#i had like one instance of saying it and my dad saying it meant strange and that it was mean or something like that

[samgirl98]

Mending a Family 52/?

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The next chapter has them going back home. Anyway, enjoy.

Jason gave Danny and Jazz some space while they said goodbye to their friends. It turned out that while it had been over a year since Danny and Jazz had been away from their dimension, it had only been two days for Tucker and Sam.

Danny had caught up with his friends and had introduced Jason as his dad. Even after all that time, it still warmed Jason’s heart to be considered Danny’s father. Bruce had been strangely quiet the whole time.

Jason was prepared to protect Jazz from Bruce’s ‘every life is precious’ speech, but the man had bitten his tongue, for which Jason was grateful. Jazz did it out of self-defense, but Jack had still been her father. As much as she preached about the benefits of talking about one’s feelings, she kept hers close to her heart like the hypocrite she was.

Watching how happy and animated Danny and Jazz were while talking to Sam and Tucker, Jason suddenly felt a sinking feeling hit the bottom of his stomach. What if Jazz and Danny decided to stay in their home dimension? After all, the Fentons, the main threat to them, were gone. This was their place of birth. They were bound to have other family and friends here. Jazz was eighteen, and they wouldn’t need to forge papers…No, Jason would stay in this dimension if it meant being with his son. He couldn’t, wouldn’t lose him.

“You have a good family,” Bruce said suddenly, stopping Jason’s spiral.

“Are you sure you’re not going to bring up your antiquated moral code right now,” Jason couldn’t help but ask. He had to know if he had to protect Jazz. She would be vulnerable right now, and the last thing she needed was the big bad Bat criticizing her for defending Danny and herself.

“I don’t like the fact that two lives were lost, but I can also recognize that, well, having me bring it up isn’t going to help her, and it won’t bring them back. So no, I won’t say anything about it and keep my thoughts to myself.”

Jason blinked at Bruce, surprised.

“Would you have said the same thing if I had killed them?”

Why would Jason be stupid enough to bring that up when he didn’t have to? Oh, it’s because he was dumb enough to care what Bruce thought.

Bruce and Jason looked up when a light flashed. The girl, Sam, was taking Polaroid pictures. Another flash went off and Bruce still hadn’t answered.

“Jason, I don’t want to lose you again. I don’t like the killing that happened here, but I can keep quiet about it in some instances. Right now, for example. Do I still believe there could’ve been another way? Yes, I do, but I won’t say anything to her about it. I still would’ve kept my mouth shut if it had been you.”

Sam gave Danny one of the photos they had just taken. Danny thanked her and hugged his two friends before walking toward Jason. He ignored Bruce completely.

“Dad, come meet my friends before we leave.”

Jason’s beating heart slowed down at his son’s words. They were still going home with them, and that’s all that mattered. For a second, he wondered if Bruce would feel the same way if Jason were to tell him that he could see them again.

Well, that’s a problem for him in the future.

____

‘Mourn them if you have to, but don’t regret saving your family and yourself.’

Talia’s words echoed in Jazz’s mind as she drank her water. She had left everyone behind and was alone in the kitchen. Jazz could still hear the ‘thunk’ as the dagger hit Jack’s forehead. She had killed someone, not just someone but her father. But she had to! If she didn’t, they would’ve hurt Danny. She had no other choice!

“Breathe, Jazz,” a deep voice said. She turned with a knife she got in her hands.

Nightwing put his hands up in surrender.

“Hey, it’s just me. You need to take deep breaths, or you might faint.”

It wasn’t until Nightwing mentioned it that Jazz noticed she was hyperventilating. She already felt lightheaded.

“Five things you see: go.”

Jazz had to concentrate, but she eventually understood what Nightwing asked her.

“Um, blue bird on your chest. Batman frowning in the corner, Jason’s red hair. The table and, um, she looked around, the Fenton ray gun.”

“Good, good,” Nightwing said softly, “How about four things you feel?”

“The countertop, the tears down my face, um, I don’t—I can’t think. Um.”

“Take your time, Jazz,” Jason said. He was giving her some space.

Jazz took a deep breath and let it out. Then she started hiccupping.

“I’m sorry, it’s just. Ancients, I killed my dad. I know it was to protect Danny, but I killed him.”

She started sobbing and went to her knees.

Nightwing bent down to Jazz’s level.

“What can we do for you, Jazz?”

Jazz shook her head, “I just have to, I have to come to terms. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Can you please make sure Danny doesn’t see me like this?”

Jason approached Jazz and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he stays with his friends. Unless you want me here.”

“No, go with Danny. I’ll be there as soon as I compose myself.”

