy."

Mind you, this was after she had gone on at her for days on end about being herself.

Madison was not opposed to making friends at this school. She wanted to. It's just so difficult when the fantastic, gold-crested reputation of your parents follows you around everywhere you go, and it's even worse when everyone else in your school completely matches that reputation.

To her, there's nothing worse than extra-cred class. She could promise you that. Especially when there are only fifteen more minutes left of the school day until the school bell rang sweet salvation and the students were released from the clutches school for another day. The classroom was decorated in crisp oranges, reds, yellows and browns; and the smothering scent of the ten-plus pumpkin spice candles could probably be smelt from miles away.

Madison's teacher, Ms. DuBois, was from Salem, and she loved nothing more than talking about witches in Salem. DuBois continued to rattle on about the executions that took place during the Salem Witch Trials of 1692- and since they were in Eli and not Salem, Madison could not fathom a single plausible reason as to why her extra-cred class had decided to adopt the Salem Witch Trials.

Oakwood Academy, Madison's new school, had managed to work its way to having one of the top academic records in America by providing an extra area of study for every year that a student attended. It was just one of the classes that would act as a "relaxer" for the workload that the Academy dumped on their students. They allocated five sets of twenty-five students to five different classes. For example; her older brother was allocated into a class that studied some of history's most famous serial criminals. The girl had been hit with a low-key pang of jealousy when she looked at his workbook, but she would never admit that.

Serial killer documentaries from Buzzfeed Unsolved was for her what World War II was to her brother Tiano.

Halfway through the class, Madison decided that Ms DuBois' babbles were nothing more than folklore and legends. There is no possible way that witches could exist, and even if they did; they would have become so sparsely spread out throughout the centuries that bloodlines would have become diluted into non-existence.

Madison had finally just about given up listening, getting ready to switch to her earphones when DuBois began talking about Gwendoline Proctor and Marie-Anne Dufosett. Judging by the amount of borderline useless word scrambles and pop quizzes that she had been bombarded with since August in which their names had popped up in, this would no doubt be just as bleak as the rest of the topic.

"Marie-Anne Dufosett was burned at the stake along with her mother and some other accused women-"

Well, that's just peachy.

"-However, does anybody know who accused Mademoiselle Dufosett of Witchcraft and Conspiring with the Devil?"

A few hands shot up. Oh, great, Madison thought, another room full of Hocus Pocus lovers.

DuBois picked on a boy at the back of the room wearing a black turtleneck underneath his blazer. "Perrone Goguillon," he answered.

Well, at least I know that instead of how to pay taxes.

Ms DuBois clapped her hands together and was about to praise him when Madison poked her head up and blurted out, "who in fresh hell is Peregrine Goujon?" The class burst into a peal of abrupt laughter and her face flashed a red that was possibly close to her burgundy uniform.

DuBois waited patiently for the laughter to die down, giving Madison a well-intended smile. She'd been trying to pry Madison out of her shell for weeks. "Miss Delvaux, I'm so happy that we've finally been graced with your conscious presence," she said. "Perrone Goguillon was one of the last witches to burnt at the stake in France."

What has that got to do with Salem?

There was a pause.

Turtleneck Boy piped up yet again. "Wasn't Perrone Marie-Anne's mother?"

Ms DuBois nodded, what followed probably should have been a moment for shock factor was cut short by Madison's unimpressive comment of; "Sounds like someone gained some serious mommy-issues."

Apart from a few smirks and sniggers, the room stayed in a star awkward silence. It was that moment when Madison had realised that making fun of witches in this classroom was possibly as close as you could get to treason.

The bell finally rang out before Madison could embarrass herself any further. She pulled on her coat and started speed-walking to get out of the school. She found listening to Toxic by Britney Speers always made her faster.

The crisp Massachusetts air stung at her cheeks hard, nipping at them until they were a hard red. The leaves crunched with a prominent sound and the wind blew quite fiercely. She hated fall- she missed the sweet Florida summer and sunshine that she had become so accustomed to. She missed splashing about in their swimming pool with her friends, sitting on her boyfriend's shoulders and having matches of pool basketball. They could get very competitive and Madison was certainly no stranger to having her head pushed underwater for the sake of one of her friends scoring a goal.

Her family had just moved to Massachusetts for her stepmother's work, as they often had moved around for that reason numerous times in the past. Inez worked with companies that were hanging on the edge of bankruptcy. A quick call to her office and she would work on the case as soon as possible. Most cases she could work on from home or online, but every few years a huge opportunity or promotion would come up that would require a move. It was always worth it. Inez was a wizard with a logbook and her incredible finances knowledge; she would advise the company and work with as many people as possible to save the company and boost its profits massively.

The job also came with a pretty hefty paycheck. Inez had been in Madison's life for as long as the girl could recall memory.

Now that the latest- and hopefully final- addition to the Delvaux family had come, Madison's father spent most of his time at home taking care of baby Thomas. In contrast to Inez, Madison's father came from a long line of "old" money; decades ago, his family was incredibly wealthy Franco-Belgian gold merchants, owning around 40% of the most flourishing gold mines in Belgium and France of which together bestowed them with a huge amount of the finest Belgian gold. Although the number of which lowered to about 750 tons of gold, the family net worth was still well into the billions.

Madison's father broke away from the complete gold-mine owning tradition and earned a job as a professor of physics in certain prestigious colleges across the country, although, there were still plenty of goldmines still to his name.

However, despite their needless fortune, most of the family, along with Inez, managed to stay incorrupt, helping to build many schools, hospitals and jobs in developing countries and donating thousands of millions of dollars to charities, side-lining with the Delvaux-Proveux Foundation to help create a better society with whatever difference they could cause.

Her parents did their best to remain humble- which sometimes proved itself difficult when the next five generations of their family could probably eat from solid gold plates if they chose to.

Needless to say, they spent only what they needed to, didn't exploit their riches, lived in the slightly more luxurious suburban homes. Madison was sent to Oakwood Academy; possibly the most unnecessarily expensive school in the north-east of America along with her adopted older brother Tiano and her adopted little sister Safina; the second youngest, Aleja went to an elementary not far from their home, and baby Thomas just did his best not to poop his pants straight after his diaper had been changed. Madison was convinced he did his best to poop at the worst possible time.

The house they had recently moved into was a beautiful country mansion, overlooking a lake and meadows, the balcony that showed a complete view of the landscape was perhaps Madison's favourite part of the house- apart from her bed of course.

She walked briskly up the pathway leading to the front door, doing her best to not show that she was absolutely freezing to death despite the massive coat. No sooner had she got in the door that she turned the heater on full blast and ran upstairs, diving into her bed.

Inconveniently, she was now too warm.

Madison rolled her eyes and then rolled out of bed with a slight thud, ran downstairs, lowered the heating, then ran back upstairs again- now at a slightly more satisfactory temperature. Her phone began to buzz; an incoming facetime from her friends back in Florida.

Madison jumped up promptly, fixing her hair and trying to make it look like she wasn't considering an attempt at home-made abseiling down the wall beneath her window. She accepted the call and lo and behold the screams and squeals of five of her best friends burst from the phone from on the other side of the country. Meghan, the girl in front and centre, called out Madison's name with an ear-piercing screech.

"Woah, Woah. Calm down, Meghan I'm not hoping to go deaf anytime soon," she muttered, pretending to be annoyed, making a particular fuss of changing the settings on her hearing aid. Meghan playfully rolled her eyes and began talking over the other girls.

"Oh, shut up, Maddie. How's Massachusetts? Find any cute warlocks that we need to come out and see?" She asked.

"Meghan, this place is amazing and beautiful- there's so many other things here than witches and warlocks and Harvard's array of nerds," she said, pretending she didn't want to hop on her tricycle and go home.

To be truthful, it was obvious that Meghan could see straight through the blatant lie.

"Well, if you say so, babes. Give us a tour of your house! We need to see chez Madison after stalking it for an hour on Google Maps."

Madison gave a hearty chuckle. "Well, if you insist."

Madison began her own rendition of a virtual tour around her house, showing everything from the luxury bathrooms to the heated pool in the basement. The ooooooo's and ahhhhhhhhh's were constant. The house was beautiful- that was undeniable. However, the crowning glory of the house was a massive stain-glass window depicting a woman by the lake.

"The realtors said that the builder of the house had it built in 1876 to memorialize the women persecuted and killed during the witch trials," Madison said, admiring the beautiful display of colours on the floor from the sun shining through the window.

"That's cheery."

That's typical Meghan.

"Now, more important than your sexy house; are you or are you not coming to prom?" Meghan asked, expectantly.

Madison shrugged, "I'm not sure, we only just got here, and I don't think my parents would want me flying across the country all by myself."

Meghan let out a slightly satisfied sigh. "So, does that mean Dylan is now free for me to take as my date?"

Madison gritted her teeth hard. Only forever has Meghan been trying to steal Dylan away from her. "Sure, as long as it's just as friends," she answered, fully emphasizing the word "friends".

Meghan laughed emptily. "Well, how else would I be taking him? Trust me, Maddie baby, if I wanted Dylan so bad, I would've gotten him months ago." There was a coy smile and awkward glances shared by the others.

Madison bit her tongue.

"Yeah?" She called out into the empty house. "Coming now, Nez!" She looked back at the screen, told them, "talk later, gals, Nez wants me to help her in the basement," and hung up without waiting for a response, already knowing that Meghan would be commenting on how strange she was acting.

Madison and Meghan had been stuck to each other's waist since pre-school, grew up in close neighborhoods, and had practically been raised together. One time, Madison's family took Meghan to Disney Land, then straight to Universal Studios after. To say they were spoiled rotten in childhood because of the Delvaux family wealth was an understatement. It was only now approaching adult years was Meghan taking full advantage of her best friend's wealth- hinting off about getting her into Yale or Harvard, Madison smiled and nodded when she brought these things up, knowing full well Meghan didn't hold enough brain cells to even use a dishwasher.

The jangle of keys and the opening of the door sounded from downstairs. "The party's home! Maddie honey, you here?" Inez called, audibly struggling with grocery bags. "Coming!" she called back, skipping down the stairs two steps at a time. Inez relieved herself of one of the six bags she had carried from the car.

"When are you going to learn to walk down the stairs without the risk of breaking your damn neck?" she asked, walking to the kitchen and setting half of the bags on the counter, and doing the same with Maddie's bags. Madison laughed and shook her head, "when we confirm that the birds don't work for the bourgeoisie."

Inez rolled her eyes and pulled Madison into a hug. "Well, in that case, I may as well buy a neck brace and put the hospital on speed dial."

Madison gave a real laugh this time and pulled away, throwing a damp washcloth at Inez's face. "Megan facetimed me earlier with Linda, Karlie, Houston, Seoul and London.

Inez pulled a face, "yeah, and how did that turn out?" Madison sighed, "she asked me if she could take Dylan to prom."

Her stepmom stopped unpacking and lurched into deep thought. "Why are all your friends named after cities?" Madison was about to continue when she stopped to think about the question.

"Back to the topic, Nez."

Inez’s eyes widened in shock. "She did not, did she?" Madison nodded carefully, bracing herself for Inez launching into a huge monologue, as she often did when something morally wrong happened. "After everything that we've done for that girl- everything that you've done for that girl, this is how she repays you?" Inez barely stopped to breathe. "She has known about our plans to move here since last Summer! The sneaky little bug kept this behind your back and knew it would be safe to tell you that she was going to steal Dylan from you as soon as you were a safe distance away-"

Madison promptly stopped her, knowing this could and would go on all night. "I'm not as bothered as I should be, Nez. Dylan and I were drifting even before the move. I think this is just my final sign that we just aren't meant to be- God, I always knew nothing serious would become of Dylan and me," she admitted, sipping on a diet coke that Inez had just slid down the countertop. Her stepmother pursed her lips, her incredible dark brown eyes glazing over as they always did when she fell deep into thought, as Madison often admired them doing so when she was trying to find a solution to a particularly difficult business situation, then, within seconds, bounced back out of it once again.

Inez presented an envelope to Madison, addressed to her. "Well, this might bring your spirits up at least," she placed in front of Madison. "I just know it is what it is."

Madison's jaw dropped as she read the letter.

Months ago, while they still lived in Florida, Madison's tutor convinced her to take part in a writing competition. The competition was hosted by one of New York's most prestigious publication companies, namely by their founder; Mallorie Whyte, possibly one of the most sought after and revered journalists in the Western Hemisphere. Madison completely worshipped the woman. Whyte being a first generation French American was the main factor in inspiring Madison to learn the language; not for the benefit of her Senegalese brother.

But he did not need to know that.

Inez spoke again, mainly just to make sure that Madison hadn't become paralyzed from shock. "Is she telling you to buy a damn dictionary or was your spelling fine?” Inez teased. There was no response, but Madison was finished reading, and Inez became heart-scared that she would lick the page.

Madison was dumbfounded for a few more seconds. "I got first place in the contest. She wants me to come to New York and meet her! Bloody hell, she thinks I could help her out with new ideas?" Maddie took another break before screaming the house down. "The Mallorie Whyte wants me because she thinks I could help her-"

She completely froze up in shock, her frightened stepmother running behind her in case she fell backwards. "Three weeks?!" Madison screeched, loud enough to wake up the dead. Inez almost jumped from her skin, laughing when she recovered.

"Three weeks, Maddie! We have plenty of time," she attempted to reason, even though trying to calm Madison down when she was as excited as this was next to impossible.

Madison looked highly offended. "Three weeks? Do you see the state of this house? It needs to be perfect!"

The house was next to gleaming spotless.

Inez rolled her eyes and tugged Madison's belt loop as she was about to run into the hall. In her lifetime, she had met many people that she could consider crazy, but no one came as close to her stepdaughter when she was fangirling over Mallorie Whyte. "Yes, honey that's all well and good," Inez said, attempting to calm down the lunatic in front of her, "but in the meantime, I want you to tidy your bedroom, do your homework and do some studying."

Madison nodded obediently, grabbed her Cola, and ran upstairs, careful not to spill anything on the grey carpet. The fragrance of her apple blossom burning in an incense bowl wafted around the room, and her speaker was set to play music from her playlist when it detected motion in the room. The past few moments of excitement had wiped what had happened before the letter out of her mind.

Dylan.

Meghan had practically taken Dylan away from her- not that she cared, not now anyway. Mallorie freakin' Whyte had sent her a handwritten letter for Christ's sake, she wasn't going to be moping over a boy that her supposed best friend has had her eyes on for months. She had known since before announcing the move that the boy was falling under Meghan's spell, she had seen it; the messages, the winks and the giggles, the almost-too-close kiss under the stairway. She was never ignorant to the fact that there was something between Dylan and Meghan going on behind her back- they were both horrible liars and barely tried to cover it up- she just did her best to pretend nothing had happened.

It's not as if she wasn't the jealous type- she used to be- Dylan had been around most of her friendship group while she was crushing on him. She had just grown an indifference to seeing him flirt with other girls. She had grown used to it.

