#he went at them tooth and nail and came home all beaten up with the squirrel cradled in his hands

[aurantia-ignis]

Part II of the NaesaLeanne family plotbunnies!

Niakanor (affectionately called Kanor) has a love for nature, art, music and books. Unlike his sister Leila, he dislikes fisticuffs, something that the other raven children mock him for incessantly. A quiet, obedient child, Kanor often worries that he's a disgrace to his raven blood, not being ruthless or feisty or spirited enough. Leanne always tells him that he doesn't have to be anything but himself, but, knowing that the herons can read hearts, he unconsciously fears that his mother's words are more reassurance than truth.

The colour scheme of his design comes from the ravens, but I also added a few little nods to heron patterns.

[yelena-bellova]

Don’t Be Afraid: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader - Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve: Where We Go From Here

Series Masterlist

Plot: Y/n, Rey, Finn and Chewie return to D’Qar and the Resistance determines their next course of action.

Warnings: angst, maybe one curse word, more angst

Word Count: 7.2k

A/N: This is a messy chapter but there were so many ends to tie before moving onto TLJ. Grief is also such a weird thing to write about because everyone handles it differently. Hope you like it and as always, excuse the typos.

——————

At some point during the flight home, after crying enough to dehydrate myself, I went numb. My tears stopped, my yelling ceased and I simply sat in the co-pilot’s chair quietly working. We grieved losses all the time in the Resistance, but it was different for me this time. This was my father. There was a part of me that wanted to hop out of hyperspace and fly to some corner of the galaxy where I didn’t have to see anybody. But I remembered my mother, Poe, and all the other people that were counting on us to return. I needed to see them and hold them, I needed to know that I hadn’t lost everyone today. They outweighed my desire to run any day of the week. 

Once we had landed safely, Finn was our priority. Chewie carried him off the ship while Rey and I brought up the rear. I’d used my comm to let base know we’d need medical and true to their word, they were waiting as soon as we hit the tarmac. There was a crowd that consisted of pretty much every Resistance member running towards us. The medical team took Finn from Chewie’s arms and I heard them say that they’d found a heartbeat.

“Y/n!” Poe called.

Poe was alive, I had that to cling to at least. I saw him speeding ahead of everyone else, stopping to quickly look over Finn before meeting me,

“What happened? Are you okay?” he asked hurriedly, taking me into his arms. I pressed my face into his flight suit, inhaling his scent as a reminder that he was real.

“Go with Finn, make sure he’s okay.” I replied quietly, he pulled back to ask another question, “Please, for me. I’ll explain what happened later.”

He hesitated before kissing my cheek and running to catch up with the medical team. Someone needed to be with our friend in case he woke up, though that was unlikely to happen this fast. Rey and I watched as Finn was wheeled away, we could do no more for him. 

It was then that I began to process what Rey and I had just been through. We’d fought together and almost died together, but then our relationship had consisted of little else so far. We met each other’s watery eyes and pulled the other in for a hug, holding on to each other gratefully. I hoped with everything in me that she wasn’t going to go back to Jakku, that she’d stay and fight with us. 

I pulled away to pick through the crowd, scanning for one person. I should’ve known she’d already be there waiting for us. My mother and I locked eyes and my heart felt like it was breaking all over again. It was clear to see she already knew about Dad, it was impossible for her not to have sensed it. I took a few slow steps towards her before running into her arms. We clung to each other tightly as we silently grieved together, there was nothing that seemed right to say. At some point we’d talk about it, but the wound was far too fresh. We were now the last remaining members of the Solo family. That alone was one reason I was glad I had survived, I couldn’t bear the thought of my mother having lost her whole family. She pulled away and took my face in her hands, pressing our foreheads together. I could feel her grief, her heartbreak, every emotion that was flowing through her. I’d made the decision flying back that I had to tell her about my powers. She deserved to know and I couldn’t live with the guilt anymore.  

We broke apart and I turned her towards Rey, they had yet to meet but Mom had heard so much about her. Rey looked like a kicked Porg, helpless and scarred by what she’d seen today. I watched Mom give my friend the first motherly embrace she’d had since she was a child. Rey sunk into it easily, but she quickly pulled me by the arm to join them. The three of us stood there for a moment, taking comfort in the fact that we didn’t have to face our struggles alone. I only wished I was shedding tears the same way they were, but I couldn’t find the strength to. All my strength, emotional and physical, had been used in the forest.

——————

I’d never heard the command center so quiet, no one made a noise louder than a deep breath. Chewbacca sat in a corner, a paw to his head letting out a little moan every few minutes. He was hurting just as much as me and my mother were. A couple majors and lieutenants stood around the round table, Snap and Jess nearby as well. Mom stared aimlessly at a chart, I’d come over and put my hand on hers and she’d halfheartedly squeezed it. We needed to mourn together, but we also needed time on our own. Rey sat atop a crate, no doubt trying to wrap her head around the situation she was now in. I sat on the stone seating against one of the cold rock walls, staring at a wall. Poe had entered eventually to report that Finn was stable and the medics said he had a fighting chance. While I was beyond relieved, I couldn’t crack a smile.

Poe kneeled down in front of me, “Sweetheart, what happened out there?”

I met his loving gaze, wanting to tell him everything but knowing that if I did, I’d feel too much at once. It would all come out in a jumble of tears and words. I was opening my mouth to say that when 3PO entered,

“General? Excuse me? General? R2-D2 may contain some much needed good news.” “R2?” I called, turning my head to hear a series of beeps I hadn’t heard in twelve years. I watched the familiar droid, who’d sat collecting dust under a sheet for so long, roll to find me. I dropped to my knees at the sight of him and threw my arms around him, “Buddy, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” I’m happy to see you too, but I’m going to need you to let go so I can show you something.

I released him so he could back up next to me and project a large hologram map in the air. Poe pulled me to my feet and we stood together examining it, the map was practically complete except for one missing piece. 

“Wait a minute…” I mumbled just as BB-8 rolled in front of our group to take a look at the map before beeping ecstatically. He turned to Poe,

Give me the drive! Give me the drive! “Yeah, all right, buddy. Hold on.” Poe went to the computer we’d saved the drive in and retrieved it. He inserted it into BB-8, who rolled across from R2 and projected a hologram of the piece of the map. Everyone in the room gasped as Bee inserted his piece into the empty shape, the map was whole. 

“The map! It is complete!” 3PO exclaimed, I covered my gaping mouth and immediately turned around to find my mother. She was just as awestruck as I was, I made my way to her and put a hand on her shoulder. I gave a breathy chuckle and we embraced, in the worst circumstances we had found a shred of hope. My uncle was out there and we could go find him now. After breaking from her, I turned to Poe, who was standing behind us, and practically leapt into his arms. Our mission was complete. 

Less than an hour later, our group settled around the map table to decide what the next plan of action was.

“We’re going to need a team to go and locate Master Skywalker,” Admiral Statura stated. 

“It doesn’t need to be a team,” my mother spoke up, “We can’t afford to spare more people than needed.” “So we send one person to go retrieve him?” Bracca inquired.

“Yes,” Mom answered, “But the right one. I’d go myself but I need to be here in case of an ambush. There’s no saying that the First Order doesn’t know where we are and with what we just did, there is chance of attack.”

“Commander Solo?” 

I was zoned out, giving all my focus to the center of the table. It was the mention of my last name that caused me to finally look up, everyone was looking to me expectantly.

“Are you willing to lead the mission to go find Skywalker?” Statura asked. 

I looked back down at the table, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say. I’d fought my mother tooth and nail over the past few years about going and finding Luke. But now that the time had come, I was less enthusiastic about the prospect. I was exhausted, beaten down and drowning in grief. But. war waited for no one and it didn’t care about your losses. 

I nodded softly, “I’ll go.”

Mom looked over, her lips pressed in a thin line and her eyes misty, “Y/n…” “No,” I objected, “Someone needs to and I’m the one that begged to go in the first place. It should be me,” I bit down hard on my lip, every part of me screaming to stay put, “I’ll be fine.” “General,” Rey said, “I’ll go.”

“Rey,” I began, watching her expression change from solemn to confidant in a matter of seconds. “Y/n, you’ve been through too much today to turn around and leave again. I want to do this, for you and for the Resistance.” I ran a hand through my hair and addressed the group, “I trust her, Rey was a scavenger on Jakku. She’s a fighter too, a damn good one.”

“Rey, are you sure you’re up to this?” Mom asked.

“More than sure,” Rey nodded, “I want to do my part.”

The most joy I could summon came out as a quirk of the corner of my lips. I was overwhelmingly grateful for my friend’s gesture though, and I would make sure to  communicate that. 

“Then it’s decided,” Mom announced, “Rey will take the Falcon, Chewbacca and R2 to locate Master Skywalker. The rest of us will remain here and keep watch for an attack. Meeting dismissed.”

Rey was almost immediately whisked away to get a change of clothes and a room assignment. I’d have to talk to her later. Meanwhile, I’d fill my quota of usefulness for the day and was craving the safety of my quarters. 

“I’m going to head to my room,” I whispered to Mom, “I’m assuming you’re going to stay here for now?” She took a deep breath, “I have to, someone needs to be steering the ship.”

I nodded somberly, my mother was the strongest person I’d ever known. Even while mourning the love of her life, she was still carrying out her duties. I attempted to do it but Mom succeeded at it, there was no second thought in her mind as to what needed to be done. 

“Darling,” she said as I’d begun to move away, taking my hand into hers, “Say the word and I’ll come running.”

Unable to think of the right thing to say, I simply squeezed her hand and hurried out of the command center. The walk to my room was uneventful, most people were still outside or in the mess hall celebrating our victory. Victory? Was it a victory? I suppose to most, it was the biggest victory the Resistance had seen in a long time. Meanwhile I’d just suffered my greatest loss and couldn’t find joy in anything. Yet since returning, three things that should have made me happy had happened. R2 had woken up, we’d located Uncle Luke, and Finn was most likely going to live. But my father was still dead, that was the overshadowing event of the day. 

I halfheartedly punched in the code to my room and dragged myself in. Shutting my door, the first thing I did was take off my jacket and unclip the lightsaber that I’d reattached in the Falcon. I tucked it away in a desk drawer, this time out of care and not shame. Dropping the jacket on my chair, I then sank onto the edge of my bed and buried my face in my hands. I felt like I’d aged decades over the past few hours. I shut my eyes and rubbed them, but as soon as I did, I saw everything. 

The red blade sliding through Dad’s back.

“No…”

His lifeless body falling down the shaft.

“No…” Kylo’s face as he attacked me.

“No…”

“You’re a worthless orphan who your brother should have left to die.”

“NO!”

I snapped.

I sprang from the bed and began using the Force to extract drawers from my dresser in a frenzy. Tears fell freely once again, streaming down my cheeks like the saddest river. I yelled as I extended my hand to the dresser itself, slamming it to the ground. Next was my desk, I tipped it over but the drawer containing my saber stayed untouched. I let out a loud cry as I raised my hand to my bed, lifting the mattress in the air and making it fly across the room. Once I’d redecorated the room, I was left with the overwhelming emotions swirling inside me. I dropped to my knees and sobbed violently as I replayed my father’s death and my fight with Kylo. I hadn’t heard the sound of the keypad beeping or the door opening and closing over my cries. 

“Y/n!” Poe exclaimed, his arms wrapped around me and held me tightly. I blindly felt around for his hands, which quickly grasped mine and squeezed. He made no effort to stop me from crying, he knew that if I was having this strong of a reaction it was justified. But his warm touch and soothing voice, repeatedly speaking my name, quelled my manic state. He opened his legs and adjusted me between them, my back falling against his firm chest. I leaned my head against his, occasionally he’d dip down and press a tender kiss to my shoulder. My tears continued to fall, though switching to a softer steady stream eventually. The room was near silent as he gently rocked us back and forth, the only sound filling the air was my sniffling. 

“He’s dead,” I whispered, “My dad’s dead.” Poe let out a heavy sigh, “I thought he might be, I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” “I watched him die, Poe,” I trembled, “I watched Kylo Ren kill him.”

Poe stopped rocking and turned his head to look at me, “What?” I nodded, more tears escaping my eyes.

“Oh, Y/n…” Poe said lowly, “I can’t believe you had to see that.”

“I had to fight him too.” “You fought him?” “I didn’t have much of a choice.” He dropped his forehead to my shoulder, shuddering as he probably conjured up a visual of me battling Ren. I squeezed his hand reassuringly,

“I’m here, you didn’t lose me.” “I know,” he insisted, “I just wish you wouldn’t have had to go through all that.”

I sniffled, “Yeah, me too.”

Poe kissed my temple and between the tenderness of the moment and the memories surfacing, I began crying again.

“What can I do for you?” Poe whispered against my hair.

“Just stay with me. Please…” I whimpered before dissolving into another fit of sobs. Poe dropped his head back down to my shoulder and tightened his grip. We rode out the wave of sorrow together and once I’d quieted down, he told me to “stay there for a second” and stood up. I turned and watched him lug my mattress back up into it’s frame. Once it was secure, he came back and lifted me into his arms, carrying me over and laying me down gently. He climbed over to the other side and pulled me into his warm embrace, which I melted into. I settled underneath his chin and wept into his flight suit, Poe’s hand rubbing my back slowly. 

“Thank you,” I whispered. “For what?” 

“For coming back to me.”

Poe kissed the top of my head, “Always, sweetheart. Always.” —————

When I woke up, I was still cradled in Poe’s arms. We’d flipped in our sleep and his chest was now pressed to my back, our legs tangled together. He was lightly snoring, getting well deserved rest after what we’d been through. However I’d caught a whiff of myself and practically gagged. I was just as sad as I’d been last night, but I could mourn and be clean at the same time. Poe’s grip was tight but I was able to wriggle out, thank goodness he was a heavy sleeper. I navigated my way around the drawers I’d abused and grabbed a change of clothes. I tiptoed into the refresher and shut the door quietly, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked like a person who’d been dragged through a desert, the snow, a couple fights complete with a wicked case of bedhead. So…not great. I peeled off my clothing, kicked off my boots, and got into the shower. I’d been so spent last night I’d even slept in my shoes. Poe hadn’t changed from his flight suit either so clearly he’d been just as tired.

Alone with no distractions, I thought of Dad again. Though instead of thinking about his last few seconds, I thought of our last interactions. In our last day spent together, we’d had two of our best conversations (we were Solos of course, communication wasn’t our forte) piloted the Falcon together, fought together and the best of them all…I’d reunited him with Mom and enjoyed a few short minutes of having my family together again. I smiled for the first time since yesterday at the memory of being squished between my parents, telling them I loved them. Love. Dad’s last words to me had been telling me how much he loved me, how he wanted to keep me safe. The man was a scoundrel, but damn it if he didn’t fiercely protect his loved ones. I’d known people in the Resistance who’d lost loved ones. Their last interaction with them had been a fight or they’d missed the chance to say ‘I love you’ one last time. I was lucky enough to have had a last day with my father that I would cherish for the rest of my life. Dangerous and crazy as it had been...That was perhaps the only comfort I could take regarding his death. 

I changed into a pair of cargo pants and a plain black tank top, understandably forgoing my commanders uniform. I towel dried my hair, brushed my teeth and felt a little better about facing the day. However, I could no longer ignore my stomach growling. The adrenaline that had sustained me since Jakku had long worn off and I realized just how dehydrated and starved I was. I quietly opened the door to reveal a sleepy Poe sitting on the edge of my bed rubbing his eyes. As soon as he registered my presence, he was up and crossing the room to me.

“Hey” he greeted, his voice gravelly, “I was wondering where you went.”

“Couldn’t stand my smell any longer,” I explained with a quiet laugh, intertwining our hands.

“If it helps, I didn’t notice any smell,” he said, smiling down at me. 

Silence fell over the room as our eyes met, his deep brown ones carrying the same worry and sadness for me as last night. Poe had many lovable qualities, but the one I admired the most was how deeply he loved the people close to his heart. He cared so profoundly for me it almost broke my heart in the best way. I gently pulled him down to place my lips on his in a sweet morning kiss. Poe’s lips moved against mine carefully, as if he was afraid I’d break with too much pressure. I almost appreciated it, a heated make-out session didn’t feel appropriate with the somber cloud hanging over the room. My thumbs rubbed against the sides of his neck as we broke apart, he pressed a final kiss to my forehead and encircled my hips.

“How are you doing?” he asked cautiously.

I sighed, “I don’t know. I’m still…shattered, but I’m also grateful for the last day I spent with him. I’m definitely not done crying about it but I also have work to do…” “Y/n,” Poe began, his hands sliding up my back, “You can take time off, you deserve it.” “No, no, not Resistance work. Personal stuff.” He raised a concerned eyebrow, “Should I be worried?” I chuckled, “You hitched your cart to a Solo, you should always be worried.”

Poe chortled, “I don’t think truer words have ever been spoken.”

A knock at the door surprised both of us, I padded over and opened it to reveal 3PO. He was carrying a tray with a large plate of food and glass of water,

“Good morning, Mistress Solo. Your mother requested that I bring you breakfast.” “Thanks, 3PO,” I took the tray from his hands, “I appreciate it.” “You are most welcome,” he began to leave but came back, ”Oh, and she has requested a meeting with you in her chamber before Rey and Chewbacca depart. 

“Okay, tell her I’ll meet her in a half hour.”

——————

After downing the food and drink 3PO had brought and convincing Poe I was well enough that he could go shower and eat breakfast, I knocked on my mother’s door. 

When she opened, she was dressed in a stunning blue dress with her grey hair styled beautifully atop her head. But the redness in her puffy eyes, identical to mine, suggested she hadn’t had a pleasant night or morning. I took her hand immediately as she ushered me in, as soon as the door was shut we embraced. What was it about your mother’s holding you that immediately brought every emotion you were trying to hide to the surface? Quietly, I cried into her shoulder but unlike yesterday, I knew that today we needed to talk. I dried my eyes and walked to her bed, sitting down and resting my arms between my legs. Mom sat down next to me and gracefully folded her hands in her lap,

“I just have one question for the time being.” “Hmm?” “Did you have to watch?” My eyes watered again as I played the long lasting seconds back in my mind, the blade had pierced him so easily. He was defenseless. And of course she’d known who killed him, she’d felt a double dose of pain when it happened. I nodded sadly and buried my face in my hands, elbows balanced on my knees. Mom rubbed my back soothingly, allowing me my moment. After I’d collected myself, I sat up straight and nervously began,

“There’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago.”

I stood and began pacing, nervously rubbing my hands and trying to craft the perfect sentence. 

“Okay,” I paused my steps. “You might be mad or you could be really worried about me. To be honest, I wouldn’t blame you if you’re both. But please, try to understand why I kept it from you for so long.” “Darling, is this about you having the Force?” “Yes,” I exhaled loudly, “I’m sorry that I hid it from you for…wait, WHAT?”

Mom sighed as she looked at me lovingly, “Sweetie, I’ve known since the minute I met you. You practically radiate it.” I can only imagine how ridiculous I looked with my jaw slack and my brows furrowed deeply,

“W-wait,” I waved my hands, “If you’ve known for this long, why didn’t you just tell me?”

Mom raised her eyebrows and smiled, “Now, I could ask you the same thing.” I tilted my head quickly as if to say ‘fair point’ and crossed my arms, awaiting her explanation.

“Soon after we adopted you, Luke came to visit. As soon as he saw you, his eyes lit up and I could tell he knew. He pulled me aside and told me he hadn’t felt the Force this strong in someone since Ben was born.” I clenched a fist at the name spoken, but kept my focus on her words.

“He told me that when he met you, he had a sudden vision. He didn’t tell me the details of it, even when I pushed him, but he said he couldn’t. All he told me was that it was imperative to your journey that you discover your powers on your own.”

Imperative? Journey? What had Uncle Luke seen in my future? Mom continued, “We told your father, he never knew what to make of Luke’s premonitions but he trusted him. So we waited, waited for you to discover your power and tell us,” she gave a half shrug, “But you never did. Though when you were seven, I began to sense that you were feeling things like fear and shame. Am I right in assuming that’s when it happened?” I bowed my head and nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” “Because,” my head shot up, “Because the first time I used my powers, I used them in anger and it terrified me. I was so afraid of what I was capable of, I didn’t use them again for years.” Mom gave a slight nod, “I can understand that. Well, I can’t tell you how glad it makes me that it’s out in the open. But I sense there’s something more to all of this that I don’t know.” I blew my cheeks out and shook my head, “There’s a lot more. Do you remember the night on Chandrila when I took the Falcon?”

“Vividly.” she retorted, giving me the mom look that made every child feel guilty, no matter their age.

“It wasn’t that I couldn’t sleep,” I went on, “I’d been communicating with…him, through the Force. That night, I sensed he was in danger and he didn’t answer me. I knew something was wrong so I took the Falcon and flew to Yavin 4.” A single tear fell down my cheek as I gathered strength to relay the next portion to her, “It was just as Uncle Luke said. Once I found him, I tried to reason with him but he was too far gone to listen to me. He turned on me and we ended up dueling. I managed to knock him out and was able to escape before he woke up. But not before grabbing this…” I reached into my jacket and unclipped my lightsaber, displaying it for my mother. Her watery eyes widened slightly, but she still maintained her calm composure. 

“I can’t explain why I took it, I just felt compelled to. Since then, I’ve been training with it and in my abilities to use the Force. I’m learning trial by error, usually I do it in the forest or in my room. I started carrying this,” I rolled the saber in my palm, “With me a while back, I just felt safer having it on me.”

I set the weapon down on Mom’s desk and placed my hands on my hips. The next chapter of my story made the one I’d just finished telling look like a fucking fairytale…

“Then yesterday happened.” “Y/n, you don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to-“ Mom began.

“We fought again,” my voice wavered, “Rey, Finn and I had just escaped the oscillation station and were racing to the Falcon. He found us somehow and I was furious about Dad and of course,” I chuckled bitterly, “He knew every single button to press, I attacked him and was pretty much ready to kill him.”

My face was wet with teardrops now and I’d turned away from Mom, too ashamed to face her. 

“He tried to get me to join him and that was when I woke up and looked at myself. I’d spent so many years worried I’d become him and... there I was, ready to strike him down. I dropped my lightsaber and told him no, I wouldn’t join him. Just like that night at the temple, he tried to kill me. If it hadn’t been for Finn, I wouldn’t be standing here. We ended up fighting again, except Rey stepped in too at one point. The last conversation me and him had was him threatening to kill me and wipe out the Resistance and me admitting that my brother was gone.” I ran a hand through my hair and turned back to my mother, her face was unreadable. She was staring at the wall, I could practically see the gears turning in her head.  

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I whispered, “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect Dad, I’m sorry I failed the promise I made you yesterday. I’m sorry I kept all this from you and I’m sorry that you have to live with another family member with the Force.”

Finally, she turned and said, “Why do you think you owe me an apology?” I shrugged and dropped my hands at my side, sniffling loudly as more tears fell. 

“Y/n, I’m sorry that you felt you needed to keep this from me. And I am beyond sorry that you had to go through all of this,” she stood and crossed the room to me, “Darling, people like you and I who posses this gift will always admit to having had moments of struggle with their emotions. But that does not make them bad people or too far past help. You’ve done this on your own for so long, honey, it’s time to let go of any shame or guilt you may feel.” Twenty years. I’d hidden this from her for twenty years, I’d been afraid of myself for twenty years. With her last sentence, I felt the chains I’d bound myself in break and I suddenly felt more like myself than ever. I sobbed out of relief and my mother threw her arms around me. We stayed like that for a while, grieving and rejoicing together.

——————

The machines being used to monitor Finn’s levels beeped and hummed steadily. I sat in a chair next to him, watching his chest rise and fall, reminding myself that he’d be okay. He’d risked his life to protect Rey and I, how was I supposed to repay that debt? I guessed that he wouldn’t be leaving the Resistance once he woke up, I’d have plenty of time to think of ways. 

A knock on the wall broke me from my thoughts, I looked up to see Rey. She was clothed in a new set of clothes, a white tank top, a flared grey vest, matching arm wraps and dark pants that were hemmed at her calves. 

“I looked for you last night but I figured you were probably busy,” she shared.

“Yeah,” I grunted as I readjusted myself in my seat, I’d been here a while, “Last night wasn’t a great night.” “Understandable,” she pulled up another chair and sat on the other side of Finn, “I’m so sorry, Y/n.” “There wasn’t much time for condolences after, was there?” I remarked, raising my eyes to meet hers. She looked like she was holding back a thousand questions and explanations.

“Rey, I’m doing alright,” I reassured, crossing my legs and settling into my seat, “Even if I wasn’t, we need to talk before you leave.”

Rey nodded and her shoulders relaxed with knowing she wasn’t intruding on my grieving. She proceeded to tell me how at Maz Kanata’s castle when she’d gone to retrieve Finn, she’d felt something pulling her in a different direction. She’d ended up downstairs and had opened up the chest to reveal Luke’s lightsaber. When she picked it up, she’d been subject to a terrifying vision that she said felt more like a bad dream. I had to stop myself from laughing, I knew nothing about those…

Maz found her there and explained to her that the lightsaber was calling to her. Rey had wanted absolutely nothing to do with any part of it. She’d run into the forest, that’s where BB-8 caught up to her and the First Order arrived shortly after that. 