Jason looked conflicted, but eventually, he left. Jazz was left alone with Batman and Nightwing. Somehow, having the two heroes watch as she broke down wasn’t as bad as she thought.

It still sucked.

“I’m sorry. I just killed a man, and I’m acting like the victim. That must irk you.”

Nightwing and Batman looked at each other.

“The fact that you’re regretting tells us a lot, trust me.”

Talia’s words suddenly came back to her.

“I don’t regret it, though. It was to save Danny; if I had to choose, I would do it again. I wish it hadn’t ended like this. Why couldn’t they just have accepted us? We were their children?”

Jazz broke down again. This time, Nightwing and Batman let her cry.

[marshmallowprotection]

I've been questioning this for a long time...

When Suit Saeran is talking, so to speak, to V in the garden on the 9th, Suit angrily tells him that he had abandoned him to which V replies that it was Saeran who abandoned him. I think V says something like this "It was you who abandoned me" I don't know, it just makes me cringe every time I read this sentence, but I just can't explain to myself why V would say something like that?

Okay a lot of things happened, mistakes and misunderstandings but isn't it so blatant of V to say that to Saeran? (V knew that Rika had taken Saeran and did nothing to go after him during all that time).

Is there something I'm not seeing, is there a reason behind those words, what does V mean when he points to Saeran as the one who abandoned him? I'm going on the side that it's a script error or something unless if there is an explanation. I don't get it, sorry haha.

To preface this, I don't think you should take anything you read when it comes to specific lore like this in the literal sense. They are known to change things after the fact in this game and the rest of us have to work to piece it together to make sense of it. The story of how Saeran was brought to Mint Eye changes depending on where you are in the game.

In the diary, Saeran is kidnapped by some of Rika's guards on the street and brought to Mint Eye on his way home from the Cathedral. He's tortured countless ways in Mint Eye until the pain becomes too much to handle and Ray awakes in response.

[Check out Saeran's Diary in this post.]

That is the canon we are supposed to follow in this situation, ignoring anything that might have been shared in the casual and deep routes up until this point. Because, there are bits and pieces in those other routes imply that he might have gone along with Rika willingly, that he might’ve been the one to kill his mother instead of Rika, and that he might’ve had more time with Rika and V than what we see shown.

I have my own thoughts on those theories, but I digress. In the diary, when he gets kidnapped, he mentions two specific instances that're meant to correlate to this. Before he’s kidnapped, he finds Rika in the church, taking his photo off the wall of children that are members of the church. Whatever conversation he has with her is definitely off but he tries not to think much of it.

It's not long after that that he's followed home by a strange group of people, and he thinks it's his father coming after him, only to realize that those people don't work for his dad in the midst of the isolation he's put in at Mint Eye before he's brought to Rika in the basement. 

It's further developed in the After Ending by building on what's in the diary. Saeran spent most of his time at the church when not trapped at home with his mother. He didn't have a lot of one-on-one based interaction with most of the adults at the church, and what little time he did have with them, it wasn't spent fostering any sort of familial relationship. He says himself that he doesn't really view Rika or V as parents. I’d argue that Saeyoung does / did, but that’s not the case for Saeran. 

So, I do believe it's possible that if we follow this line of thinking that is given to us from the diary and the game, V was meant to meet with Saeran some time after Rika had him kidnapped and he didn’t show up. 

My problem with this specific set of information is that we are missing a lot of crucial details to round out this situation. Mother Choi was killed by Rika in self-defense, Jihyun was there with her and they had to “take care of it”.

Saeran wasn’t home during this altercation, obviously, but my main question is: where in the world was he staying if he wasn’t living with Rika and V? Rika and V talked Mother Choi into letting him attend the cathedral classes. I can only imagine that the church was letting him stay there overnight now and again.

That is the only thing that makes sense to me at this point in time with what information that's been given to me. It's the only thing that makes sense with the information they've given us, but there are a lot of holes in this because Cheritz is not that good at communicating between writing teams as these things are created as there are a lot of plot holes that pop up that shouldn’t be there.

I will admit they did a lot to make it cohesive, but there are a few holes here and there that haunt me to this day. This would explain why when Saeran tried to run home and found police tape at the scene, Jihyun had all the reason to pull him away from the crime scene and cover everything up. Saeran might’ve wanted to see his mother after staying at the church, and V couldn’t say no, so that’s how that happened. 

But, my main problem with him being kidnapped stems from the fact that he was trying to leave the cathedral and go home that day those believers got him, a home that should've been impossible for him to go to because his mother was no longer there and the police would have been scouring the area for him. Certainly they would not have allowed him to continue staying in that house given what happened there. 