The notification of her computer sounded, distracting herself from her slightly depressing thoughts. It was an email notification, from Mallorie Whyte herself. Madison almost fainted at the sight of it. Not only had she just received a written letter, but she had also taken time to contact online. Madison caught her breath at the possibility of having a conversation with this woman three weeks before they met, she opened the email, scanning every word;

Madison,

I apologize for reaching out to you in such an informal manner, but I just couldn't wait to get into correspondence with you sooner! Your entry into our contest here at Whyte’s Journalism and Publications utterly rocked my soul at the core, your work blooms amazingly at your young age.

The reason I picked your entry was that after many hours of reading and re-reading hundreds of thousands of entries, I realized that yours spoke to me in a way that no other one did. The beauty of your language and knowledge of how our world and society works touched me in a way no other did- heart-breaking, yet somehow warming, in the same way, to know that there are still people in this world who still have a love for life.

I noted in your information folder that Halloween was your least favourite holiday- a complete juxtaposition of my own opinion. Samhain is the best time of year- and I am excited to spend this glorious time of year with you and your family starting next weekend, as I've just finished sorting arrangements with Ms. Inez.

Best regards and wishes, and excitement to meet you,

Mallorie Whyte.

Inez smiled to herself from downstairs, setting her drink down and running up the stairs having heard the rather obvious sound of Madison's delighted squeal and subsequent crash on the floor.

#anyway #this is original for once LMAO #yeah i promise there's some gross billie fluff coming at some point #writeblr

11 notes · View notes

vampiresuns · 4 years

Text

A Songbird Sings, The World Could End | Part 2

✴︎ A SONGBIRD SINGS, THE WORLD COULD END: PART 2 ✴︎

2.3k words. Now in the Magical Realms, Leon and Anatole decide to work together trying to keep the Hierophant’s realm standing for as long as possible. Leon is upset at their own feelings, and the Hierophant reads him for filth.

Leon (He/They) is @apprenticealec‘s. This fic is best paired with Honest, by Joseph.

You can read Part 1 here.

Leon had air magic.

Leon could cross distances quicker than the average person, if they so desired. It happened to be that he desired such a thing now — in a game of miscalculations, neither Anatole nor him aligned their timing, emotionally overwhelmed and with their own priorities in mind.

When Anatole spoke to him, something old and angry had snapped in Leon, there to tell him Anatole was just like everybody else, sitting on his high horse with his duty, eventually leaving him alone for reasons which just didn’t make sense. Rage in Leon was vast, more accessible than grief, and for a moment it terrified him. It terrified him to see himself give Anatole, his Anatole, the cold shoulder, even if another part of him thought he deserved it.

Yet there was another part of him, a part tender and open, starved for Anatole’s presence, following him like religious people in Vesuvia followed the various chimes of the City’s many temples. It was the part of him that had made him go after him that night Camia had gone to the market, travelling all day to drop himself at his door. It was the part of him that had cried and crumbled in front of him, because he knew he would listen. Anatole never said a word he didn’t mean, Anatole never did anything half-way.

It was the part of him who touched him under the starry nights in Camia’s hut, trying to commend the shape of his face to memory — the softness of his lips, the slope of his nose, the light change of texture in his scars. The way his cheeks filled when he smiled, or the way his throat vibrated when he laughed. That part of him, against all odds, rose against the other and said: “You’re wrong. He loves me, and if the world ends, there will be no world for him to love me in.”

It was just as paralysing, albeit in a completely different way. He was still angry at Anatole. He was still upset he didn’t tell him any of this before, or that he assumed so many things about Leon’s own feelings — granted, Leon hadn’t said anything too, but that didn’t mean Anatole could just assume when Leon had done all those things, when he had given himself so willingly. This specific source of terror came from losing him, and the horror that followed as they stood in an empty hallway, thinking they might have lost him anyway. It propelled Leon forward like he was fighting for his life. He couldn’t let Anatole think he didn’t care. Leon knew they would not be able to live with themselves if that happened.

Leon did not know what the hell Anatole saw in Vesuvia, or in any City, ever. They were all people just trying to survive, with their momentary distractions, and Leon doubted they stopped a second of their days to actually consider Anatole at all. He couldn’t even say Anatole did it in some sort of saviour-complex stunt, because it would be both wrong and offensive to Anatole as a person.

He didn’t understand; right then he was feeling too much to keep track of his thoughts, but even in this overwhelming fog he found himself in, he realised that even if he was right, and Anatole was insignificant (even if thinking it felt wrong), he would not forgive himself for becoming a reason why he felt that way. He would hate Anatole thinking he didn’t deserve all the love in the world, thinking that it is wrong of him to care. Even if Leon sometimes thought he cared too much about things Leon did not comprehend.

The realisation that he loved him too much to not do this, all of it, with him, that pulled Leon forward. It was Anatole’s voice in his ears saying that the point of having a future was to live it with Leon. It was that Leon not understanding why he hoped and dreamt what he did, deep down those hopes and dreams weren’t stupid to Leon, because they were Anatole’s. Leon could forgive the world, maybe, because Anatole existed in it.

That’s how he ended sitting on Anatole’s stomach after throwing the two of them into his gate, the gush of wind from his own magic shutting the door behind them, making the gate inaccessible without Anatole to open it from outside.

Anatole thrashed underneath him, and Leon moved as soon as he realised that he couldn’t breathe.

Not far away from them, Fishraya gently flew closer to the ground so she could let Antu down safely. It was the first time he did not puff and hissed at her. It wasn’t nothing Fishraya had done to make Antu on edge near her, he had always been scared of Fish’s size. He tended to be scared of things which were bigger than him and could grab him from above without giving him a chance to fight back.

“Why did you do that?”

“You gave me no choice!”

“What the hell are you talking about, Leon?”

“Well, arguing you isn’t getting me anywhere — don’t groan at me that way, I’m still upset at you —”

The sound of disbelief and indignation that escaped Antole’s mouth would’ve made Leon laugh in any other circumstance. “Upset?!”

“Please just let me say this, Nana,” the plea in Leon’s voice was so tangible, Anatole couldn’t do anything but to let him speak.

“I don’t understand you. Sometimes I think I do, but then I realise that I don’t. I don’t understand what it is about your job, your place in society or whatever else you call it that makes you do these things. I don’t because I never had anything like that, and sometimes I think we are so different we’re not going to work out…” Leon paused, a knot in his throat as he came closer to Anatole, his hands resting on his face. He tensed, but he didn’t push Leon away.

“Please tell me there’s a but there. I can’t handle collapsing realms and emotional overcharge.”

“If you have to do this, then take me with you. I don’t understand why you’re doing this, but I know it’s important to you.”

“You can’t just say those things and—”

“Yes, yes I can.”

“You’re terrible. You’re being terrible right now.”

“Why, thank you.”

Anatole shook his head. “I think I hated arguing with you, even if the conversation will have to wait.”

There was a rumble from the forest behind them that pried Anatole away from Leon’s touch.

“I don’t think we have time to go retrieve my family.”

“I wouldn’t risk it either.”

“It’s just you and me, then?

Leon paused, turning to Anatole’s direction, and smirking.

“Just us, we’ll make it work. What direction is the Hierophant’s realm?”

“East.”

Fishraya was already onto Leon’s train of thought, carrying Antu into that direction, as her magician took Anatole’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Have you ever felt what it’s like to run with the help of air magic?”

“No?”

“Well, you’re about to find out.”

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Anatole had never seen The Hierophant’s temple so desolated. The old Ram was waiting for them, surprise overtaking his features as he saw Anatole arrive alone with Leon.

“I was expecting a bigger entourange.”

“A mishap,” Anatole said.

The Hierophant simply took a drink from his glass of wine, smiling. “Lovers' quarrels are easily resolved with a common cause. Welcome to my realm, Leon, or whatever is left of it.”

The Hierophant excused himself — he suspected he couldn’t help them much to slow the process of decay, as he needed to concentrate the remains of his power in aiding Alec and Lucio, but if he was not needed, he would turn to aid them. It would be only Leon and Anatole, they’d have to be enough, the weight of it making both of them feel like their skin was being pricked by something invisible. Anatole hated the sensation, but powered through it: in the face of incommensurable tasks he did what he always did, steel his heels, divide them into chunks, building up strategy until he had a fully formed picture.

He would do the impossible twice, or at least, he would try.

After some awkward lingering he turned to Leon. There was work to be done. The plan was simple: they would use wards. It would at least buy them time to protect the realm from falling. The longer it stood, the longer others would take to be taken, the more time Alec would have.

“Let’s just hope Valdemar themselves doesn’t make an appereance,” Anatole grimanced.

Their wards were different in structure but they’ll have to do. They fractioned the territory, so they would go at it quicker, sometimes the Hierophant coming to them to chat. Breaking Valerius’ chains and his willingness to set things on track gave the Hierophant some of his strength back; a “Not so bad place to start” as the Ram himself said.

“The intention was in the right place. Sometimes you need a little push to turn a situation… upright.”

Anatole ignored the pun with the exasperated fondness only someone who had a close relationship to someone else could have.

However, the Hierophant’s main focus this was on Leon. Except for a couple remarks to Anatole here and there, he followed Leon with his eyes, and struck him in conversation when it did not seem to interfere with his work. For example, when he paused his own tasks to feel Anatole’s magic around them.

“His magic is stronger here. Not the strongest but stronger,” the Hierophant said, sneaking up on Leon. “I assume so it would be in the realm of your patron. May I guess?”

“Sure,” said Leon.

“A knighthood, swords.”

“You already knew.”

“Yet, you entertained me.”

“Why?”

“Why what, child?”

Leon’s brow quirked in amusement. “I am not a kid, am I?”

“Next to me, you are. I am older than you will ever be, even if right now, I could die. You asked why. I asked what reason you seek.”

“Why would it be stronger here or there? I don’t really believe in all of this to begin with.”

The Hierophant laughed. “It’s less about belief, and more about fact. Humanity is cyclic, and as complex as simple as the answer you seek: those of us who come in contact with someone who is loved by our beneficiaries, become partial to them.”

The Hierophant paused, taking some drinks from his glass. Leon stood there in silence, not daring to ask if his love was that obvious. The Hierophant cleared his throat. “That, and he is actually incredibly adept at the magic he himself has chosen, but,” a smile, “pride and true humbleness coexist in him. He’d make a great beneficiary of my own, alas. If you excuse me.”

Leon got back to work, layer after layer of magic, he felt his and Anatole’s merge in a single thing, seamless, welcoming each other home. Leon’s head was swimming with thoughts, but at least their hands were busy.

Home, they thought: was Anatole home? How many homes had they lost? Themselves and him, both. Leon was abandoned, found, abandoned and found, he himself living in a constant wheel of being lost and returning someplace for the sake of some faces.

When words failed him, Leon acted. He didn’t know what Alec was doing with Lucio, he didn’t know what Alec was doing, period, but if he could give her even five more minutes, he would. He didn’t know what Anatole saw in the world to make him so in love with it, but if this would give him a chance to live in it, then he would. He didn’t know how Camia woke up every morning and decided to live on, to carry forward a destiny she had had to fight for, so the people who were called to protect her didn’t take it from her. If he could give Camia one more morning, he would.

He even thought of Jamil, and as much as he still hated how he didn’t say goodbye that one time, for once he thought that maybe goodbye wasn’t needed — it was a see you soon. Alec needed him, as Alec needed Leon now, even if she didn’t know nor remembered. If Leon could give Jamil one more catch up, one more smile upon seeing Camia’s hut in the horizon, he would.

The feeling was disgusting, it disgusted him, and yet he didn’t want anyone to pry it away from his hands ever; if someone tried, he’d bite them.

Maybe this was how Anatole felt, all the time. Maybe it was the reason why he tattooed Love Conquers All on his chest. He groaned; if Anatole made him love the world, he was going to spend the rest of his life making his impossible for it. No, he would not think of the implications of that, of spending the rest of his life besides him.

Damn him for throwing him into things he didn’t understand. Damn him for making him like it.

When he was finally done, he found Anatole already waiting for him, sitting on some steps. Leon sat with him, neither of them saying anything for a moment.

Leon broke the silence first. “What are you thinking about?”

“My family has a vineyard not unlike this one back in Balkovia.”

Leon hummed. Their next words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, let alone make sense of them. “I was born in the Fennekh desert, I think. I don’t know. I used to speak Zadithi. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

Silence fell between them again. This time, Anatole broke it, his voice watery as he spoke. “I’m sorry about the way I acted earlier. I shouldn’t have exploded like that on you.”

“You didn’t explode, you just talked,” Leon laced their fingers together, bringing the back of Anatole’s hand to his lips. “That’s what you do when you’re overwhelmed. Or nervous. You talk.”

“Still. Are you still upset with me?”

“Are you?”

He sighed. “I am upset that it all had to be this way. I keep feeling like I could’ve done better, but I didn’t, and now we’re here, and perhaps we would be here anyway. Now answer the question, Leon.”

“I am, but not at what you think.” Leon exhaled, finding that tendril of courage now in his heart, a tendril warm like the rays of the sun on his skin. “It upsets me more that you would assume I don’t love you back, or that you don’t matter to me.”

Leon sighed. “It’s all very mushy and disgusting, but I suppose it’s—“

Anatole’s lips had found his own, and they were kissing him like he was his anchor to this world, with an intensity and a passion so unyielding it made Leon want to melt at the realisation he was its sole depositary. Leon couldn’t finish his sentence, nor he remembered how he wanted to finish it.

Anatole, like him, had a hunger more ravenous than most, a hunger for something undetermined and overwhelming that Leon knew too well.

When Anatole kissed him like this, Leon felt like that hunger might finally satiate. When Anatole kissed him like this, Leon felt like it would all turn out alright, even if somewhere around the edge of the realms, one of their wards had begun to break.

#the arcana #oc x oc #my writing #lucio's route #dani's ocs #leon #aelius anatole #coincidence lovers #alright i've given this two reads to make sure it's alright and correctly edited this time #if i find one typo i will yell

15 notes · View notes

xbellaxcarolinax · 4 years

Text

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 7- Obedience

Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 3732

Warnings: Implied violence, of course, from Ivar.

AN: I’m only realizing now that this would be considered a slow burn. Sorry 😅

6- Trapped

...

"I didn't think Ivar was serious when he said you'd be in here."

Artemis cracks her eyes open at the offending light. Above her stood Hvitserk, a concerned look in his eye. She shifts under his gaze, feeling the discomfort in her aching bones.

"Good morning." He then chirps in greeting, holding his hands out as an invitation. Artemis hesitates for a moment before grasping them, immediately noticing the roughness of his hands as he hauls her up in one swift motion.

Hvitserk managed to lift her out like a small child, setting her down on her unstable feet. He looked at her tired eyes with a sad smile, and that alone was off putting.