“Ren found me there, he used some mind trick on me that caused me to pass out,” she explained, “The next thing I remember is waking up restrained and he was there. He tried to extract the map from me, Y/n, he was inside of my mind but somehow, I was able to enter his.” I had my chin propped up on my fist, leaning my weight on the chair’s arm, “I’ve no answers for you as to how you did that, I’m not as advanced as you may think.” “Whatever it was, I was able to do it without even thinking about it,” she continued, “After that, it just got stranger.” She explained how she’d been able to use a Jedi mind trick on a Stormtrooper to let her out and leave her with a weapon. Now that I had heard of, but never attempted to do. The thought of messing with someone’s mind felt invasive to me, but perhaps necessary in certain situations. Rey had made her way through Starkiller Base undetected until eventually running into us. “We saw you scaling the wall of the base,” I smirked, “Thoroughly impressive.” Rey smiled slightly and ducked her head down. We were at the part of her story where she didn’t need to fill in much,

“I didn’t expect when I reached out for the lightsaber that it would come to me,” she disclosed, “But Maz was right, it called out to me. I’d never used one in my life.” “Then that’s even more impressive than the wall climbing,” I chuckled, I was doing what I could to lighten the mood a little.

“I don’t know what my place is in all of this,” she said, looking around the room, “But I know I want to be a part of it. I just don’t know yet what this power I have is.” “Well,” I began, “I can fill in a few blanks. You’re obviously gifted with the Force, Rey. I have the same power, though I’ve gone untrained since I discovered I possessed it. I was just a kid and I was terrified of it up until today, so you’re already a few steps ahead of me when it comes to acceptance. Everything I know about the Force I know because of what I’d overhear from my family, what I saw in Kylo or by figuring it out on my own. I need help too, same as you. That’s why I’m glad one of us is going to go find my uncle.” “And you’re okay with me going?” she asked hesitantly.

“I’m incredibly grateful,” I specified, “I need to do my job from here for a while, but also selfishly I’m not ready to head back out yet. Not after what happened.”

“Your father,” she leaned forward, “Was a good man. He showed me kindness without even knowing me.”

I squinted, “I’m not sure we’re talking about the same guy.” Kind was not have been the first word I would use to describe Dad. 

“I mean it, he offered me a job on the Falcon working for him when we were on Takodana.”

“Ooh,” I inhaled, “I’ve worked on that ship with him many times before. He was arrogant, yelling orders left and right. Constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure I was doing everything right.”

“So I wouldn’t have liked it?” Rey asked. 

“Nah,” I smiled nostalgically, “You would’ve loved it.”

Rey smiled widely, “Even though the circumstances weren’t ideal, I can’t tell you how thankful I am that you and I crossed paths.” I beamed, “Me too. When do you leave?” “I’m actually on my way out now, but I wanted to find you and check on Finn,” she replied, “He’s going to be alright?” 

“That’s what the doctors told me this morning, it’ll just take him a while to wake up.” “Good,” she was looking him over with such caring eyes, it felt like a private moment.

“I’ll give you a minute with him, I’ll wait outside for you. Take your time.” I stood up and walked towards the door, but not before stopping to place my hand on Rey’s shoulder. She slid hers over it and squeezed gently, our close knit trio was about to go their separate ways for the time being. I exited the room and shut the door so that Rey had privacy if she needed to say something to Finn. After a few minutes, she came out the door looking as ready as she could for what lay ahead. We walked through the base mostly in silence, until Rey picked up on how many looks we were receiving.

“Why are so many people staring at us?” she whispered.

“Word travelled fast about what happened on Ilum,” I replied as I smiled at a waving worker, “I think we’re considered heroes now.”

“But what did I do? You guys did all the work.” “You got us into the oscillation station, plus you’re headed to go get Luke,” I said, “Get used to the word, you’ll be hearing it a lot.” Rey simply shook her head in surprise as we exited the building. There was a large crowd gathered outside the Falcon, people were eager to see it off. 

“Now I don’t have to tell you to be careful with the ship, do I?” 

“No, but why don’t you just to really drive it in?” she smiled.

“Gladly,” I said, “The Falcon means everything to me. I grew up on it, I’ve lived in it, I learned to fly on it. And now,” I stopped before the crowd noticed us, “Now it’s the last piece of my father that I have. If you have any questions, Chewie will be with you and he knows the ship just as well as I do. When in doubt, ask him. Please don’t take any chances with her unless you absolutely have to. You’re a fantastic pilot so I know you’ll do great. Just treat her well, she’ll protect you.” “Of course, Y/n. I’ll bring her back in one piece for you.” Rey assured me, I believed her. 

“I trust you,” I placed a hand on her arm and we began walking again.

The crowd cheered as they caught sight of us, they wished Rey luck as she passed them by. My mother was at the front awaiting our arrival, she pulled Rey aside and I went to say goodbye to Chewie and R2. Chewie embraced me as soon as I got close enough, we both shed a few tears into each other. Short on time, we had to pull away sooner than desired.

“You keep Rey safe and do the same for yourself,” I ordered, “Direct orders from your commander and un-biological niece.” Chewie purred in reply, promising that they would be okay and that he loved me. 

I hugged him one last time, “I love you too, fuzzball.” I went over to R2 and kneeled down, “I just got you back, now I’ve gotta say goodbye.” I’ll come back and I’ll have Luke with me.

“I know you will, I’m sure he’ll have missed you.” If he was going to miss me then maybe he SHOULD HAVE TAKEN ME WITH HIM.

“Hey, hey,” I laughed, “Don’t give him too much trouble when you see him, he’s been through a lot.”

Fine…

I wrapped my arms around him, “Be safe, I’ll catch you up on everything you missed when you get back.” I stood and turned to see Rey walking in my direction, it was about that time. Once she reached me, I saw her eyes carried the same unshed tears that mine did. We embraced each other tightly, I knew she’d be okay but I still had the overwhelming fear of losing her. After years of feeling alone, struggling with my powers, I’d finally found someone who was like me. We shared a unique bond that few could understand, we needed each other.

“Please be safe,” I said. “I will, you do the same,” she pulled away, “Is there anything you want me to tell your uncle for you?”

I sighed, “That his niece wants to hear about his vision. He’ll know what it means…”

Rey nodded confusedly, “I’m trusting you to explain what it means when I get back.” “Will do,” I replied, giving her hand a squeeze before she broke away to step on board the ship. 

I made my way back to the front of the crowd to stand with my mother, catching a glimpse of Poe dressed in his commanders uniform. 

“I’m assuming she talked to you before she left,” I commented.

“She did,” Mom responded, watching as the ship powered up.

“Think Luke’ll be able to help her?�� I asked.

“Hopefully, he’ll help us all.”

Our hopes really did rest with my uncle, if anyone could help us it would be him. He’d helped save the galaxy once, hopefully he could give a repeat performance. I patted Mom’s shoulder and went to stand next to Poe, “Love the uniform.” “It’s itchy as hell and you know it,” he replied, sneaking a scratch at his visibly red neck.

I smirked and watched as the Falcon lifted into the air. It was harder than I thought it would be to watch it leave without me onboard. Tears began to flood my eyes, Poe must have been dialed into my senses because his hand intwined itself with mine. They’d be okay, they’d come back, I’d repeat it to myself a thousand times if that’s what kept me calm. The next time I saw my friends, my uncle would be with them. The Falcon jumped to lightspeed and then it was out of sight. The crowd disbanded shortly after, my mom was already being whisked away to a meeting. Poe and I stayed out on the tarmac with BB-8 at our feet,

“What do you have on your schedule today?” I asked.

“I cleared it as soon as I got back to my room this morning.” I tilted my head, “What for? “For you,” he replied, running a hand through his curls, “Look, when I lost my mom I was in a different mood every hour. Depressed, angry, sentimental, you name it. Whether you want to be alone or if you want someone there with you, I wanted to be 100% available.” There it was, that overwhelming, heart swelling feeling of love for him. I’d have to get used to it because I had a feeling that Poe wasn’t going to stop being this sweet. With the crowd gone, I pushed into him and kissed him firmly, pulling him closer by his collar. I’d caught him off-guard, but he settled into it quickly, his hands finding my hips. Once we broke, he nuzzled his nose against mine sweetly, 

“Whatever you need, I’ve got you,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, “Why don’t we go back to your room and you entertain me with the story of how you got off Jakku?” He kissed my forehead, “You got it, sweetheart.” We walked back into base, hands locked together and hope in our hearts that the future was brighter than what was behind us.

————

A/N: There we have it! I’m sad I won’t get to write interactions between Rey and the Reader for a while, but you’ll finally get a healthy, well deserved dose of Poe. And I swear one day I’ll learn how to write a decent kiss scene 😂 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 😊

Taglist: @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @springfox04 @constantdisgrace @holybatflapexpert @seninjakitey @tammythompson-singslikea-muppet @leilei-draws @eternal-fandoms @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @imaginecrushes @eternallyvenus @thescarletknight2014 @simplybarnes @captain-america5 @breyasficletblog @caseymcflurry @stumbleonmywords @april-14-blog @i-ievu @ultrunning @desperatelytryingtosavemyself @caswinchester2000 @meraki-loki @lovinnholland

[wizardessheart-sideb]

My WH Story & Feelings on it Ending

TW: abuse, depression, y’all know my trauma by now

With the discontinuation of Wizardess, I've been thinking a lot about this game and what it means to me, but it's been hard to articulate it for a number of reasons. But reading them congratulating us on graduating from the Academy has put me into motion. So here's my WH story and lots of mushiness. I started playing Wizardess during the summer of 2017. I'd already completed a year at my four-year uni. I didn't really have any friends there. I had one friend and man that was about to GO BAD. I'd discovered dating sims a few months prior with Mystic Messenger, so I got into playing more dating sims. My first SWD game was actually Ninja Assassin, and then I played Blood in Roses. I kept seeing ads for Wizardess and like a lot of players, I thought it looked like a dumb Harry Potter rip-off. Which I don't know why considering I knew Ninja Assassin and BiR were really good, but whatever. So I downloaded WH on a whim and honestly, it took me a while to get into the game. I still didn't really know how otome games worked and stuff. I chose Yukiya as my first route and as soon as the mystery kicked in, I was completely hooked. This game quickly took over my life. Where Fire Emblem had been my biggest comfort, Wizardess overtook everything for me. And thank God it did. I never had had that many issues with school. I've had depression since I was little, but school had never been a source of stress for me. The year before I started college, that changed. I can pinpoint the moment my mental health took a turn for the worse, and that happening right before I started community college was bad. I was lucky to go to a really good community college with great teachers and my friends went too, so I still had my friends with me. It wasn't until I moved to the LA area that school started impacting my mental health. When I was younger, I get depression in waves. Sometimes it'd be bad, sometimes it felt like it wasn't even there. But as soon as I got into college, it was there constantly and I felt it hard in LA. And after a stressful first year and then a horrible second semester, I had to return home to the place I absolutely hated and even worse, I felt unsafe at home. I was born in a city up in northern California, but I moved to a small town when I was 10. My mom and I moved in with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. The thing about this small town is that a lot of families are similar and so like. My older cousin had friends who had younger siblings that were the same age as me and my other cousin, so we were alll friends. Growing up and being beaten by older cousin, it was normalized bc my friends were going through the same thing. I thought being beaten up by someone I considered an older brother was totally normal. It was only until I got into the LA area did I realize "holy shit that's abuse I was ABUSED?!?!?!" because I'd laugh when I talked about how badly I used to get beaten and classmates were horrified at what I was saying instead of my friends from the small town who'd usually laugh with me and then tell me about the time their brother pushed them off the roof of their house. I already hated the small town I'd grown up in, but now I didn't feel safe. Although he hadn't hit me in years, I'm always scared one day my cousin's going to snap and start the cycle of abuse over again. Wizardess was a huge escape for me. I could just read it and get lost in Gedonelune and forget that I was in an unsafe situation and how sad I was. I'd just lay in bed and read for hours. I started making friends through the fandom and I wasn't platonically lonely anymore. And the game supplied the romance I know I'll never get to experience in real life. This game has given me so much comfort and been my rock for so many years. It's been one of the few good things in my life and when I'm sad (which is like all the time lmao), I can just go to Gedonelune and escape everything for hours. I returned to school and things friendship-wise were looking up. I made more irl friends and I FINALLY got good roommates in my dorm. School was still taking a toll on my mental health and depression made it hard to get to class because I had no energy to get out of bed even though I wanted to and my mind was screaming at me to get up. Wizardess was still a comfort but I was also having more light-hearted fun with it. Over time, Wizardess has evolved and instead of it just being my rock, I can appreciate it for other things. As it came to light how problematic Rowling was, I could appreciate that although the rep wasn't perfect, Wizardess included wlw rep and did the best they could. It didn't feel like they did it for woke points like someone, but it felt like a genuine move to try and include rep and I appreciate that. It really shouldn't surprise anyone Harry Potter was a huge huge HUGE thing to me as a child and ngl if I didn't have WH, it would've been a lot more painful to divorce myself from Harry Potter. And as I went through uni and saw that my uni didn't really care about its students from trying to ban students from speaking out against racism and disregarding school shooting threats. Hell, when my roommate Ariana and I stayed in our dorm room after the uni did a shitshow investigation of a shooting threat and refused to cancel classes, I played Wizardess like all day. Having a school in Gedonelune that actually CARED about students was a comfort. I fought tooth and nail against my classes and depression and I finished classes this last December. I now have my bachelors and this May, I would've had my graduation ceremony. Now, to be honest, I don't really care about doing graduation for my uni bc of all the bad experiences I had there and also not every member of my fam would've been able to go bc limited space and picking who gets to go is uh a nightmare. I had a small "graduation ceremony" with my family on zoom and my best friend Julia is planning on holding me another graduation ceremony in Animal Crossing. I am as much of a graduate of Gedonelune Royal Magic Academy as I am my irl uni. Wizardess has been with me for only a few years, but it's been a huge part of my life. And seeing the team congratulating us is bittersweet. It's sad that the WH team got let go without much warning (allegedly) and there will be no more new content, but the way I see it, the torch has been passed to us. So many of us are creating content for the fandom and our own events and routes. It's true, we're graduating from the Academy, but we'll always have a part of it inside us and now it's our turn to create and use the skills and knowledge we've learned from Wizardess.

[stardustndice]

𝒪𝒻 𝒲𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝓉𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈

a ben solo oneshot

a/n: I believe this is one of the most difficult pieces I’ve ever had to write. It is also some of my best writing. Special thanks to the incredibly genius character analysis work done by @bensaidbutido and @magpie-trove . I know neither of you know me but without your insight I couldn’t have written this.

warnings: moments of graphic violence, symptoms akin to a panic attack. 

words: 1.4k

Smoke was still rising from Vader’s helmet when Ben tore his hand away from its shriveled face. He’d only meant to uncover Rey’s location. He didn’t expect to be bombarded with glimpses of both of their pasts. It felt like yet another straw on the camel’s back.

He didn’t enjoy being the camel.

Particles of dirt from Exegol fell off of Ben’s shoes as he strode to a white table, leaning forward slightly on his hands. He tried to focus on the scattering of stars outside the window. It wasn’t working. His father’s voice, infuriatingly forgiving, still rang in his ears.

Ben remembered that moment as clearly as the universe spread out in front of him, down to the calluses on his father’s hand as he softly touched his son’s cheek before plunging into the smoke below. It was a reckless effort to prove his commitment to the dark side, Ben knew that now. Killing his father didn’t rid him of his turmoil, of the guilt that would froth in his throat at the mention of his likeness to him.

Snoke is using you for your power. When he gets what he wants, he’ll crush you.

That was what Han had told him and he was correct, although not in the end. In that moment, turning his uncle’s saber towards his ‘true enemy,’ he was at peace, in a messy kind of way. His mind was being torn in half, but what awaited him in the space left in between was pure fatigue, a tiredness with the way the universe’s hierarchy was built. The Jedi, the Resistance, the Sith, the First Order: all of it was just weights meant to tip an invisible scale. He knew then as he struck the final blow unto the Supreme Leader, that he had to forge his own path.

If that meant it was one forged in blood, so be it.

And so, over time, he focused on that path, Lord Palpatine whispering in his ear for what felt like every waking hour. Sleeping was worse. Ben deliberately went without sleep often, just to escape the feelings of terror and powerlessness that came with the nightmares. They made him feel weak, perhaps that’s why they scared him so badly.

Early on in his apprenticeship under Snoke, he’d watch as other powerful figures in the First Order abused spies and other prisoners. One specific instance of cruelty scarred into his memory was when an officer slammed a prisoner’s head onto the floor and stepped on his head. He pressed down slowly, gradually applying more weight until the man’s jaw snapped grotesquely. Ben left the cell after that.

His supposed worthlessness was beaten into him with every stroke of his saber, every word he uttered. He felt like the prisoner, but instead of a foot there was a cement cage around him, creeping inwards until he felt like his lungs were turning in on themselves. But Palpatine knew that all Ben needed was a breath of encouragement, a subtle compliment about a successful mission, to let him breathe again, even if for a second.

Now, after being told of Rey’s lineage and of Palpatine infecting his mind, Ben was thrown off course for what felt like the millionth time. Vader and Snoke had just been vessels for his ascension to a cursed throne.

He sighed aloud, running a hand down his face and rolling his shoulders back. His tension was at an all-time high lately. With everything going on, he felt like he was losing control, not over himself but over the pieces in whatever rigged game that was being played. At this point, he wasn’t sure whether or not he was a player or a piece.

His jaw clenched as he came to a realization: he was a puppet. Since the first day he could remember, Palpatine was carving him into what he desired. While Leia was commanding the Resistance and his father was off smuggling, Ben was being dragged under the crashing waves of the dark side. Anger surged in his chest as he silently cursed his parents for throwing him into the maw of the wolf, allowing him to be snapped up by Palpatine.

On the outside Ben was shaking. His nails formed red crescents in his palms and his jaw clenched so tightly he thought he might break a tooth. All those years he trained with Luke, the Sith Lord was tying strings, waiting for the right moment.

And then the moment came. Luke tried to kill Ben and in doing so made himself the final string. Palpatine saw an opportunity and he took it. Ben’s soul burned along with everything surrounding him. All that remained were the strings.

I have been every voice you have ever heard inside your head.

Ben fell to his knees. His body was alight with agony. Nothing made sense anymore. The only people he’d ever loved betrayed him, threw him away like he wasn’t worth anything. He would never be anything, after all. That was what he’d always been told, it was what was beaten into him since he could first speak.

You’re afraid. That you’ll never be as strong as Darth Vader.

He felt like he was choking on air. A thin layer of sweat shone on his face as he wrapped his arms around his middle, guarding himself like an animal cornered. Except he wasn’t lashing out. There was no use. The strings were tightening, digging into his skin, drawing blood. Just when he thought he could loosen them, fight tooth and nail for some semblance of control, he was muzzled again.

A quiet thump sounded when his forehead gently hit the floor, gasping desperately for air.

Your son, he’s gone. He was weak and foolish like his father. So I destroyed him.

Deep down, Ben knew he lied. Every day he wrestled with the light side. He didn’t know if he could ever truly defeat it.

At this point, he didn’t even know if he wanted to.

Come home.

No, he thought, he would be an outcast. He wouldn’t just be worthless, he’d be a traitor.

You’re a monster.

Yes, that’s exactly what they’d spit as he returned, just like she said.

The walls were crumbling around him just like the night the temple burned, only this time it was out of his control. He had told himself to let the past die, kill it, but he couldn’t even follow his own orders. He had failed, like he always did. The feeling of worthlessness was seeping into him like a venom, Palpatine the snake.

It isn’t too late.

But it was. From the very beginning, it was. From the first word that Palpatine uttered, from the first time he sat in the corner of his bedroom sobbing alone, he was always lost. It was always going to be too late.

Too late for the man destined to be Supreme Leader.

The fallen apprentice.

The lonely son.

A dry and broken sob ripped itself out of Ben’s throat. The light overhead shattered, pieces chiming as they rained down. He slammed his fist into the ground, cutting himself on a shard of glass. Suddenly, he stilled. The world washed away like water on a beach as he sat up, gazing almost serenely at the wound.

When he was young, Chewie (or as Ben would refer to him, Uncle Chewie) would teach him how to shoot a blaster. They would fire at a dummy made of haphazardly-stacked rocks. Once, he had somehow let a blaster bolt burn the side of his hand. Chewie took a tearful Ben to Leia in her quarters. She knelt down and took his injured hand in hers and kissed his forehead. She dressed the wound and murmured gentle words of encouragement. “You’re very brave. You know how I know that?” she asked, tilting his head up to meet her gaze. He shook his head and she offered him a warm smile. “Because I know you’ll get right back on your feet.”

Ben leaned back and lifted his head, staring at the ceiling as a tear rolled down his cheek and clung to the back of his jaw. His gaze hardened and he stood, grabbing his helmet off of the desk nearby.

He had to get back on his feet. He had an army to lead.

[half-anidiot]

love

the flystep hanahaki au no one asked for

word count: 2480

cross posted here on my ao3

for maximum angst listen to already gone by sleeping at last while reading

--

Kieran didn’t even have to see the flowers to know what they were like.

Rose bushes were lodged in his lungs, making their home where they were not welcome. They took up all the room, expelling the air and oxygen that should have been coursing through his body in favor of growing black roses that clawed their way out of his throat leaving behind blood and aches that sucking on ice cubes could not fix. Black roses because that was the color of their eyes - eyes black and as deep as miles beneath the ocean and holding just as many secrets as they did sins.

Daniel could have tried hiding it (a futile endeavor, but maybe it would have helped settle his mind), but he just showed up to their meeting spot without bothering to mask the raspy voice or red-rimmed stare that never found itself able to meet Kieran’s. It broke a piece of Kieran to see him like that. Daniel was Herald, the Golden Boy, lovable, sweet, kind, and the poster boy for how much good the Rangers could do. He might have been beaten, stepped on, and defeated, but Kieran had never seen him look so broken. Even after the fight at the museum, his screams hadn’t turned into something to be pitied. They were created from the pain that Kieran had spun with their own hands, but filled with frustration, anger, and humiliation. The fear that Kieran had known Daniel was feeling never leaked through, something that they had to give him credit for.

It was different when Daniel grabbed them this time. Forget the fact that it was cloudy when it was usually sunny, tense silence filling the empty void that used to hold quick smiles and light jabs, the way his arms felt wrapped around them felt unequivocally wrong. What typically felt like a shield from the world (such an odd thought that was, Daniel protecting them) felt like a vice squeezing both their body and their heart to the point of bursting. Kieran was almost surprised that Daniel didn’t cough up any petals from the contact, but as they shot through the city past glass buildings and reflective metal both they and Daniel could feel the tickle beginning to build.

Daniel didn’t utter a word, too focused on not dropping Kieran from shaking arms and fighting back the rose that was inching its way up through his windpipe. His thoughts tended to race to and fro like butterflies being swirled into a panic, but during the flight they were slow. A creeping sludge of toxic self-loathing and sorrow that it made even Kieran hold back tears.

Desolate.

Terrified.

Grieving.

Yet here Daniel was, holding the source of his misery tight in his arms as if afraid Kieran would try to leap from his grasp to escape him.

For the millionth time in their life, Kieran wished they could love.

---

The first petal came out after Kieran’s first punch. It was almost comical in a sick, twisted way. Daniel had been too slow, and Kieran, in typical Kieran fashion, had socked him right in the stomach. As their fist slammed into his midsection, he coughed up a blood-splattered petal as if the force of Kieran’s hit had forced it from where it had been resting idly at the base of his throat.

The world seemed to cease movement. Breeze stilling, sounds of the traffic and bustle of life around them quieted as Daniel and Kieran held their breath. One lone black smudge tainted the darkest of reds fell gently to the roof below their feet. It swung back and forth, holding some hypnotic sway over the pair. As it touched down softly time started again. Kieran exhaled so heavily it hurt their chest. Daniel seemed frozen, dull blue gaze locked onto the unmoving petal despite the blissfully cool breeze that had picked up again.

Tentatively, Kieran raised a solitary arm to tap hesitantly on his shoulder. “Daniel…?”

He recoiled as if Kieran’s touch had wounded them (and it hurt, it hurt more than it had any right to considering the circumstances), breathing going from nonexistent to fast and hard in a matter of seconds. Daniel’s eyes were filled with unshed tears, half sobs escaping his chest in a wet ragged sound that scraped against Kieran’s ears and soul. The sludge thoughts had once again turned into the butterflies. However, instead of buttercup and golden sunlight, they were made of razor-sharp metal edges and torn up paper. They swept around Daniel’s mind, leaving bleeding gashes wherever they touched until his psyche was bleeding more than even his throat and lungs were.

“Daniel,” Kieran said more firmly, taming the fear that threatened to overtake their voice knowing it would only make everything worse, “Daniel, look at me.”

For the first time that day, blue met black.

That was, of course, when it all went to hell.