Rika and V were at odds after Mother Choi's death as well. That was Rika's breaking point, her point of no return as seeing herself as the devil who cannot be saved, so at least, that explains why Rika and V had no communication between them which led to Saeran being all by himself in this situation to get kidnapped to begin with. I wonder sometimes if V assumed Rika would keep her promise and still look after Saeran while he was away, likely hunting for information to do what he could to ruin Saejoong Choi's career, and that's why he was the one who said: "Saeran, you left me."

I don't think V knew it was Rika who took Saeran at first, but it would not take much for him to start putting the pieces together given what we know.

He had to spend a lot of time figuring out where she was, where she took him, and what she was doing in the mountains. There is so much information we are not given in this game about Rika and V at the end of their relationship and the start of Mint Eye. There is so much there that could help us create a more cohesive understanding of this situation, and while I will admit that Rika Behind fills in a lot of these holes, I’m left wondering more and more every day with what I wasn’t told. 

I don't think that was the best choice of words, even if he pieced together the truth of the situation there was no reason to say that Saeran left him, but V is not one to use the best language even when he's trying his best to help. I mean, after all, he definitely didn't make himself look good at the beginning of Ray Route.

He kept pushing for Ray to listen to him, begging and pleading in a way that certainly made him, and the RFA by extension, look bad. In universe, at that moment, even if you have doubts about Mint Eye's goals and the truth behind the RFA, you see something that would make anyone doubtful.

Who would you believe in that situation? Ray lied to you about Mint Eye and the RFA, but he also warned you that V and Seven were horrible, horrible people. You might be rightfully upset with him, but when V shows up and Ray has a panic attack, what does that look like? What do you think about someone who has a presence that sends somebody into a downward spiral?

You don't have enough time to process all of what V’s saying, you just see Ray huddled over in pain. This isn't the last time his language isn't the best in his attempt to save Ray and Saeran. But, the true intent is there, it's just his execution and dialogue that end up being messy. V is a character who can be best described as the path paved to hell is made with good intentions. 

That being said, I wish I could give you an exact answer, but unfortunately, I can't give you an answer when even I don't have the slightest idea how to frame this situation outside of what I've told you here. This is one of those things where you're just going to have to draw your own conclusion or rip your hair out. 

[watching-constellations]

I just want to add on here. I grew up with parrots. Lots of parrots. Like, multiple meticulously maintained outdoor aviaries and also birds inside levels of parrots. LOTS of parrots. My dad has SEVERE misophonia and can't stand most even slightly repetitive sounds, but he also loves birds. His solution was to only keep species that made noises he found tolerable enough, and he steered clear of more demanding and shrill species. That meant we ended up keeping birds like linnies, parrotlets, red rumps, and kakarikis instead of conures, quakers, and ringnecks. Parrots aren't easy pets, and I don't really recommend them as a whole because people don't often understand the specialized care they require, but some species are so much more manageable than others. There's a huge difference between keeping a sun conure happy and keeping a kakariki happy. The enrichment is different, the level of destructiveness is different, the activity level is different, the noise level is different, and the way the bird interacts with people is different. There are some species that can make appropriate and not overly difficult pets for the right person. For instance, I know I'd be totally fine keeping a kakariki or linnie. I would struggle a lot with a green cheek conure, and I would probably be tearing my hair out with a ringneck. Oftentimes, the most manageable species aren't actually the ones commonly kept as household pets. Sometimes they're so unusual that you really need to talk to hardcore bird guys (who are admittedly very strange people) to even figure out what they are.

My parents ended up making the bird thing work despite the fact that my mom has never been all that into them. My mom is a professional classical musician, so that means many hours of practicing per day, rehearsing with her trio, and teaching students in the home. Sometimes parrots join in and add to the noise, which is solidly ridiculous, but it seems to have worked out. She's had some pretty absurd zoom meeting experiences because of the birds, but at this point, it's more funny than anything. My dad dedicates most of his life to the birds, of course, but that's just because he's a crazy bird guy.

And there are options other than parrots that your wife might be happy with too. Pigeons and doves are awesome birds that will bond with their people without being quite as insane as a parrot. If you want birds that are more for looking at, I really suggest finches. Seriously. Finches are amazing. A cage full of finches is like having a wonderful feathery fish tank. Zebra finches are hardy, funny, and they come in cool colors. I miss keeping finches dearly, and I look forward to having them again in the future.

If your wife is dead set on getting a bird in the future, not all hope is lost. There are parrots out there that, with dedicated care and patience, you will not find impossible to live with. That said, don't allow any bird in before you're ready. Like you said, you know what can happen.