"I like you, Artemis," He begins, "I can't deny there's something about you," He pauses. He runs a hand down the smooth expanse of his honey hair, set in a neat singular braid. He leans against the crate, giving her a pointed look, "But it doesn't mean you can be disobedient, nor neglect your duties." He sounded so much like Helga, reprimanding, yet somehow not so angry. At least, not yet.

There was something he was keeping quiet about. Something was brewing and it set a fear in her heart. In her nervousness Artemis attempts to smooth down her overused dress, the hem already developing fraying seams. With a sigh, Hvitserk moves closer to her, supplying a rough rope from his belt and tying her wrists together, just as he had the first time they met. She couldn't even process his actions properly, and before she knew it, her hands were bounded.

"I hate to do this," Hvisterk offers her the same sorrowful smile as before, "But Ivar believes an example needs to be made of you." She remains quiet, looking at her bounded wrists with dejected eyes.

"I will be beaten." She comes to a realization, her voice barely above a whisper.

"The faster it begins, the faster it will end," Hvisterk replies, taking the long end of the rope to pull her along with him. Her still aching limbs struggled to keep up with Hvitserk's pace, and she could feel the bile rise, burning it's way up enough to make her eyes water and the panic resurface.

Hvitserk sighs again, gently turning her around to rip open the laces holding her dress together before pushing her out the cabin door. It was a sunny day, one that hadn't been seen in so long. She would have laughed bitterly if she weren't afraid.

All the other slaves under the Ragnarson's household waited out front, some of them appearing disinterested. Edda stood there with arms crossed over her round belly, annoyed that her time was being wasted on a spectacle when she had more important matters to attend to.

Sigurd and Ubbe, and stood leaning off the side of the cabin, their faces lacking any real emotion. Sigurd takes a quick glance at her before looking away, and Ubbe's piercing eyes said it all. I told you so.

Hvitserk pulls her toward the nearest tree, tying the rope as tightly as he could around the trunk. He motions for her to face the trunk and lower herself to her knees. She ignores the uncomfortable feel of her knees sinking into the dirt, focusing her watery eyes on the jagged shapes of the tree bark.

"I'm sorry, little fighter." And with that, Hvitserk leaves to join the others.

It was eerily quiet after that. The birds were singing their morning songs in the trees, and the cold wind danced through the leaves, gently falling over her.

Artemis let's out a shuddering breath as soon as she hears his body dragging over the dying grass, and her own body immediately tensed, the exposed skin of her back forming goose flesh.

Ivar drags himself to sit beside her, grunting when his back hits the trunk of the tree. He stares at her for a few moments, but she never turns her face to stare back at his. She bites her tongue as she gets the sudden urge to spit in his face.

He leans his head back, playing with something in his hands that she was sure was the object of punishment.

"You look scared," He comments lowly, the smallest hint of amusement in his voice. Still, Artemis remained silent.

"Look." He tells her gently, tapping a finger to her knee to grab her attention. When she turns, she sees him holding up a wooden stick with a slight curve in her line of vision. A switch.

"Mother would use this on my brothers whenever they misbehaved," Ivar smiles, recounting the countless memories of them being rambunctious boys, "I remember a time when Hvitserk went into mother's paint pot of khol. He used it all to rub it over our faces, even the thralls." He let's out a chuckle at the memory, a twinge of sadness from recalling images of his mother.

He sighs, poking her cheek with the stick, smiling when she flinches.

"Can you imagine Hvitserk being hit by our beautiful mother with this? She should have used a hammer." He continues his mindless chatter.

"And what about you?" Artemis croaks, her throat feeling dryer than the deserts of the east.

"What about me?"

"Were you ever hit with it when you misbehaved?" The question causes a bitter chuckle to erupt from him.

"Mother didn't want to hit a cripple," He shrugs, sweeping his eyes over her, "Not even when I killed a boy," To this, Artemis jerks away as if he'd burned her somehow, and he only laughs at her reaction.

"What? It was an accident." He says before dragging himself behind her shivering form, his bound legs touching the side of her thigh.

"It would be like being a child again," He says in a condescending tone, moving the tip of the switch in little sweeps over her shoulders and down her back. She wished he'd just do it already.

He leans in closer to whisper.

"Pray to the gods that today you will learn your real lesson."

...

It could have been worse, she tells herself.

It could have been his dagger, or a horse whip, carving or ripping at her tender flesh.

But it certainly did hurt.

Artemis takes in shaky breaths, her heart still pumping with the after effects of the adrenaline. Her back was marred with crisscross markings extending down to her lower back. She felt her bones would have shattered from the weight of the impact.

Ivar had said nothing by the end of it, tossing the switch aside and crawling away from the scene as if he were the one struck by it.

Artemis was left on her cot in an isolated area housed by the animals to deal with the consequences. There was a lingering stench of the goats and sheep, and she brings her sleeve up to shield her nose from the offending smells.

She sat with her knees cradled to her chest, her back making it impossible to lay down and rest properly. After a while her tears finally subsided, drying in thin streaks down her cheeks. She recites a simple prayer before fluttering her eyes closed once the drowsiness crept up. Her concentration was broken once she hears the familiar plucking of the lute. Squinting her eyes in the dimness of the candlelight, she barely makes out Sigurd's form, playing his lute gently.

Stunned, Artemis watches him appraoch her slowly until he sat directly in front of her, continuing to play the soft melody. She looked away from him quickly with a frown, overwhelmingly embarrassed.

"Artemis," She looks up reluctantly. His yellow hair was paler under the glow of the candles, and his eyes glitter like little blue jewels.

"Prince Sigurd."

"I...I have no words of comfort to give you. Just a song to lighten your spirits," He started to play again, experienced fingers plucking each string precisely. He hummed along with the melody, his eyes closed in concentration. The tune was nothing she's heard before, but it was beautiful. She let's the music soothe her, and she finally reveals the smallest hint of a smile, though it never reaches her eyes. Sigurd smiles back, feeling he had conquered the greatest achievement.

"Why do you show me kindness?" She questions him, hugging her knees tighter as if to hide. Although she appreciated Sigurd's attempt at calming her, she didn't know whether to trust his seemingly kind heart or if he were trying to misguide her.

"Everyone deserves kindness, even a slave," He replies, the smile never falling from his lips as his fingers continue playing.

"Even Ivar?" She asks, her eyes finally willing to bore into his. Sigurd abruptly stopped his plucking, setting the lute aside with a sigh.

"Ivar is crazy, but he is my brother. Although we do not see eye to eye, he is still my blood. I just wish he would realize that too," Sigurd spoke the last part softly with a another sigh. "I'm sorry I could not help you, but it was out of my control," Artemis shakes her head, not interested in such things. If God couldn't help her, than who could?

"I suppose a slave doesn't deserve to be saved." She rests her head on her knees, her hair spilling over like a dark waterfall. She was tired and didn't wish to take part in idle talk. Sigurd frowned, standing now with lute in hand. He takes a quick glance at her back, eyes lingering over the red swells that decorated her skin.

"Ivar has requested you be taken to the healer in the morning. It's the most kindness he will show you. Have a goodnight, Artemis," He left swiftly, finally leaving Artemis to the peace she had wanted. She muttered another silent prayer, making the sign of the cross before turning to her side and closing her eyes.

...

Sigurd had been correct, much to her relief.

She had been fetched to see the healer, upon Ivar's request, so that she may be tended to. The healer wasn't to concerned, simply applying a soothing salve that acted as a numbing agent. In time, the welts would disappear. Artemis should have been happy about it, but it didn't change the fact that the wounds were inflicted on her in the first place.

She was given a new dress as well, another request of Ivar's. It was nothing out of the ordinary, but the fabric was of much finer quality than the last, of a warmer, softer wool. She didn't know why he even bothered to see that she was provided with what would be considered luxuries to some. His tendencies were confusing, and Artemis was beginning to grow weary of his judgements.

In the end, Ivar recieved exactly what he wanted: obedience.

Artemis no longer spoke out, and only spoke when being spoken to. She didn't look into anyone's eyes for much longer then a second. She remained quiet and passive, going about her duties that have doubled since the incident. She served the morning and evening meals to the Princes when asked to, helped Edda in the kitchen, and saw to every annoying need Ivar had.

His brothers took notice, watching her silently become just like every other thrall. Though Hvitserk still teased her at times, Ubbe was still kind, and Sigurd became more sympathetic towards her.

There was nothing in Kattegat that brought her simple pleasures. Every day became the same routine, with endless tasks and long nights to think of her home. She thought of her father, about the family business and who would inherit it. She missed the hot nights under the dark sky, the ancient ruins in her village, and she even missed the butcher boy who'd constantly seek her out.

The monks were dying one by one as the days passed, saddening her greatly. She stopped visiting Helga, as she was embarrassed of what the woman would say, but she couldn't go even if she wanted to. Facing Helga was one matter, but to face Floki was to seek further humiliation. Helga did warn her, as most did, but Artemis was stubborn and prideful, but like everything else, in time, she learned.

Snow began to cover every inch of Kattegat, and it was whiter than anything she'd ever seen before. It intrigued her, the way it fell silently in its path, only to land in her hand, melting away. It would be a harsh winter she'd hear the people say, with vegetation dying and rivers freezing over, and although she resented the cold nights, she had a new appreciation for the snow and its careful beauty.

Once the winter passes, the heathen army would make it's way across the seas to seek destruction. Artemis often found herself listening in to their plans, and watching as the brothers fought for control. Ivar was often angry, but that was to no surprise. He constantly argued with Bjorn, who would bark back his authority in return.

From her understanding, Ivar thought himself to be the leader, the one their father chose to lead their growing army. Ubbe, Hvistserk, and Sigurd never argued, but agreed that Bjorn should lead. Ivar was far too fickle, and his ever changing mood would cause more damage to themselves than to their enemies.

The bickering of siblings was nothing new to Artemis. She too had a brother, Apollo, who would often tease her relentlessly, but it was in brotherly affection, which is what the Ragnarsson lacked most of the time. It was as if it were disease tainting their veins, and the arguments between Ivar and Sigurd was nothing she had witness before. It was such hatred that passed through their eyes, clouding their vision of what was right and wrong.

Anyone could see the obvious distaste they had towards each other, and it was only recently in which Ivar would enter his chambers at night after another meeting, going on and on about how Sigurd infuriated him. Every night Artemis would listen while she readied his chambers for the night as he insulted his brother, repeatedly stabbing his desk with his favorite knife mercilessly in a way to calm his nerves.

In any other situation, Artemis wouldn't hesitate telling Ivar how stupid she thought he was, and how quickly his anger got the better of him. Ivar was young, and still had the mind of a child when it came to dealing with his anger. But she didn't care enough to even look in his direction most times. She grew a dislike for him, and his stupid legs.

...

Queen Lagertha organized a feast in honor of all the visiting nobles and warriors that came in the name of her ex-husband. She sat proudly on her throne, her red gown pooling around her feet like a river of blood. She was a sight to behold, with flaxen locks and attractive eyes that twinkled with many untold secrets.

Artemis watched her with doe eyes, admiring the Queen who emanated such strength and courage. The owl perched at her side and the warrior women beside her only helped her regal image. The girl was dazed, looking upon her as if she were a Greek goddess.

"Why do you look so impressed? She killed my mother." Ivar snorted beside her, sitting comfortably on a chair draped in comfortable furs. He sniffs at the ale given to him by one of Lagertha's thralls, before deciding it was safe to drink. He gulps it down in one go, tossing the cup behind him with little care. She grumbles to herself, bending to pick it up as he continued.

"She doesn't deserve the throne."

She turns to him with apathetic eyes. She had no interest in the Queen killing his mother. Perhaps she had good reason for doing so, but it didnt really matter to her.

"She is beautiful." Artemis remarks casually, watching Ivar's face twist in disgust, and it was almost enough to make her smile.

"She is a witch." He spat before shooing her away to speak with more honorable people worthy of his presence.

She looks around the hall, trying to find her way to the sidelines with the other slaves. The people here were massive, both the men and women, towering over her like great mountains. It was nothing she was not use to at this point, seeing pale skin covered with markings depicting their myths and culture.

Searching the crowd, she secretly hopes to find Helga, but she finds Aria instead, a slave taken from a kingdom called Ireland. She was a pretty girl with hair like fire and skin so pale, that she rivaled the white snow. She had a dust of freckles upon her face, and Artemis always found herself admiring her beauty.

"He's looking at you, you know," Aria snickered in her broken Norse, "He's been watching you all night. If he is not glaring at the Queen, then he is looking at you." Artemis snorted. She knew who she meant but she didn't want to acknowledge it. Ivar's eyes were always piercing, and so she dared not to look his way.

"Does he wish to take you?" Artemis turned her head quickly at the question, she almost feared her neck would snap from the force.

"What?"

The red head laughed, "He is doing more than merely looking at you, Artemis. He is eating you with his eyes"

"Don't be a fool, the prince hates me," Artemis snaps, grabbing a pitcher of ale from a passing thralls hands. She needed to keep herself occupied.

"You're much too modest. You're pretty, and there's nothing wrong with pleasing your master. That is how I stay in the Jarls good graces." Aria smirked, and behind that smirk lay many lustful secrets.

"You mean to be like Margrethe?" Both women glanced at the former slave, hanging off Ubbe's arm but batting her lashes at Hvitserk. Aria shrugged, glancing at her master who beckoned her over with a seductive smile.

"Perhaps." She says, bouncing away in a swirl of her skirts. Artemis huffed, rejecting the idea.

"Harald, look, the Mediterranean girl," She hadn't seen him in a while, but she remembered him well, the man with the ink on his face and the yellow hair over his eye. She knew his name to be Halfdan, protector of the stolen goods on Bjorn's last raid. The man named Harald tilts his head as he observes her. He then proceedes to chuckle, causing Artemis to frown.

"Quite the pretty little thing, brother," He turns to Halfdan smiling before bending down to be at eye level with her.

"And what is your name, hmm?" Artemis gulped, his face mere inches away from her own. His eyes held many stories of battle, and his skin riddled with scars was a testament to that. His hair was long and braided, falling over his shoulder as he bent. The ink on his skin only made him appear fiercer and he clearly was a man one should not anger.

"Artemis," She replies quietly, gripping the pitcher tight to her chest.

"He is a king. King Harald. You should address him as such," Halfdan says, quickly glancing at the pretty noble women that passed him.

"My apologies, King Harald, I was not aware," Artemis kept her eyes downcast, not wanting to meet either of their gazes. She wouldn't lie, she was quite intimidated, and having these men stand over her made her feel smaller than she already was.

"Worry not," Harald straightened up with a smile, "Your accent is odd. Where in the Mediterranean?"

"Crete."

Harald turns to look back at his brother for further information, but

Halfdan only shrugs, holding out his cup for Artemis to pour him ale. She complied immediately without hesitation.

"An island they say is part of the Byzantine Empire. We didn't stay long." Harald held his own cup out, and she poured him more ale obediently. The brothers clinked their cups together, yelling skol, before gulping the ale in one go. That seemed to be very common here.