Daniel started choking and Kieran rushed to catch him without even thinking about what they were doing. Hands going under Daniel’s arms, they pulled to keep him from sagging to the ground as his chest spasmed. Guilty tears filled Kieran’s eyes as Daniel gagged and retched, body trying to evict the blossoms that bloomed in his airways. Finally, after what seemed hours of Daniel’s awful noises, he vomited up whatever meager breakfast he had eaten (fruit from the looks of it), blood, and an entire rose. It was mangled. The stem was twisted and torn, the petals had been crushed, and yet Kieran could not help but find some semblance of beauty in it.

Kieran had to hold in a shriek as they studied the flower.

Daniel sagged in their grip and Kieran slowly knelt to the ground while holding Daniel against their chest. His eyes were half-closed, a bleary look being thrown Kieran’s way before they closed completely. Kieran wasn’t sure what it was, perhaps the hopeless aura that Daniel wore like a mantle around his shoulders, but they let loose a desperate whisper of, “I’m so sorry.”

Daniel, being Daniel, responded weakly, “I know, it’s ok.” His hand fingers softly tapped an insignificant pattern on Kieran’s thigh where his hand rested. “I...I love you.”

“I know, Daniel,” Kieran said, wobbly and wavering. “But I-I can’t - ”

“I know.”

But that was the thing.

He didn’t.

---

Kieran had been created to do two things.

Infiltrate.

Listen.

Anything outside of that never should have occurred. 

Kieran wasn’t sure what was different about them - wasn’t sure they had the emotional or mental capacity to study it. But they had the capacity for more. Kieran could feel things they never should have felt - happiness, sadness, anger, despair, excitement, and yet…

Kieran had never been able to love.

For everything they could feel, the emotion that everyone held most dear and closest to their hearts was foreign to Kieran. They had never felt the fluttering of butterflies in their stomach, had never wanted to hold someone so close to them that they became one, had never desired to intertwine their soul with another.

Before Heartbreak, Kieran had had exactly three people they would die for, but to live for someone? To be able to open up and show every leaking wound, every scar that marred their body, every tattoo that lined their body in bright, disgusting, neon orange? It didn’t make sense. There was no guarantee that the person would stay, that they would see what was hidden and not flinch from horror. There was no guarantee that hatred wouldn’t rear its ugly head and strike when you were most vulnerable and leave you half dead and grasping at the strings of life that were slipping away.

Kieran had never felt it, had never understood it.

All it did was further prove that whatever abomination Kieran was, they were most certainly not human. 

Under three layers of clothing (far too many for the heat of Los Diablos) Kieran sat trembling. They were parked on a bench in the dog park. The sun sat high in the sky, a big yellow yolk against a cheerily blue and cloudless expanse. It seemed the universe was mocking Kieran today. Everything seemed more vivid and strikingly beautiful, as if the contrast on the world had been turned up by ten. 

The dogs ran to and fro, happy minds leaving streaks of pastel pink and gold against Kieran’s when they dragged against the last of Kieran’s inner defenses - a wall that they had been building since they had enough conscious thought to do so. It was sturdy, but simple, and thick enough to keep out even experienced telepaths. Over time the outside layer had grown battered, pieces chipped away and different colors splashed against the sides from where other minds had left lasting impacts. They couldn’t be washed off, Kieran had tried many times. The mental paint stuck no matter how Kieran tried to remove it. But the excitement today was leaving without any say so from Kieran. No matter how much they tugged and pulled at the remnants they fled from Kieran like water slipping between their fingers. 

With a violent shudder, Kieran jolted from their thoughts just in time to catch Steel walking towards them.

Suddenly they couldn’t breathe.

It had been a week since the rooftop with Daniel, and Kieran had not seen him since then. It hadn’t been his choice from what they had heard. Daniel had fought tooth and nail to be able to try and see them, but he had been held back by doctors, Ortega, and Steel. The only contact they had had since the fateful day was a single phone call that Kieran would rather forget.

---

“Dan-Daniel?”

Hey, Kieran.

“I-how are you doing?”

I’m...I’m not doing that well, honestly. The doctors told me I only have about a week unless I get the surgery.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

...I’m not getting it.

“...what?”

I’m not going through with the surgery Kieran.

“What do you mean you aren’t going through with the surgery?”

I’m not going to lose all my memories of you. They told me that I run the chance of completely forgetting your existence and I...I’m not doing that. Not just because of you, but because a lot of my memories of my brother are...tied with you.

“Daniel, do you even hear how you sound? Your voice is paper-thin. I don’t even want to know how much weight you’ve lost or when the last time you ate was. This is your life we’re talking about - ”

I’m not losing that. Memories are all I have left of him.

“Daniel if you don’t get the surgery you won’t have to worry about not having th - ”

I’m not getting the sur - 

“YOU’LL BE DEAD!”

…

I’d rather be dead than not have the two most important people in my life.

CLICK.

BEEP BEEP BEEP.

---

A sour taste filled Kieran’s mouth as Steel solemnly told them, “Figured you’d be here. He wants to see you.”

His voice cracked halfway through and his eyes were rubbed raw enough that the pink shone in the sunlight. Steel, despite his namesake, was just as human as the rest of the world. For all he said about Daniel, there was a fondness there that Kieran didn’t quite understand.

Love, but not in the way that they had come to expect it.

“Is-is it - ”

“It’s time.”

The car ride was a blur comprised of shaking hands and a head filled with fog. Kieran couldn’t see straight, couldn’t think straight, couldn’t do anything but sit and tremble and stare out the window as if something would jump in and clean up the mess that had been created. 

Kieran felt like their head had been shoved underwater. Their vision was skewed and everything sounded muffled like someone was trying to speak while they were under. They had done enough research to know that they were dissociating, but as the car ride went by in silence, Kieran couldn’t help but feel slightly grateful. At least, like this, they couldn’t feel anything.

They couldn’t feel the grief that was already welling up in their throat, the heartache, the terror, the desperation that tasted like metal and felt just as heavy on their tongue. It was a poison that the fog blanketing their brain and senses kept at bay.

Before they knew it, Kieran was standing outside of Daniel’s room struggling to open the door. With a shaky inhale, Kieran pulled it open and nearly broke down at the sight that awaited them.

Daniel, the perfectly golden butterfly boy, heart and soul of an angel had had his wings clipped. His thin body lay under white covers (too white, too pure for the toxic disease that Daniel held in his lungs) covered in pale skin that wore a thin sheen of sweat like another layer of clothing. Blue eyes that had once burned fever bright with determination and passion were dull and wrapped in shadows made of purple and red.

Kieran walked over numbly, not quite believing that what they were seeing was real. Any minute now, they would wake up twisted in their sheets from this horrid nightmare and go off to beat Daniel’s ass in a few hours. That had to happen. It had to.

But it wasn’t.

Daniel gave one weak smile underneath the ventilator, eyes glowing as Kieran sat in the chair waiting for them and grabbed Daniel’s hand. It was clammy and he was only able to give a slight squeeze in response to the death grip Kieran had on it. 

For minutes, maybe even seconds, they sat there together.

Daniel and Kieran.

Kieran and Daniel.

For once, the light losing to the darkness.

And then he was gone.

Kieran could feel the moment he died. The last butterfly flapped its wings to the beat of their name Kieran Kieran Kieran Kieran before dropping to the ground of Daniel’s mind. The last glimmer of light went out like a flickering candle in his eyes.

It was there it was there - 

It was gone.

He was gone.

There was no long speech, no ‘I love you’.

One minute he was there, looking into Kieran’s eyes like they were the sun he revolved around (as if Kieran was more important than him) and the next he was dead.

Kieran didn’t remember anything after that.

---

Not even two days later as they lay wrapped in their blankets as if they could save them from the pain that clogged their lungs with mucus and some invisible force that pushed mercilessly on their chest, Kieran felt a tickle at the base of their throat. With a shudder they coughed, they heaved, they gagged, they choked and - 

A petal. 

A petal blue as the sky and twice as bright - exactly like Kieran remembered Daniel’s eyes.

Kieran could love after all.

[poisonedviper]

Beloved Father, Withering Gaze

The great philosopher L’izzo once asked “Why men great ‘til they gotta be great?” An acknowledgement of how too often people will fail to rise to a challenge that they have already shown they could best, only seeming to fail once it is important that the work be done. This established that the greatest failure was one that by all means should have been overcome and had people trusting would be overcome.

L’alor had known many of these failures in his life, and often the words of L’izzo found him in moments between these. His failures had largely defined his life, shaped the path of it, and forced him to adjust his life around the consequences of those failures. He had backed down from important fights, pursued ill-advised business ventures, hurt Meziene, broken his family, and more. These failures found him due to his fear. He had learned that well by now, through harsh example and Meziene’s cutting words in his worst moments. Fear had brought him nothing but failure, and he had been shown how continued fear would only cost him more. It would cost him everything.

The moment of that revelation had come at the same time as a new command from the Viper, his authority as the Architect of War mandated. It was not a post he could refuse, nor one he could afford to fail in. Whether in the Viper’s humor or anger, the position came at the heart of L’alor’s fears. It forced him to fight and hurt people, to kill. The act that had always haunted him, chased after his thoughts and called to him. The propagation of the Venom depended on it, but it also was nature to him. It was something that often brought the question to him if the Venom made him a monster, or if he had the Venom because he was a monster; he had still never decided. What mattered was that to be the Architect of War he would have to kill, or his tribe would be in danger.

The Viper was merciful, in Its own way, and did not immediately give him a task. He would be on call, as always. It gave him time to deal with his fears. The calling of the Venom had always been a strong fear of his, heeding that unknown urge that he felt when it was strong within in and he was near certain people. Raceaux Eleftheriou had always been one of those people, and later into Raceaux’s incarceration L’alor had felt the call more. When Meziene had chosen the night of her revenge, L’alor had taken the chance to heed the call after his family had left.

That night had confirmed something for him. If he wanted to be great, he would have to stop being afraid of himself.

L’alor felt better after that night than he had in nearly a year. The pain of his Venom had been reduced drastically, his strength had been returned in full, and his mind was clear again. On top of his returned self, L’alor had been bolstered with confidence. Facing his fear and actually following his desires had proven right before, and he would try again.

Ishgard had become L’alor’s home. His attempts to become the Beloved Father, another dark figure of Ishgard that dealt in favors and blackmail to move the city along his desired path, had gone terribly. There had been minor success, but when it mattered most he had been undone. He wasn’t one to play in the shadows.

Lord Alucar Alluindre had left him beaten and broken in an alleyway, alive but wracked with great pain. The Lord had proven himself beyond the shadowed reach of the Beloved Father, and Ishgard would never regard the Beloved Father as anything of note so long as the Lord walked around without reprimand.

L’alor had had to keep Meziene back from killing the man, taking away his chance to try again to establish the Beloved Father. She would kill him without an issue, from the shadows, leaving the man’s body somewhere to be found by servants, only questions left in the scene. Impossible to connect back to her, but the whispers of Ishgard telling the story she wanted. It was awe inspiring to see, but it was not a way L’alor could match. The Beloved Father could not act the same as the Revered Mother, he would have to be what felt right.

If the Revered Mother was to be the shadowy grip on Ishgard, the Beloved Father would have to be the withering gaze that the city could see was watching them.

Flyers had scattered about the city. House Alluindre’s worst secret printed all over it, slandering Lord Alucar as a kidnapper. Babes stolen right from their mother’s arms, raised without knowledge of where they came from, and pretended to be the heirs of House Alluindre by Alucar. Anyone that spoke of the matter was greeted with the swift wrath of Alucar, all of his influence and power brought against them to ruin reputation or worse. He would fight tooth and nail to keep the secret labeled a lie, if it had to be spoken of at all.

Which was exactly why L’alor had signed his title, the Beloved Father, to each of the flyers, so Alucar would know who wrote it.

The public that read the flyers though did not get that far. Whether they had known the secret or not before the flyers crossed their path was irrelevant. Everyone had the information now, and it didn’t matter if they thought it was true or not. They gathered in front of the estate of House Alluindre, a mixture of mob and onlookers. Some called for the truth, some just called for the punishment of Alucar; the response depended on the speaker’s opinion and fear of Alucar.

The guards of House Alluindre were pressing back against the crowd, weapons keeping them at bay from crossing the estate lines. They would keep them back long enough for the city guards to come, if nothing else happened. Then Alucar happened.

The front gates to the estate rushed open, a cadre of guards marching out with Alucar himself at the head. The guards pushed back at the crowd, forcing space for their Lord to occupy. His face was spitting mad, lines of anger crossing the visage and sharpening his gaze over the crowd.

“Who wrote this?!” He shouted. He was a slandered noble and deserved his anger at the mob suddenly at his house; that’s how he would likely try to spin it anyways. “Who has spread these lies about my children?! Step forward now, I order you!”

Replies shot forward from the crowd. Some calling for similar truth. Others berating Alucar; Meziene’s voice rang out from the crowd, joining with those chastising the Lord. Alucar couldn’t focus on anyone in particular, his eyes widening in anger. His guards stepped forward, prepared to move into the crowd and make arrests of their own.

“I wrote it,” came from a voice in the crowd, firm and resolute. The speaker couldn’t be seen entirely among the crowd, but their tanned hand bearing a moonstone ring could be.

The crowd parted in front of the speaker, separating at their own curiosity and the prods of other Ishgardians. The split before him allowed L’alor, garbed in his work clothes and many weapons, to face Alucar fully, lowering his hand as he stepped forward.

“You,” Alucar all but hissed. “You have gone too far this time! I will not let this slide, I will have justice for this!”

“That’s exactly what I came here for,” L’alor said evenly.

“Someone call the Inquisitors! I want this man arrested and charged for slander!” Alucar shouted, swinging an arm at the unmoving crowd.

“Yes, bring the Inquisitors!” L’alor shouted back, watching Alucar. “Let them come and investigate this claim I have made. Let them find the truth of it out.”

Alucar quirked a brow at L’alor, confused for a moment. He knew what the Miqo’te was trying. Bringing the Inquisition in to investigate would, in theory, expose Alucar for what he had done. Alucar wasn’t worried about that though, he would use his influence and wealth to make sure the investigation went in his favor; it wouldn’t have been the first time. He smirked inwardly, making sure to keep his anger placid on his face even if it had faded away now. This was just another time where the upstart had tried to win and failed, but this time it wouldn’t be an alleyway in the Brume he got left in.

“Or, we can let Halone settle this,” L’alor followed up with, breaking Alucar’s train of thought. “She can decide who is telling the truth.”

Alucar’s look of anger wasn’t fake anymore. The mob shouted loudly at that comment, invoking the justice of Halone was always a way to get Ishgard going. Whether faithful or just ceremonial, the reaction was called for all the same. What made Alucar mad though was the scenario it established. He had been challenged now, formally in the sight of Halone, and if he refused he might as well admit guilt to the mob gathered. Regardless of what the courts decided after, this mob would whisper and rumor across the city until the truth would be solidified by the court of public opinion; which would eventually demand a real investigation he may not be able to sway.

“Unless you are afraid, Alucar,” L’alor added.

Alucar sneered at the man, shouting to his guards. “Bring me my armor!”

The guards around the Lord looked back to their master, giving a confused look. “Sir?”

“I said, bring me my armor!” Alucar shouted again, gesticulating back towards the estate harshly.

Two of the guards ran off hurriedly. Alucar’s eyes never left L’alor, watching him with a mixture of fury and disgust at the scene he had dragged Alucar into. Still, Alucar was a veteran of the Dragonsong War and a soldier worth every bit of his reputation, even after all these years. He would remove this troublesome Miqo’te, and then deal with the consequences that would surely come. The last thought coming with a glance at Meziene who was still in the crowd, next to a large figure carrying a broadsword across his back. Consequences would surely come.

For his own part, L’alor just stood there patiently. The crowd watching with pent up excitement at the knowledge of what was to come. Some had heard of the Beloved Father, a mixture of good and bad equally spackled about that reputation, but many knew about Lord Alucar. They expected a fight that was quick and interesting.

Alucar’s guards, and a few servants, returned before the charge in the air could die down, and their carrying his battle-scarred armor and large sword only enhanced the excitement. They dressed him quickly, Alucar’s eyes riveted on L’alor with each strap and buckle affixed into place. The dark plate and draped fabrics had seen him through battles with dragons and worse, and all of it still fit just well enough. The sword felt right in his grip still, balanced and at home.

L’alor grabbed at the harness around his outfit, eliciting a sound from the crowd as they expected him to draw a weapon from the array affixed to him. Instead his fingers pulled at the central buckle and split it apart. The weapons clattered to the ground, scurried away by a man in robes from the crowd who disappeared from view moments later. Alucar had always chosen his armor and weapons, and L’alor wanted to win the fight at the disadvantage.

If the move had phased Alucar he didn’t show it, instead stepping forward with a swipe of his sword through the air to create the dissonant whistling sound. With a satisfied nod he lunged at L’alor, sword leading the charge and cutting upwards to end the fight in one move.

L’alor rolled backwards as the strike came towards him, putting himself out of reach of the blade’s swing. Normally he would have continued to roll back until he had reached his feet again, and from there strike at Alucar in quick strikes meant to wear the man down. It had been a tactic he was taught as a child, a way to keep from severely wounding other Tias in fights. He would wear them down over time and win that way, but the other Tia would walk away. It was taught so he would hold back and not have enough time to deliver a terrible blow, or worse. The tactic had followed L’alor for all of his life, carrying even in his style as he grew up and left the tribe. Only against large monsters had he allowed himself to follow his desire to strike harshly and fatally, and even then it was restricted.

L’alor did not continue to roll back. His hands planted on the ground behind him and pushed, arms uncoiling to spring him towards Alucar, feet first. The strike caught the knight by surprise, the hard kick into his armored gut stumbling him. L’alor was inside of Alucar’s reach now, more difficult to strike with the sword. As L’alor bounced up from the kick he lifted his fists to punch at Alucar’s armored chest. Alucar thought quicker of the situation and threw himself forward into a rush on L’alor, using his larger size and armored weight to strike the Miqo’te’s whole body at once. L’alor went with the rush, doing all he could to keep his feet beneath him and pace backwards as the rush continued. He didn’t know what Alucar was aiming for, but he could guess it wouldn’t be a good landing.

L’alor took in a deep breath as he stepped back, foot planting firmly as aether swarmed into him and flowed towards his foot. It threaded him into the very stone beneath him, locking him into position. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it would be better than getting smashed between Alucar and whatever was coming up. His knees bent and he release Alucar. The knight barrel right onward, feet pounding over L’alor as he went, right into the stone pillar he had been aiming for but with too much momentum to stop. He crashed into it with a resounding thud, armor scraping against the stonework with a ear-splitting screech.

L’alor, bruised and likely worse from the change, released the aether around him and moved. He wouldn’t have much time until Alucar recovered and spun. With the screech still in the air he pounced, fists balling together and slamming into Alucar’s backside. The force of the blow threw the man into the pillar again, eliciting a cough as the wind left his body. L’alor’s hands snaked forward to grab at the front of Alucar’s armor, pulling back as he stepped aside and throwing Alucar onto the ground harshly. The armored knight skidded for a moment across the stone, clearly dazed by the turn of events.

L’alor lunged again, going high and curling, feet prepared to slam into the knight. Alucar’s sword rose at the perfect moment, as L’alor was too close to dodge but before he could strike. It bit deep into L’alor’s arm, covering the two men in Miqo’te blood. L’alor landed to the side with a hiss, other hand rushing up to cover the wound. His arm felt like it was on fire and was starting to feel heavier.

Alucar recovered from his prone position quickly, leaving no time to pause. He rushed at L’alor with a downward chop, targeting his weakened side. L’alor slid his foot backwards and twisted away from the strike, completing the circle and bringing his foot up to kick. The sole of his foot launched into Alucar’s hand harshly, battering the bone beneath the armor with trembling force. It wouldn’t break the hand, he hadn’t put enough power into it for that, but it sent enough momentum in to break Alucar’s grip. His sword went flying towards the crowd, thankfully clattering to the ground before it could hurt anybody.

The moment of indecision Alucar had between going for his sword and continuing to fight L’alor cost him. L’alor’s foot planted on the ground, firming his stance, and his hands shot for Alucar. They both gripped at his chest plate, one along the neck and the other at the hip. His arms tensed and swung upwards, lifting Alucar off the ground and over L’alor’s head, and then continuing the arc to throw Alucar right into the stone floor of Ishgard.

Alucar hit the ground with a sickening crunch, flopping over on to his stomach as L’alor released him. His head had just settled from the recoil of the flop when L’alor grabbed it, yanking off the helmet and hoisting Alucar partially up by the hair. His bloodied and bruised face looking out at the crowd of onlookers, pain and a merciless awakeness in his eyes.

A silence fell over the crowd. Cheers and gasps died in their mouths as the question filled the silent air around them all. Was this an execution?

The question played in L’alor’s mind as well. Alucar had left him nearly dead and had threatened to leave it complete this time. He had done terrible things beyond even the wrongs L’alor had charged him with. Killing him would be simple, and with the duel announced before the crowd he could even claim the legal right. His hands stayed as they were though, other questions coming to his mind. Alucar may have deserved to die, but what would it benefit? He was not evil as Raceaux was and his soul did not deserve to be taken, so his death would not bring peace to many as Raceaux’s had did to Meziene. His children, stolen or not, were raised by him and would be without who they had always known as a father. Would he raise children to be as dark as him though? The children could not go back to their mother. They did not know her and she couldn’t support them if she wanted to. Terrible as it was, Alucar was needed to support the children and bring them happiness. L’alor knew he did that, at least. It still didn’t make it right, but it made it different.

“You will bring the mother of your children into your home!” L’alor shouted. He spoke to Alucar, but he announced his command to the whole of the crowd. “She will sit at your side as the Lady Alluindre, and you will submit all power of the house to her! She shall live by your side, with all control over the wealth and power of House Alluindre, and she shall raise your children with you. This is my edict!” He paused for a moment, allowing the words to sink into Alucar’s damaged ears. “Do you accept?”

Alucar’s voice croaked a moment later, hoarsely shouting to the crowd in his reply. He understood the moment for what it was. “I accept! By the grace of Halone, I accept!”

L’alor released Alucar’s hair, his head falling back to the stones. L’alor walked away, heading towards the crowd, while Alucar’s soldiers rushed behind him to gather up their Lord and return him to the house. L’alor parted his way into the crowd, gathering back his harness of weapons, and heading towards a figure in the crowd with a smile. His wife.

[ddesign8or]

How My Brother Leon Brought Home A Wife

(American Colonial Literature) By Manuel E. Arguilla She stepped down from the carretela of Ca Celin with a quick, delicate grace. She was lovely. SHe was tall. She looked up to my brother with a smile, and her forehead was on a level with his mouth. "You are Baldo," she said and placed her hand lightly on my shoulder. Her nails were long, but they were not painted. She was fragrant like a morning when papayas are in bloom. And a small dimple appeared momently high on her right cheek.  "And this is Labang of whom I have heard so much." She held the wrist of one hand with the other and looked at Labang, and Labang never stopped chewing his cud. He swallowed and brought up to his mouth more cud and the sound of his insides was like a drum. I laid a hand on Labang's massive neck and said to her: "You may scratch his forehead now." She hesitated and I saw that her eyes were on the long, curving horns. But she came and touched Labang's forehead with her long fingers, and Labang never stopped chewing his cud except that his big eyes half closed. And by and by she was scratching his forehead very daintily. My brother Leon put down the two trunks on the grassy side of the road. He paid Ca Celin twice the usual fare from the station to the edge of Nagrebcan. Then he was standing beside us, and she turned to him eagerly. I watched Ca Celin, where he stood in front of his horse, and he ran his fingers through its forelock and could not keep his eyes away from her.

"Maria---" my brother Leon said. He did not say Maring. He did not say Mayang. I knew then that he had always called her Maria and that to us all she would be Maria; and in my mind I said 'Maria' and it was a beautiful name. "Yes, Noel." Now where did she get that name? I pondered the matter quietly to myself, thinking Father might not like it. But it was only the name of my brother Leon said backward and it sounded much better that way. "There is Nagrebcan, Maria," my brother Leon said, gesturing widely toward the west. She moved close to him and slipped her arm through his. And after a while she said quietly. "You love Nagrebcan, don't you, Noel?" Ca Celin drove away hi-yi-ing to his horse loudly. At the bend of the camino real where the big duhat tree grew, he rattled the handle of his braided rattan whip against the spokes of the wheel. We stood alone on the roadside. The sun was in our eyes, for it was dipping into the bright sea. The sky was wide and deep and very blue above us: but along the saw-tooth rim of the Katayaghan hills to the southwest flamed huge masses of clouds. Before us the fields swam in a golden haze through which floated big purple and red and yellow bubbles when I looked at the sinking sun. Labang's white coat, which I had wshed and brushed that morning with coconut husk, glistened like beaten cotton under the lamplight and his horns appeared tipped with fire.