Tldr; I'm saying that if your wife eventually decides that birds are happening, even if she does insist on a parrot, you can do this in a way that makes sense for your household and is responsible. It does seem like you're on the right track, and it's good that you're putting this much thought into it. Keep doing that, but don't despair, and don't buy a problem before it's on sale.

my wife grew up with a cockatiel. i did not grow up with birds (cats family). my wife and i now have 2 cats a large dog and fish tanks even. i try not to mention birds to her but i did today (i heard a neighbor’s apartment emitting Bird Sounds recently) and she got sad. she really misses her bird and wants one again. i’m very against it for a variety of reasons. do you have any advice? i really don’t think it would be a good idea. the noise bothers me (she’s HoH so it isn’t quite as bad for her), i work from home a lot, she works outside the house, a lot of pet tasks fall to me, we have lots of animals already, the money, the long lifespan, the naughtiness and intelligence, the difficulty in keeping parrotids with sufficient enrichment so they don’t have issues to their health or behavior. i think logically she knows most of this (we’ve been to a parrot rescue / sanctuary / shelter thing. we know what happens). it worries me how much she wants a bird. i try suggesting that one day we could compromise and do a domesticated species like pigeons or chickens or quail.

I think you are on the right track! I wish I had better advice for you because I was (and am) very much in your shoes and my partner went out and bought a bird against my wishes. My birds are very lucky that, it turns out, I really like birds and find their needs interesting, he, on the other hand, ended up not actually liking living with parrots.

So it goes.

If you work from home say goodbye to phone calls unless you have a dedicated room across the house where the bird can be, you’ll need to get up early to prepare fresh or pre frozen food and fill foraging toys, and your lunch break will probably be spent with the bird. I probably spend about 3 hours a day on bird stuff and probably $150-$200 per month on food and toys all told.

The cats and dog will need to be put up if the bird is ever in communal spaces. That can be its own constant game of musical pets.

Truly a banty chicken or pigeon or quail would be a great option and all of those are a great reminder of how messy and demanding birds can be without involving an animal that will get deeply emotionally dependent on you for a long, long time.

I feel for her because I love my birds and they are extremely endearing animals but they are a LOT to live with in practice.

[felidthing]

i feel like too many people have this black and white stance on the word queer when in reality its a really complex situation because it is a slur. it really is and it doesnt help anything to claim it never was. but its also been a label people have used for a very long time. and its still used against us and its still used as an identity. like... its both. and you just gotta accept that and let people decide their own personal feelings towards the word.

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Confessions of an Imperial Concubine

Chapter Five: Rethink Your Theory

AO3 Author’s note/glossary/info one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven epilogue

All my work is 18+.

No matter what I say or what I do, I know how this will end, so I’m turning away now before we begin.- In This Moment, The Promise

Sera had a theory, and it wasn’t one she liked very much. There seemed to be an increasingly high possibility that the Emperor—or Paul, as he’d insisted she call him—was not who she had originally thought he was. Like most people, of course, Sera did not like to be incorrect. She found it rather difficult to swallow. In fact, in this particular instance, her theory, if correct, would change her entire worldview. 

There was a fair amount of evidence to support her theory, which, of course, made things all the more difficult for her. But still, she was trying to be logical about the situation.

As it turned out, Paul was… he was kind. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to show some malicious intention or other, but no— he was just kind. He was kind to the other women— even Marina, who kept prostrating herself at him (Sera had deduced that he was uninterested in Marina because she was only sixteen). He was kind to the servants, too. But perhaps most noteworthy was the fact that he interacted with his children, Violet and Sophie, frequently. Moreover, he seemed to genuinely enjoy it.

Sera did her very best to ignore the butterflies in her stomach when he smiled at her. When she couldn’t ignore them, she told herself it was nothing, it meant nothing. It was just a reaction to his beauty— beauty that, she reminded herself, he only had because of the tremendous privilege into which he’d been born.

She also ignored the strange, inexplicable pull she’d felt towards him since she had first looked into his eyes.

She and him had become… friends, in a way. Not terribly close friends, mind you, but friends. Sera had eventually admitted to herself, albeit begrudgingly, that she actually rather enjoyed his company. It was annoying, to say the least. Not nearly as annoying as the butterflies or the overwhelming feeling of you, you, you, of course, but it was annoying nonetheless. 

In the week since her return from Beakkal, she’d seen him for dinner every night, and he had occasionally wanted to see her outside of those dinners. On one such occasion, she’d been in the library for a few hours before returning to her room, only to discover that a messenger had been waiting for her there.

“Lady Seraphine,” the messenger addressed her, “the Emperor has requested your presence.”

Sera put down the book she’d brought with her from the library and went with the messenger.