"Well, little Artemis, we hope to see you again." She blinked after them, watching their fur covered backs disappear into the crowd of more furs and wool. What an odd pair they were

Before she could think of anything more, she was pinched roughly on the ankle, her yelp drowned out by the loud music and chatter. Turning round, she meets Ivar's angry eyes below her. He motions for her to lower herself.

"What did they want?" He hisses in her ear. What was she to say to that? She didn't even know what they had wanted. It was an odd introduction to an odd pair of brothers.

"They wanted more ale, Prince Ivar," He rolls his eyes, another action he seemed to do often.

"It's not your job to serve anyone tonight. You're no one else's thrall." Her brows knit in confusion. What was he going on about?

"Rememeber what I have told you. You serve no one but me," Ivar suddenly looked fatigued, his arms trembling slightly with the constant pressure of holding himself up. Not that Artemis cared, really. He could collapse in front of her and she wouldn't bat an eye. He suddenly snatched the pitcher from her, flagging down another thrall and thrusting it into their hands before sending them off.

"This feast bores me. Go on and ready my chambers, I wish to retire for the night," He shoos her off before going back to his brothers. He turns back to look at her disappear out of the hall, before going back to sit down beside Ubbe, who gave him a knowing smile.

"How fairs the slave?"

Lagertha suddenly cuts into his vision, a smirk gracing her pink lips as she bends to whisper in his ear. Ivar sneered, moving away from her, causing his other brothers to turn and look.

"She is a terrible slave, and quite umbecoming," He says harshly, his blue eyes icy. It took everything in him to not kill her where she stood. The Queen laughs, tossing her blonde hair behind her shoulder and sipping delicately from her golden cup.

"Your eyes say otherwise." Lagertha looked at him one last time with a knowing gaze, leaving him dumbfounded in the middle of the crowded hall.

...

@heavenly1927

#ivarfanfiction #ivarxofc #ivar lothbrok #ivar imagine #ivar #ivar fanfic #vikings ivar #vikings #helga #ubbe #sigurd #hvitserk #floki #lagertha #ivar the boneless #alex hogh andersen

66 notes · View notes

flappypineapples · 4 years

Text

Escapism Ch. 2

The carriage ride was bumpy as all carriage rides seem to be in London. Cordelia pushed the curtain back to glance outside at the passing street. The sky was grey with clouds, much like Cordelia's own thoughts.

She shivered.

She knows she has no real right to be upset with James, their emgamemt is a sham and he doesn't truly love her, not in the way he loves Grace but it still hurts. She did truly believe him when he had promised to be faithful. A bitter chuckle catches in her throat. But she supposed that to was another thinly veiled sham.

She was startled out of her thoughts by the feeling of heavy wool settling on her shoulders. She turned to see Matthew fiddiling with the fabric on the upholstery. He looked straight ahead, his expression hidden by the shadows of the evening sun.

"You seemed cold, you don't have a wrap or anything and it's getting late".

Anna watched them thoughtfully from her seat. She leaned forward resting her elbows on her spread knees and bringing her hands up to below her chin.

"Oh I just can't wait to see how this delightful night enfolds".

---

Matthew would be boldface lying if he said he wasn't deeply worried. Cordelia was meant to be the grounded, level headed girl of his secret desires, close enough to admire but never venturing too far into his own world. It was easier to bear that way. But here she was, thoughtful and determined not on battle strategy or word play but leisure and temptation. She wanted to see the world he loved and resided in with no alternative motive of mockery or investigation.

He expected this behavior from James or Lucie, Herondales were always known to throw themselves headlong into riské situations. From Christopher who perhaps had absentmindedly wandered into a world of magic like Alice in Wonderland. Even sooner from Thomas who had a silent appreciation for the mundane art of the world. But yet again Matthew had underestimated Cordelia and her range of emotion and action. Her heart seemed to flutter like a moth near an oil lamp, refusing to be pinned down by the wings.

But most of all Matthew wanted to help her. He could never help himself and it occured to him that he may be in the unique position to help someone else. Not only help them but guide them into a world he so loved. The thought excited him, walking Cordelia into the Hell Ruelle and introducing her to all his favorite corners and mates. Perhaps maybe she would want more of the world after tonight. He could show her all his favorite haunts of London, a satue garden or even take her to a Mundane theatre to see a production of The Importance of Being Earnest. Matthew cut his thoughts off there. It was not his place to be courting his parabatai's soon to be wife no matter the circumstance of their emgamemt. He was simply here to protect Cordelia from any harm that may come to her tonight as any good upstanding Parabatai would do for their blood brothers partner. This was soley a mission of protection and honor. But even as Matthew absentmindedly reached for his flask and took a glance at Cordelia's face from the corner of his eyes he knew that was a lie. He let his eyes trail breifly over her sharp nose and beautiful dark eyes.

An interesting night indeed.

---

The carriage rolled to a stop as the sun was fully dipped into the pool of the night sky. The moon was just starting to emerge from the horizon as they stepped out of the carriage. Matthew went second after Anna and stiffly helped Cordelia down to the stones. The night air was still damp with the whisper of recently shed rain but now a sharp breeze had cut through that musky air freezing it. Cordelia pulled Matthew's jacket around herself tighter.

They walked inside together. The inside air was thick with sweet and smoke and Cordelia smelled the air greatfully. It was a relaxing break from the stiff smell London air. Anna passed some quick words with the door guard and they sauntered inside gracefully.

Cordelia was yet again struck with the beauty of such a place. A young fairie man with gold eyelashes and dark skin winked at her and Matthew as he passed by. A young werewolf girl sat perched on the arm of a lush green couch with a flute resting below her red staining lips. As she played the warm air of her breath created disappearing clouds that seeped through the keys. Lily the vampire server saw them come in and swayed over hastily.

"Reginald has been learning how to juggle all week and we've all made bets on how many different items he can keep in the air." She blew a lock of loose hair out of her face. "I lost a bet to a ifrit with one arm and the largest mustache I've ever seen, I bet you half his gambling salary goes towards beard wax, drinks?"

She breathlessly holds forward her serving tray of champagne and Cordelia hastily plucks a flute. Matthew expertly fingers two in one hand, handing the second to Anna and going back for a second for himself.

Anna surveys the room and lands her gaze on a circle of guests standing alterly around a man. Over there heads every couple of seconds seems to fly another blue and white china saucer. The crowd claps and cheers with every plate joining the air.

"If you'll excuse me Cordelia I must go see what this commotion is all about. Matthew I do trust you'll take complete care of Cordelia while I am away with miss Chen?"

"I can take perfectly good care of myself", Cordelia cut in quickly, plucking Matthew's jacket from her shoulders. Lily smiled admiringly.

Anna smiled as well, "Yes of course but Matthew isn't the one who came to my flat drenched in rain demanding debauchery".

Matthew's eyes glittered over the rim of his champagne flute, "for once".

With that Anna had turned; sweeping Lily up in her sway and leaving Matthew and Cordelia alone in a room full of motion.

Matthew deposited his now empty glasses on the nearest side table and took his coat from Cordelia, shrugging it on. Cordelia turned to deposit her empty flute next to Matthew's. When she turned back around Matthew brandished a small tin of white hard candies to her. She hesitantly took one looking at him quizzically.

"They're french", he answered to her unasked question. "Anise of Flavigny, these are rose flavored. Don't bite down on them though, they'll break your teeth". Matthew brandished his signature smile as if to show off his perfectly unbroken teeth as an example.

Cordelia couldn't help but smile warmly back as she popped the small candy in her mouth. The taste of roses brought her back to being a child and having her cook mix sweet rose syrup and water to make her and her brother rose water to drink in the summer. She thought it strange to find such warm childhood memories in a place she would consider so far from the inocents of childhood.

"Matthew?"

"Hmm?", Matthew looked back down at her, he had seemed distracted and distant but it seemed her words snapped him back to reality.

"What do er do we do?", The thought occured to Cordelia that she didn't know much of what really went on in a salon and she wasn't to keen on flailing about trying to figure it out and making a fool of herself.

Matthew threw his head back lazily and giggled, it wasn't a mocking laugh but instead it seemed to be a laugh of pure delight.

"Oh Cordelia this is the question isn't it?", He extended his arm to her to take and she took it hesitantly. He was warm and humming with energy. "Come along now, there's loads to see and do".

Matthew led them over to a large seated vampire who seemed to be talking to a small group of people who were nodding and commented with eachother. On the way he has snagged two dark glasses of wine and handed one to Cordelia. She took a long drink of it, grimacing slightly at the bitter taste but welcoming the warm feeling it spread throughout her. Matthew skillfully wedged their bodies into the fray of the conversation and began listening contently.

"If the mundanes keep palling around the Middle East and digging up all those tombs they're going to end up releasing some angry old spirit of curse on all those poor locals."

A silver haired nymph cut in quickly "did you know they're eating bits of mumified person now? They think it'll give them good health, I would never eat such an old human, it seems rotten and distasteful."

"Some even think they'll be able to find the fountain of youth off the White Nile, I think they're fools the lot of them." The werewolf man added.

Cordelia was constantly ammused by the da gerous and expensive lengths mundane women would go to look young and thought back to her comment on how It'd be so much easier to just become a vampire.

The group of guests began to laugh mirthfully and look at her.

"Amusing observation, especially amusing coming from one so young and pretty" said the Nymph woman examining Cordelia head to toe. Cordelia flushed in embarrassment, she hadn't meant to say her comment out loud for everyone to hear. She looked up to Matthew in alarm and found him smiling warmly down at her; apparently just as ammused as the rest of the crowd. The group of guests had moved onto another discussion and Matthew guided her away clearly finding their new topic too boring for their adventurous night. He led her into a side hallway slightly quieter than the fray of the main room but with a wide view still of it's goings.

He took her arm and brought her to sit beside him on a plush loveseat against the wall. The couch was a dark nightly ocean blue with nude carved women making up the wood accents of the back. Cordelia finished off her glass and reached for another drink from a passing servers tray. She hiccuped as she took a drink from her new glass.

She watched the juggling man now hold or rather toss 4 live lobsters around while a warlock woman standing by him collected bet money. She scanned the room for Anna but she was no where to be found. She let her eyes settle on a large looming painting on her left side. It depicted a young man made of gold surrounded by a golden castle scene. His frozen arms were held up like a ballerina as if to hug the air. At his feet fell and older man dressed in fine clothes apparently sobbing in anguish over the scene of metal. She took another sip of her drink and looked over at Matthew and found him with a far off look in his eyes. He too was looking at the painting but it seemed to touch him in a way it did not touch her.

---

Matthew had always been intrigued the story of king Midas. A man who was surrounded by beauty but was punished anytime he tried to touch the lives of the people around him. Matthew himself often felt he ruined anything he touched but instead of gold he just offered fire. He burned away good things if he got to close to them. So few people could get close to him without catching fire but no one could truly touch him. Not even James. If James knew his truths he ran the risk of losing him. His sweet Jamie was the best thing he had in his life and he would never risk losing him.

Matthew breathed deeply. In. And out.

And opened his eyes again. When his vision focused he found a fairie man looking at them from across the room.

No, not them. Her

His golden eyes were fixed on her pointadly. He had dark waist length black hair to match his dark freckles covered skin. He was wearing a black suit with golden trim to match his bright golden eyes. Matthew looked over at Cordelia but she seem singlemindably fixated on staring at the oil painting to their left. Matthew felt a warm possessiveness rise up in his heart. He knew it was nonsensical but watching this man give Cordelia such a hungry look made him bubble up with a strange sort of anger he wasn't used to.

Matthew leaned over and wrapped an arm around Cordelia's shoulders to get the message across that she was not available. Whether the action was in Jamse's name or his one he dared not ask. It seemed to have worked cause the man slipped out of Matthew's sight and into the crowd.

---

Cordelia was startled out of her dazed state by Matthew curling his arm around her shoulders and pulling her toward him. She looked up at him in alarm.

"Matthew is everything alright?". He was looking forward narrow eyed but Cordelia saw nothing there when she looked.

As soon as the look had appeared on his face it passed, like clouds in the sky the sun was out again and he was babbling light heartedly.

"Yeah everything is dandy I was just wondering if you'd want to hear a poem I was working on." He gracefully lifted his arm from her shoulder and started waving his hands around wildly as if he had intended this from the start.

"Yes but didn't you tell me you're rubish at writing?" Cordelia deposited her empty glass on the floor beside her and sat back.

"Yes but that never stops me from trying; maybe this time will be the one!" He jumped up and on to the foot stole infront of her looking down devilishly.

"My sweet maiden left me dry

She torn my savings which made me cry

She took the child and left a log

But worst of all she took the dog" Matthew smiled confidently as if his verses were likely to win him a writing award.

Cordelia burst out laughing, "good god! You are awful". In her fit of giggles she tipped over sideways landing on the cushion beside her. She kicked her booted feet up and onto the arm of the ornate couch. She knew if her mother could see her now she'd probably drop dead on the sight.

Matthew leaned over and laughed down at her. Cordelia couldn't stop laughing back in his face, he looked so funny upside down, like his eyebrows made a tiny mustache for his tiny face. Cordelia reached up and covered his mouth with her hand to complete the illusion and fell into another fit of giggles. She drew her hand back and sat up dazedly.

Matthew knelt down beside her one hand on her lower back steadying her as she sat up. He cheerful but slightly concered looked concerned.

"Cordelia how are you feel-" but Matthew was cut off by a loud round of applause coming from the stage in the middle of the room. The flutist from earlier took to the stage along with kellington and a woman with a cello. Upon further inspection the cello seemed to be made of an ivory material with a bone neck. It was beautiful in a sickly sweet way, much like the player. Her hair was a waterfall of pale cobwebs adorned with small red spiders. The sight made Matthew's stomach churn.

As Kellington raised his violin to his chin he let his eyes grazed over the crowd.

"Tonight we have a special musical act. The talented miss Nightwae and Miliana are joining me in playing some dancing music." People began to desert their drinks behind and search for dancing partners at the catalyst of his words.

"They raised their bows as the dark lipped woman brought the flute to her lips. The music swelled up in a haunting melody. Not one native to a ballroom but perhaps a far away land or fairytale.

Cordelia stood up quickly wishing to get a closer look and found her vision quickly being eaten over by black ink. She reached out as Matthew caught her around the waist steadinging her. She wasn't surprised by her slight faintness she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and had had a hard day of training.

She had been planning on teaching James to make stuffed grape leaves for dinner. He had expressed great interest in learning how to help her prepare meals and-

"Let's dance", Cordelia caught at Matthew's shoulders and pulled him towards the main room. Taken be surprise Matthew stumbled at first but regained his footing and soon found himself swept up in a sea of fine fabrics and finer guests all swaying dangerously to a far away melody.

Matthew took Cordelia's hand in his own and lightly placed his hand on her hip careful not to cross any boundaries he couldn't later take back. They twirled with the crowd. Matthew was an excellent dancer and led her expertly. He bent his head in to talk to her in a low ammused voice.