He faced the sun and from his mouth came a call so loud and vibrant that the earth seemed to tremble underfoot. And far away in the middle of the field a cow lowed softly in answer. "Hitch him to the cart, Baldo," my brother Leon said, laughing, and she laughed with him a big uncertainly, and I saw that he had put his arm around her shoulders. "Why does he make that sound?" she asked. "I have never heard the like of it." "There is not another like it," my brother Leon said. "I have yet to hear another bull call like Labang. In all the world there is no other bull like him." She was smiling at him, and I stopped in the act of tying the sinta across Labang's neck to the opposite end of the yoke, because her teeth were very white, her eyes were so full of laughter, and there was the small dimple high up on her right cheek. "If you continue to talk about him like that, either I shall fall in love with him or become greatly jealous." My brother Leon laughed and she laughed and they looked at each other and it seemed to me there was a world of laughter between them and in them. I climbed into the cart over the wheel and Labang would have bolted, for he was always like that, but I kept a firm hold on his rope. He was restless and would not stand still, so that my brother Leon had to say "Labang" several times. When he was quiet again, my brother Leon lifted the trunks into the cart, placing the smaller on top. She looked down once at her high-heeled shoes, then she gave her left hand to my brother Leon, placed a foot on the hub of the wheel, and in one breath she had swung up into the cart. Oh, the fragrance of her. But Labang was fairly dancing with impatience and it was all I could do to keep him from running away. "Give me the rope, Baldo," my brother Leon said. "Maria, sit down on the hay and hold on to anything." Then he put a foot on the left shaft and that instand labang leaped forward. My brother Leon laughed as he drew himself up to the top of the side of the cart and made the slack of the rope hiss above the back of labang. The wind whistled against my cheeks and the rattling of the wheels on the pebbly road echoed in my ears. She sat up straight on the bottom of the cart, legs bent togther to one side, her skirts spread over them so that only the toes and heels of her shoes were visible. her eyes were on my brother Leon's back; I saw the wind on her hair. When Labang slowed down, my brother Leon handed to me the rope. I knelt on the straw inside the cart and pulled on the rope until Labang was merely shuffling along, then I made him turn around. "What is it you have forgotten now, Baldo?" my brother Leon said. I did not say anything but tickled with my fingers the rump of Labang; and away we went---back to where I had unhitched and waited for them. The sun had sunk and down from the wooded sides of the Katayaghan hills shadows were stealing into the fields. High up overhead the sky burned with many slow fires. When I sent Labang down the deep cut that would take us to the dry bed of the Waig which could be used as a path to our place during the dry season, my brother Leon laid a hand on my shoulder and said sternly: "Who told you to drive through the fields tonight?" His hand was heavy on my shoulder, but I did not look at him or utter a word until we were on the rocky bottom of the Waig. "Baldo, you fool, answer me before I lay the rope of Labang on you. Why do you follow the Wait instead of the camino real?" His fingers bit into my shoulder. "Father, he told me to follow the Waig tonight, Manong." Swiftly, his hand fell away from my shoulder and he reached for the rope of Labang. Then my brother Leon laughed, and he sat back, and laughing still, he said: "And I suppose Father also told you to hitch Labang to the cart and meet us with him instead of with Castano and the calesa." Without waiting for me to answer, he turned to her and said, "Maria, why do you think Father should do that, now?" He laughed and added, "Have you ever seen so many stars before?" I looked back and they were sitting side by side, leaning against the trunks, hands clasped across knees. Seemingly, but a man's height above the tops of the steep banks of the Wait, hung the stars. But in the deep gorge the shadows had fallen heavily, and even the white of Labang's coat was merely a dim, grayish blur. Crickets chirped from their homes in the cracks in the banks. The thick, unpleasant smell of dangla bushes and cooling sun-heated earth mingled with the clean, sharp scent of arrais roots exposed to the night air and of the hay inside the cart. "Look, Noel, yonder is our star!" Deep surprise and gladness were in her voice. Very low in the west, almost touching the ragged edge of the bank, was the star, the biggest and brightest in the sky. "I have been looking at it," my brother Leon said. "Do you remember how I would tell you that when you want to see stars you must come to Nagrebcan?" "Yes, Noel," she said. "Look at it," she murmured, half to herself. "It is so many times bigger and brighter than it was at Ermita beach." "The air here is clean, free of dust and smoke." "So it is, Noel," she said, drawing a long breath. "Making fun of me, Maria?" She laughed then and they laughed together and she took my brother Leon's hand and put it against her face. I stopped Labang, climbed down, and lighted the lantern that hung from the cart between the wheels. "Good boy, Baldo," my brother Leon said as I climbed back into the cart, and my heart sant. Now the shadows took fright and did not crowd so near. Clumps of andadasi and arrais flashed into view and quickly disappeared as we passed by. Ahead, the elongated shadow of Labang bobbled up and down and swayed drunkenly from side to side, for the lantern rocked jerkily with the cart. "Have we far to go yet, Noel?" she asked. "Ask Baldo," my brother Leon said, "we have been neglecting him." "I am asking you, Baldo," she said. Without looking back, I answered, picking my words slowly: "Soon we will get out of the Wait and pass into the fields. After the fields is home---Manong." "So near already." I did not say anything more because I did not know what to make of the tone of her voice as she said her last words. All the laughter seemed to have gone out of her. I waited for my brother Leon to say something, but he was not saying anything. Suddenly he broke out into song and the song was 'Sky Sown with Stars'---the same that he and Father sang when we cut hay in the fields at night before he went away to study. He must have taught her the song because she joined him, and her voice flowed into his like a gentle stream meeting a stronger one. And each time the wheels encountered a big rock, her voice would catch in her throat, but my brother Leon would sing on, until, laughing softly, she would join him again. Then we were climbing out into the fields, and through the spokes of the wheels the light of the lantern mocked the shadows. Labang quickened his steps. The jolting became more frequent and painful as we crossed the low dikes. "But it is so very wide here," she said. The light of the stars broke and scattered the darkness so that one could see far on every side, though indistinctly. "You miss the houses, and the cars, and the people and the noise, don't you?" My brother Leon stopped singing. "Yes, but in a different way. I am glad they are not here." With difficulty I turned Labang to the left, for he wanted to go straight on. He was breathing hard, but I knew he was more thirsty than tired. In a little while we drope up the grassy side onto the camino real. "---you see," my brother Leon was explaining, "the camino real curves around the foot of the Katayaghan hills and passes by our house. We drove through the fields because---but I'll be asking Father as soon as we get home." "Noel," she said. "Yes, Maria." "I am afraid. He may not like me." "Does that worry you still, Maria?" my brother Leon said. "From the way you talk, he might be an ogre, for all the world. Except when his leg that was wounded in the Revolution is troubling him, Father is the mildest-tempered, gentlest man I know." We came to the house of Lacay Julian and I spoke to Labang loudly, but Moning did not come to the window, so I surmised she must be eating with the rest of her family. And I thought of the food being made ready at home and my mouth watered. We met the twins, Urong and Celin, and I said "Hoy!" calling them by name. And they shouted back and asked if my brother Leon and his wife were with me. And my brother Leon shouted to them and then told me to make Labang run; their answers were lost in the noise of the wheels. I stopped labang on the road before our house and would have gotten down but my brother Leon took the rope and told me to stay in the cart. He turned Labang into the open gate and we dashed into our yard. I thought we would crash into the camachile tree, but my brother Leon reined in Labang in time. There was light downstairs in the kitchen, and Mother stood in the doorway, and I could see her smiling shyly. My brother Leon was helping Maria over the wheel. The first words that fell from his lips after he had kissed Mother's hand were: "Father... where is he?" "He is in his room upstairs," Mother said, her face becoming serious. "His leg is bothering him again." I did not hear anything more because I had to go back to the cart to unhitch Labang. But I hardly tied him under the barn when I heard Father calling me. I met my brother Leon going to bring up the trunks. As I passed through the kitchen, there were Mother and my sister Aurelia and Maria and it seemed to me they were crying, all of them. There was no light in Father's room. There was no movement. He sat in the big armchair by the western window, and a star shone directly through it. He was smoking, but he removed the roll of tobacco from his mouth when he saw me. He laid it carefully on the windowsill before speaking. "Did you meet anybody on the way?" he asked. "No, Father," I said. "Nobody passes through the Waig at night." He reached for his roll of tobacco and hithced himself up in the chair. "She is very beautiful, Father." "Was she afraid of Labang?" My father had not raised his voice, but the room seemed to resound with it. And again I saw her eyes on the long curving horns and the arm of my brother Leon around her shoulders. "No, Father, she was not afraid." "On the way---" "She looked at the stars, Father. And Manong Leon sang." "What did he sing?" "---Sky Sown with Stars... She sang with him." He was silent again. I could hear the low voices of Mother and my sister Aurelia downstairs. There was also the voice of my brother Leon, and I thought that Father's voice must have been like it when Father was young. He had laid the roll of tobacco on the windowsill once more. I watched the smoke waver faintly upward from the lighted end and vanish slowly into the night outside. The door opened and my brother Leon and Maria came in. "Have you watered Labang?" Father spoke to me. I told him that Labang was resting yet under the barn. "It is time you watered him, my son," my father said. I looked at Maria and she was lovely. She was tall. Beside my brother Leon, she was tall and very still. Then I went out, and in the darkened hall the fragrance of her was like a morning when papayas are in bloom.

[shadowedtalks]

Demons keep what they are given. part 10

HI! I hope you have enjoyed thus far but sadly this is where this one ends for now but don't worry to much! ill update when I have more just be warned it may not be as much as the parts normally are! enjoy 10! oh! its a little more out their but I promise its nothing to risky raunchy. so sorry in advance but it is necessary for future advancements an... lets say occurrences? Problems? but that's all so enjoy!)))

Lord Oakwood re sheathed his sword once he was certain that Cardinals presence was no longer felt near by an the guards had cleared the room, looking at her an it made since now. 

The princess was affectionately starved because she was giving it to her guard that seemed very much like a bird in a cage. it seemed she tired to give her freedom at the expense of her own. it made him all the more curious about her and her guard, namely because Cardinal was a female, that reeked like a male an was easily on par with him, in this undesirable location of a fight, yet despite her looks smelled human as well. 

he was curious to the story of that guard an just how the princess came into contact with such a person. For now he would focus on confirming a few things with the princess starting by getting her alone so she would speak freely, that itself would be difficult but he had an idea, yet again not the best idea but an idea none the less. 

"It makes since now the way you act and seeing your guard." he said stepping forward placing a hand on her shoulder looking down at her. 

"I know. Cardinal is absolutely wonderful and such a sad story before she came to work under me. I do all i can to make things better. And cardinal knows this, loves me for it. Its why she is my personal guard yet why i will protect her." 

Marcona gave a soft giggle her words flowing honest before she could think of the proper story she is supposed to tell when it comes to questions about her guard. silence fallowed for a few minuets then he spoke again deciding to start with his idea, curiosity eating at him now. 

"Fallow me princess." he said softly and lead the way out of the room without looking to see if she would fallow an sure enough and she fallowed. Down corridors, around corners, down a set of stairs, and down one last hallway, he finally came to a stop. before them a set of doors rested. Things had to go just right or this idea would be for not. he pushed them open revealing a fairly humid room. 

"This is my private spring. Its a good place to clean up as well as relax." he said letting her walk into the room before fallowing himself an closing the doors. 

"In this room no one else is here. Its a place to relax an be honest among others..." he spoke low an let the doors latch, then turned to her as she looked back to him. Concern very obvious in her eyes an expression, 

"So princess I want you to join me an I want the full truth of your home life, and your guard." he said continuing to block the doorway so she couldn't make a break for it. Surprisingly enough she didn't seem to fight back for this moment as he expected of her, she just gave a deep sigh. 

"Alright...." she was giving in. He nodded an moved away from the doors towards a small shelf not to far away, certain that she wouldn't run since she had given in to his request. It wasn't until he began to undress that she freaked seeming to understand what he meant fully now. From watching him move away from the door to now turning her back to him with a panicked squeak he had to let out a low chuckle. 

Humans could be rather body shy as he remembered, An sure enough she kept her gaze averted from him while he undressed an moved towards the water sinking into the spring before looking to her. This will be the annoying yet difficult part. Getting her to join the bath 

"Well come on now, I said join me not stand at the edge of the room." he had come to realize that she had been inching closer an closer to the wall farthest from the spring, annoying indeed. 

"I can't bath with you!" an appropriate response for such a lady like this, but he couldn't give her this one, for the idea to work he needed her in the water with him. 

"Princess this is how this works. You want to be called my equal then we must. I am the alpha of this land. No one will think less of you for sharing a bath with the alpha, its an honor to do so. An as I said before we are the only ones here no one else will know what happens or is spoken of in this room." he was very firm in tone. Watching her frantically shake her head no as she still refused to make eye contact with him. He was tired of trying to convince her of every little thing. he needed to be pushy in this he couldn't let her run, Before something from a previous conversation they shared stuck a cord with him an he smirked. 

"You see, I am remembering that you were very excited to learn about me an my people. This is the first step, to being able to do so. It will welcome you to the pack. I am sure you have noticed that the staff, while respectful, is distant. They don't know what to do with you. You are the princess yes, but to them that title means nothing you are a girl that is not a packmate there for they don't know how to respond to you." That seemed to have the desired effect with her an she relaxed just slightly, finally dragging her gaze back to his eyes an toward the spring. 

"Really!? Doing this will let me learn an know more?" Bingo the princess had a desire to know about them, easy to manipulate or convince her with. She shifted slightly seeming to grab ahold of herself and stop her excitement as it washed away the awkwardness she felt of having to share a bath with him. 

"Well..... if its not weird to do so, no one but me will know... an I can learn more about you an your people.... then I guess, I could join you." she muttered more to herself then him seeming to drift off into thought an shifting around in her place and beginning to disrobe. While it was true that none would know the contents of the conversation they would share, all of his people would know she had bathed with him as she will emerge from here with his light sent lingering on her skin, his staff will know she is in formally recognized as pack it will take a lot more before he even considers formally marking her as pack.

It took her a lot longer then him to do so, she seemed to be trying to keep her nerves down to a minimum, eventually she finished an walked towards the spring, still having a hard time meeting his eyes as he had no problem watching her. Her body was a lot smaller an thinner then he assumed it would be, but was blemish free and very well managed an cared for despite her being human. 

He helped her step down into the spring so she didn't slip or hurt herself by joining him in the water. The heat an smell of the water took immediate hold of her and she let out a deep breath relaxing back into the spring more as she found a place to sit. She took a moment before looking to him seeming fine now.

 "What of my home life do you want to know?" Check mate. Everything is in place now, it had its light hold on her, she brought up the topic he addressed earlier an he knew he would get the truth not whatever scripted lie they made her to tell. 

"Everything." He answered, she gave a soft nod and got situated as he took a seat next to her. 

"My home life isn't like a typical royals as I have learned later in life. I very rarely see my parents. My mother is very sick often and my father can't stand to look at me because of this fact. The educate and training I was put threw was much more harsh then it should be. My father knew I was a spirited child, And wanted that part of me broken down and eventually beaten out of existence... 

Some teachers went so far and were bent on actually beating me till it was perfect in their ideal mold for me and just as cold. Everything about me was formed crafted and rehearsed to make me seem cold cool perfect and submissive to any and all male requests. I was to be the perfect 'yes Sir' lady not a princess to eventual queen. All events I put on were to be flawless, everything was where it was supposed to be, everyone had what they wanted or needed and enjoyed, yet their was always something wrong. in basic, I was involved. A few years ago I met Cardinal. The poor girl had rules much more harsher then my own yet was held to the same standard. 

Meeting her an for the first time I just couldn't be the perfect mold of a 'yes sir' lady, I fought tooth and nail to get her away from the one she was guarding to become my personal guard. An I was successful. But that was also the first time my father took to punish me himself... The dinner I ate with him before coming here was the first dinner I ate with him since I was just a little over 11 summers. He often told staff that he would be in for dinner an to inform them to have me wait for him, but ultimately he kept me waiting in the dinning hall many long hours. 

I had been so grilled and formed to not eat till the host, very often my father, took their first bite of dinner or supper, I would sit there for hours waiting till the chef an staff either came to clean up or word would finally be passed to me that he was not coming." she explained just watching the water move. 

"I have so many standards and many rules that being here is awkward. Being told by a lord, that what I do is to much, even for a race prided on perfection an control of action an emotion is shocking. I hate being called pampered because their is no way I am pampered I have seen other princes and princess. They are pampered, im no better then some stupid puppet for everyone to toy with... But as you saw there is one who I care for deeply. 

Cardinal is them... She has helped me really keep my mind over things that have happened because they too have happened to her if not on a worse level. We have a equal relationship. We protect each other. She can do so much easer then I but I do try. I gave her a space to relax to become herself for once. To have freedom an no rules." she took a moment to breath deeply as she kept hold of her slightly shaking voice. 

"One look at cardinal an I know that I am not a waist of space. I am someone's everything, because I got protective an didn't let them smother me when that feeling gave rise in me. because of that moment I have over heard by many of the staff say, when I do become a mother that I will be great at it.... Im not so sure but I know I won't let harm come to any child of mine." she sighed. 

"Even though I keep being told I will be married off to some man for whatever reason. I hope to love them before we are tied together forever. So I won't feel disgusted with myself for having to lay with them and have a child by them." she eventually gave a shallow sigh her emotions of telling her story seeming to leave with that breath an she gave way to another leaning over on his shoulder, actually letting her body seek out affection this time rather then suppress it. 

An he could feel her desire for comfort pour off of her small frame as she began to fully lean into him. The effects of the bath completely gripping the princess now, an he knew they wouldn't have to stay much longer.

"Its such a little girls dream to get married to a man she loves and help start their family." she lifted her hand moving the water in front of her as she watched it move an ripple. 

"Its a dream I don't mind having, given everything else. even if some days I feel like a fool because of it.”

[badmuslim-blog1]

Dun-Dun-Dunnn

December 4

I saw the right hook coming at me out of nowhere. I was shocked, I just didn’t expect it. What followed was a series of follow up punches and hits. I’ve forgotten what kind. I guess I just couldn’t believe he felt he had a right to strike me, albeit so violently. When he got tired, due to his age, he picked up a stick, the broomstick that was being used earlier. That stick was swung and struck my body, my arms, my head, my back. It pressed into my flesh, leaving dents but no pain. My body only registered the sting of the first contact. I did not feel pain but a hefty bellowing scream was released. I screamed in agonizing frustration. I screamed because my 21-year-old body was being physically pushed back and down by an assault. I was meant to cower. I was meant to cry, to yield, back down. Instead, I grit my teeth, clenched my jaw and got louder. Staring right at my mother who had called for this. She had made the call for me to get physically disciplined the way daughters are meant to get from their fathers. I looked at my mother who stood a couple of feet away, calling in feeble protest for him to stop, saying I’ve had enough I suppose. She had called him right after I told her that I was going to take a taxi and go to Baghdad. I told her I was going to the Embassy to get a temporary travel document, one that I was assured by consular officials via email that I could get within 48 hours of a meeting.  She asked me questions about my intentions if I actually was able to pull that off and get the document, once I returned, would I go to Mexico? Would I still pursue the plan to go on exchange there? What she didn’t do was show any interest in looking into this promised document that would allow us to leave this country without passports. She didn’t say “Okay Huda, wow that’s great that you have that meeting, of course, you can’t go without us so let's go together.” I was planning on insisting against that if it happened but it never came. She had no interest. She had re-tied the knot with this fucking animal. She had recommitted to being his wife again, his responsibility. His property. And for what? Apparently, for our future.

I looked at her and told her that the difference between her and I, was that I would never sell my freedom for money. Of course, someone in that position would never admit to themselves that was the case.

I was outside, standing in the porch walking towards the door in one moment, the next, I was physically holding myself together while I told my mother over an over, “you think you can hit me into submission?” Without knowing it I had been beaten back into the house. I stood in the room feet apart, angered, enraged, and bewildered. I never took my eyes off my mother. She stood there telling me this was all my doing. I did this, I caused this. He stood in the doorway, making a show of being held back by the other men of the house. He yelled, “Go get the gun”, the way you would demand to no one, in particular, to go get the phone so you could call the cops, or go get the lighter so you can burn whoever’s being naughty. He was trying to scare me into submission, the way you would scare a misbehaving child who might be throwing a tantrum. I looked straight at him and yelled: “Get the gun and kill me now!” I stood there looking into his eyes daring him to follow out his threat. He exited.

Thinking about it now, I’m reminded of something a certain someone said long ago. “Give me liberty or give me death”. Which is exactly the way I was feeling? Like I was carrying a pedestal on my back. One that housed my burning need to feel free again. To feel in control and be let go. Cut free from the braided knots that held me firmly against my mothers bosom. Or to die trying to free myself. For the first time since arriving in this country, I realized that I was exactly the kind of girl that would get killed in an honor killing and my mother had officially put herself in the category that might allow such a thing to happen to her daughter. Or at least she wouldn’t realize it until it was too late. I also realized that it was possible that I would never leave this country and sooner rather than later… I might die. It was a strange feeling that launched something into my throat. I briefly wondered what the authorities, both the government and the tribal authorities would do or not do in the case of a girl murdered by her own ‘walid’. ‘Father’. I can’t imagine such a thing is legally overlooked, surely it is against the official law of this land. But with the obvious corruption within the government and the way the tribes clearly outrank police officers on these streets, I could see it. I could see my body being dropped in the river. My life being nothing but a friend who went on vacation and never came back. A niece and granddaughter who went to live abroad and just lost touch. A student who went ‘back home’ and didn’t come back to pay off her student loans. An abandoned facebook account, twitter, briefly started blog. A blog that might never see these pages, might never know my story, may never know the truth. Who I am, what I believe, It’s all I’ve ever had, my values and my way. I was going to carve my life from it, pave my path, do the work that I know needs to be done. Now, I’ve been reduced to a prisoner, with no internet, no phone, just an ability to write what may never be read. Pour myself out onto this white page. Hope that one day people will know of me, my story is read, maybe one day affect change in someone’s life or situation. Teach something, help someone, inspire survival and the never-ending fight for freedom. I’m not trying to sound conceded or self-important… lol. But yeah.

Later I felt what I thought was a grain of sand in my mouth. I spit out the small white object out, not sure what it was. After a while, I began feeling my bottom front teeth tugging at the tip of my tongue the way a small hook would threaten to tear at the skin of a finger. I grabbed my compact mirror and realized what the white stuff was. Somewhere along the way, likely when I got punched in the face, I must have ground my teeth and caused the tip of the bottom front ones to be grated off. I also found white gooey residue on my tinge which I guessed was related to the tooth enamel. The tips were now threatening to pierce me so I grabbed a nail file and tried to file the sharpness away. Unfortunately, nothing was quite doing the trick, maybe I couldn’t get the right angle.

What have I learned from this experience? You may not feel the pain at the moment, but you will find the bruises and feel the soreness and scrapes later. I already have fibromyalgia that keeps my upper back permanently inflamed, now they’re bruised too, increasing the pain and sensitivity. Wonderful. I definitely won’t be laying on my back again any time soon.

II

Time to recalibrate. I walked straight into the ‘bedroom’, put my bags down and opened them up. I couldn’t risk them making the decision to take my IDs, ticket info, papers, my money, or my remaining electronics. I took out my coin purse with my money, my printed plane ticket info, and my credit cards and IDs and I put them in my pocket. Then I took my laptop and my notebook out of the bags and hid them in the corner behind my carry on. I locked the door and took the time to process my situation. I couldn’t spare any tears for getting beaten, but I did feel the impact of the situation and what it meant for my future, my fate. Attempting to escape had just become 300% more scary and dangerous. It didn’t mean I wasn’t going to do it again, only that I needed more courage than before. And I needed to be smarter. I know now than an honest straightforward walkout is not an option anymore. I also know that they’re going to continue locking all the doors, including the kitchen door that leads to outside so that's not an option anymore. I also know when I walk out that door, they’ll all continue to be watching and spying on me to make sure I don’t try to leave again. All eyes are on me, daytime escape is out of the question. In fact, with this new intense atmosphere, I’m going to need to wait a while for things to calm down and guards to start dropping before I try anything again. At night, the room I have to walk through contains the grandmother and grandfather, but sometimes their sons as well. So 2-4 people who can clearly hear the huge front door being dragged open and closed. I need a better plan than just sneaking out. Luckily, the bathroom is located outside. Ding, ding. I’ll fake a shower. I’ll have to take a long ass middle of the night shower prior to set the standard, a few days before. So they see that it’s not out of the ordinary and don’t suspect anything. Set a precedent. I will walk out in my abaya, a small bag containing only the things I’ve just hidden away, the things I consider absolutely essential. The bag will have to be very discreet and invisible behind the towel and toiletry bag I’ll be holding. I’ll walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I’ll wait a few minutes then sneak out to make sure no one walking around or waiting for me right outside. Once I confirm the coast is clear, I will step out, using a coin I will lock the door from the outside. After that, I will briskly collect whatever buckets or pots I see loitering their tiny lawn, stack them, and climb over the wall. I’m confident I can get over using what I see laying around. The problem is what I’ll do after I get over the wall. It will be night time, pitch black. No way I’m going straight for a taxi, even if there are any taxis at that time of night, I wouldn’t trust them. Plus, as soon as they notice I’ve spent too long in the shower and break in to find me gone, they will be out looking for their stray. They will call in favors and spread the word I’m sure. I will need to lay low, basically, hide. I might look for an outhouse to hide out in, but I don’t even know where to find one of those. I just haven’t seen enough of this village to know spots or places to go. In other words, it was another unknown factor. I hate unknown factors and uncertainty. If I manage to find any begging women sleeping on the street or even if I find them during the day, I plan on joining them and thereby hiding in plain sight. Which will also be risky but I’m hoping to cover my face with my scarf will keep me from being identified. I don’t plan on waiting too long, perhaps 15 hours max, before I make my move and try to catch a cab to the city. Whenever it’s busiest I suppose, I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I get to it.