“He’s in the nursery now,” the messenger informed her as they made their way there. The nursery was one of many rooms in the section of the palace that had been designated for the concubines and their children.

Sera wasn’t entirely sure what she’d been expecting to see when she stepped through the doors, but she had most certainly not been expecting to see the Emperor of the Known Universe chasing after his daughters on his hands and knees. Violet was running in fast circles around him, and Sophie wobbled after her as best she could. 

Suddenly, Violet skidded to a halt and pointed towards the door. “Look!” she exclaimed in her high-pitched voice. “It’s Sera!”

Paul looked up at her, and the smile he was wearing widened as he stood up.

Gah. She always forgot how ridiculously, offensively tall he was.

“H— how do you know my name?” Sera asked Violet. They’d only been introduced once, so she hadn’t thought the little girl would remember her that well.

“Dad talks about you all the time,” Violet informed her helpfully.

“Go find your mothers,” Paul told the girls, visibly uncomfortable as he waved his hands in the direction of the door.

He stared at Sera, not saying anything, and she stared back, her heartbeat thudding in her ears. 

Why was he looking at her like that? Moreover, why did she not want him to stop? His gaze left a strange tingling sensation in her stomach, and there was this odd feeling in her chest that was somehow both light and heavy, which made absolutely no sense. 

Upon realizing that she didn’t enjoy any of these feelings in the slightest, Sera promptly decided that such thoughts should be quashed whenever possible and ignored when it wasn’t possible.

It was at that moment, when he was smiling softly at her for no discernible reason, that Sera realized her feelings for him were probably bordering on romantic. She wasn’t entirely sure, of course, having only read about that sort of thing, but, well.

It didn’t matter. If her feelings were turning romantic, so be it. She’d already decided such thoughts were best left ignored.

Choosing that moment to interrupt her discovery of this unfortunate piece of information, Paul said, “I would like it very much if you would accompany me on a walk.”

Sera couldn’t recall saying yes, or what they talked about on the way to the gardens. In fact, she didn’t recall much of the journey at all, but it must’ve occurred because she soon found herself in the gardens.

Paul was even more beautiful when he was surrounded by flowers.

It was incredibly annoying.

She’d never get used to how different things were here to her old home; the gardens were fragrant, yes, but in a far more pleasant way than the streets of Beakkal. She herself smelled better, too. Sera wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

Still reeling from her recent emotional discovery, she stayed so lost in thought that she didn’t notice his staring for several minutes. 

When she finally did, however, she noticed that he had that tingle-inducing little smile on his face again, the one he usually looked at her with, and her annoyance about that was on par with her annoyance about his beauty. 

Desperate for something to break the silence, she blurted out, “Thank you for the house you gifted my family.”

His smile widened. “Your house is the first of many,” he told her. “I’m working on getting renovations done for all the families on Beakkal. The businesses and schools are next.”

She blinked at him in astonishment. 

“I selected the officials personally. The police force as well.” When she was about to question all of this, he said, “I want you to be safe when you visit.” A pause. “And if even one citizen is half the person you are, they’re worth helping.”

Sera stared at him in shock for several seconds, unsure of what to say. 

“Was…” she gulped, nervous without really knowing why. “Was there something you wanted from me?”

Paul shrugged one slender shoulder. “You were gone for two weeks,” he explained. “I wanted to spend time with you. I missed you.”

Thud, thud, thud.

Then he added, “And… well, I wanted to give you something.”

“Give me something?”

He nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out… a dagger?

The hilt and sheath were gilded and had emeralds embedded in the metalwork, and she held it with hesitant, shaking hands. Even the blade itself was elaborate, she saw upon unsheathing it. Filigree matching that of the hilt was in the steel.

Several moments passed before she found it in herself to speak, and she was only able to do so because she wasn’t looking up at him. “What’s, uh. What’s this?”

“The next time you try to kill someone,” he told her, “it should be with something as beautiful as you are, I think. Nothing could ever come close, of course, but I imagine this is as close as it’s possible to get.”

You’re beautiful, too, she thought, but managed not to voice.

Paul stepped closer to her, taking the dagger from her with gentle hands. “I’ll carry it for you.”

She couldn’t breathe all of a sudden. He was too close to her, she thought. But then, she couldn’t stop staring at his lips, the way they moved when he spoke, and how very, very good he smelled, and how some part of her wanted him closer. Impossibly closer.

Time slowed down for Sera then, and she watched with wide eyes as he leaned down—far, so very far down, he was so much taller than she was that it was rather concerning to watch his head inch closer—and then he reached out with his free hand to lightly grip her own where it hung at her side. 