"You know for such a beautiful solo dancer you sure are poor at couples dances."

Cordelia looked up at him challengingly, "you know for such a charming boy you sure do insult ladies alot." Her words were harsh but the curl of her lips and the glint in her eyes conveyed the true joking matter of her phrase.

The song paused and changed quickly to a more dissonant and deep melody. Matthew twirled Cordelia and the room swam around her she lost her footing and ended up righting herself using his arms to keep her up. She looked up to thank him and was shocked still to find James smiling back down at her. He slid his hands down to her waist and began to away them further towards the center stage.

"James? What are you doing here?"

James leaned in closer, his lips brushing the edge of her ear as he spoke. "Is that what you see? Fascinating".

He spun her sideways a couple feet and joined her moving deftly across the dance floor, further and further from her original spot. As they floated deeper into the fray she felt the hot air settle around her, making her hair frizz on the nape of her neck with sweat.

"What are you talking about? James, what is happening?" Cordelia felt some sort of sense trying to leak into her brain but found herself unable to grasp at it, like fog blocking out the sun.

"You are an incredibly alluring girl. From the moment you walked in I've had my eye on you. I was right". He moved with her again, further.

"Right about what?" She asked breathless and confused.

His golden eyes danced like the embers of a bonfire.

"You're trapped. You love and cannot love. You live a lie fabricated around this face."

He stopped dancing and reached down gripping her face. His fingers dug into her cheek and he pressed down so hard she could taste sparks of metal.

"Tragic. Such a beautiful face wasted away on unrequited love." He let his hand fall again and his arms came possesivly snaking around her waist. "No wonder the lucky guy is so beautiful, pretty faces were never known to show much mercy huh?"

With that Cordelia fell. Fell into the warm darkness surrounding her. It was like falling backwards into the ocean on a warm day. The coldness took her over and the last thing she saw was the glint of golden eyes.

---

Matthew was now frantically pushed and weaving his way through the dance floor after Cordelia and the golden eyed man. It was him, the dark haired man from earlier.

He had finally caught up to them just in time to see Cordelia fall backwards into the man's tight grip. Her head lulled backwards her eyes shut and lips slightly parted. Matthew cried out, forgetting himself and the setting he was in.

As he rushed towards them the man opened his arms in a grand sweeping gesture and let her fall. Matthew reached out and caught her, sinking to the floor to cushion her fall.

"What did you you?!" Matthew was furious but holding a knife to this man's throat would hardly accomplish anything but getting Matthew kicked out.

The air stilled around them and the room seemed to slow like bodies running through water.

"I didn't do anything she didn't secretly want. She saw what she desired". The man gazed down at them with his chin raised.

"Who do you see fair one?" With those words the man's skin seems to ripple and shudder away revealing a tall pale blonde boy staring down at Matthew.

It was him. When he was 13. Wide eyed and childlike, carrying a small bottle of poison in his pocket.

Matthew was at a loss for words. His mind was going a thousand miles a minute even though it seemed whatever enchantment was at work was pausing the sway of bodies around them.

"Interesting, you and her both long for such heart aching things. What a pair", and with that the man stepped back into the crowd as it swelled back to normal time and swalled him whole. He loooked around frantically but he was no where to be seen

Notes: I was going to make this chapter longer but my notes app I'm writing in has a word count limit 😂. This is very fun to write I hope you guys are having fun reading it. Sorry I was a little late to getting this out. Have a wonderful whenever you're reading this :-).

#cassie clare #tlh spoilers #cassandra clare #chog #chog spoilers #chain of gold fanfic #chain of gold spoilers #chain of gold #cordelia carstairs #matthew and cordelia #james and cordelia #james herondale #matthew fairchild #anna lightwood #the last hours #tlh

43 notes · View notes

ikesenhell · 4 years

Text

Into the Deep

GLITTER & GOLD, CHAPTER 7. You can find all other IkeSen/IkeVamp works of mine on my page. NOTES: HOLY SHIT. It’s been a minute. Admittedly, I’m more or less finishing this for @chezzkaa (because you asked about it and were really invested) and @velociraptor-detective (because I know you like post-apoc). But I’m going to finish the goddamn thing. Here you go. I’m doing it. We’re almost there. TRIGGER WARNINGS: drowning, panic-inducing scenario, sickness, some talk of mental illness, implied death.

---

Masamune didn't have his hands free to brace. The road ran roughshod, the ancient truck they were bound in barely hanging on by the hinges. No doubt whatever shocks it had were long gone. The way their captors drove didn't help. One of them had an arm hanging out the back slat window, eyes never leaving them. The cold moonlight pooled in the truck bed and glimmered on faded red paint.

Kicking out his feet, Masamune stretched enough to brace his body between the short sides of the truck bed and stop her from banging into the back. He fixed him with a grateful glance. They couldn’t talk--even if they weren’t gagged, they had an audience--but he could read the muted question in her dark eyes. What now?

What now indeed? The projector they’d rescued from the turbine was somewhere in the truck. They’d disabled it, but no doubt the cultists could just pop it back. And that was assuming that it was their ghost ship’s source in the first place. The other knew they’d gone to the turbine field, but after that? Their tracks were muddy and difficult. Mitsuhide was good at his job, and Hideyoshi excellent with the land, but given enough time…

Well, time was not on their side if this ‘Messenger’ was as bad news as Masamune assumed.

They turned down another dirt road. In the distance, he could see the faint lights of Waŋblí Hoȟpi flickering. So close! And yet…

These corn fields were familiar. Weren’t these the ones they’d run through those days ago, shot a flare gun by the well and made an escape? That figured. They’d come pretty close to their source, then. Masamune stilled his beating heart as best he could. They’d get out of this. They had to. He’d get her free, or one of the others would track them down…

(Or they wouldn’t. And that was not the end Masamune was willing to entertain. If it took him fighting til the end, at the very least, she would get out of this. He swore it to himself on his father’s grave.)

At last, the truck pulled into the driveway. The same ramshackle house as before, weathered white siding and the screened porch, THE GODS COME FOR FAITHFUL spray painted on the side in bright green. This was it. Masamune wriggled one of his bound hands to her, just close enough for them to link pinkies. She squeezed tight.

One of their captors opened the cab door and motioned with a shotgun. “Come on.”

It was awkward, but they both wriggled themselves out of the flatbed. Bugs battered against the porch light, their impact of bodies a quiet thud in the still night. Where was the wind? A near supernatural calm lay over the plains, as if it held its breath for the next step. Someone jabbed a gun hard into his back.

“Move.”

What choice did they have? Masamune kept his eyes open, senses peeled for anything to change the tide of their fate. Maybe this ‘Messenger’ was more amenable to reason. Onward they walked in the night, through the narrow corn pathways. He could hear her behind him. That was the only thing keeping his pulse calm. Breathe. He had to breathe for her.

Finally, they came into the same clearing as before. The eerie green light spilled from the missile silo-turned-well, pouring over the grass. They had one of these in Waŋblí Hoȟpi--one missile had ejected in the old War, so it was empty and safe for storing water. This one? This one, he had no idea. Insofar as he knew, the other one had never gone off. Was this even drinkable? It looked like it was in use...

Just like that, it clicked.

Masamune had seen radiation poisoning before. It was usually obvious. In the south and the far east, the ground was so polluted that the headaches came on within miles of the containment border. Anxiety, tremors, convulsions, nausea, vomiting--he’d seen it all. There were some brave souls that ventured beyond the concrete walls to try and repair the last and greatest ecological disaster, but it was so dangerous that they either spent mere minutes or never came back.

But those were the large-scale examples. Once he’d had a companion on the delivery road, a man named Sampson. An odd, jittery fellow with a solid fifty years on him, he would pace circles around the campfire until exhaustion finally took him, hallucinating ghosts and talking to trees he swore moved. That was just him. At the time, Masamune didn't think too much into it. He knew Sampson was from back east, but the radiation meter never clocked the man too badly.

Now he thought twice. What if that was what became of those who ate off irradiated ground? Did it pass through you like water? What if--for example--the water from a still-active missile silo was your drinking and crop water? Masamune stared around him at the wide eyed, stretched faces. Thin hair, gaunt frames, shaky hands…

One of their captors--the eldest present, maybe fourty--approached the well and lifted his hands to the black sky. “We return to you, Messenger. We bring you those you have claimed. You have blessed them. They are chosen in your eyes, and so we shall give them to you!”

Hands wrestled him and her forward, shunting them to the edge of the well. The light was blinding bright from this angle, impossible to see beyond the lip. Someone dragged cinderblocks and rope into view, and she shuddered.

Oh no. Oh hell no.

Masamune--acting more on reflex than sense, in retrospect--slammed his forehead into the man next to him, wrenching his arms around for freedom. Six more men piled onto him; he collided hard with the dirt, his eyepatch grinding into his cheek. She released a muted scream and something silenced her. No! Masamune fought savagely and it meant nothing. There were just too many of them. He could feel his captors binding his ankles with rope, lashing them to the cinderblock, dragging him toward the well--

No. She couldn’t die. Not like this. Hang him--he wouldn’t let her, he’d promised, he’d promised, he’d promised--

In the corner of his good eye he caught sight of her, her dark hair emerald in the light. Two of the men were carrying her; she’d put up enough of a fight that a third was still writhing on the ground. No good. They were shunted back to back, wrists tied firmly together. He grabbed onto her hand with his, holding tight.

I’m never letting go. I’m never, never, never letting go.

She squeezed back, her grip so tight it burned. Masamune rolled his head back to rest on hers. It was the only solace he could give. Someone was chanting. The words made no sense, spiraling in his mind. They didn't even matter. She inhaled hard behind him, bracing.

And then--with no ceremony--one of the men placed a booted foot on their shoulders and shoved them in.

Masamune considered himself fortunate that he was used to shock. The water was so frigid that it nearly knocked his senses clean. Somehow he held his breath. Don’t inhale. Don’t inhale. Fight. Fight for her. He could feel her body struggling, the cinderblocks dragging them down, everything pressing around them. The light was so bright that he squeezed his eye shut to spare it.

Plan. Plan. Plan. Need a plan.

What could he remember of the other missile silo, the one they’d gutted for the well? He was a child then. Distant memories of his father with the others down at the sight filled his mind, their bronze shoulders in the sun as they hefted down timber frames and bags of concrete. They’d blocked something.

Blocked what blocked what what was there--

Masamune flexed his wrists hard, then contracted them. The rope loosened. Going up wouldn’t save them. They’d just be back in the belly of the beast, even if they got the cinder blocks off, but--struggling one hand free, he grabbed tight onto her wrist and swam blindly forward, searching his hand along the wall. Rusted metal scraped against his fingertips. His lungs burned and his chest screamed and his mind wailed against the pressure--

There was a divet in the wall. Desperately, he hammered his fist against it.

A deafening rush greeted him--and they were jerked like ragdolls and slammed onto a hard floor. Masamune scrabbled to his feet. No time to absorb his surroundings! If this were a room (it looked like it to his water-logged brain), then he had to stop the incoming water before it was too late. Weighing himself against the pouring tide with the cinder block, he slammed his fist into the rusted wall until the sliding door crashed back down.

They were safe. She heaved from the sodden floor, coughing up a lungful of water, and he collapsed by her.

“Kitten,” he gasped hard. “Kitten, slow down. Inhale slowly.”

She clutched at his wrist, pressing her face into her arm. He stroked her soaked braid, rubbed his thumb along the curve of her neck, and finally absorbed their surroundings. It looked like a control room. Of course--missile silos once had rooms. It wasn’t just a tube. Mechanics and engineers needed access. The walls were sheet metal in varying stages of rust, peeling away at corners to allow faint drips into the foot of water on the tile floor. A thin ripple by the sealed door behind them let him know that their sanctuary wasn’t water tight--not completely--but it was good enough for now. At the moment, they were safe.

“Masamune,” she gagged. “Masamune--”

“I’m right here, Kitten--”

They were alive. He pressed a hand against her neck and felt her pulse hammering there. They were alive. She whimpered, and he dragged her into his arms and kissed her forehead like he could drag her inside of his chest and burn alive in his love for her.

“I love you,” he breathed. “I love you. I love you. I love you--”

Had she let him, he would’ve said it a million times. She didn't. Instead she wrapped herself around him, her body pressed so tight that it hurt, her lips like the crash of a tidal wave. He gripped her hair tight and shoved his tongue savagely inside of her mouth, soaking in all the heat of her body. Her nails were in his shoulder and her moan echoed in his pulse and her heart one with his and he tasted water and blood and the faintest hint of her lavender soap.

How had he ever left her?

At last she pulled away from him. Her desperation was still in her eyes, but her hands gripping his conveyed that instead.

“I love you,” she answered him, and his heart surged so hard and loud in his throat he wondered if it would burst. “I love you, too. You’re alive.”

Masamune conjured up some of his bravado to reassure her. “I promised you. What do you say we work on getting out of this mess?”

For the first time in hours, she smiled at him. All of the fear and panic of the last minutes ebbed away. How could he be afraid, looking in her eyes? “Let’s do this.”

---

The silo wasn’t in bad shape, all things considered. Some hallways were too flooded to manage further up, so they descended instead.

“Maybe we can drain it,” she mused aloud. “Do you think there’s a mechanism for that? I would think someone must’ve considered that as a possibility.”

“Maybe,” Masamune allowed. “I gotta be honest, I don’t know enough about these things to know that. Besides, I’d be concerned if we did.”

“Why’s that?”

He tested the latch to another room, pressing the ‘open’ button briefly as a test. It slid into another dry room, the water from the previous room rushing in to fill the gap around their feet. They sloshed into what looked like an observation room. A broad pane of glass looked out onto the center of the flooded silo, and there--leaning awkwardly in the water, barely latched in place--was the missile itself.

“Think I’ve figured out what’s happening here,” he mused. “I think it’s the water.”

She fixed him with a quizzical stare. “What do you mean?”

“Radiation poisoning I’ve only seen in large doses.” Masamune inspected the edges of the window. It seemed water-tight enough. They had time, at least. “So I didn't really think about it, if I’m honest. Ain’t a lot of radiation out here. But this missile has been just sitting here with this nuclear core for however long, and then the water in this silo has been absorbing everything else inside here, and then they drink it and use it for their crops…”

“Oh.” She paused. “Oh. Do you--”

“I mean…” He hesitated, investigating the console for any clues of what to do. “I’m no expert on it, Kitten. But I’ve seen radiation make a few people go cooky. There’s some of the classic signs: can’t keep food down, thin hair, shaking, anxiety. Combine that with an illusion of a ghost ship, maybe someone that’s already got a few screws jostled, and you might just get something a little… out there. No ghosts, no hauntings, no curses--just radiation and mental illness.”

She leaned over the console, pressing her face to the glass. Masamune followed her gaze down. It wasn’t so far from the bottom now. He could see the edges of the silo floor. In the faint glow of green work lights, the skeletons of less fortunate victims glittered. There they were, no doubt, all the kidnapped people of the plains.