[slusheeduck]

Here’s @lancendydreamer‘s prize for the giveaway contest! She wanted a fic and drawing of alive!Hector and dead!Miguel, so I went completely overboard and wrote a whole sort-of, kind-of Reverse!AU-type story.

(I also took some inspiration from her really neat AU!! You should check it out!!)

Some notes under the cut, as well as the monster fic itself.

NOTES:

Takes place in 1918

This is my first ever attempt at any sort of Reverse!AU, so it’s pretty simplistic. It’s more “fun adventure with a guy and a dead kid” rather than “centuries-old family drama and learning that sometimes your heroes are terrible, terrible people who murder your great-great-grandpa.” Some bits are a little glossed over, so yanno, if anyone else wants to elaborate PLEASE be my guest!

The guitar belongs to Chicharron. This isn’t ever mentioned, I just died when I thought about it and you all need to know.

This was a lot of fun to write, so have some fun reading it!

               “So then maybe…C to an E?” Héctor strummed the line curiously, ignoring the irritated looks from the other passengers of the train car. He grimaced. “Hm. Well, what do you think, amigo?”

               Ernesto let out a long sigh. “My friend, anything you put out will be perfect.” Despite his easy smile, Héctor could hear the strain in his friend’s voice. And, honestly, he couldn’t blame him. It’d been weeks since Héctor had come up with anything halfway decent, and he was practically panicking every time he picked up his songbook. Normally, his head was full of songs—too many to write—but now, whenever he opened up to a blank page, there was just…nothing. No music, no lyrics. His brain was as empty as the page.

               He suspected part of it, at least, was due to the intense schedule Ernesto had for them now that they were a little more than complete unknowns. For nearly a year now, their lives had been travel, sleep, and performing; nearly every other day, they were piled on a train and headed from one end of México to the other. At first, it’d been thrilling—the people, the cities, the music!—but now, Héctor found, there was very little time for actual living, and that was where the songs came from.

               So he’d had the bright idea of going home.

               Ernesto had fought tooth and nail against going back to Santa Cecilia. It was a nothing town, he’d complained, and they’d both outgrown it. But, Héctor argued back, there was the annual talent show on Día de Muertos, and wouldn’t it be something if Santa Cecilia’s two favorite sons came back with a brand new song?  

               That argument didn’t work. What did work was when he mentioned that homecomings made for really great inspiration for songwriting, and if he didn’t get something written soon, they could kiss their dreams of fame goodbye. So here they were on the train, following Héctor’s perfect plan.

               Or, well, it would be if Héctor could actually come up with a song for the show.

               Going off of his C to E idea, he plucked out a simple tune, then groaned. “No, no, no. None of it’s working.”

               Ernesto sent him an unimpressed look. “I understand that you’ve been having trouble with this, Héctor, but maybe you could have come up with something before the train ride? That might have saved you some stress.”

               Héctor shrugged. “I thought I might work well under pressure.”

               “You constantly fall apart under pressure. Remember the show in Morelia?”

               “All right, but that was…”

               “Or that time in the cantina? You know, with the dog?”

               “Now that doesn’t cou—”

               “Or when Marisol asked—”

               “Okay. Okay! I don’t do well under pressure, esta claro!” He huffed as he looked down at the beaten guitar in his hands, then got to his feet. “I need some air. I’ll be back.”

               Ernesto looked up at him. “Be careful. I don’t need you falling off the train before we even get to Santa Cecilia.”

               Héctor gave him a vague wave in acknowledgement as he walked to the back of the car and through the one after it. He sucked in a breath as he opened the door to the back platform, shoes clanging slightly on the metal floor and hair whipping wildly in the wind. He eyed the opening suspiciously—a little rope was the only thing closing it off—and nestled himself against the opposite corner of the railing, squeezing his hip against it to stay steady as he started plucking out the tune he’d been working on.

Come on, come on. Why was nothing coming to him? He was surrounded by inspiration: the people on the train, the towns zipping past, traveling back home—there was absolutely no excuse for him to keep drawing a blank.

He threw his hand off his guitar with an irritated pah before dragging it down his face. Maybe he’d really run dry. Por Dios, wouldn’t that be tragic? Héctor Rivera, barely twenty years old and already with his best days behind him. If that were really the case, he’d be better off—

“Ay!”

               The train hit a bump on the track, and Héctor was practically thrown into the air. His free hand tried to grip the railing, but his fingertips slid off the cold metal. Ah, but he managed to keep upright…until the train hit a sharp curve. He yelped as his feet slid on the metal floor, pitching him toward the opening in the railing.

               He faintly heard the crash of wood on metal as he let go of his guitar, but his brain was purely focused on not falling off the train as he managed to grab a hold of the railing at the last moment. The train straightened out, and Héctor stood up with a high-pitched little laugh. Ave María Purísma, that could have been bad. He let out a breath as he leaned against the railing. Well, hopefully his guitar wasn’t too worse for the…

               Wait.

               Where was his guitar?

               He looked up with wide eyes at the track. It couldn’t have…No no no! He let out a cry of dismay as he saw it just off the tracks, quickly getting smaller as the train pulled ahead. It must have slid out during the turn. Was there an emergency brake or something he could…He yelped and gripped the railing again as they hit another turn.

               And just like that, the guitar was gone.

               He stood very still for a long moment, slack-jawed and knuckles white from gripping the railing so hard. Oh no. No no no no nooo nonono. This was…this was probably the worst possible thing to happen. He stood for a few moments longer, brain fizzling until it finally burst into full-panic mode and he launched himself back into the train car.

               “Ernesto!”

                Ernesto jumped up as Héctor nearly toppled into the seat. “Héctor, are y—”

               “I-I lost my guitar! It fell of the train!”

               “Your…guitar fe—”

               “I know, I know! But…but we can make it work! We can! I just…look, if I could play your guitar and you sing…”

               “And how are we going to pull that off?” Ernesto interrupted sharply, eyes blazing with frustration. “All our songs need two guitars. Dios mio, Héctor, I knew you could be completely tonto sometimes but this? This is—”

               “I know it’s bad! A-a-and I’ll make it right, okay? Just…look, I can change the arrangement and…”

               “With what time?! Santa Cecilia’s the next stop!”

               “What?!”

               Héctor threw himself over Ernesto to look out the window, biting back some words not fit for a crowded train carriage. He knew these houses; Santa Cecilia was less than five minutes away.

               “Mmmmokay! Okayokay, I’ll fix this. I’ll fix this.” Héctor pushed himself back up and grabbed his sombrero from the seat. He jammed it on his head as the train started to slow. “Meet me in the Plaza! I’ll have a guitar soon, I swear!” he called over his shoulder as he headed to the carriage’s door. As the train lurched into the station, he hopped off the steps light as anything and bolted right into Santa Cecilia.

               Ayy, it’d been a long time since he’d been back here, but if he remembered right, the Perez’s should still have a music shop right around…

               Two yelps rang out in the street as Héctor tripped. He pulled himself up, rubbing his cheek, then turned to see what had tripped him. A mostly hairless dog with entirely too much tongue looked up at him balefully. He quickly pat the dog’s head before getting back to his feet.

               “Apologizes, perrito, but I’m in a hurry. I need to find…” He started to turn, then gave a bright grin. “The music store!”

               Oh, God was smiling on him today. He’d pay all the money he had on him if needed; a guitar for the talent show was worth every single peso he had. Which…wasn’t much, but still. He loped up to the entrance, still grinning, and pulled the door open.

               Well, he tried to. It was locked fast.

               He backed away with wide eyes, just now noticing the “Cerrado” sign in the window. Closed? Closed?! Nooo, no no no! It couldn’t be closed!

               He let his head fall back with a groan. Actually, of course it would be closed. It was Día de Muertos, everything would be closed. But…maybe they had just closed? And they would feel very, very terrible for the poor man outside—with no family to go to tonight!—and let him buy a guitar? It was worth a try, at least.

               He rapped his knuckles against the door until they stung, calling out, “Señor Perez! It’s Héctor! I know you’ve missed me! I just need a guitar, I’ll pay anything you’d like for one! I really will this time!”

               He stood there, knocking and calling, for several minutes, but nobody came. He finally banged his head against the door with a groan, not even bothering to catch his sombrero as it fell off his head. This was hopeless. He couldn’t buy a guitar, and he knew musicians too well to even pretend someone would loan him theirs. He was completely out of options.

               He glanced behind him as he heard a bark. There was that dog again, tail wagging and tongue lolling out as he looked up at Héctor. Despite himself, he laughed a bit and shook his head.

               “You know, I don’t think you’re too bright, pélon. Most dogs wouldn’t like the guy that tripped over them.”

               The dog barked again, then became suddenly preoccupied with Héctor’s hat, sniffing it intently.  Héctor laughed.

               “Well, at least you’re willing to—oyé!” he called as the dog picked up his hat and bolted. Héctor sprinted after him. It was bad enough to have to go back to Ernesto without a guitar, but with his charro suit in shambles? Ernesto would kill him for that.

               Héctor kept close to the dog, but Pélon here was awfully slippery. He wound through all of Santa Cecilia, managing to keep just out of Héctor’s reach. Every now and again he’d look back at Héctor, tail wagging, and give a muffled bark. Of course, this was a game to this dumb dog; he didn’t realize Héctor’s livelihood was on the line.

               Finally (and fittingly), they bolted through the cemetery gates, just barely dodging the families starting to trickle in. The dog seemed to get finally tired of the chase, and he just stopped. Héctor barely skidded to a stop before tripping over him again, and he quickly reached forward to snatch the sombrero away, only for Pélon to jump out of the way, hat in mouth and tail wagging furiously. Mierda. He stood up straight, looking around for something, anything, to get him to let go of the hat. Ah, someone had left some chicharrón on this grave. Surely the very nice soul this belonged to wouldn’t mind…

               Oh.

               Oh.

               His eyes widened as he caught sight of it. An absolutely beautiful guitar sparkled up at him, orange light from nearby candles glinting off the white, polished wood. On the headboard, a skull grinned up at him.

               He was saved.

               His hands immediately went toward it, but he stopped himself. This seemed…like maybe not a good idea. After all, if this guitar was left out tonight, that meant it was an offering. And a fairly pricy one at that. But…well, it wasn’t like this person would need it. They were dead! Surely they wouldn’t mind him borrowing it for an hour at most.

               He pressed his lips together hard, peering down at the etching on the gravestone. Unreadable in this light. He swallowed as he looked at the guitar again.

               “Ah…perdóname…but, look, I really need to borrow this guitar,” he whispered. “It’s just for a little bit, just for the talent show. You know, the one in the Plaza? It’s…I’ve had no inspiration lately, but I think this’ll help. I…I really need tonight to go well. And I’ll bring it right back the moment we’re done performing.” He looked away. “Uh, if you knew me when you were alive, I could see why you might not believe me. But I’ll keep my word this time. I will, swear on my life.”

               He gave the grave a hopeful smile, then picked up the guitar. Oh, it was lovely. He ran his hand over the smooth wood, then smiled as he lifted his hand to give an experimental strum. He was stopped, though, by a muffled whine behind him. He turned, then sighed. Ah, right, the dog still had his hat.

                “I’m gonna need that, pélon,” he said, leaning down to grab the sombrero. The dog leapt back, whining again. Nope, still playing apparently. Héctor stood up with a huff, then glanced back down at the grave. Well…the owner didn’t seem to mind him borrowing the guitar…surely they could spare a teeny, tiny bit of their chicharrón.

He broke off a bit of one of the chunks, then whistled. “Hey, perrito! Look!”

               The dog looked up, immediately aware that Héctor was holding food. He dropped the hat, drool already dripping from his mouth, and when Héctor threw it, he scrambled so quickly that he kept falling over himself.  Heh. All things considered, it was a shame to say goodbye to his new friend, but the plaza beckoned. Héctor picked up his sombrero—a little drooly, but otherwise not too worse for the wear—and set it on his head before looking back down at the guitar. He took a breath, then shut his eyes and played a quick rift on it.

Beautiful. Even the wind thought so, gusting over him as the notes faded. He laughed as he opened his eyes. If that wasn’t a sign that borrowing the guitar was a good idea, he didn’t know what w—

               Wait.

               The cemetery seemed…fuller than before. But something was strange about the new arrivals. Héctor squinted at one family, then sucked in a gasp.

He was never particularly good at being religious, but what he saw made him cross himself immediately. He must be crazy. Or dreaming. There was no way the graveyard could be full of…

Skeletons?

               Héctor stared in shock at the dozens of skeletons milling about the cemetery, easy as anything. Most of them seemed to be in their Sunday best, staying close to groups of family members and acting as if this weren’t completely unnatural. Where had they even come from? Why hadn’t he seen them come in?

               Why wasn’t anyone else freaking out?

               As a man walked by, he quickly ran up to him. “Oyé! Do you see them? Is it just me?” The man ignored him. “I’m serious! Don’t you see all the…there are skeletons! Everywhere!” The man didn’t even glance at him. Was he deaf? “Hey, listen to—” Héctor reached forward to grab the man’s arm, only to gape in shock as his hand went right through his arm. He tried to grab at it again, and again, but his hand kept passing through.

               No, nooo, nonono. This couldn’t be happening. He…he must have hit his head hard when he tripped over the dog. He must be having some sort of…trauma-induced nightmare. He couldn’t be invisible.

               As if to prove him wrong, a couple walked right through him. A sick feeling coursed through Héctor at the sensation, and he dropped the guitar as he tried to stay upright. He shook his head as he leaned against a tombstone, breathing hard. This couldn’t be real. It could not be real.

               “Ah, señor? Are you all right?” came a soft voice from behind him.

               Por Dios, finally someone could see him. He swallowed down the last of the nausea as he stood up.

               “I…I don’t know. But I think…” He turned to face the woman who’d spoken…and was met by a concerned-looking skull.

               They both screamed.

               He scrambled back from the woman, crashing into someone behind him. He whirled as he heard the man’s irritated groan as his bones clattered to the ground.

               “Why don’t you watch where—” His skull started to snap, but he gasped as he saw Héctor. “You’re alive!”

               The man’s exclamation turned all the nearby skulls right toward Héctor. He froze in fear as they came closer. As one skeleton reached out toward him, his brain broke out into a full panic, and he bolted away. He kept running, feet sliding in soft dirt but barely managing to keep himself upright, until he found a secluded part of the cemetery and weakly dropped down behind a tombstone. He peeked over it, watching with wide eyes as skeletons made their merry way through the graveyard and picked up spirit versions of the offerings left to them. He dropped back down again.

               Okay.

               Okay.

               This was absolutely the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

               He covered his face, pressing the heel of his hand against his mouth so he could let out a muffled scream. What was he supposed to do?! He didn’t even know how he’d ended up this way, so how could he—

               He cried out in alarm as something wet slid along his cheek. He looked up in terror, only to see the little pélon dog back at his side, tail wagging and grinning as if everything were just fine. Héctor stared at him, then cautiously pat his head. His hand didn’t go through him.

               “So you can still see me, pélon,” he said, voice shaking. “I…what do I do?”

               He didn’t expect the dog to answer, of course. But, when the silly thing sat up straight and looked very pointedly off to the side before getting up…well, it wasn’t like Héctor had any better options but to follow him.

               “Wait up, pélon!” he called as the dog broke into a run. He scrambled after him, barely keeping up, only to nearly trip over him for the third time that night as the dog came to a dead stop. “Stop doing that,” he said, though the words came out more panicked than frustrated. “Look, I need to find a way…to…”

               He trailed off as he looked up in front of them. Instead of a forgotten corner of the graveyard, a huge bridge made of…leaves? Flowers? No, marigolds—stretched out in front of them. Skeletons were walking back and forth across it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Was…he supposed to cross? Was he dead? No, no, he couldn’t be dead. There must be a better way to…

               He jumped as the dog broke out into a run, heading straight for the bridge.

               “Pélon!” Without thinking, Héctor ran out onto the bridge, only stopping when he realized he was walking on flowers. He slowed, staring down in wonder at the petals holding him up. They…were petals, right? He leaned down to scoop up a handful of them, watching with wide eyes as they fell between his fingers. Despite everything—or, maybe because of it—he let out a little laugh, throwing up the remaining petals. He really was walking on flowers!

               He found the dog rolling around contentedly up ahead. He barked back at Héctor, then jumped up and kept trotting along. He…seemed to know where he was going? More than Héctor did, at least, so it couldn’t hurt to follow him.

               As he walked, he heard a family on his left gasp. Ah, right. He…stuck out. He pulled down the left side of his sombrero with a grimace. There, maybe…

               “Santa Maria!” came a cry on his right.

               With a huff, he pulled down both sides of his hat as he continued along the bridge. There had to be some skeleton over here that knew how to get him back to normal. Of course, that’s assuming that this flower bridge ever…ended…

               His footsteps slowed as bright lights came over the horizon, then stopped and stared, open-mouthed at what laid ahead. At first glance, it looked like a city, but Héctor had never seen anything so…so beautiful. Lights as far as the eye could see! Every color imaginable! Fantastical animals of all sizes, shapes, and colors swooping through the air!

               Well, if this is what happened after you die, maybe staying wouldn’t be so bad.

               He shook his head. No, no. He wasn’t dead. He refused to believe that. And besides, even if he were, Ernesto would find a way to kill him beyond the grave for ditching him. Now if he could just…

               “Ah! Perdóname,” he said as he walked into a skeleton. The skeleton turned, smiling, only to gasp as he saw Héctor’s face. That was…getting less surprising, actually, so he ignored it and peeked around the skeleton. Looked like a line of some kind, maybe a toll or something? Who’d’ve thought you’d have to wait in line after you died? Well, at the very least, he’d be able to talk to someone who knew what was going on.

               “Anything to declare?” he heard the man behind the counter ask the family in front of him, to which they eagerly showed off their offerings. Huh. He watched them walk through after they were signed off, then took off his hat as he walked up to the window.

               “Welcome back! Anything to…” The cheerful guard trailed off as he saw Héctor, who gave him a hopeful smile and a shrug.

               “I…might have a few things to declare.”

               The skeleton stared at him for several seconds. Then, with a shaking hand, he pulled out a radio.

               “Vasquez? I-I’m going to need an escort to the Department of Family Reunions.”

~

               “Well, looks like you’re cursed.”

               “What?!”

               The skeleton on the other side of the desk shrugged as she looked over a ledger. “Well, this isn’t exactly a common occurrence, so I’m only able to go off of previous reports. But generally, the living who wind up on this side of the bridge are cursed, usually by disrespecting the dead.” She raised her browridge as she looked up at Héctor. “Did you happen to disrespect the dead?”

               “No!”

               “You didn’t desecrate any graves?”

               “Dios mio, you think I’m a monster?”

               “Didn’t steal any offerings?”

               “I…” He trailed off, grimacing, then looked back at the skeleton. “Well, I-I asked permission!”

               “Hmm?”

               Héctor squirmed a bit in his seat. “Well, I did for the guitar. And it was just the tiniest bit of chicharrón for Pélon over here.” He gestured down to the dog, still by his side and contentedly gnawing on his own leg. Héctor shook his head. “Look, I’ll go and apologize to whoever that guitar belongs to. Then I can go back, right?”

               “It doesn’t work like that, señor.”

               “What.”

               The skeleton pulled out another ledger, flipping through it with a sigh. “When the living get involved with the dead, it takes a tie between our worlds to send them back.” Héctor stared blankly at her, and she rolled her eyes. “Familia. You need a family member to give you their blessing to go home.” She peered at Héctor curiously. “And you need it soon. As in, tonight soon.”

               “Why?”

               The skeleton nodded down at Héctor’s hand. He frowned, then glanced down and gasped. His pointer finger, as well as the tips of his thumb and middle finger, was turning skeletal. He stared in horror as he twitched it, bones moving as easily as the skeleton’s in front of him.

               “Wh-why…”

               “Living people aren’t meant to be here. If you don’t get uncursed by sunrise, you’re stuck here. And…how old are you, señor?”

               “Seventeen?”

               “Ah. Yes, and if that’s the case, then you’re probably going to be charged with disturbing the peace, defacing of property, and theft.”

               “What?!”

               “Well, you are old enough to…” The skeleton’s sockets widened as Héctor jumped up to his feet and leaned over the desk.

               “You’re telling me that I’m going to die and THEN go to jail for picking up some chicharrón?!”

               The skeleton gave a thin smile. “Well, not if I can help it.” She got to her feet. “The Department of Family Reunions is specially equipped for situations like this. Now, what was your name again?”

               “Héctor Rivera.”

               “Rivera, Rivera…here we go! Now, who do you leave on your ofrenda?”

               “I…” Héctor grimaced. “I don’t leave anyone on the ofrenda.”

               The skeleton’s eyes widened. “What?!” Héctor shrugged helplessly. The skeleton huffed. “All right, then maybe we could go by names.” As Héctor looked away, the skeleton stared at him. “You don’t know anyone’s name?”

               “Hey, if you know an orphanage that keeps family trees for the kids dropped there, I’d be glad to hear it,” Héctor shot back.

               The skeleton pressed a hand to her skull, muttering what sounded like a prayer to herself. After a moment, she looked Héctor dead in the eyes as she reached to the filing cabinet and opened up three extremely full drawers.                

               “You see these? These are all the deceased with the last name Rivera. And, since you haven’t kept track of your ancestors, we’re going to have to go through every one.”

               Héctor gaped. “But…but I only have until sunrise!”

               “Then we’re going to have to start now.”

               Héctor swallowed as she took out a stack of folders. There was no way they’d get through all of these in one night. He looked up at the skeleton, then took a breath before putting on his most charming smile as he leaned forward.

               “Look,” he said, lowering his voice. “I don’t like mentioning this, but I’m actually a very famous mariachi. So…if there’s anyway we could speed up this process, my fans would really like—”

               He trailed off as there was a knock on the door.

               “Come in,” the agent said, then groaned as the door opened. An officer stepped inside, holding onto the arm of a very small skeleton. “Again, Miguel?”

               The skeleton boy gave an embarrassed grin. “Hola, Señora Estevez.”

               “He tried to slip past us at the gate again.”

               “I figured.” The agent pressed her hand to her skull again. “Look, I’m dealing with this very famous living mariachi—” Héctor frowned at the way she said that, though he glanced back as he heard the boy suck in a gasp. His eyes were wide and starry as he stared, and Héctor gave him an awkward little wave back. “—and have to focus on getting him home.” She sighed and added, “Just…keep him here at the station. And keep an eye on him; he’s slippery.”

               The officer nodded, then guided the boy out. Héctor watched them leave, only to jump as the agent dropped another stack of files on her desk.

               “I’m sure you’ve heard that death is the great equalizer, Señor Rivera,” she said dryly. “So, no matter how famous you are, you still have to follow our rules. It’s time to get reading.”

~

                This was hopeless.

               They’d been reading through files for nearly an hour now, and they weren’t even halfway through the first cabinet of Riveras. Héctor pushed away the file, then looked down at his hands. All of his fingers were skeletal now, and the skin of his palms were just starting to disappear. This was taking too long. He huffed, then pushed himself up to his feet and headed to the door.

               “Señor Rivera? Where are you going?” Agent Estevez asked. He quickly turned and gave her a weary smile.

               “Con permiso, I just need to clear my head. I’ll be right back,” he said. She frowned back at him.

               “Be sure not to leave the building, señor,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. He rolled his eyes.

               “Where would I even go?” he muttered as he exited the door. The dog followed close to him, then caught what was apparently a very nice scent and wandered the opposite direction. He groaned. “Pélon. I could really do without you wandering…” He trailed off as he caught up to the dog, peeking in as he heard two familiar voices through the cracked-open door. Curious, he peeked inside as well.

               “All right, paperwork’s done.” The officer stamped a stack of papers, then sighed as he looked up at the skeleton boy sitting across from him. “Miguel, you need to stop running off like that. There’s a reason you’re at the home.”

               The boy—Miguel, apparently—gave a huff and a shrug.

               “It’s not so bad there,” the officer tried again.

               “Except that I have family. You just won’t help me,” Miguel muttered, sinking down in his seat.

               “Look, if we ever get—I don’t know—face scanners that can tell you who your family is, you’ll be the first to know. But the information you have is too little for us to worth with. It’s safer for you to stay there.”

               Miguel rolled his eyes, huffing as he propped his chin in his hand. He looked up, and his eyes widened as he saw Héctor. Héctor froze up, and for a moment they merely stared at each other.