His nose brushed her own, and he breathed, “Sera,” on an exhalation, the syllables of her name so soft and gentle they sounded like a prayer. 

And then she came back to herself.

Lurching her head backwards, Sera took deep, gulping breaths through her mouth so as not to smell him—god, she could still smell him—and snatched the dagger from his hand, backing away on shaking legs.

“No,” she murmured. Then, louder, she repeated, “No.”

Paul blinked, looking incredibly confused. “No?”

“No,” she agreed, shaking her head rapidly, her eyes still wide.

His own gaze seemed sad, almost, but she didn’t let herself read into it.

“No,” she said again, “I can’t— you can’t—“ she cut herself off, unable to form the words. Giving voice to them, speaking them into existence, would make it real, and she couldn’t do that.

She couldn’t.

“No,” she said for the fifth time. “This means nothing.”

He most definitely looked sad at that; dejected, even, like a kicked puppy. Then, unsure who, exactly, she was trying to convince—herself, Paul, the universe; dealer’s choice, really—, she repeated, “Nothing.”

Without another word, Sera hiked up her skirts and ran from the garden, not stopping until she reached her bedroom.

Swiftly latching the doors behind her, she slid to the floor and stared at his gift in her hand.

It was beautiful. He’d given her something beautiful, something thoughtful.

And then he’d tried to kiss her. 

What the fuck?

Over the next several weeks, Sera did what was, in her opinion, a rather excellent job of pretending that nothing whatsoever had happened between her and Paul. She didn’t know what he’d been thinking in the garden, and quite frankly, she didn’t care. Oh, alright. She told herself she didn’t care.

He had attempted to bring it up several times, but she had used many creative diversion tactics. Pretending to sneeze, pretending to cough, pretending like she heard someone calling for her, feigning tiredness, and, on a couple of occasions, running away outright. She’d even done it in the middle of dinner at one point.

She spent a great deal of time reflecting on her feelings for Paul, and eventually realized several things. 

First: Her feelings were most definitely romantic, that they grew stronger with every moment she spent in his presence, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. 

Second: She still found much of his life—the royalty, the concubines, the war he’d led—rather distasteful. In many ways, he disgusted her. But at the same time, he made her so incandescently happy she was often beside herself with it.

Third: It could never work out between them due to the aforementioned reasons. On top of them, he had a spice addiction and would therefore live for several hundred years longer than her. Sera would grow to hate her fellow concubines— women who had become her friends, her sisters. All except Marina, anyway. For whatever reason, Marina had never liked her much. 

In any case, it would never work between them, so Sera decided she was content with things remaining strictly platonic.

Then two things happened.

Sera knew Paul had spent time with the Fremen on Arrakis before he’d come into the Throne, but she didn’t know much about the culture itself.

She eventually learned that when the Fremen took spice, they participated in… well. Orgies, for lack of a better term.

When he’d lived with them, Paul had participated, too. Sera knew he’d slept with other women, but… something so impersonal as that, she just couldn’t fathom it. Her disgust with him increased significantly upon this discovery.

The second thing that occurred was infinitely worse. She hadn’t thought that possible, but, as it turned out, it was absolutely possible.

It started with Paul trying to touch her at dinner. All he’d done was reach for her hand, but she’d flinched away from him as if his skin might burn hers. He’d acted as if she’d slapped him. 

She’d needed to clear her head after that, so she’d taken a walk. Upon returning from said walk, however, she saw Paul standing outside the bedroom of Anita—a Hetaera—, who had her arms around his neck. His hands were in her hair, his body pressed against hers.

They were kissing.

Sera looked on in horror, something inside of her cracking like fractured glass, and when he opened the bedroom doors and pulled Anita inside without ever once removing his lips from hers, that something inside of Sera shattered into tiny, bitingly sharp pieces.

It was several minutes before Sera could move again, and once she did, she walked mechanically to her own bedroom, ignoring the moans coming from behind Anita’s doors. She knew Paul’s voice well enough to recognize it.

When she got to her room, she locked the doors and ran to the washroom.

She spent the remainder of the evening emptying her stomach of the dinner she’d shared with Paul and weeping until she fell asleep on the cold marble floor.

When Sera awoke next, she made a decision.

Paul had tried to kiss her, and she had refused him. Not due to a lack of wanting him, but because she was afraid she’d turn into just another woman he’d flit to whenever he pleased.

And then he’d proven her right.

So her decision was this: Paul, as far as she was concerned, didn’t exist. 

The other women were fine with him sleeping with however many of them he wanted. Maybe they’d been brought up around such things, Sera didn’t know. She, however, had not. On Beakkal, if you went to bed with someone, it was because you loved them. She’d never felt the need to go to bed with anyone, but she knew if she ever did, it would be because she loved him and was the only one he wanted.