“Well,” she breathed. “We have to end this here, don’t we?”

The lights got fainter the further they descended. Boiler rooms and old storage closets were the only things left. Masamune was close to backtracking when she yanked on his hand.

“What do you think our coordinates right now are?”

“Coordinates?” He repeated dimly. “I dunno, Kitkat. Why?”

She pointed at the floor. It took him a moment, but at long last, what caught her attention swam into view. Once upon a time, someone had spray painted the floor. It barely showed anymore; apparently they’d used glow-in-the-dark paint, and its half life only lasted so long before it stopped fluorescing. It was little more than a gray smear on the tile. In the terrible light, he could barely make out the letters, a smudged arrow pointing at the nearest locked door: ARK.

#Ikesen Masamune #Ikemen Sengoku #glitter and gold #glitter & gold #G&G #Into The Deep #My writing #Ikesen Fanfic #Ikesen post-apocalypse #post-apocalyptic

30 notes · View notes

hamliet · 5 years

Note

about the shovel. it gets passed around a bit and i started to wonder it might have some symbolic meaning besides being just a convenient shovel. your metas are very interesting so i wanted to know your thoughts

Thank you for writing back!!! Yay, MXTX metas. *rolls sleeves up, clears throat*

So I know the shovel has multiple appearances, but the simplest answer is that it is a symbol. It symbolizes digging into the core, the foundation, of heaven, which is rotten to its core with corruption. Xie Lian claims:

“Lord Earth Master, how did you dig out this tunnel? I’ve never heard that it was possible to dig beneath the heavenly residences in the Heavenly Capital.” It must be known that the foundation of the Heavenly Capital was not the same as the muddy earth of the mortal realm.

Yeah, it’s not the same. It’s worse.

It’s also worth pointing out that the real earth master to whom the shovel belongs (Ming Yi) is an imprisoned skeleton in He Xuan’s lair, a skeleton that only moves to violently attack when someone mentions his title of “Earth Master.” Almost like that too is a symbol of exactly what the gods are: rotting and dead inside, moved to violence for their pride, prisoners (of their own misdeeds). This is also why the shovel is used explicitly only to help the people who have suffered most by heaven’s corruption: He Xuan, Xie Lian, Shi QingXuan, and Yin Yu.. and everyone who digs with it (Ming Yi, He Xuan, and Yin Yu) has a somewhat tragic ending.

Regarding He Xuan… well, he was posing as the earth master and uses the shovel to dig Shi QingXuan out of his brother’s captivity when Shi QingXuan uncovers the truth of what his brother did to He Xuan. Xie Lian notes that He Xuan couldn’t use the earth master’s shovel properly because he was not the earth master: “Why did you think he couldn’t control the Earth Master Crescent Moon Shovel well? Because that didn’t belong to him in the first place! .”

Symbolically, this is also showing how He Xuan’s freeing of Shi QingXuan through the use of the shovel failed in its purpose: he was hoping Shi QingXuan, by then aware of his brother’s crimes, would turn on his brother.

He Xuan whipped around and started pacing back and forth within the hall of Nether Water Manor, growling, “I’ve given you chances!”

Shi Qing Xuan shut his eyes, clenching his fists. Xie Lian recalled that excessively furious “Fine. Very well!” back at the town of Fu Gu, and that scene of ‘Ming Yi’ blocking Shi Qing Xuan’s path to follow Pei Ming in going to the East Sea.

Only, every time, Shi Qing Xuan had chosen to help Shi Wu Du.

He whispered, “…I’m sorry.”

But Shi QingXuan is not that kind of person (which… also likely applies to how he feels about He Xuan though it’s obviously complicated).

The second time is when the Upper Court of heaven’s been overrun by Jun Wu, when Yin Yu appears to dig Xie Lian out, only they both wind up captured and Jun Wu digs to the core of who Yin Yu is to eventually kill him.

“That’s dissatisfaction.” Jun Wu said, “You are bound by his grace and had nowhere to go, so you are only forcing yourself.”

“…”

Yin Yu hung his head and didn’t speak. Xie Lian was breaking out in cold sweat.

He could now somewhat guess how Jun Wu planned to attack, and Yin Yu’s every expression, every gesture, from head to toe, was full of weakness!

“Then,” Jun Wu said, “Let’s turn this around. Let me ask you another question: Have you shown Quan Yi Zhen any grace?”

“…”

Jun Wu continued, “On what basis must you place yourself in a dissatisfactory position to devote yourself and repay kindness when someone irrelevant shows you grace, but when you show Quan Yi Zhen grace, he made you fall this low?”

“Yin Yu, to be in the habit of belittling yourself in order to help others is no good habit. You must know, no one will thank you.”

He was pushing on every step, and each step was trampling where Yin Yu hurt the most!

However, despite him killing Yin Yu, he wasn’t able to completely destroy Yin Yu and Quan YiZhen’s relationship because Jun Wu struggled to understand the complexity of human connection. Even though Yin Yu taking Quan YiZhen’s powers, Quan YiZhen did not hate Yin Yu, and because Yin Yu tried to protect him, Yin Yu is killed.

Regarding heaven’s corruption and the earth shovel... I want to talk a bit more about the foiling between He Xuan and Yin Yu, because they are the two we see digging with it. He Xuan and Yin Yu were both destined for the heavens before corruption saw to it that they were both… well, either didn’t ascend or were cast out. Shi QingXuan and Quan YiZhen are also foils, as are their relationships: designated “older brothers” (Ming-xiong and Shixiong) and socially nonconforming little bros. He Xuan didn’t die in the end of the novel, but he lost the life he had and the closeness that he desperately craved with Shi QingXuan–for now. In the end, he passes the wind master’s fan back to Shi QingXuan, telling him he’s capable of fighting his battles on his own with a divine weapon despite the fact that Shi QingXuan is mortal now:

a hand came swinging, smacked him and sent him flying out... Although Shi Qing Xuan was sent flying, he only tumbled and rolled a few times, sprawled on the ground, and he immediately crawled up, “It’s fine it’s fine, I didn’t die! He didn’t really hit me, he was just lending spiritual powers!”

“Really…”

Shi Qing Xuan examined his hands, then looked at his own body, emitting spiritual light from head to toe...

Just then, “Hua Cheng” flung his right hand, and tossed something at him. Without thinking, Shi Qing Xuan raised his hand to catch, but when he saw what it was he caught, his entire face blanched.

That object was the Wind Master fan!

Seeing this, Xie Lian who was on top of the giant divine statue couldn’t hold back either and asked, “San Lang, wasn’t the Wind Master fan with… the one down there is…?!”

“Pay it no mind.” Hua Cheng said, “I called him over last minute to give a hand.”

Shi Qing Xuan was clutching that dearly familiar fan, his neck stiff, and slowly turned to that “Hua Cheng”.

“Hua Cheng” then repeated again coldly, “Deal with it yourself.”

Essentially, He Xuan yielding not to what Shi WuDu so cruelly did to him, but he is accepting Shi WuDu’s love of his brother (specifically that Shi QingXuan was worthy of that love). He Xuan acknowledges that Shi QingXuan was a good god, one of the best and most capable, that his potential as a god is real. So that’s a step, but whether or not he will forgive himself ever, the novel doesn’t give us an answer.

Yin Yu, on the other hand, dies but his last action was saving Quan YiZhen, atoning for what he had previously done and acknowledging that Quan YiZhen was stronger than him in potential:

Yin Yu continued, “I do want to return to the heavens, I do want to be ranked in the top ten! BUT! If I didn’t manage all that on my own then it’s completely meaningless! I’m unlucky, I accept it! If I’m not as powerful as him, then at the very least I can admit I’m not as powerful as him!”

“ADMITTING THAT I CAN’T COMPARE IS NOT THAT HARD!”

Still, Yin Yu is unable to be at peace with himself, to forgive himself, regretting that he has regrets when he dies, being so harsh on himself he doesn’t see that Quan YiZhen literally never thought of him as weak or a failure. However, there is the solace, for whatever it’s worth, that Quan YiZhen is learning from what happened to Yin Yu and will carry on his memory. Even if he couldn’t be the pinnacle of a perfect godly example to the world, Yin Yu was this to Quan YiZhen.

Both of these relationships thus foil Hualian in the sense that human connection, even if only to one person, is enough to enable someone to live on after death, to achieve the great heights that they never could else wise, to start anew. Human connection is a major theme in TGCF (see: how Jun Wu’s arc ends with Mei NianQing deciding to stay with him), but the novel is honest about how painful connection can be at times. And in some ways, it’s that pain that helps make these relationships beautiful (however you interpret them).

#Anonymous #tgcf meta #heaven official's blessing #heaven official's blessing meta #beefleaf #shuangxuan #quanyin #shi qing xuan #shi wu du #he xuan #quan yizhen #yin yu #ming yi #tian guan ci fu #hualian

246 notes · View notes

nathanfryerwoods · 4 years

Text

Lucky Stars (Chapters 1-14) - by Nathan Fryer-Woods

1 It was a dark, cold night. Which was kind of fitting for the beginning of any story. But in south east Asia, when you start feeling the cold, you know you've been there too long. And as a ginger kid from the north of England, he should have been in his element.

He was so far from the place he had once called home. And it had been years since he'd felt the long, scalding hug of the hallway radiator, on his return home from whatever trouble he'd been causing, beyond the icy front door.

He had never really, truly missed home, that was until now. He longed for that familiar smell of the old underlay carpet in the council flat he once had. The flat he received after he was crippled by a speeding police car, whilst trying to cross the road years before. There was no compensation. But, as a result, he became the king of his own castle. A place for him to lick his wounds. It was dark and dingy, and located in the back of beyond where the undesirables of town were kept, but he didn't care. He was happy, and it was his. The only place he's ever really been able to call his own. But now, those days, seemed like a lifetime away.

Today, he's found himself trapped in a different kind of paradise, one he thought he'd never want to leave. He had always believed humans to be of a semi-nomadic nature, but he had found happiness here, and at one time, for the first time since childhood, he had felt settled.

That was until, that 'thing' happened. He didn't like talking about it, and when he did, would get so frustrated. No one understood it like he did, not many people at least.

It had been 3 months since he last saw another foreigner, 3 months since he had seen anything of the world outside of their village. And he was an explorer at heart. Though he never strayed too far off the beaten track, and he'd never discovered anything new, he was always looking, it was just a matter of time... it was in his blood. His itch for exploration, grew stronger by the day.

His wife was the only one in their village who could speak any English, (although he sometimes felt he got a better conversation from their eight and a half month old son), she was the only one who had even half a chance of vaguely understanding him at a deeper level. They had met 3 years previous in the capital city. A place with a pace he was used to, and found comfort in. But now, thanks to certain 'things', and the changing world around them, he found himself in the place his wife found the most comforting, her parents cashew nut farm. Up a hill, in the middle of nowhere. He felt like an elephant, with sore thumbs, in a pond, full of fish. Sticking out... misunderstood.

2 It was the 21st of December, not only the day of the winter solstice, but in the year of the 'Great Conjunction', between Saturn and Jupiter. Tonight the world would see these astral giants, seemingly merge into one, forming what is known as the 'Christmas Star'. It had been 397 years since this alignment last took place, just 13 years before Galileo built his first telescope to marvel at the heavens above.

This event had to signify something, he knew it would, but he was far too apprehensive to look so deeply into it. He convinced himself it was a positive, auspicious event, but at the same time made a mental note to his brain's list of 'things to do', to see what the ancients made of it. After all, when the God of Thunder and his mighty Son do a high-five in the night sky, one should be prepared, or so he believed. But, that list in his head seemed to never end, it would only ever get longer. He knew, and readily admitted to himself, he would probably never get round to it. And in time, as soon as it was far too late, that entry like many before it would drop off the list, as just another faded memory.

The day before, he had tried to explain to his wife, the solstice, the tilt of the Earth, and the reason for it being so cold this time of year. But soon realising that the battle for her attention against her best friend - the phone, was a battle he always lost, he promptly gave up.

The previous week, her two youngest siblings (the brothers, aged 11 and 14), had asked him if they had shooting stars back in England. After 7 years of practice, his level of the local language was good enough to articulate most of the things he wanted to say (although this particular part of the country was the last of the true tribal areas, with 13 different clans each with their own dialect, making understanding them more of a challenge). He explained to the brothers, in as simple of terms as possible, the physics of the phenomenon. How more often than not, a shooting star was nothing more than a small pebble from outer space, travelling at unimaginable speed towards the Earth. And how it's magnificent trail was made as it burnt up in the atmosphere before it was able to reach us.

Seeing the mystery and magic in their faces fade before his very eyes, he quickly moved on to let them know how it was customary back home, after seeing a shooting star, to make a little wish to yourself. And that this, was not to be wasted. He imagined, how even the most hardened criminals themselves probably couldn't resist this, and even they would make one. Maybe it's quite likely that wish would be for guns, drugs or money. But you never know, the inner child in all of us, where that belief is instilled, only wants one of two things; love and happiness. And with that, comes security. The magic we're raised with as children, if at all, dies hard. And even with years of learning from science, logic and reason, some magic we just can't let go of. No matter how many times it's failed us.

After seeing at least some of the mystery return to their faces, he moved back - with faith, to cold, hard, facts. He explained how if these space pebbles were any bigger, and hadn't completely burnt up on their descent to Earth, even a rock the size of a toy car (available to hand at the time), could devastate the planet. At the very least, make a real mess around the site of impact. He used the 3000 year old crater lake, situated down the road as an example. This, would be the last thing he'd say on the matter. The brothers went on to let him know, how their hole in the Earth was different. Through the unique use of their local, hillbilly twang, they managed to get the point across that in fact, their crater was made by a great, angry, pig-like God from the skies... obviously, and he should have seen it coming.

The shattered pain that was once on the boy's faces, had transferred onto his own. He retreated back into his own mind, to his own thoughts. A place he understood, and needed no explanations. With no brick walls that he could waste his time with, by banging his head against.

3 The Sun had set, another day was done. The candy floss pink and tangerine orange that had painted the sky was gone, but the clouds remained, blanketing the Earth. Tonight was noticeably warmer, though he was still cold. And no matter how the clouds littered the sky, he still had hope that he would be able to see the events in the sky unfold. He'd poke his head out of their bedroom every twenty minutes or so and peer upwards. And around. Every direction, as he was a little unsure as to which way was west. The cloudy blanket persisted in its existence. All that was visible was a near half Moon and Polaris, the north star, slowly but surely running in circles, chasing its tail. He headed back inside, his hopes unscathed, there was still time.

'Just one more hour', he thought to himself, 'and the great high-five of the Gods would set sail over the horizon'. The anxiety got the better of him, he zipped his jacket back up, and ventured out again.