               “Well, one of the sisters will be here in a little bit to pick you up, so just wait here for a little while longer, okay, niño?”

               “Uh…” Miguel finally broke his gaze from Héctor, glancing down. Héctor looked down as well, sucking in a breath as Pélon started to nudge his head inside with a big, dopey grin. He grit his teeth as he tried to pull the dog away from the door.

               “What is all that—?” the officer started to ask, but looked up in alarm Miguel suddenly threw himself into a coughing fit. “Ay, niño, you okay?”  

               “F-fine…” Miguel peeked up, giving a little nod to tell Héctor to go. Huh, nice kid. With a bit of effort, he managed to drag the dog away from the door and make his way down the hall.

               Now, back to the problem at hand (He grimaced at the accidental pun as he looked down at his skeletal fingers.) At the rate they were going, they wouldn’t even be halfway through all the files by the time sunrise came. And that? That wasn’t good. There had to be another way to break this stupid cu—

               “Are you really a famous mariachi?”

               Héctor jumped at the question, whirling around to see Miguel standing right behind him. He blinked a few times, then smiled.

               “Of course I am. Part of the amazing duo Ernesto y Héctor.” He held out his hand to shake. “I’m the Héctor half.”

               Miguel’s starry expression dimmed a bit, and he frowned slightly. “I haven’t heard of you.”

               “We’re a big deal in the living world. Hundreds of shows a year, tons of fans. But, you know, we’re…we’re just starting out. From what I understand, it’ll take a little while for us to catch on over here.”

               Miguel nodded, then glanced over his shoulder for the guard before he looked up at Héctor with a smile. “Then I think we can help each other,” he whispered.

               “Wha—” Héctor was cut off as Miguel quickly pulled him into a phone booth, shutting the door tightly before fixing his eyes on Héctor’s.

               “They’re not going to be able to help you out there,” he said, nodding toward the door. “I’ve tried for years to find my family, and I’m still sent off to the home every time. It’s all paperwork this and filing that.” Miguel pulled a face, then smiled up at Héctor. “What you need is to actually meet people. And I know a lot of people. At least one of them should know you!”

               Héctor sent him a frown. “Seems like a long shot, kid.”

               Miguel matched his frown, then nodded at Héctor’s hands. “You got any better ideas?”

               Héctor grimaced, then let out a long sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. On one hand, he was as good as dead if he stayed here. On the other…how much safer was trusting some random kid who might know where some of his family was?

               Well…anything was better than sitting around and watching himself become a skeleton.

               “Mmmokay. But I’ve got a really tight deadline, chamaco, so…”

               “I can work with that!” Miguel shot him a bright smile, then stood up on his tiptoes to peek out the booth’s window. “Getting out’s gonna be hard, but I’ve managed to sneak out with worse. Okay…vámonos!”

               Miguel grabbed Héctor’s arm and pushed the door open, tugging him out as a large group of skeletons walked past. The dog, who’d been stuck outside the booth whining at them, ran after them, nearly tripping over himself with excitement. Héctor shushed him as they kept close to the group, which only prompted him to bark. The officer that had been holding Miguel bolted around the corner at the noise, and he gasped.

               “Miguel!” Miguel and Héctor turned, wide-eyed, as they heard him. “El Vivo?!”

               Both gave the officer an awkward smile, then Miguel tugged Héctor after him with a whispered, “Run!”

               Héctor did not need to be told twice, and soon enough they were running through the crowded department, dodging families and ducking around officers before they could notice who they were.

               “Was this your plan?” Héctor asked as they rounded a corner and bolted to the door.

               “I didn’t have a plan!”

               “You said you’ve sneaked out with worse!”

               “Well, yeah, when I haven’t had a tall living guy with me!” Miguel tugged Héctor out the door, the dog just barely managing to squeeze out with them. “Here, they’ll lose us in the crowd!”

               They dove into a large group of revelers, sticking close to them. Héctor ducked down a bit, glancing back toward the station and grimacing as a whole group of officers poured out. He tugged his sombrero tighter over his head as they made their way deeper into the plaza. “Not to put any pressure on you, chamaco, but now would be a really good time to have some sort of plan.” He looked up just in time to see Miguel pick a marigold from a nearby planter. “Something besides picking flowers would be good.”

               “Relax. I have…well, I have the first part of a plan.” Miguel tucked the marigold into his pocket, then turned back to look at him with a smile. “We need to take care of that whole being alive thing.”

~

               “You’re really sure you can’t do anything about your ears?”

               “I don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve had ears, but they’re not something you can just make invisible.”

               “Especially not yours.”

               “Hey.”

               “Pff, sorry.” Miguel finished painting a grin on Héctor’s face, then squinted at him appraisingly. “I think you’re good. I mean, your nose is still pretty big, and there’s the whole ear thing, but if no one gets close...”

               They’d found a secluded alleyway to hide out in for the moment, and Miguel, armed with two tins of shoe polish (“The only way the nuns let me out on Dia de Muertos is if they think I’m working.”), had gone to town making Héctor’s face as skeletal as his hands. He tossed the tins aside, and Héctor did his best to hide his ears with his hair as the dog started sniffing at the tins.

“Hey, Pélon, don’t…” Too late. He was already licking at the tin, only to whine and shake his head once he tasted the shoe polish. Miguel laughed, giving the dog’s head a sympathetic rub.

               “Your alebrije’s kinda dumb,” he said, laughing again as the dog started licking his face.

               “You think Pélon here’s an alebrije? Seriously?”

               Miguel wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck. “I mean, he followed you here, right? That sounds like a spirit animal.”

               Héctor shook his head and pulled his sombrero on to keep his hair down. “I think it takes him a while to catch on to things. He’ll probably figure out that he wound up here tomorrow.” He smiled at Miguel’s snort, then leaned forward and looked at the boy seriously. “All right, so…you’re gonna help me out with this whole family thing?”

               “Yep.” Miguel smiled as he pulled out the crumpled marigold in his pocket. “A blessing on one of these, and you’re back home.”

               “Bueno.” Héctor pressed his lips together, arching an eyebrow. “So what’s in it for you?”

               “You’re gonna do the same for me.”

               Héctor blinked, and he laughed before he could stop himself. “You’re funny, chamaco. But seriously, what do you want from me?”

               Miguel puffed out a breath. “I am serious.” At Héctor’s doubtful look, he sighed. “The whole thing with this place is that it runs on memories. The memories of the living are what keep us from fading, and it’s what brings us back home on Día de Muertos. Photos on the ofrenda are what lets us go back over the Marigold Bridge.” He let go of the dog to stick his hands the pockets of his faded red coat. “But it works the opposite way, too. The memories from your life are what they use to get you in the system. If you don’t have that…” He shrugged. “Well, if you’re a kid, you wind up in a home.”

               Héctor’s brows drew together. “You don’t remember your life?”

               Miguel shook his head. “The last thing I remember is waking up here. And when I tried to cross the first time, they told me I didn’t have a photo on an ofrenda. So I have nothing to go on. Well, except for this…” From his pocket, he pulled out an old, worn photo and held it up. Héctor took it and looked over it curiously. It looked like a class photo, with a row of ten boys lined in front of the school house. Miguel tapped on a boy off to the left, one cheek dimpling with a stifled smile.

               “That’s me. See? My hair’s the same, and I have a freckle where I have this mark,” he said, tapping the swirled green circle on his upper jaw, then looked up at Héctor with bright eyes. “And since you’re famous, you can bring this back and get the word out! And then next year I can find my family on Día de Muertos!”    

               Héctor swallowed. Oh. That was…a heavy order. How many people had he and Ernesto played for in the past year? A hundred, maybe two? Definitely not famous enough for Miguel’s plan. He looked down at the photo again, then took a breath.

               “Look, Miguel, I’m not really…” He looked up at Miguel. The boy’s eyes were bright as he looked back at Héctor, every hope of getting back to his family clear on his skull. Héctor pressed his lips together, then carefully folded the photo and tucked it into the pocket of his charro jacket. “I’m not…really sure how this whole ofrenda thing works.” He put on a smile as he leaned forward. “But by the time the next Día de Muertos comes around, all of México will know that a kid named Miguel needs to find his family.”

               “Qué excelente!” Miguel jumped up to his feet with a grin. “Okay, but we’ve gotta move. You don’t have too long before sunrise, and we’ve got a lot of people to talk to.”

~

               For a kid, Miguel had quite a lot of friends in odd places. Granted, he’d apparently been dead for a while (“Twenty…twenty-five years? I think? No, this is my twenty-third Día de Muertos.”), and Héctor had to admit, the kid was charming as anything. They wound their way through what felt like a dozen separate neighborhoods, each with at least one friend of Miguel’s hanging around.

               “This is my friend, Héctor. He doesn’t remember his family either, but he’s a really famous mariachi! Do you remember him?” was asked over and over, but with no results aside from an increasing discomfort whenever Miguel called him famous. (At one point, Miguel suggested that Pélon could probably sniff out Héctor’s family. They spent a few minutes following him, only to have to pull him away from a pan dulce cart. That idea was scrapped pretty quickly.)

               Eventually, they found their way to a huge plaza. Héctor’s eyes widened as he saw what had to have been thousands of people surrounding the stage at the far end, cheering at a very enthusiastic banda group. He let out a quick breath, glancing down at his hands. Fully skeletal now, with his wrist bones just showing beneath his sleeves.

He took a deep breath—he wasn’t panicked, but it was still worrying to be losing so much skin so fast—and set his hand on Miguel’s shoulder before he launched into the square. “This isn’t working,” he said bluntly. “There’s no way we can talk to every single person here before sunrise.”

               “I-I bet if we move really fast, we could…” At Héctor’s disbelieving look, Miguel sighed. “I know,” he admitted.  “But it’s not like we can ask everyone at once!”

               Héctor pressed his lips together, then glanced toward the stage. A smile twitched at his lips.

               “Actually, I think we can.” He looked down at Miguel, giving him a grin. “Just follow my lead, Miguelito, and we’ll both be on our way back home.”

~

               “And it’s mi hermanito’s very first time performing. And we just need the guitar for one song, that’s all!” Héctor gave the skeletal duo he’d approached a hopeful smile; over his shoulder, Miguel copied it.

               “Por favor?” he added. “It won’t be as good as seeing our parents, but it’d really make our night.”

               The duo glanced at each other, then sighed. After a moment, one of them held up his guitar.

               “Be careful with it, muchachos,” he said gruffly. Héctor and Miguel exchanged a grin.

               “Por supuesto!” Héctor set Miguel down to take the guitar. “We’ll be back with it as soon as we’re done! Gracias, señores!” He nodded for Miguel to follow him, moving a little quicker as he heard one of the duo say, “Didn’t it look like that guy had a nose?”

               Miguel looked up at Héctor excitedly as they walked to a secluded corner of the backstage area. “So are you going to play your most famous song?” he asked, pulling himself up to sit on a box as Héctor tuned the guitar. “They’ll definitely know who you are if you do that!”

               Héctor just held back a grimace as that sick feeling returned. “Look, chamaco, don’t…don’t be disappointed if we’re not swarmed by fans, okay? I don’t think Ernesto y Héctor…” He froze suddenly, eyes wide. Oh. He didn’t have Ernesto here with him. Dios, when was the last time he performed by himself? Had he ever? He could play, sure, but his best performances came from the way he played off someone else.

“What about Ernesto y Héctor?”

Héctor looked up as Miguel’s question broke through his thoughts, and a wide smile started to spread across his face as a brilliant idea hit him. “I don’t think Ernesto y Héctor will mean much to the people here; I told you we haven’t caught on down here. Miguel y Héctor, though, that’s different.” His grin widened at the shocked look on Miguel’s face as he took off his sombrero. “After all, I did say it was mi hermanito’s very first time performing,” he added as he set the hat on Miguel’s head.

               “What?!” Miguel pushed the hat up to look at Héctor with panicked eyes. Oh. That was…not the reaction he was expecting. “Bu-but I’ve never performed! I don’t even know any songs!”

               Héctor sent him a disbelieving look. “I know for a fact that there are hundreds of dead revolucionarios out there in that plaza alone. You had to have heard at least a corrido or two.” His eyes widened as Miguel shrugged. “You haven’t?”

               “We’re only allowed to sing hymns at the home!”

               “No one’s going to listen if we play a hymn!” Héctor sucked in a breath and shook his head, then looked up at Miguel. He let out the breath he’d been holding and leaned forward. “Think back, chamaco. Are there any songs you can remember?”

               Miguel’s browbone furrowed, and his skull screwed up slightly as he thought. He opened his eyes after a moment, expression soft. “There’s…one I can remember.”

               Héctor grinned. “Allà vamos, Miguelito! If you can sing it for me, I can figure out—”

               “No!”

               Héctor blinked. “No?”

               Miguel drew into himself slightly as he looked down at his knees. “That one’s special. I…it doesn’t feel right to perform it.”

               Héctor looked at the boy for a moment. Well…he could understand that. He certainly had some songs that were too special to perform, even if Ernesto insisted otherwise. He let out a breath, then reached to his inside pocket. There was Miguel’s photo, and just behind it…there. He puffed out a breath as he opened up the notebook. He was still bored with what he’d written, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He grimaced a bit; most had been written for two guitars, but there had to be one…aha!

               “All right, chamaco, it’s time for your first experience as a real músico.” He sat down beside Miguel on the box, holding up the notebook. “Which means we’re gonna learn this song in ten minutes or less.”

               Miguel looked up at Héctor with wide eyes, then took a deep breath and put on his most determined face as he nodded. “Okay.”

               Héctor had prepared for the worst, but Miguel was a surprisingly quick study. His timing was spot-on, and he carried a tune far better than Héctor could. This could actually work. And it was…fun? By their second time running through the song, Miguel was relaxed and already playing off of Héctor like they’d known each other forever. This was going to be perfect.

               Until the stagehand told them that they were up next, and Miguel completely froze up.

               “Hey, Miguelito?” Héctor set a hand on Miguel’s shoulder, prompting a gasp from him before he quickly shook his head.

               “I can’t…I…”

               Héctor’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. Okay. Two options here: He could go out alone and hope he did well enough to garner some attention (but not enough for people to realize he wasn’t actually dead).

Or…he could help Miguel out.

               “Don’t talk like that, chamaco, you’re a natural. All you need to do is loosen up.” Héctor grinned at Miguel as he shook out his long limbs. He gave the boy a nod; Miguel gave him a dubious look before shaking out his own limbs with a rattle. “There we go! Now, give me your best grito.”

               “My best grito?”

               “You know, a shout. You’re what, twelve? You definitely know how to yell.” Miguel gave him a shrug. “It’s just like this!” Héctor wasted no time in letting out a whoop that turned several skulls toward them. He ignored them, grinning at Miguel. “Now you!”

               Miguel stared at him, but sucked in a breath and let out…the most pathetic noise Héctor had ever heard. He grimaced.

               “Uh, try again, chamaco.”

               Miguel took another breath and let out an equally strangled noise. Héctor stared, then gave him a thumbs up. Ave María Purísma, at least the kid was cute.

               As if he could hear that thought, Miguel looked even less-reassured than he had pre-grito. Héctor grimaced again, then snapped to get Miguel’s attention. “Hey, Miguel, look at me.” When he did, he gave him a smile. “It’s gonna be fine up there, okay? We’ll just have some fun like we did a few minutes ago.”

               “But your blessing…”

               “Doesn’t matter. Not right now. Right now, we’re músicos, and we’re gonna make sure that every skeleton out there knows that.” He gave him a grin and another thumbs up. “Suena bien?”

               Miguel looked up at him, then took a breath and nodded. Héctor put a hand on his bony shoulder and led them up onto the stage as the emcee called, “And now, Miguel y Héctor!”

               Héctor gave the crowd his biggest grin, then glanced down at Miguel, who looked shell-shocked. The kid still had stage-fright. What did he do? Ernesto would turn on that de la Cruz charm and hide the boy—that’d happened their very first show, after all—but…well, that wasn’t Héctor’s forte. So really, there was only one option.

               Miguel turned in alarm at the loud grito that Héctor let out, but he smiled a bit at his little nod. He took the deepest breath he could, then let out a grito that was just as loud, bouncing off the buildings surrounding the plaza and sending a surprised murmur through the crowd. Héctor took that as his cue to start playing, fingers dancing quickly over the frets, and he looked up with a bright smile as Miguel jumped in like he hadn’t been scared stiff a moment ago.

 “Señoras y señores, buenas tardes, buenas noches

Buenas tardes, buenas noches, señoritas y señores…”

                 Miguel carried the song exceptionally well, dancing around Héctor with a bright grin as he sang. Héctor played back, harmonizing where he could and matching the kid’s energy as he played the hardest he had in a while. Ay, it’d been so long since performing had been a joy instead of a chore; when was the last time he and Ernesto danced around the stage like this?

               All too soon, the song came to an end with a prolonged rift from Héctor and one last grito from Miguel, and they both looked out with wide eyes as the crowd went wild. Héctor was the first to break from the spell, and he gave Miguel a wide grin as he ruffled his hair.

               “What’d I tell you, chamaco? You’re a real músico now.”

               Miguel blinked, then sent him a big grin back. He blinked, then whispered, “Let them know who you are.”

               Ah, right. Héctor nodded, then turned back to the crowd and called out, “Gracias, damas y caballeros! We’re Miguel y Héctor, Santa Cecilia’s two favorite sons!”

               There was another cheer from the crowd, but Héctor caught a strange look on Miguel’s face.

               “Santa Cecilia?” he asked slowly, eyes focused on something very far away. Héctor half-smiled.

               “Sorry to drag you into my hometown, but it was easier than…”

               “No. I-I’ve heard of it. I just…” He looked up in alarm as the emcee ran onstage.

               “Damas y caballeros, we’ve got an emergency alert. Be on the lookout for a living man…”

               And that was their cue to leave. Before the emcee could give so much as a description, Héctor grabbed Miguel’s arm and bolted off the stage quick enough for his sombrero to fly off the boy’s head. The dog, who’d been howling off-stage, eagerly ran after them.

               “Wait, your hat—”

               “They can keep it!”

               “Well, you can’t lead! You don’t know where we—” Miguel gasped. Héctor glanced back at him, then looked up. Several alebrijes flew overhead—but then, they’d been doing that all night. Miguel picked up his pace, jumping ahead of Héctor and dragging him behind. “Come on!”

               “What? They’re just spirit animals, right?”

               “Yeah, but those ones…” Miguel pointed up at the ones above them, which seemed to be very focused on them. “…belong to officers!”

               As if on cue, a massive alebrije that seemed to be a mix of an eagle and a lizard swooped down toward them. Both Miguel and Héctor let out a cry of fright, picking up their pace and sprinting ahead.

               “This way!” Miguel threw himself forward, bringing Héctor down with him into into a dry canal. They tumbled down the side, the dog rolling down with them, and Miguel just barely dragged Héctor up to pull him beneath a bridge. They huddled together beneath it, both breathing hard as they waited for the alebrije to give up. The beak just peaked below the top, clicking curiously.  A large claw reached under; Héctor automatically threw his arm in front of Miguel as they took a step back. But they were too deep underneath. The alebrije let out a frustrated shriek, and, after a few terrifying moments, they finally heard the heavy flap of wings. Héctor lowered his arm, heart still pounding in his chest as he shook slightly.

               “Is that…normal?”

               Miguel let out a breath; he didn’t look quite as frightened as Héctor, but still shaken. “They use them as trackers, sometimes. Normally they’re not that big.” He let out a long breath. “They won’t hurt you.”

               “You didn’t think of saying that first?!”

               “I was focused on not getting dragged back to the station!” Miguel argued back.

               They both huffed and turned away from each other; Héctor’s heart was still hammering. Well. Being angry wouldn’t solve anything. He let out a shaking breath, then turned back to Miguel.

               “You said you knew Santa Cecilia?”

               Miguel glanced back at him, then pressed his lips together. “I…I think someone I know lived there.”

               Héctor’s eyes widened, and he walked up to Miguel with a hopeful smile. “Really? Can we go see them?” His brows creased as Miguel’s expression darkened. “What?”

               Miguel looked away, then took a deep breath. “You swear you’ll find my family when you get home?”

               “Of course, chamaco. I’ll start spreading the word the minute I get back.”

               Miguel swallowed hard, then nodded. “Okay. Follow me.”

~

               “Can you go any faster?”

               “Listen, chamaco, it’s gonna be really hard to get back to the Land of the Living if I die of a broken neck.” Héctor wavered a bit as he made his way down to the next ledge of the bridge. “Besides, I’ve got my second stolen guitar of the night on my back. That’s a big burden to carry.”

               Miguel had led the way through a winding maze of side streets and semi-climbable ledges. Half the time, he let himself fall down a decent way just to gather his bones back easy as anything. Héctor…did not have that luxury, which left him picking his way down some very steep wall reliefs. There was an easier way, Miguel explained on the way, but that’d be crawling with officers and alebrijes looking for a living man and a dead boy. This was the way he took when he wanted to be sneaky.

               It took all off two seconds after Miguel announced they had arrived for Héctor to realize what he was looking at. The stark building with a crucifix on the outside told him exactly where they were.

               “So this is the orphanage you stay at,” he said bluntly, looking it over. Miguel shrugged.

               “I mean, we’re not really orphans. Most of us have parents, they’re just still alive. Or…we can’t remember them. And it’s…” Miguel trailed off as Héctor shook his head.

               “Is it run by nuns?”

               “Well, yeah…”

               “And is it full of kids that no one knows what to do with?”

               “Yes…”

               “Then that’s an orphanage. Believe me, I have experience with that.” Héctor took a breath, adjusting the guitar strap on his shoulder. “So who in here’s from Santa Cecilia?”

               Miguel was suddenly very preoccupied with patting Pélon’s head. Finally, he sucked in a breath. “Sister Maria Rafaela,” he whispered.

               Héctor could feel the blood drain from his face. Oh, no. “S-Sister Maria Rafaela?”

               Miguel’s eyes widened. “You know her?”

               Héctor automatically rubbed his bony knuckles with a grimace. “You don’t forget being on the end of her punishments.”

               Miguel huffed. “Well, maybe if I’m with you, she won’t…”

               “Miguel!”

               They both looked up, and a skeletal nun marched straight toward them. Miguel started to give a smile and a little wave.

               “Hola, Sis—” He yelped as she grabbed his arm tightly, pulling him away before Héctor could stop her and disregarding the dog’s growls.

               “Every year you do this,” she scolded harshly, grip tight enough that Miguel couldn’t wriggle out of it. “And you would think that punishment would be enough to stop you, but you’re a stubborn little…”

               A memory of belts cracking against skin flashed in Héctor’s head, and he quickly stepped forward. “It’s my fault he’s out this year, Sister. I-I just arrived and I wanted to spend the night with my tío.”

               Sister Maria Rafaela looked up and frowned at him. “And who are…” She trailed off as she looked over him; Héctor made sure to keep his face directly facing her as he gave her an awkward smile. “Héctor?!”

               “Hola, Sister. You know, you still look great.”

               Miguel forgotten, Sister Maria Rafaela took a step toward Héctor, who shuffled back. “I knew you’d get yourself into this sort of trouble,” she hissed. “Is your friend here, too?”

               “Oh, no, Ernesto’s…he’s fine. But, ah, listen, Sister, while I’m here…” As Sister Maria Rafaela kept trying to inspect him more closely, Héctor kept skittering away. “…my Tío Miguel brought up the best idea…” He stepped beside Miguel, resting a hand on the boy’s head as they both leaned away. “…and we thought you might know where my family ended up.”

               Sister Maria Rafaela frowned hard at him, then started to reach for Miguel again. Without thinking, Héctor hoisted him up onto his shoulders, out of the nun’s grasp. She huffed.

               “Ungrateful schemers, the both of you,” she said sharply. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but I’m having no part of it.”

               Héctor swallowed. “Sister, please. If you have any idea where…”

               “And how am I supposed to know that?” she asked sharply. “We take care of the children left to us. There are no questions asked!”

               “But Santa Cecilia was so small, you had to—”

               “I don’t know, Héctor,” she said crisply. “Now, give that child back or…” She trailed off, suddenly, eyes fixed on Héctor’s cheek. She took a quick breath, then let it out. “I need to make a call,” she said simply, then turned and went back inside.

               Both Miguel and Héctor blinked at her sudden shift, and Héctor glanced up at Miguel before bringing him down from his shoulders. “Probably too optimistic to think she’s remembered a long-lost relative of mine?”

               “Definitely too opt—” Miguel looked up and gasped, eyes locked right on the same spot Sister Maria Rafaela had been looking. Héctor’s brow creased.

               “What? Are we too late?” he asked, automatically reaching up to touch his cheek. He froze as he felt warm skin instead of shoe polish. But he’d been so careful! How had he…His eyes widened as he caught the long streak of white on Miguel’s knee. Oh. When he’d put Miguel on his shoulders…

               “We need to go.” Miguel’s voice was barely a whisper. “Maybe we can smooth it out? O-or I can try and get more polish and—” He was cut off by Héctor yelping when a bony finger and thumb pinched his ear hard.