And so she refused Paul's requests for dinner. Each night, he sent for her. Each night, she refused. He asked to see her outside of that, too, but she declined every request. She’d even gone so far as to inform the servants who worked in the concubines’ quarters that she wasn’t accepting male visitors— any male visitors, regardless of rank or title. 

Sera hadn’t laid eyes on him since she’d seen him with Anita, and she had every intention of keeping it that way. Sure, she’d remain there as one of the Kept—there were too many benefits to her family, to her planet as a whole, for her to do otherwise—, but she’d never speak to him again. Not if she could help it.

Surely her feelings for him would dissipate soon.

Her disgust with him was as acute as the pain in her chest, and so she immersed herself in books and her newfound friendship with the other girls. Lucia in particular had become a great comfort to her. Sera hadn’t told her new friend what had transpired, but she suspected the older girl had an inkling something was off.

Sera, Lucia, and several of the other women had started a sort of reading group. As it turned out, quite a few of them wanted love, so they’d taken to reading love stories aloud to each other.

On one such afternoon, their little group was wheezing with laughter in Sera’s room as Lucia read the hilarious comeuppance of a foolish male hero after he’d wronged the protagonist. 

Lucia’s voice was increasing in volume in an attempt to be heard over the laughter, but Sera was near the doors, and as such, was distantly able to make out a conversation that was taking place on the other side of them.

“I apologize, Majesty,” an approaching voice said, “but Lady Seraphine isn’t accepting visitors at the moment.”

The voice Sera heard next made her stomach drop.

“I’m the Emperor, Alexandra,” Paul said impatiently. “I imagine I’m exempt.”

“Actually,” Alexandra, the servant, hesitated, “she was quite clear that you are not. Of course, as Emperor, your commands come first, but since you specified Lady Seraphine’s wishes are to be respected in all things, I thought you should be aware of them.”

At that moment, another gale of laughter erupted in the room, just as Paul burst through the doors.

Sera stared up at his rigid form from her seat with wide-eyed shock. She’d never seen him look so furious before.

The other women ceased all laughter, speech, and even movement, turning their collective gazes to the doorway. They only needed one look at him before standing and filing out of the room silently. Even Lucia left, steadfastly looking anywhere but Sera’s eyes, which were pleading with her friend to stay, to not leave her alone with him.

“Sera,” Paul hissed furiously, storming over to her. She turned away, unable to look at him. It hurt.

“Why are you avoiding me?” he demanded, his tone sharp.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said primly, still not looking at him.

“You refuse to come to dinner,” he began in a low voice, “you always have an excuse not to take walks with me, and yet I know you take them on your own. You won’t come to the library with me, but I see servants exchanging books for you. And now you won’t even look at me. You’re avoiding me, and I want to know why.”

“I’m afraid His Majesty is imagining things,” Sera informed him stiffly, crossing her arms over herself.

“So we’re back to that, then,” he murmured. Then, “Sera, you can either tell me the truth willingly or I’ll use the Voice to get it out of you. It's up to you.”

Her gaze finally snapped back to him, her eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He’d never threatened to use the Voice on her, let alone actually done it. Not even when she’d had a blade to his throat.

“Wouldn’t I?”

“What’s it to you if I’m around you or not?” Sera said sharply. “You’ve got plenty of company. Why don’t you go and find Anita? I’m busy.”

She stood, giving him as wide a berth as she was able when she went to move towards a bookshelf. Then, a hand wrapped around her wrist; the grip gentle but firm.

“You saw?”

She scowled and yanked her wrist out of his grasp, neglecting to answer.

“You’re jealous,” Paul finally said, releasing her wrist. She’d felt his burning gaze on her for far too long. “You saw, and so you’re jealous.”

“I most certainly am not.”

“Look at me.”

Her frown deepened. “No.”

Paul sighed in exasperation. “I’d really rather not use the Voice on you, Sera. Please look at me.”

Afraid of what he’d force her to admit if he used his vile powers on her, she turned her gaze to him. He towered over her, and she decided that she would very much like to kick his shins until he couldn’t stand anymore.

“If you aren’t jealous,” he said quietly, a slight smirk gracing his infuriatingly perfect lips, “then you won’t mind if I take another woman to bed?”

“Why would I mind?” she demanded. “It’s none of my business. I don’t care.”

Paul’s smirk widened. “You’re lying.”

Sera scowled again, even more intensely this time.

“You aren’t ready for us to happen yet, and that’s okay,” he informed her, his voice somewhat gentler now. “I said I’d wait, and I will.” Then, a soft, “I want you to want this with me, too.”