The Moon had become but a faint shimmer in a dirty pool, and Polaris was nowhere to be seen. In 5 brief minutes, the sky-scape had taken an unfortunate turn for the worse. The magic, once again, was passing him by. His wife came out with their Son in arm, to see what they'd been missing. She had been listening. It was a trade off that he was more than happy to make. 'I can wait sixty years for the next alignment', he thought to himself, 'I'll catch it in the next life'. His new little family meant the world to him, and nothing much else mattered.

4 It was 8am when he rose up out of bed. Not so early, but not too late either, in his opinion at least. He could have done with an extra hour, but the rooster that had been howling since 4am, couldn't be ignored any longer. He threw on his jacket and headed outside.

The Sun was glaring down on him, the clouds had dispersed. "Thanks clouds", he grumbled under his breath. "Any other day this month, and last nights weather would've..." and then, that thought vanished. He'd caught a glimpse of his Son's peaceful face, sleeping, swinging in the cammo hammock. His mind instantly emptied itself with ease, and in the same moment, filled the vacuum with a calming peace. His Son's happiness was contagious to him, a contagious cure to all his frustrations.

His extended family had been up for a few hours already, as was normal. 6am usually, to start the day with the important things in life. Sewing tapestries, playing on phones, picking their faces, more sleep. They looked down on him for not being awake so early, but he was unsure of what they expected him to be doing at 6am. He never saw them doing anything important at that time of day, and very little changed as the day went on.

Another thing that didn't help, was their inability to grasp the concept of sleeping disorders. His diagnosis came far too late for him, at the age of 25, just a few years before leaving England. It had already shaped his life by then, and in some way or another, had made him who he was. He now knew, that what had forever plagued his sleep was a combination of apnea, delayed sleep phase disorder, and the slight hint towards a long standing, yet self-coping problem called narcolepsy. A diagnosis the doctor didn't want to make. He learnt to never go with a self diagnosis of a problem again. A well paid opinion, is obviously worth so much more than anyone else's. Even when blood tests showed he had the gene needed to predispose a person to this condition, they were reluctant to admit he might be right. He was prescribed with the search of a night job.

His father in-law was a good man. He'd worked hard all his life to provide for his wife and five children, and then their children too, of which little Finlay, was number four. He loved them all like they were his own.

The farm was around half a hectare in size, with around sixty large cashew trees, five mango trees, and banana and papaya also being dotted about. The land fairly rugged and unkempt, as cashew season didn't start for another month or so. Soon, the whirring of the weed-whacker would fill the air, making the search for nuts and the spotting of snakes much easier.

The family tractor was being rented by an owner of a sweet potato farm, 100km away, southwest of them. This way good news, it was old, and it stunk. And now, it was someone else's problem to fix every other day, and they were paying for that privilege. The last time Lawrie was here was when Finlay was born (sorry, I've never been good at introductions, but baby is Finlay, or Finn, and Dad is Lawrie. Well, Lawrie's his surname... Dan, Daniel, Danny never appealed to him, and even his parents stuck to calling him Lawrie). Ok, where was I..?

...yeah, so the last time he was at the in-laws farm, was when his beautiful baby boy was born. Early April, a healthy 3.6kg. And as sure as anything, without fail - every other night, Pa would be half submerged in the belly of this beast, covered in oil as it spluttered away. Not such a soothing sound to send your Son to sleep.

These days, Pa would spend his time making furniture at his sister's house just beyond the back of the farm. Each evening, a new chair, stool or table would appear, and the huge piles of illegally logged wood, dotted around the plot would slowly, bit by bit disappear. As did the jungle that surrounded them.

5 Their village was located 10km outside of the nearest town, and the closest city was another 30km beyond that. That was the city of Lombang, the province capital (though the spelling of this, as did many other place tended to vary, wildly). The city was big, whilst at the same time, all being nicely spaced out. Apart from the market area, nowhere seemed to get so busy. The city itself wasn't over commercialised, the way a western city would be, mainly made up of independent, family owned businesses, it had a very local feel to it. That's what Lawrie liked most of all about this country... the people, the locals. For all the differences in culture, and the difficulties they created (of which there'd been many over the years), only added another layer of excitement and adventure to his whole experience. No matter how different other people saw him as being, he seldom cared. He had spent his entire life back home as the ginger sheep, and that had prepared him well, for life out here.

He missed the city. He'd only managed to explore it for one day the last time they were here, when Finn was around two months old. He lost the plot one morning, waking to find his wife, Nib, sat feeding the baby, downwind of a roaring fire made entirely of plastic. He was sick of telling her, and she was tired of hearing it. He turned his back and walked away, away from the stench of burning straws, and the feeling of absolute futility. He gathered the essentials, made the small trip to the road at the top of the plot and flagged-down the first van he saw. Finally, it was adventure time. It all happened so fast. He loved being on the road, but all the way there, couldn't stop thinking about his new born bundle.

6 The driver and the passengers all seemed friendly enough. Very inquisitive, as once was normal, but on this occasion, a nice surprise. Especially with how the world was turning these days. He wore his face mask, no matter how useless he knew it was to him. It was unfortunately, an essential item.

Forty kilometers and two and a half bucks later, they arrived. He found the journey so refreshing, though Finn was constantly in the back of his mind, with not much to see along the way to steal his thoughts completely. Just miles upon miles of lush, jungle-covered hills, beyond the back to back farms that were broken up every so often by a roadside shack of a shop. So many farms.. cashew, pepper, mango, rubber, you name it, he saw it. And every so often, the odd little spot of deforestation in the distance, clearing space for a few more.

He spent the day exploring, and enjoying his first taste of freedom in what felt like years. You see, his wife's hometown is so rural, and that trapped in their tribal mentality, even they have a hard time getting out. And generally, unless they have to, they just don't bother. Nib had told him how a while back, one of her uncles had an infection in his leg, a drunken mishap from a motorbike fall, from which he burnt himself on the exhaust pipe. He had to do the three kilometer journey on foot, through the next village to the one beyond it where the nearest thing to a hospital was. About half way there in the next hometown, you pass by the the village chief's house, who on this particular occasion, for once was awake. He imagined him stumbling out of some grand, overly ornate, heavy wooden chair, on the orders from ten or so yelping, mangy dogs. One well worn flip-flop on, while failing miserably to secure the other, not giving it the slightest bit of thought, as he starred intently at the intruding stranger, hobbling by. The chief had demanded from him, one buffalo, in order to let him pass. You're welcome to go back and read over that line again, but you got it right first time. Yes, a buffalo. A few minutes of talking by the roadside, and they'd worked out a deal, two chickens would seal it. Her uncle shuffled back home, dragging his manky leg, and after snagging two of his most sickly looking birds, started the journey again. All in the hope, of paying someone to gouge out a huge chunk of his inner thigh.

The relative bustle of the city was a much welcomed change for Lawrie. He criss-crossed his way down the main roads and through side streets to reach the city limits, and then double-back on himself in a slightly different direction, stopping here and there at the sight of an esky cooler to pick up a fifty cent beer.

He arrived rather early by his standards, maybe 8.30. But with no watch, phone, or any idea of what time he woke up, he could only guess. Over the years, he had gotten pretty good at working out the time, between the Sun and the shadows. He was usually only off by about 15 minutes or so. But who cared what time it was? It's his day off. And this called for another fifty cent-er.

The day went on and his heart was glad. He knew that fresh emptiness he felt in the background wouldn't be there for long, and that soon enough he'd be back with his boy. He missed Nib too, but pushed that thought out, whenever she crossed his mind.

He wandered through the rest of the day. No plans, no direction, and not so much to worry about. He ate, drank, bought a dummy and a rabbit teddy bear which he called Barney and headed back to the edge of town that he'd arrived at, making his way home before sunset. Nib was waiting on the front, waiting with a hug.

7 It was Christmas Eve, and this year looked like it was set to be Lawrie's best and worst to date. But considering the problems that the people of Earth were facing, it was likely, this year was to be a historically bad one worldwide... with maybe only the 'black death', and world wars outdoing it. These were strange days to be living in.

His lack of cash, and no real friends or family to share what little he did have, made the whole occasion rather pointless. He'd been asking Nin for the last nine days to help him find a pair of wooden chopsticks. He'd tried, but with no luck. He also hadn't mastered the pronunciation of 'chopsticks', it was a tricky one.

He wanted to fashion them into baby sized drumsticks, the first part of a home made drum kit he planned to make. As money was scarce, and Finn was too young to understand the concept of Christmas, he decided that this was ok. Especially, as no one for miles around, gave this holiday even a single thought.

Chop-drumsticks were kind of perfect as a Christmas present out here. Lawrie had been tapping away rhythms and singing to his Son, ever since he found out he was in Nib's belly. He'd play him songs too on his guitar, and old song recordings online. Classics from the golden era of the 60's, as his parents had done for him, when he was young.

Apart from being cheap and cheerful, chopsticks were also importantly, disposable, bio-degradable, and readily available everywhere in Asia (everywhere but, apparently, this village). He'd come to learn that while living on the farm, nothing here was actually his. Nothing belonged to anyone it seemed. At any moment, someone's grubby little mits could appear, and 'borrow', anything they wanted, not return it, and leave it half buried in the dirt to be found a week later. Just days before, the younger brother, Rutt, had taken Lawrie's lighter and Finn's favourite toy. A small, yellow, rubber pig. As Finn was teething, it was more of a chew-toy for him (the dummy by this point, had been savaged by dogs). He loved that little pig, and upon spotting it, would shuffle over, pop it in his mouth and gnaw away. Who knows where it ended up. Apparently, not even Rutt knew.

'Give it a week', he thought. 'It'll turn up.' Probably as a charred, molten puddle, next to a broken lighter, but he'd find it eventually.

The day was surprisingly calm and quiet. Pa had left early, sometime before sunrise, making the eighty kilometer journey to the city of Somtang. Life on the farm was always a little more relaxed when Pa was out of town. Lawrie couldn't work out why, as he was the most placid of the whole family, making him Lawrie's favourite. Even so, Pa's brief departures were always good news, a little more peace and quiet on the farm was much needed. He'd be back in a week or so, and he'd be bringing the rasping roar of the tractor with him.

8 Between the hours of midday and 3pm, were Lawrie's best time of day, as he usually had the house to himself. The screaming match that accompanied lunch, would cease around 12pm. Not completely or instantly, but it would get quieter and more distant, as they each skulked off in their various directions, with their own, distinct rackets.

Ma and Nib would go to one of three places. The shop over the road, the one around the corner, or Pa's sister's house out the back. Basically, wherever the card game is happening that day, where Ma can loose the money someone else has given her, and then spend the rest of the day spreading bitterness because of it. Lawrie didn't know where the rest of them went, and never cared to ask. But he knew where Pa was, Pa was always working.

He sat alone in the bedroom, enjoying the silence. His only disturbance coming from a faint yet piercing buzz in his ear, from a rouge mosquito that had managed to sneak in through the gaps between the concrete walls and wooden ceiling. A clap, or a self-slap to the side of his face would usually sort that out, or half of the time at least.

He had, ever since the age of nineteen and had he left home for the last time, been some sort of vegetarian. For as long as his memory went back, he had always hated the thought of things dying for his food. To him, it just seemed so unnecessary. But out here, with the snakes, spiders, scorpions and mosquitos, his long standing beliefs were set aside. Some things were asking to be killed. He'd always say sorry, and wish them better luck in their next life... all except the mosquitos, he took pleasure in wasting them.

He had been surprised upon first arriving in the country, by many things. During the three days it took him to get here, he felt excitement at the thought of visiting a Buddhist country for the first time. He imagined all the food and flavours he'd discover there, and how it must be much easier getting a decent meal that was death-free, and involved fewer funny looks, as the majority of people there were Buddhist.

But he was wrong. Totally, fucking wrong. It wasn't long after arriving, when he saw a sight he'd never forget, and that would help him on his way to understanding the madness of the place he found himself...

A monk, driving a car, drinking a coke, smoking a cigarette.

'Wow', he thought to himself, visibly gawping, his jaw on the floor, catching flies. 'Wow'.

9 With an almighty, thunderous CLAP!.. another pesky bloodsucker was eliminated from existence. Silence resumed. Only the static like sounds of the insects outside remained, and the faint background hum from the rare moto or truck, that was making use of the empty roads as the others ate, slept, and played cards.

He eventually managed to get a good enough data connection and logged into his messaging app. He'd always been terrible at keeping in touch, but at this time of year, there was no excuses. You can miss all the birthdays you want, and it's all forgotten by Christmas. And that's why you can't skip it.

He scrolled through the pictures that he and Nib took with Finn the week before. They were all dressed head to toe in various shades of red, the closest thing to being Christmassy, that they could manage. He selected three pictures, tagged his family and the extendeds, and wrote a short message which he cringed at within seconds of clicking 'post'.

He hated talking online. He hated talking on the phone as a kid, but these days preferred it to SMS and instant messages. It all felt so impersonal. To many people, he'd quite often come across as self-centered, and uncaring. But to him, his problem was he cared too much in other ways. He cared about wasted the moment he was in, and ignoring the people around him, whilst staring at screens. The past and future are pointless without a present, and the present, was drumsticks. He shot out of his chair, and with determination set off, on a final hunt.

10 He woke the next morning, and was glad to find that the visiting calm hadn't skipped town in the night. The only sounds to be heard were the distant chugging of heavy machinery, the here and there hum of the main road, and his wife rigorously brushing away at the laundry, by the stream that ran down the side of the farm.

She would always wait until everything was dirty, which usually took around a week, and then spend half a day literally attacking it. Lawrie's clothes were thin, frayed and full of holes because of this, and something would always come back worse off for the abuse, but he didn't complain. It wasn't a job he was fond of, and it would ruin the callouses he'd built over the years, making playing guitar a pain. And because he'd rush through it, she wouldn't let him wash any of her clothes, and he couldn't blame her.

He dusted the sleep off, and made his way outside. Ma was sat at the front on one of the two big, heavy, wooden bed frames facing the road, doing her sewing. He never got to the bottom of it, but most ot the houses out here had beds outside, while everyone would sleep on mats on the floor inside, but he never asked and it remained a mystery to him. Too many more important questions still had no answers.

Finn was asleep in the hammock. It was coming to the end of its swing. Lawrie kissed his forehead, and gave him a little push.

Suli, was the Son of Nib's youngest sister, and was the second of Finn's three cousins. For once, he was keeping himself to himself and being nice and quiet. It wasn't his fault he didn't know how to behave, and Lawrie knew that. And with Pa being away today, he probably hadn't drank half an energy drink, like he normally would have by 8am. Lawrie took the string-bound, straw brush, and swept the tiled floor, as he did every morning.

His wife was the eldest of five. The two brothers, and the youngest of her sisters all living on the family farm. The middle sister (the most well-rounded of them all), had the right idea earlier in year, and got the hell out of there. The middle sister's two children, still spent a lot of their time at the family farm, and Suli had lived there all his life. His mum, had done what was expected of her, and left him there while she went back to work, leaving Ma to raise him. At three years old, he was understandably, a handful. But Lawrie couldn't help but worry about him, and feared he had a lifetime of problems ahead. Problems not only for Suli himself, but for the family doing the half a job of raising him. A half job they weren't doing so well.