               “This is a low I never expected from you,” she hissed at him. “Dragging a poor little boy along in your schemes. You dese—Ay!”

               Héctor’s ear was released, and he just caught Miguel slamming his foot down on Sister Maria Rafaela’s foot.

               “He’s not dragging me along, he’s helping me find my family!” he shouted, then looked up at Héctor. “Come on! If we run, we can still…”

               KA-CRAWWW!

               Both Miguel and Héctor scrambled back at the cry, once again face to face with the alebrije from earlier. Its beak clicked menacingly at them. Héctor glanced up at the bird, then down at Miguel. He sucked in a breath, then pushed Miguel away from him before letting out a loud grito.

               The alebrije’s head shot over to him, slitted pupils widening, and he bolted in the opposite direction. Well, by this point, he was going to die anyway. Might as well let Miguel get away while he could. He was keeping away fairly well, and then…

               Pélon tripped him.

               Héctor tripped and skidded, but before he could pick himself up, strong talons wrapped around his arm. The alebrije gave a triumphant caw before starting to flap away. As if realizing that he’d done wrong, the dog whined before jumping into action. He grabbed a hold of Héctor’s sleeve and tried to tug him back, unaware that he was being lifted up as well. But he was too heavy for the stitching, and before Héctor could grab for him, the sleeves completely ripped off, revealing one fully-skeletal arm and sending Pélon back to the ground, barking worriedly the whole way.

               Héctor tried his best to twist around. Where was Miguel? Had he managed to get away? He caught sight of the red coat, weaving quickly through the abandoned streets below. That was good. The kid would be safe. He’d manage to—

               Héctor’s stomach flipped as the alebrije swooped down, and he cried out as its other claw wrapped around Miguel’s arm. The boy struggled, but it was no use; the alebrije held fast. Miguel went limp, looking up at Héctor with wide eyes as the alebrije swooped and dove its way back to the station. This was it. The sun would be rising soon, and they’d be locked away in the last place they wanted to be. Héctor went limp as well, though he frowned as he caught sight of a dark opening beneath them, with something glinting at the bottom. Was that…water? If it was…

               He looked up at Miguel. “I have a really terrible idea!” he shouted.

               “What?”

               Instead of answering, Héctor sucked in a breath and threw his legs back. His arm twisted painfully, but with a bit of effort, he managed to swing his lower body up enough to slam one of his feet into the alebrije’s soft belly.

               It gave a shriek before automatically dropping the two. Both screamed as they plummeted down. Despite it being Héctor’s idea, he shut his eyes and braced himself. If he was wrong about that pit…well, he was already dying, but this way would be a lot more painful.

               The air was knocked out of him the moment he hit the water, bubbling out of his mouth as he tumbled below. He hit the silt below, completely convinced the fall killed him. It was only when he gasped in a lungful of air once he resurfaced that he figured he must not be dead just yet. He coughed several times, then looked around.

               “Hey, chamaco?” he called hoarsely as he paddled to shore. “Miguel!”

               “Héctor?” As Héctor stepped onto the shore, he nearly topped back into the water as Miguel threw his arms around him, bones rattling. He looked down with wide eyes as the boy sniffled.  

               “I’m sorry,” Miguel mumbled against his chest. “I thought it could work. I thought we’d both get home.”

               Héctor let out a breath, setting a hand on Miguel’s head. “Hey, hey, it’s all right, chamaco.”

               “No, it’s not!” Miguel pushed himself back, brown eyes sharp as he looked up at Héctor. “It’s my fault that you can’t go back to your fans and that I won’t ever see Mamá Coco again and—"

               “Who?”

               “Mamá Coco.” Miguel looked away. “She’s…she’s all I remember from before I died. We’d sing together.”

               Héctor’s face softened as he put two and two together. “So the song you didn’t want to sing…?”

               Miguel nodded, his palm quickly scraping against his cheekbone. “It was ours.” He took a quick breath as he sat down at the edge of the water. “I do-don’t even know if she’s alive or dead. But…but if I could just find her, somewhere, I-I know I’d be home.”

               Héctor looked down at Miguel for a long moment, aware, suddenly, of the second stolen guitar still strapped to his back. He pulled it off quietly, then—after making sure it was in one piece—he sank down beside Miguel.

               “Can you play?”

               Miguel peeked up. “What?”

               “Can you play? I didn’t ask earlier.”

               Miguel swallowed. “Just a little bit.”

               “That’s all you need.” He held out the guitar. “A bit of music helps bad situations feel a little better. That’s what I’ve learned, at least.”

               Miguel looked down at the guitar, then up at Héctor. Very carefully, he took the guitar and flipped it around, strumming experimentally at the strings. After a few moments, the strumming settled into a simple tune, with a very soft voice accompanying it.

“Remember me

Though I have to say goodbye

Remember me

Don’t let it make you cry

For even if I’m far away

I hold you in my heart

I sing a secret song to you

each night we are apart

Remember me

Though I have to travel far

Remember me

Each time you hear a sad guitar

Know that I’m with you

The only way that I can be

Until you’re in my arms again

Remember me…”

               Héctor listened raptly as Miguel sang, the quiet tune seeming to fill the whole cenote. His heart lurched, and he tucked his chin against his knees. This poor kid. All he wanted was to get home, and Héctor had him running on a wild goose chase because he hadn’t thought to tell the truth. He looked up as he felt a small weight lean against his side.

               “I’m sorry, Héctor,” Miguel said quietly. “Your fans will pro—”

               “I’m not famous, Miguel.”

               “What?”

               Héctor shut his eyes and let out a breath. “When I said I was famous? That was…it was a lie. I’m just…” His newly-bony shoulders sagged. “I’m just a nobody from Santa Cecilia. That’s it. I’m sorry.”

               He glanced down at Miguel, who stared back at him.

               “So…when you said you’d find my family…”

               “That I meant,” he said firmly. “I…I don’t know how successful I would’ve been. But I would’ve told everyone I met about a great músico named Miguel who needed to find his family.” He rubbed his cheek awkwardly, feeling the barest resistance before bone scraped against bone. Almost sunrise then. He sighed. “Well, when I get out from a century in jail, I’ll spring you from the orphanage.”

               “Really?”

               “Por supuesto.” He managed a small laugh. “I may be a lying, sorry excuse of a mariachi, but Héctor Rivera never lets kids…” He trailed off at the strange look that crossed Miguel’s face. “What?”

               “Rivera…? That’s…my last name,” Miguel said slowly. Héctor blinked.

               “You don’t think…no, it can’t. You know how many Riveras there are here?”

               “You know how many Miguel Riveras there are?” Miguel asked, then shook his head. “It’s probably a coincidence.”

               Héctor nodded. “Has to be, chamaco.” He stood up. “Morning’s almost here, and we’ve got to find our way out of this pit.” He stood up straight, then let out a loud grito that bounced off the walls of the pit. “Someone should’ve heard that. Hey, chamaco, maybe if we both…” He turned to look at Miguel, who pulled something from his pocket. Héctor tilted his head, then smiled a bit at the soggy marigold in his hands.

               “Look, Miguelito, that’s a sweet thought, but there’s no way…”

               “Héctor.” Miguel said his name curiously, and both their eyes widened as the petals lit up. Héctor took a step back.

               “Miguel, I…I can’t leave you here. Besides…” He looked up as he heard a howl. “Ah! Pélon found us!” He grinned as he saw the dog’s goofy face, then automatically froze up as he heard a deafening KA-CRAAAWW!! “And…he has friends.”

               “Then we have to move fast!” Miguel put on a determined face as he held up one of the marigold petals. “Héctor, I give you my blessing to go home.” The marigold petal glowed bright as anything, and Héctor’s heartbeat—which he could feel fading away like the rest of his skin—pounded in his ribs.

               “Chamaco, I don’t want you to be alone again. Just let me—”

               Miguel cut him off with a small smile. “Just remember me, Héctor.” Before Héctor could protest, the petal was pressed against his chest, and he was swept away in a waterfall of glowing orange flowers.

~

               Héctor was sure he was dead.

               There was no other way to account for how awful he felt, facedown in the dirt of the graveyard, as the sun rose slowly in the east. It took a few moments for him to push himself up, too tired and aching to even think about the fact he was missing a sleeve from his charro suit. He blinked for a few moments, then sat up straight. Had he made it in time? Had Miguel been too late? He quickly patted himself down, then let out a loud laugh of joy as he saw normal, non-skeletal hands. He was safe! He was back home!

               And Miguel…was not. And he wouldn’t be until his family could find him.

               “Just remember me.”

               Well, the answer of what he should do next was pretty obvious.

               The beautiful, awful white guitar was still laid out on the grave in front of him. He hesitated, then glanced up at the tombstone.

               “It’s not for me. It’s for my family,” he whispered, reaching out for it. He wrapped his hands around the guitar’s neck, eyes shut, and waited a moment. Then he peeked open his eyes and let out a long sigh of relief when he saw his hands keep the skin on. “Gracias!”

               And just like that—dirty, exhausted, carrying a guitar that wasn’t his—Héctor ran all the way back to the Plaza.

               He knew he needed to go as soon as possible, but his stomach sank as he saw how few people were out this early. Still, maybe he…

               “Dios mio, where have you been?”

               Strong arms gripped Héctor’s shoulders, and he was whirled around to face Ernesto. His friend’s face seemed torn between relief and anger…ah, but that didn’t matter. Miguel needed him. He shook his head.

               “I’ll explain later, it’s a long story. Right now, I need to get to the mira—”

               “You look half-dead! And your charro suit…”

               “I’ll fix it! Later. First I…” He tugged himself away from Ernesto’s grasp and ran straight to the middle of the square. Before Ernesto could stop him, he hopped up onto the mirador, looking out at the square. A few stragglers who’d had too much fun the night before were napping here and there, a few mamas out doing some early morning shopping…he’d missed his chance. No one would hear him.

               Héctor sucked in a breath and stood up straight. Well, he’d make sure he heard them. He’d play and play until everyone in Santa Cecilia listened. He started with a loud rift, the notes carrying through the sleepy plaza. A few of the revelers woke up, and a few of the mamas paused. From the corner of his eye, he could see Ernesto being torn between wanting to pull him down and not wanting to attach himself to the crazed, dirty young man in the center of the plaza.

               The tune slowed, to a simple little strumming; something easily playable for a kid just learning how to play. He swallowed, shutting his eyes as he opened his mouth.

“Remember me

Though I have to say goodbye

Remember me

Don’t let it make you cry…”

               He did his best to keep his voice steady and clear. Someone here had to know what had happened. Someone had to know this song.

               He opened his eyes as he held out the last note, voice wavering as the scene in front of him looked exactly the same. There were a few eyes on him, yes, but nothing that suggested anyone recognized the song. His shoulders sagged, and he swallowed as his fingers stilled on the guitar. He glanced around once more, then, exhaustion and disappointment overwhelming him, he dropped down onto the mirador’s steps.

               It had been a stupid idea. Of course it wouldn’t work. But…he’d hoped…

               “Perdonamé, señor…but where did you hear that song?”

               Héctor looked up wearily, brow furrowing as he met the sharp brown eyes of an older woman, looking at him suspiciously. It couldn’t be…ah, but there’d already been one happy coincidence tonight. Why not try for two?

               “Are you Coco?” he asked softly. Her eyes widened.

               “I…no, I’m not her,” she said, a little breathless. “I’m her daughter, Elena.” Her eyes narrowed. “Look, I don’t know what kind of tonterías this is, but…” She was cut off as Héctor jumped to his feet.

               “Then you know Miguel!”

               Elena went silent, face slackening in shock. She looked away. “How could you know…”

               “He’s my family! Look, it’s…it’s a really, really long story, but…but I have a photo of him! For the ofrenda! And I promised I’d get it to you, so…” He reached into his jacket pocket, ready to pull out the photo. But…nothing was there. “I…I swear, he gave it…I had…” He searched all of his pockets. He didn’t lose it in the fall, right? No, he would have seen it. So then why…

               Oh.

               Oh no, he hadn’t even thought.

               The photo had been a spirit copy.

               Héctor froze in place, eyes stinging. He’d come so close. He’d almost gotten Miguel back home. He gasped in a breath as a hand lightly rested on his arm.

               “You said Miguel was family?” Elena asked gently.

               Héctor nodded mutely. If he so much as opened his mouth, he knew all that would come out would be a frustrated sob. Elena pat his arm, nodding a bit.

               “Then why don’t you come with me, mijo? I think there’s some things that need to be discussed.”

~

               “You know, chamaco, you’re a tough guy to find.”

               A year had passed since Héctor’s jaunt to the Land of the Dead, and surprisingly, not much had changed. He and Ernesto were still touring, of course, a little more known than they’d been a year ago, but nowhere near household names. Now, though, he had no shortage of inspirations for songs. He was scribbling constantly—songs about life, songs about death, songs about family—so the trip back to Santa Cecilia wasn’t for inspiration this time.

               This time, it was for family.

               He’d gotten the whole story of Miguel’s death last year, when Elena had brought him home and grilled him about the song. The schoolhouse just outside of the school had been caught in a landslide years ago during the rainy season; the students and their teacher were killed near-instantly. Elena had taken comfort knowing that Miguel likely had no idea what hit him (which was probably true, Héctor realized with an uncomfortable twist in his stomach, and explained the lack of memory), but even after all this time, the area was still prone to flash floods. A few of the remains had been pulled out, but most were left behind—Miguel’s included.

               But, with a lot of digging, a lot of help, and some frightfully good timing, Héctor Rivera made sure that changed. And so this year, he proudly set a photo—a little dirty and water-damaged, but still clear—on the Rivera family ofrenda. He smiled as he looked at the little boy with one dimple in his cheek.

               “But we got you here, Miguelito,” he said to the photo. “Hopefully you like your new place; Tía Elena said they were able to make room next to Mamá Coco for you. I hope you were able to find her before now—I know the Department’s a mess, but if she’s anything like Tía Elena, she wouldn’t rest until she found you.”

He grinned before pointing to himself. “And speaking of family, you’ve got yourself a new primo. Well. I guess we’ve always been primos, but it’s acknowledged now. Apparently she had no idea my wayward mother—she used some, ah, more colorful language—dropped me off at the orphanage. It was after most of the family packed up shop and moved after the landslide. Too much pain in Santa Cecilia, I guess.”

               He glanced up out the window. “Looks like it’s just about sunset, chamaco. I’ll come visit after the talent show—heh, if I don’t end up stealing another guitar—so I’ll meet you in the graveyard.” He stood up straight, looking over the ofrenda before giving a small smile to the photo again.

               “And before I forget…welcome home, Miguel. Told you I’d get you back.”

[victorusolano]

FYD Series

She stepped down from the carretela of Ca Celin with a quick, delicate grace. She was lovely. She was tall. She looked up to my brother with a smile, and her forehead was on a level with his mouth. "You are Baldo," she said and placed her hand lightly on my shoulder. Her nails were long, but they were not painted. She was fragrant like a morning when papayas are in bloom. And a small dimple appeared momentarily high on her right cheek. "And this is Labang of whom I have heard so much about." She held the wrist of one hand with the other and looked at Labang, and Labang never stopped chewing his cud. He swallowed and brought up to his mouth more cud and the sound of his insides was like a drum. I laid a hand on Labang's massive neck and said to her: "You may scratch his forehead now."

She hesitated and I saw that her eyes were on the long, curving horns. But she came and touched Labang's forehead with her long fingers, and Labang never stopped chewing his cud except that his big eyes were half closed. And by and by she was scratching his forehead very daintily. My brother Leon put down the two trunks on the grassy side of the road. He paid Ca Celin twice the usual fare from the station to the edge of Nagrebcan. Then he was standing beside us, and she turned to him eagerly.

I watched Ca Celin, where he stood in front of his horse, and he ran his fingers through its forelock and could not keep his eyes away from her. "Maria — " my brother Leon said. He did not say Maring. He did not say Mayang. I knew then that he had always called her Maria and that to us all she would be Maria; and in my mind I said 'Maria' and it was a beautiful name. "Yes, Noel." Now where did she get that name? I pondered the matter quietly to myself, thinking Father might not like it. But it was only the name of my brother Leon said backward and it sounded much better that way. "There is Nagrebcan, Maria," my brother Leon said, gesturing widely toward the west. She moved close to him and slipped her arm through his. And after a while she said quietly. "You love Nagrebcan, don't you, Noel?" Ca Celin drove away hi-yi-ing to his horse loudly. At the bend of the camino real where the big duhat tree grew, he rattled the handle of his braided rattan whip against the spokes of the wheel. We stood alone on the roadside.

The sun was in our eyes, for it was dipping into the bright sea. The sky was wide and deep and very blue above us: but along the saw-tooth rim of the Katayaghan hills to the southwest flamed huge masses of clouds. Before us the fields swam in a golden haze through which floated big purple and red and yellow bubbles when I looked at the sinking sun. Labang's white coat, which I had wished and brushed that morning with coconut husk, glistened like beaten cotton under the lamplight and his horns appeared tipped with fire. He faced the sun and from his mouth came a call so loud and vibrant that the earth seemed to tremble underfoot. And far away in the middle of the field a cow lowered softly in answer. "Hitch him to the cart, Baldo," my brother Leon said, laughing, and she laughed with a big uncertainty, and I saw that he had put his arm around her shoulders. "Why does he make that sound?" she asked. "I have never heard the like of it." "There is not another like it," my brother Leon said. "I have yet to hear another bull call like Labang. In all the world there is no other bull like him." She was smiling at him, and I stopped in the act of tying the sinta across Labang's neck to the opposite end of the yoke, because her teeth were very white, her eyes were so full of laughter, and there was a small dimple high up on her right cheek. "If you continue to talk about him like that, either I shall fall in love with him or become greatly jealous." My brother Leon laughed and she laughed and they looked at each other and it seemed to me there was a world of laughter between them and in them. I climbed into the cart over the wheel and Labang would have bolted, for he was always like that, but I kept a firm hold on his rope.

He was restless and would not stand still, so my brother Leon had to say "Labang" several times. When he was quiet again, my brother Leon lifted the trunks into the cart, placing the smaller on top. She looked down once at her high-heeled shoes, then she gave her left hand to my brother Leon, placed a foot on the hub of the wheel, and in one breath she swung up into the cart. Oh, the fragrance of her. But Labang was fairly dancing with impatience and it was all I could do to keep him from running away. "Give me the rope, Baldo," my brother Leon said. "Maria, sit down on the hay and hold on to anything." Then he put a foot on the left shaft and that instant Labang leaped forward.

My brother Leon laughed as he drew himself up to the top of the side of the cart and made the slack of the rope hiss above the back of Labang. The wind whistled against my cheeks and the rattling of the wheels on the pebbly road echoed in my ears. She sat up straight on the bottom of the cart, legs bent together to one side, her skirts spread over them so that only the toes and heels of her shoes were visible. her eyes were on my brother Leon's back; I saw the wind on her hair.

When Labang slowed down, my brother Leon handed me the rope. I knelt on the straw inside the cart and pulled on the rope until Labang was merely shuffling along, then I made him turn around. "What is it you have forgotten now, Baldo?" my brother Leon said. I did not say anything but tickled with my fingers the rump of Labang; and away we went — back to where I had unhitched and waited for them.

The sun had sunk and down from the wooded sides of the Katayaghan hills shadows were stealing into the fields. High up overhead the sky burned with many slow fires. When I sent Labang down the deep cut that would take us to the dry bed of the waig which could be used as a path to our place during the dry season, my brother Leon laid a hand on my shoulder and said sternly: "Who told you to drive through the fields tonight?" His hand was heavy on my shoulder, but I did not look at him or utter a word until we were on the rocky bottom of the waig. "Baldo, you fool, answer me before I lay the rope of Labang on you. Why do you follow the Wait instead of the camino real?" His fingers bit into my shoulder. "Father, he told me to follow the waig tonight, Manong." Swiftly, his hand fell away from my shoulder and he reached for the rope of Labang. Then my brother Leon laughed, and he sat back, and laughing still, he said: "And I suppose Father also told you to hitch Labang to the cart and meet us with him instead of with Castano and the calesa." Without waiting for me to answer, he turned to her and said, "Maria, why do you think Father should do that, now?" He laughed and added, "Have you ever seen so many stars before?" I looked back and they were sitting side by side, leaning against the trunks, hands clasped across knees. Seemingly, but a man's height above the tops of the steep banks of the Wait, hung the stars. But in the deep gorge the shadows had fallen heavily, and even the white of Labang's coat was merely a dim, grayish blue. Crickets chirped from their homes in the cracks in the banks.

The thick, unpleasant smell of dangla bushes and cooling sun-heated earth mingled with the clean, sharp scent of arrais roots exposed to the night air and of the hay inside the cart. "Look, Noel, yonder is our star!" Deep surprise and gladness were in her voice. Very low in the west, almost touching the ragged edge of the bank, was the star, the biggest and brightest in the sky. "I have been looking at it," my brother Leon said.

"Do you remember how I would tell you that when you want to see stars you must come to Nagrebcan?"

"Yes, Noel," she said.

"Look at it," she murmured half to herself.

"It is so many times bigger and brighter than it was at Ermita beach."

"The air here is clean, free of dust and smoke."

"So it is, Noel," she said, drawing a long breath.

"Making fun of me, Maria?" She laughed then and they laughed together and she took my brother Leon's hand and put it against her face.

I stopped Labang, climbed down, and lighted the lantern that hung from the cart between the wheels. "Good boy, Baldo," my brother Leon said as I climbed back into the cart, and my heart sant. Now the shadows took fright and did not crowd so near. Clumps of andadasi and arrais flashed into view and quickly disappeared as we passed by. Ahead, the elongated shadow of Labang bobbled up and down and swayed drunkenly from side to side, for the lantern rocked jerkily with the cart. "Have we far to go yet, Noel?" she asked. "Ask Baldo," my brother Leon said, "we have been neglecting him." "I am asking you, Baldo," she said. Without looking back, I answered, picking my words slowly: "Soon we will get out of the Wait and pass into the fields. After the field is home — Manong." "So near already." I did not say anything more because I did not know what to make of the tone of her voice as she said her last words. All the laughter seemed to have gone out of her.

I waited for my brother Leon to say something, but he was not saying anything. Suddenly he broke out into song and the song was 'Sky Sown with Stars' — the same that he and Father sang when we cut hay in the fields at night before he went away to study. He must have taught her the song because she joined him, and her voice flowed into his like a gentle stream meeting a stronger one. And each time the wheels encountered a big rock, her voice would catch in her throat, but my brother Leon would sing on, until, laughing softly, she would join him again. Then we were climbing out into the fields, and through the spokes of the wheels the light of the lantern mocked the shadows. Labang quickened his steps.

The jolting became more frequent and painful as we crossed the low dikes. "But it is so very wide here," she said. The light of the stars broke and scattered the darkness so that one could see far on every side, though indistinctly. "You miss the houses, and the cars, and the people and the noise, don't you?" My brother Leon stopped singing. "Yes, but in a different way. I am glad they are not here." With difficulty I turned Labang to the left, for he wanted to go straight on. He was breathing hard, but I knew he was more thirsty than tired.

In a little while we drop up the grassy side onto the camino real. "— you see," my brother Leon was explaining, "the Camino Real curves around the foot of the Katayaghan hills and passes by our house. We drove through the fields because — but I'll be asking Father as soon as we get home."

"Noel," she said.

"Yes, Maria."

"I am afraid. He may not like me."

"Does that worry you still, Maria?" my brother Leon said.

"From the way you talk, he might be an ogre, for all the world. Except when his leg that was wounded in the Revolution is troubling him, Father is the mildest tempered, gentlest man I know."

We came to the house of lacay Julian and I spoke to Labang loudly, but Moning did not come to the window, so I surmised she must be eating with the rest of her family. And I thought of the food being made ready at home and my mouth watered.

We met the twins, Urong and Celin, and I said "Hoy!" calling them by name. And they shouted back and asked if my brother Leon and his wife were with me. And my brother Leon shouted to them and then told me to make Labang run; their answers were lost in the noise of the wheels. I stopped Labang on the road before our house and would have gotten down but my brother Leon took the rope and told me to stay in the cart. He turned Labang into the open gate and we dashed into our yard. I thought we would crash into the camachile tree, but my brother Leon returned to Labang in time.

There was light downstairs in the kitchen, and Mother stood in the doorway, and I could see her smiling shyly. My brother Leon was helping Maria over the wheel. The first words that fell from his lips after he had kissed Mother's hand were: "Father... where is he?" "He is in his room upstairs," Mother said, her face becoming serious. "His leg is bothering him again." I did not hear anything more because I had to go back to the cart to unhitch Labang. But I hardly tied him under the barn when I heard Father calling me. I met my brother Leon going to bring up the trunks. As I passed through the kitchen, there were Mother and my sister Aurelia and Maria and it seemed to me they were crying, all of them.

There was no light in Father's room. There was no movement. He sat in the big armchair by the western window, and a star shone directly through it. He was smoking, but he removed the roll of tobacco from his mouth when he saw me. He laid it carefully on the windowsill before speaking. "Did you meet anybody on the way?" he asked. "No, Father," I said. "Nobody passes through the Waig at night." He reached for his roll of tobacco and hitched himself up in the chair. "She is very beautiful, Father." "Was she afraid of Labang?" My father had not raised his voice, but the room seemed to resonate with it. And again I saw her eyes on the long curving horns and the arm of my brother Leon around her shoulders.