His top row of front teeth were nothing but black stumps, half decayed, causing him great discomfort. He was almost always covered in dirt. And usually, by the end of the day, had the remains of every meal he'd eaten, still round his mouth. Flip-flops were uncommon, and he rarely wore pants, maybe 3 times in the past few months.

Unfortunately for him, for his first two years of life he was Ma's responsibility. And his problems, Lawrie saw as her fault. The middle sister being back to work, was expected to send money home, while it was Ma's job to play cards and sew whilst raising her grandchild. The same Ma who had done a shocking job with her own children, and it was time to do it again for theirs.

Suli, was toilet trained. But Larwie, expected this lesson was probably taught by the dogs. He would piss anywhere, whenever he needed to go. That was usually from the tiled floor outside the house, and onto the dirt a step below. But if he was upstairs, he'd do it from there. And no one had the slightest of problems with this.

Lawrie quite often, when going around the back of the house where there actually was a toilet, would find someone there. Usually Ma, but sometimes Nib, ten feet away from the toilet, squatting.

Ma was so lazy, in every aspect of life. And she'd passed that on to most of her children. And by the standards that Lawrie had been raised with, she was a truly terrible mother, and in general, a mean spirited person with very little compassion. Lawrie found her unbearable. But at the same time, he just had to deal with it, and knew she didn't know any better. She was never going to learn, and it wasn't really her that he could blame.

The civil war, decades before, that had torn this country apart, had given her parents generation a living hell to endure. An event so disastrous, it's effects still rippled through life to this day.

Her first three children, the sisters, were all left at Grandma's house as soon as they were able to eat mashed up rice soup. This was and is, pretty much 'the norm', for kids over here. Never really knowing their parents as the grow up. Children are seen as laborers, and in a way, sort of like a pension. Breaking your child's heart isn't really an issue, if it means you've been out working.

Now today, the third generation of children are making their way through life, and thanks to this practice, are doing so with their own broken hearts. With a level of distrust only their people know, and with the job one day, of passing this on to their own children.

At the age of fourteen, Nib and her sisters started living with their parents who had got together enough money to by their farm, which was five-hundred kilometers away, up north. Pa built a simple wooden hut, and they called it home. There they would spend the following years learning who their children were, and catching up on all they had missed. And Ma got bigger, as they waited on the birth of their first baby boy. It was time to learn how to be parents.

Soon after baby number four was born, Nib, with a modestly sized bag packed to the brim, was put on a plane bound for Malaysia to work in a factory making mobile phones. She did so with the help of her auntie's passport and was greeted at the airport by another aunt, who also worked there. Over the next two years, she managed to send enough money back to build the beautiful house they live in today.

It was the nicest house in all the village, and probably the neighboring ones too, and it stayed that way for years. Pa was so proud of it, he was so grateful to Nib, and she became his favourite, and he had no worries letting the others knowing it.

When she returned home with her final salary, the house was pretty much complete. Ma was pregnant with Son number two, and with the spare cash, Nib enrolled at school.

11 Lawrie had finished sweeping. The dog had been shooed off from laying on the dinner table, and he was now finishing the picking up and bagging of all the plastic crap his in-laws had tossed on the floor the day before. As he looked around searching for any last stragglers, he noticed that Finn needed another push. But his stealthy dash towards the hammock, turned out to be a mistake.

''Boo Ree!" (Uncle Lawrie) Suli screamed at the top of his highly pitched voice... he'd been spotted, and after doing so well. In the same instance, Finn's eyes pinged open, beaming, to find his father stood over him, startled as Suli's screech was still ringing in his ear. He smiled and raised his arms, and Lawrie followed suit. "Merry Christmas Son".

Suli loved Lawrie, and this was mutual. He hardly ever saw his father, who was even more useless than his mum. Lawrie saw it as his responsibility to look out for him, as no one else seemed to be a positive influence. This wasn't just for Suli's own good, but Finn's too. Raising a child here was a constant worry for him. These bad habits and behaviors, were not for his Son to learn. He desperately needed a plan to get his family out, safely away. And this would need to be a plan even Nib would be happy to go along with, and before he inevitably snapped again.

He placed his bundle into the 8 wheeled, brightly coloured walker thing, and gave him his tambourine, one of the few toys he still had. He didn't like the tambourine so much, but it kept him occupied for a few minutes. Just enough time to build a barricade around the edge of the floor using ten heavy, tree trunk stools. Suli was rolling round on the floor next to him, pant-less and screaming to himself. He made sure all the stools were placed in such a way that Finn couldn't kamikaze off the edge, and headed back to the bedroom to take stock of all he could consume that day. He loved his coffee, and cigarettes too, but was annoyed with himself. He'd practically quit before coming back here. He had promised himself that he would pack them in by the time Finn was born. He failed, and promised again by the time he was six months old. And not far off that time, had got them down to three a day... that was when they moved back, to the madness of the farm. Straight out the window.

$1.10, thirteen cigarettes and a dollars worth of data that yet to be put on the phone. 'It's going to be a good day', a sarcastic joke to himself. He didn't laugh. It wasn't funny. He took 50 cents, and made for the shop, to treat himself.

''Four 3in1 coffees please,'' it was Christmas after all.

Half way through his double strong coffee (it was actually 6 in 2), the clouds in his mind started to clear, and he was ready to take on another jam-packed day of next to nothing.

Finn, still in the walker, had now been let loose on the dusty, red dirt at the front of the house. Lawrie was uneasy with this as the walker was light and flimsy, and flaws in its design made it that going in a forward direction was practically impossible. Almost all the plastic products sold out here, were only ever things that hadn't passed the stringent watch of Chinese quality controls. Finn spent most of his time in that thing, going round in circles, or at very best, doing his famous crab impression, scooting sideways.

Suli was dragging around the frame of an old, crusty pram, that had seen much better days. It was full of rust, had no seat and only one of the three wheel it had left, actually turned. Suli had no toys, the ones he did have, had disintegrated in his hands shortly after being given them... their remains scattered in the dirt.

Outside the front of the house was a huge 30 by 30 meter steel roof, hanging around 20 feet above. Suli and his pram, had made their way beyond the roof's reach, and over to where the overgrown, straggly vegetation had been thriving since that year's rainy season.

Lawrie, had been the only one watching. He put down his coffee, and started walking over, seeing the potential for disaster as Finn chased after. He got as far as calling out Suli's name, with the hope of reeling them back in, when Finn hit a divot in the ground. The walker was sent over sideways, Finn's face smashing into the ground. Lawrie, with a heavy heart picked up speed, blurting out some frankly useless words of comfort as he made his way, to pick him up.

Fountains of tears rolled down little Finn's cheeks, his left one being covered in small stones and dirt, with a few grazes on his chin. His wailing cut through to Lawrie's core, and he felt responsible for not getting there sooner, as he saw it coming.

By this point Ma was screaming too. Lawrie tried to explain to Nib how it wasn't Suli's fault, in a vain attempt the message might get passed on, and Ma would shut her trap. Suli wasn't to blame, he was a child and didn't know any better, and Lawrie knew what was likely to happen next.

Ma, still shrieking had gotten down to Suli's level and was now yelling in his face, slapping his legs, his bare backside.

''Viscous mutt'', Lawrie said audibly, without a care who heard. 'Silly bitch', just wouldn't have cut it, and his choice of words went straight over Nib's head. With his years of being out there, Lawrie had learnt how to best disguise his words of anger and frustration. He sometimes surprised himself with the off-the-cuff, creative expressions his mind would muster up out of the ether.

Ma had now stood up, but was still barking. Suli was in tears and had been almost as long as Finn, who was now in Nib's arms, but still in distress as he watched the animalistic behavior unfold. Ma, taking a thin branch from the sapling of a fruit tree, was snapping off all that once grew from it. Because obviously, providing fruit for your grandchildren, and one day their children, isn't nearly half as important, as whipping a child that's done nothing wrong.

Suli cried in this way, at least four or five times a day. A few months before, Lawrie had counted eight times in one day. He'd seen enough, and headed back to the bedroom with his mixed feeling of anger and helplessness.

If he'd have still had his guitar, he would have been unzipping it's case as soon as he got inside. But he had no guitar these days, and upon spotting a pen on the desk, found a scrap piece of paper, sat down and started writing. And this would be the case over the coming months, a daily compulsion. He couldn't help it, he physically couldn't stop.

12 Maybe an hour had passed and Lawrie was still writing, when he heard the not so distant cry of his boy. Nothing like the sounds he had made earlier, but just him letting the world know he was still upset, in the only way he could. Lawrie looked out of the window to see Finn and Ma on their way back from over the road. 'No surprise he's upset', he thought to himself. He hated seeing Ma walk away with his Son, and was glad he hadn't seen this time, as it would only have played on his mind.

He sat back down to his writing, knowing that Nib was out there and Finn would soon be at ease, filling his not so little belly.

He could overhear a conversation between Nib and her mother. It wasn't difficult, as they only really have two levels of communicating out here, Nib's family especially. Those levels are shouting and screaming, making everything far too easy too hear, and whether you want to or not.

Apparently, Pa was already on his way back, and was four hours away by tractor. He tore open his fresh pack of cigarettes, and threw one in his mouth biting down on the end.

His cigs came in packs on thirteen, cost 12.5 cents, and had a very well know cartoon rabbit eating a carrot, printed on the cellophane bag they came in. ''Maybe it's this one that finally kills me'', he wondered out loud. He stepped outside, and just in time to see the younger sister making off on the moto, Finn under her arm. ''For fuck's sake...''

13 Lawrie was crouched down at the corner edge of the tilled floor, intensely staring down the road as far as he could, in the direction Finn had gone. He was on his second cigarette. As he rolled it between his fingers, the end fell to the dirt below. He put it out with a small piece of chipped concrete and placed the dimp in an empty discarded bottle that was laying next to him.

Looking up, he saw Finn and the sister, with a thick cloud of red dust following after them as they made their return. A huge sigh of relief spilled out from him, he thought it would never end. Any bigger or longer, it might have been worth contacting the people who compile the world record books.

Lawrie hated it. Too much of what they thought of as normal, he saw as an unnecessary risk. He'd had his concerns shouted down already, the first time he saw it happen, and this was just another thing he had to begrudgingly accept. But he promised himself, if she ever caused his Son any harm, he would slap her so silly, it would take them a week to find where she landed.

When the Sun had set, he'd gotten down three full pages of writing. Not a massive achievement, and you wouldn't have mistaken it for Hemmingway (who he knew nothing about, though quite sure he's the Maradonna of writing), but he was proud of the fact that he had achieved a little something.

He'd always enjoyed writing, mainly just songs, the first of which he wrote at the age of eleven after watching an Adam Sandler film. He'd also, always written down the strange thoughts, or scenarios that came into his head. He had no real use for them unless they were to be used in a song, but while growing up, had a few drawers full of scrappy bits of paper with random ramblings of madness scribbled down. He would sort through them one day, but they were all boxed up in his mum's garage back home.

His first song was terrible, and unfortunately, he had come across the only physical reminder of it's existence years later, the lyric sheet. He'd written it on the keyboard he had before he had a guitar. After finding the sheet, the melody came rushing back, regaining it's place and taking up space in his memory. He realised his interest in song writing early on in life, back in primary school when they would sing in assembly. He enjoyed singing, as it was usually better than the rest of their day, and after hearing some bright spark from a few years above, singing 'toilet painted green', during the chorus of Yellow Submarine, he spent his remaining years there trying to out do it.

The Sun was about an hour off setting, and he couldn't delay calling his family any longer. No one that he needed to call, had dependent children, and they were all likely sleeping-in. Their days of cursing Baby Jesus at 5am, covered in wrapping paper, had already been and gone.

He called his Dad who was stuck in Bali, his Mum stuck in the UK, his Grandma stuck in hospital, and his Uncle David who yes, was also stuck. Everyone, everywhere was, trapped wherever they were when the world stopped turning.

David, one of his Dad's half brothers, was in London. His business of delivering butchered meat was doing quiet well through all of the craziness. A good business to be in during times like these, apparently.

His Dad had let him know that his Uncle had sent some money electronically, and that it was waiting to be collected. His Uncle was a good man, as was most of his family, but Uncle David knew Lawrie's situation quite well, as he's come out to visit him not long before the troubles started in the world. Out of most of his family, David had a much better idea of the problems Lawrie was facing.

He knew just how lucky he was for having the family he did, but felt such guilt for not showing his appreciation as much he should. He rarely contacted them, and spent years wishing he had done so more often.

He went with the elder brother, Ren, to collect his lifeline Christmas gift.

Ren was only fourteen, but he rode the motorbike as he did every time, with Lawrie on the back. The in-laws, Pa in particular, were scared of what might happen whenever Lawrie left their hometown. Mainly of the police, who in all fairness were pretty corrupt. But Lawrie, who had left home the first time at the age of fifteen, was pretty savvy, and hadn't ever been in trouble with the law out here. There had been many times, after being stopped by traffic police, that he'd ride away with a new friend he'd just drank a beer with. One time, a police man gave him his fine money back, after seeing how little he had with him. Even though this was, here was tribal land, and he just had to get on with it.

The Sun was half way over the hill when they got back to the farm. Lawrie dished the money out... a little to Ren for the trip, a little more to his wife, and way too much to Ma. She would probably be playing cards tomorrow, but as Pa was still out of town he had no choice. Choices weren't such a big thing here.

14 It was around eight-thirty when Pa arrived home. Dinner had been sat there a couple of hours, waiting on the roar of the tractor, and on his arrival, the younger ones erupted with screams of happiness. Everyone loved Pa, not just the family, but those outside as well.

Lawrie skipped to the shop and bought four cans. They all ate rice, him and Pa drank, and then everyone went to bed. Everyone that was, except for Lawrie. He stayed up researching online, looking at maps of Lombang City. There was a few places that last time, he hadn't managed to get to. He had more than a few things to pick up, and there was a couple of people he was hoping to meet. This time, knowing how long it might be till the next, he had to get as much done as possible. Most importantly, was getting an ID photo... the next step of the only half-decent, long-shot of a plan he had. And thanks to Uncle David, all this was possible, and Finn's first Christmas was back on. And although being a day late, Lawrie couldn't be happier.

15 ...to continue reading, and become one of the hero’s in this story, please donate. All the kind souls that help me out of the situation will receive a full copy once completed, a name-drop on the dedications page, and the knowledge that they’ve helped this story on its way to a happy ending.

www.gogetfunding.com/luckystars

Or to continue reading for free, periodically check back here for updates, and hope for the best disaster ending possible…

Thank you, much love.

Nathan Fryer-Woods

[email protected]

#fiction #autobiography #asia #danger #jungle #fatherhood #illegal aliens #lucky stars

1 note · View note