"No, Father, she was not afraid."

"On the way — She looked at the stars, Father. And Manong Leon sang."

"What did he sing?"

"Sky Sown with Stars... She sang with him."

He was silent again. I could hear the low voices of Mother and my sister Aurelia downstairs. There was also the voice of my brother Leon, and I thought that Father's voice must have been like it when Father was young. He had laid the roll of tobacco on the windowsill once more. I watched the smoke waver faintly upward from the lighted end and vanish slowly into the night outside. The door opened and my brother Leon and Maria came in. "Have you watered Labang?" Father spoke to me. I told him that Labang was still resting still under the barn. "It is time you watered him, my son," my father said. I looked at Maria and she was lovely. She was tall. Beside my brother Leon, she was tall and very still. Then I went out, and in the darkened hall the fragrance of her was like a morning when papayas are in bloom.

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[rivalsofnycupdates]

“Only in the darkness can you see the stars.”

■ ABOUT. ■

name: Charlotte “Charlie” Marshall age: thirty-two occupation: car thief gender: cis-female pronouns: she/her sexuality: utp

■ HISTORY. ■

Charlotte Marshall had a somewhat happy childhood, growing up as one of four children she was born into a tight-knit Texas proud family. Her father was a Sargent in the Police Department and her mother a practicing nurse, they were of simple means but did what they could to ensure their children had the best childhood possible. More often than not they would spend weekends away, travelling the countryside camping and exploring the great outdoors. John Marshall had a profound love of the outdoors and was a strong believer in being prepared for any situation given teaching them from a young age to hunt, fish and gather what they could to survive in the wilderness. Growing up with three brothers Charlie learnt very quickly how to hold her own. The three were almost inseparable until the eldest went his own way, heading off to join the army. He wrote for a time, and things were good until the letters stopped coming followed by a uniformed man turning up on their doorstep some weeks later. Charlie hadn’t been privy to the details, but she knew by her mother's sudden wailing that her brother wouldn’t return. That was the beginning of the end for their mother, she became anxious, withdrawn and spent more time at work than she did home. All the while the Marshalls went on with their lives, all grieving in their own way as they attempt to put the pieces back together; none the wiser that their mother had fallen into an endless pit of darkness, drugs and depression. It wasn’t until their father had found her supposed stockpile from work that things finally came to a head, Charlie finally saw her mother for the lost person she had become and it broke her heart. She had needed their help for so long and they had been completely oblivious to the fact. For a while things were looking up, their mother seemed happier. Whether she was or whether it was just a facade would never be known. Because one evening she would go to sleep and never wake. Suicide they said, but the better half of Charlie knew it was partially from a broken heart.

In truth, she knew from experience because after news broke of the eldest Marshall being killed in action, her own personality changed. She became withdrawn and cold, completely different from the outgoing, vivacious young woman she had been previously. She pushed away from her entire friend circle and started hanging with the wrong crowd that was made up of local thieves, drug dealers and gang prospects. All too soon she was robbing corner stores and stealing cars, doing whatever she could to prove herself worthy. It wasn’t until her mother's death that she realized just how stupid she had been, toying with her future like it was something she was prepared to lose.  Charlie needed a purpose, to belong to something that wasn’t going to break as her family had. The police department, became that place for her, a new family. She had found her purpose following in her father’s footsteps and for once could say she had found her happiness. The first few years fresh out of the academy flew by, and Charlie threw herself at every possible challenge she could to ensure she became one of the very best of her intake within the Texas PD. It wasn’t hard for the outgoing, determined blonde that took no prisoners. And six years in she was passing her exams before being accepted into the intelligence unit. Charlie was on top of the world, working her dream job with a partner she trusted and respected. Her life was perfect, a little too perfect because little did she know it was about to go south very fast.

Her partner, Adam O’Sullivan was a man that had a great deal more of experience as a detective than Charlie did, which she had no problem with, in fact, she took it as an opportunity to soak up as much knowledge as she could from him. However, what he had failed to mention was his hidden agenda. Vengeance for his sister's death at the hands of the local gang, Quantum of Devils. Her partner had sourced one of his informants to infiltrate the gang by attempting to become a prospect, actions of which she and the rest of the intelligence department had been completely oblivious too. And when the informant's messy actions gave them away, it wasn’t long before it all unravelled around Adam. The pair had been on their way to a crime scene when they were caught in a car crash and dragged from the wreck before being taken to an abandoned building. It was there that they were beaten and tortured for what information they had. Her partner was sequentially murdered when he accepted full responsibility for his informant's actions. It was but all he could have done to ensure one of the pair got out alive. Charlie was beaten within an inch of her life and dumped on the steps of the hospital to send a message to the Texas PD. A message that said you stay out of our way, and we’ll stay out of yours. They stood no chance. From that day on Charlie was a different woman, she blamed herself for not having been able to do something, anything to save the life of the man that had had her back since she’d been accepted into the intelligence team. It took years for her to recover mentally from the ordeal, but she went on nonetheless. Charlie Marshall was a survivor through and through. Counselling helped and when she was partnered up with a new detective, she knew it would take a long while to build back the trust that had been so viciously ripped from her fingertips. Over time Charlie becomes comfortable with her partner, happy even — until he disappeared. Pulled into a new task force out of state, or so that was all she was told. So she went on, doing what she did best, solving cases and bringing justice to those that broke the law.

■ WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON? ■

That was until a name landed in her lap, Isaac Abrigo. The name of the man who had ordered to brutally beat her and kill her first partner. It was all that was needed to change surroundings where she has absolutely no friends or family. At the time, all she wanted to do was create a distance between her and the police force. Though she wasn’t that lucky. Someone from her graduating year reached out to her with a new position on a specific gang-related task force. At first, she’d declined the offer, though a part of her wanted to be able to prevent other people from going what she went through. With that mindset, she took the position, thinking she would actually be able to do some good. Though she was wrong. This task force leader was out for blood and used gang culture against a man who was completely innocent. This man’s name was Evan Alcott, he’d been brought in on a ridiculous charge, and her captain made it seem as though he’d worked with the police, which she knew very well was asking for a death sentence. Charlie was disgusted. She was in the other room, taking care of his two children while this man and his wife were being made to look unloyal. Charlie did what she could, she tried arguing with her captain, pleading that this plan wouldn’t do any good. It only put their lives in danger, and she was right. Soon after the family was released, they were called to a scene that was meant to look like a drive-by. Though she knew it wasn’t. She knew this was a consequence for a situation her team had put him in.

■ KEEP THIS AWAY FROM YOUR ENEMIES. ■

After the accident, Charlie finally quit the police force and move in a different direction. For six long months, Charlie worked her ass off and fought tooth and nail to prove herself to Evan Alcott and the Royal superiors. She had a skill, that in conjunction with the fact she knew all too well how to avoid the NYPD meant she was quick to become an asset and a friend to Evan Alcott and his team. Any job thrown her way she got done, no matter the level of difficulty or obstacles in her way. However, that was all about to change when she was thrown into a job last minute. She had been assured it would be an easy steal, that the car was going into the shop for a servicing and belonged to one of New York’s many socialites. What she didn’t know however was that the man had left one of his security teams with the vehicle and after engaging in a fight that nearly ended in her death, the man was shot and killed. A regret that has weighed heavily on her conscience ever since.

■ CONNECTIONS. ■

Vanessa Meza: From the moment they first met at the Ace of Clubs Vanessa made Charlie feel at home, as someone that rarely let her hair down, the doctor had a knack for pushing the blonde to actually forget about her work and have fun.

Polly Alcott: Polly is someone Charlie harbours deep respect for. From the way the woman carries herself to the way she looks out for her family, it’s enough to remind Charlie of her mother before she passed. Polly has been nothing but kind and accommodating to her since she joined the Royals.

Peter Darden: Growing up as neighbors in small town Texas, it was inevitable that the pair would become friends. With just a few years between them they remained the best of friends throughout high school and even into their adult life. When Peter moved to NY and Charlie remained at the police academy in their home state they tried to keep in touch for as long as they could.

Isaac Abrigo: Hearing that the Devils had touched ground in New York sparked something in her. With the Royals having her back, her need to dive back into the past to bring the man to justice was greater than anything else. Despite knowing he was ordered to beat her, she still wanted to make him pay for the death he’d taken far too soon.

■ RELATIONSHIPS. ■

■ Travis Patterson > Favorite bartender

■  Jack Mercer > Ex detective partner

■  May Barrish > Sparring partner

■  Evan Alcott > Boss

Charlotte Marshall is an OPEN character and is portrayed by Tracy Spiridakos who’s FC IS SEMI-NEGOTIABLE.

[ruccadupre]

Scales and Tails 1/?

(With @liliumatramentum)

It had been eight years…eight long years since Rucca lost Savant to raiders in Sharlayan. Being a Warrior of Light did not mean you were invincible, after all. He had died protecting her and their daughter when raiders came during the great Sharlayan exodus. She couldn’t remember much after that; everything was a blur, darkness. Did she go on a rampage? Did raiders kidnap her? She could no longer tell. Her only memory after Savant’s death was the fact that she found herself on a cart traveling to Ul'dah donning the native dress of her people. It was as if she had a fresh start, but according to the Scions, Rucca was already a well-established warrior who needed a refresher course in the combative arts. So she did.

Despite having taken eight years to recollect, Rucca slowly found herself again, even without having her late husband by her side. She was able to recover the Chateau de Dupre, her family’s manor. Along with it she reunited with her long-time retainer, Hayato, whom had grown into a full-fledged monk in her absence and kept their home in order. Everyone else was long gone, her sister and the rest of their mafia family had all gone their separate ways without a trace, but Hayato stayed. Her loyal retainer, his azure locks cut and swept into a mess of spikes that shielded the right half his face, a scar across his nose from having to fight tooth and nail for her honor…he’d changed and matured. Hayato assisted her in many ways upon her return, whether it was refocusing her chakras, upkeep of the manor, amongst other personal needs. Whatever she needed, whenever she screamed at night from disastrous memories that Rucca didn’t even know she experienced, he was by her side. She couldn’t have asked for a better friend.

During her recovery, memories still not quite intact but skills very much without flaws, Rucca resumed her work alongside the Scions again in protecting the realm as the Warrior of Light. Hayato sparred with her at home when she wasn’t out in the field, and even a chiseled Hyur such as him couldn’t hold a candle to one of her punches. Her crimson tail twitched excitedly as Hayato shakily pulled himself back up onto his feet after a charged punch to the gut had sent him flying across the front yard of the manor. “Oh Hayato,” Rucca grinned, snapping her fangs as she did so. “After eight years and you still haven’t learned to guard? My silly boy!” Her ears perked and her eyes sparkled as Hayato readjusted his punching gloves and fell back into his fighting stance, and thus she did the same in response.

“My lady, if I may, your punches still hurt like a bitch,” he winked. Rucca smirked as she focused her levels of chakra to charge another punch. Her eyes glinted as Hayato mirrored her technique, his muscles rippling as his fists curled and tightened as a burning light enveloped him. “Good boy,” she chuckled under her breath. As he continued to prepare his punch, Rucca struck first. She charged after him, sprinting towards Hayato’s crouched stance with her fist ready to spring. Hayato’s eyes widened at the speed with which she closed the immense gap between them, and as Rucca’s gloved knuckles were about to collide with his cheek—

A ringing in her ear caused her to falter and she saw darkness and blinking stars. Cracks echoed in her mind as a searing pain rushed throughout her head in a matter of secods. Between the spotted shadows and blurry vision, she saw glimpses of the sky. Faintly, she could hear Hayato’s frantic voice in the distance shout, “Oh hells! My lady!” The echoes of stumbled footsteps and mutters of “oh shit oh shit” grew louder and she winced as every sort of sound collided with her skull and she forever cursed the Twelve for blessing her with such painful shame.

In her ear came the voice that caused her loss of focus. “Hello, Rucca?” said the stern female voice. “It’s Minfillia. Can you come to Limsa Lominsa and meet with the Admiral, please?” Of course, Minfillia always knew when to contact her through linkpearl, her timing was always perfect. “I’ll see you here shortly. Don’t be late! It’s urgent!”

Her ears went limp from pain as the communication ended. Rucca didn’t even get a word in before the line was disconnected. The pain increased tenfold as she felt herself being lifted off the grass, her head throbbing with immense pain as she struggled in and out of consciousness. "I am so sorry, my lady!” came Hayato’s panicked voice as he cradled her in his arms. He had informed her that when his punch connected with her face, her body had gone flying and the back of her head had collided with the stone gate that led to their garden lounge before she was grounded. She was also surprised to find that after the adrenaline had worn off, she was actually bleeding. Hayato had definitely improved. "I didn’t think I hit you that hard I am so sorry oh hells please forgive me—”

“Hayato, darling, you’re fine." Rucca struggled to get her words out, but with a smile, she managed. "Your hits have gotten stronger, as they should. Now, be a good boy and book us a room at the Mizzenmast.”

“Umm, us…?”

“I can’t function alone right now, so you, my dear, will have to deal with your shame of injuring me and carry me to the airship and all the way to the Admiral’s quarters. Afterwards, you will carry me to our room, order me a sandwich from the Bismarck, and take excellent care of me. You owe me big time, darling boy." Rucca grinned wickedly and winked. Hayato gulped and nodded nervously, knowing full well what desires his master required of him.

—THE NEXT DAY—

Rucca stood at the edge of the dock at Moraby Bay, staring out into the horizon as she waited for the others to join her. The sea seemed calm now, but as the sun set, the waves would be raging and rolling angrily as the Lord of the Whorl rose to lay vengeance against man. She was called to arms against Leviathan, a primal she knew she had beaten once before alongside her sister and Savant. Her sister, a Miqo'te Bard eight years her junior by the name of Crizarde, was excited to face the primal she had wished to see since she was a kit (she had an obsession with the ocean, you see), and becoming a Warrior of Light with her family gave her the opportunity to fight one of her two primal idols. She chuckled as the memory flooded back to her in fragments she managed to piece together—she faintly recalled yelling at the two to run away from high-rising geysers, only to watch both Miqo'te miss their footing and slide right off the boat as Leviathan slammed his serpentine body onto the deck and tilted the ship. Luckily, both knew how to swim, but still they struggled to re-board the deck and were forced to face a very disgruntled Rucca, who had been left by herself to attack the beast alone.

Faint footsteps pulled her out of her memories as they drew closer behind her. Her hands instinctively hovered over her cesti as she turned around swiftly to see the approaching figures. Some Maelstrom officers, Thancred, and a fiery-haired Au Ra stopped within a few feet of her, Thancred of course feeling no risk and walked right up to Rucca. She couldn’t admit that having Thancred around eased her erratic heart just a bit, and the scratch he gave her behind the ears—she tried very hard to hide it—but it made her feel…well, things best left unsaid in polite company, as it were. It was a highly sensual feeling, yes, but as a seasoned Warrior of Light, she had learned to keep a stoic poker face that would rival even that of Merlwyb’s own hardened gaze. She did admit that the chaste kisses the Hyur seldom stole were surprisingly welcome, however, but she never allowed it to be more than that. For Savant's sake.

“My dear,” came Thancred’s smooth voice as his fingers slowly slid away from her right ear and lightly grazed her cheek. Damn him. “I know the Dupres aren’t here to fight alongside you anymore, but we have found a suitable free company willing to aid the cause. I’ve already confirmed that they are of high caliber to assist you should you need it. This lovely creature,” he motioned to the Au Ra maiden with such gusto, “is Ambrosia Vallas. She has agreed to help push back the recurring threat that is the Lord of the Whorl. Also, interestingly enough,” he returned his gaze to Rucca’s own, eyes glinting, “she has expert skill with the spear.” His voice softened as he leaned in to whisper into her ear, his warm breath tickling the whiskers that alerted his presence and very nearly sent her over the edge.

“I know it’s hard, darling, having another polearm user that’s not Savant by your side against this beast, but as you too have the skills of the Dragoon as dear Ser Savant, maybe you can show her a thing or two. Leviathan is but a mere pushover compared to you. Give him hell, love.”

Damn her stony gaze. The tears threatened to spill at the memory of Savant, but she held her ground. Savant would not want her to show weakness when it wasn't needed. Rucca’s tail swished warily as she slowly turned her attention to the Au Ra, Ambrosia. Curiously, she took a few steps forward, keeping a safe distance between the two of them. Her eyes never left Ambrosia's figure, carefully taking notes for her final judgment of a possible ally. After a few moments of examining her—she had good frame, her legs looked powerful enough to swim against a raging current, she had a look that didn’t falter, good—Rucca held out her tattooed arm in greeting and curled her lip into a wide smirk. “Hey there, I’m Rucca Dupre, the Warrior of Light. Ambrosia, would you like to join me as a Warrior of Light too? I see great potential in you.”

[dressbank75-blog]

Signs of Growth, Cohesion Cause for Encouragement

To lose to a quality opponent at home, with just seconds to play in the game, right after a dramatic go-ahead sequence sends a full-throated sold-out crowd into a frenzy is no easy pill to swallow.

From this truth the 76ers did not run Saturday, following a narrow 117-115 loss to the Oklahoma City Thunder.

But the tone Brett Brown went on to strike in the immediate aftermath of the game stood out, and jogged memories of a similar situation from the past.

First, Brown’s comments:

“I’m proud of the way we’re playing. I’m proud of our cohesion.”

This quote was from Brown’s post-game press conference, and came in response to a question about the range of emotions he felt during the last 25 seconds of regulation. To quickly recap what happened:

• Russell Westbrook fouled Joel Embiid on a 3-point attempt, giving Westbrook his sixth foul, and resulting in his disqualification from the game.

• Embiid proceeded to even the score on free throws, 113-113, with 14.9 seconds to play.

• On Oklahoma City’s inbounds play, the Sixers trapped Dennis Schroder on the sideline, which set up Jimmy Butler to steal Schroder’s crosscourt pass at the timeline.

• Butler bolted the other way for a tie-breaking lay-up, 115-113, with 6.9 seconds to go.

• Butler then fouled Paul George on a 3-point attempt on the Thunder’s ensuing possession. The successful four-point play with 5.1 seconds left decided the game.

The twisting, turning chain of events wasn’t for the faint of heart.

“At the moment, it’s a tough loss,” Brown said about 15 minutes after the final buzzer cruelly sounded.  

“We had it,” said Embiid, who, with 31 points, matched George for game-high scoring honors (Embiid also recorded eight rebounds and six assists to finish with a plus-15 rating).

While disappointment may have been fresh on the tongues of Brown and some of his players, it would be a mistake to confuse those feelings for discouragement. There was none to be found.

Leave it to Brown to once again advance the story in an uplifting manner:

“I think there’s a spirit amongst our group that, at times previously, we didn’t have. As long as we hold onto that, we can do wonderful things.”

The stinging way the Sixers lost Saturday to Oklahoma City, and how Brown subsequently framed the outcome in a positive, forward-looking fashion brought to mind the 2017-18 season-opener against Washington.

Then entirely unproven, the Sixers managed to claw within a possession of the Wizards with a minute to play, doing so on the road, no less. Washington would prevail, but Brown was mostly focused on the big picture.

“I’m proud of them,” he said that night about the young Sixers, noting they fought tooth and nail against a Wizards squad that, just a few months earlier, had pushed the Boston Celtics to the brink in the Eastern Conference Semifinals.  “To come into [Capital One Arena], and play a team like that...on opening night, that’s a good reason to be happy with a lot of what we saw.”

Of course, Brown knew that with 81 games remaining, there was more for the Sixers to do. On that particular evening, though, he had an auspicious hunch about the long-term prospects of his group, and it turned out to be spot on.

The Sixers would ultimately gel, find their way, and go on to enjoy a spectacular season.

To bring things full circle, some of the themes that Brown alluded to Saturday were awfully similar to ones he expressed on opening night 2017 (at least to these ears they were).

Would Brown have rather beaten Oklahoma City than lost? You bet.

But even in defeat, Brown, like he’s done many times before during his six-year tenure, again found cause for optimism.

“All that matters to me is growing a team, it’s not anything else right now than that,” he said. “I see daylight. I feel daylight. Navigating through this part of the season, we’re good to go. We feel like we’re getting on track to put our own thumb print on who we are, how we play, how we interact.”

It’s a message that already appears to be resonating. Take it from one of Brown's key players.

“I think everybody’s heads are still high,” said Butler. “We learned. Obviously, nobody wants to lose, but I think that’s a really good team [Oklahoma City] that came in here, and played some really good basketball.”

So too did the Sixers. At this stage of their development, they just came up a few good possessions short.

Source: https://www.nba.com/sixers/news/signs-growth-cohesion-cause-encouragement

[always-bleh]

Let me walk...

Watching someone walk away hurts like hell. You might feel like they are abandoning you… that’s not always the case. I’ve recently had to walk away from someone. She is still my best friend even now. We started something we tried to be together. Nothing wrong there… but she cheated on me. I’ve caught her in multiple lies I’ve asked some questions more than once… and she forgets the answers she’s told me before… now she’s told me she was already talking to another man in the past… the past where she forgot we were still together. She got the stories mixed up. She might not see it as her cheating she might even have lied to protect me… instead it just made things so much worse for me. It’s funny she said this would happen things would go bad because we were best friends… even though I still call her a best friend… I can no longer see her as one with my eyes. Over and over she said it would happen. The funny part is I told her if you want it to stop you need to sit and talk with me not just let it fade… she didn’t do the talk. Instead she went with her plan I couldn’t tell you why, my best guess was to protect me… protection I told her I don’t want. It took me over a year to get this girl to want to try. Over that time she knew about me and I watched time and time again her choose someone else over me. She came to me with problems between her and who she was with. It tore me apart from the inside out to help her. She had come back to me beaten and broken going through a divorce. I stood by her as always. I helped her get back to her feet. Even when all these guys came I still stood by her and helped her with the problems issues and conflicts between them. I had to drive the woman who came to me for help with other guys, the woman who I had come to love home to another man not once not twice but three times. It killed me every time but the third time… that was the last time. When she finally chose me I thought we could give it an honest go. But… I was wrong. I saw how she started with the man she is with now. The subtle changes. I knew and saw it coming. I wanted to believe she would finally for once… choose me. I would not beg and I would not change to keep her… if she wasn’t going to choose me now in this way… she would never choose to pick me first before anyone. I wanted to test and see her loyalty come into things… The harsh painfully terrifying truth is when it came to choose… after everything we had been through together… after she knew full well my feelings for her… she decided to betray me… go behind my back and talk to another man… she chose to be with someone else… We had talked about moving out together… she had told me she had decided to move out with her girl. That was accepted by me hurt but accepted. Later it came to my knowledge she planned to move in with him from the beginning. It came straight from her mouth. She told me it was in December that she told me… She was wrong… In the middle of January is when she told me… I know this for a fact because we fought and argued about why I heard another man over the phone with her on New Years Eve going on New Years… we fought and she swore he didn’t live with her and was just dropping something off… now she says she told me in December she would be with him? So why did we fight? Why was I fighting and running around like a fool to save our relationship? Why did her story change? Why did she lie?…. just… why? I felt like garbage after that fight and tried everything to apologize… she screamed she wanted to be alone and not with anyone because of these kind of arguments… Now I find out that after all those things she said after fighting so hard to save us… she had already dropped me… and had left me for someone else… I’ve seen this woman fight tooth and nail for piece of shit guys… but when it came to fight for me and her… she didn’t even bother to put one up for me. I feel like I’m just not worth the fight to her… like I’m not a person worth fighting for… I’m so tired… I can’t do this anymore… I can’t fight anymore… I don’t have the strength to keep going on like this anymore… She’s told me she never wanted this that it would be a mistake… I don’t believe it was a mistake to try… I believe the choices she made… were just wrong… She doesn’t understand why I need to walk away… She is toxic to me now… everything she talked about having with me… she decided to give to someone else… and expects me to just watch and be okay… I will never be okay with watching my worst nightmare come to life… I refuse to watch the woman who talked about having a family with me… make a family with someone else… The moral of the story is this. Sometimes a person isn’t walking away to hurt you. But, because you hurt them. I’ve been pushed too far… there is no coming back from this for me not this time… this third time was my last time. It might kill you to watch someone walk away. You might want scream for them not to… do them a favor… don’t… as hard as it is for you… it’s harder for them especially when all they want to do is run right back to you no matter what you’ve done to hurt them. I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to walk away or this cycle will never end for me… I have left so much with this woman… the second anything happens I know I would run back… I can’t do that to myself. I’m not just walking away… I’m burning every bridge we’ve ever made one by one and tying up loose ends. The shitty part about all the pain and things she’s done to me. Someday I will forgive her… hell I think I already have part of me anyway. The worst part is… no matter what I still love her… But I need to love myself enough to let go… and find the love meant for me… I’ve been angry and hurt by her true enough. But I do love her and I wish her the best and I hope she’s found or will find whatever love is meant for her…