I’m a fool for ever wanting this man, Sera told herself bitterly as she fixed her gaze on his feet.

“Did you think I wouldn’t refuse them if you wanted me to?” he asked quietly. 

She didn’t respond. She was fairly certain he wouldn’t refuse them regardless.

“I won’t touch anyone else. It clearly bothers you, so I won’t.”

“I don’t care what you do,” she mumbled at his shoes.

“Lying again?” Sera could hear the smile in his stupid voice, the bastard. “Alright. I’ll leave you alone, but I expect you for dinner.”

He left then, and Sera wondered if it was too late to reassess the possibility of assassination.

Yes, I know, I’m sorry, he slept with someone else. My apologies. On the plus side, Sera is now fully cognizant of her feelings towards him. Yay for her! And yes, he tried to kiss her. He’s doing his best.

Tag list: @meetmyothersouls @ellamaianderson @shika1200 @blackqueenstarseed1 @gatoenlaciudad @esmaada @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @softhecreator @timolaurence @timmymyluv @oddlyenoughiamweird

To be added, please ask 💗

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Strange Happenings (Chapter 1)

This is a surprise project I have been thinking about doing for quite a while, I will try and make for frequent updates unlike my other two series as this is going to be an actual story and not a quick four or five part thing. I hope you babes enjoy the first chapter of "Strange Happenings".

October 17th, 1978

"KITCHEN" In bold read letters was printed to the side of the cardboard box that had once been used for a different purpose, now tasked with housing the various plates and other wares I needed for the house. As a person living alone I didn't need many, but before my move my mother insisted we go shopping and buy some "Just in case" she would always say, A person can never be to careful.

As I placed the last plate on top of the stack of five in the cabinet, I moved on to the silver ware drawer. The fancy silver ware set was a "Housewarming" Gift of sorts from my parents, since they couldn't actually come down and give it to me themselves. One by one I placed the different cutlery into their intended sections.

Forks

Spoons

Butter knives

And at the end of the organizer, set a bigger section meant for the pristinely shined and sharpened butchers knife the set had come with. Another addition from my mother, She purposefully chose a set that had a butchers knife included. "If you can't use it for cooking, It'll be good to have in the house for protection" She said, She always did things like that, No matter what the drawers were like in any house we had ever lived in she always made sure we had knives and things in case of unwanted guests.

Dad never cared what mom stored and where she stored it, as long as she was happy and off his back nagging him about the long hours he put in at the factory at night, even though we all knew he was really out at the bar with his friends, trying his best to prolong arriving home as long as he could.

When I told my parents I was moving, Dad with most things, gave me a pat on the shoulder, a kiss on the cheek and a "Good luck, kid". Mom almost fell out, especially when I told her where I was moving.

" Illinois ?!?!" She shrieked "Do you know how far away that is !?", I shrugged.

"Just a few hours mom, That's not that bad. Plus it's not like it was my first choice, Their hospital was the only one that called me back"

Which maybe wasn't the full truth, Yes the Haddonfield General hospital did give me a call back but they weren't the only ones. I also got calls back from a few closer to home, but having grown up in Colorado my entire life, it was time for a change.

That was a few months back, during the summer after Med school. Back home you really were one of three things, A teacher, A doctor or if you were lucky, you were able to get a scholarship and get out of our dead end small town. Like yeah doctor sounds nice, but most of the ones that graduate from the med school close to home either aren't from there and just attend the school or work at any of 3 local offices. Yeah no thanks.

When I first arrived in Haddonfield, I immediately noticed the towns affection for Halloween, It was barely October when I had first come down to look at the house I had gotten for surprisingly cheap, and the town was already adorned with Hay bales and pumpkins with flyers on every lamppost for various Halloween parties and festivals. The overall feel of the town was very, Homely, I instantly felt like I had lived here for years.

I had also done some looking into on the history of the town, and was happily met with a squeaky clean reputation, Besides one unfortunate instance about 15 years ago where a teen girl got stabbed by her younger brother, I couldn't find much on what happened to the brother, but It could be assumed he was put away somewhere, a place that he probably wouldn't be seeing the end of anytime soon.

With the kitchen slowly but surely coming together, and me reaching the bottom of another box, I decided to take a break from unpacking. I still had a whole bedroom set to unpack, another "gift" from mom, and some odds and ends around various rooms. I walked into the living and sat on the old recliner my dad had been nice enough to let me have, and I turned on the cheap radio I had purchased at a gas station on the way here to try and find some local news, After skipping through some channels and finally just deciding on a classic rock station, I could feel myself slowly drifting off into a mid-day nap.

[camgirlkaminari]

so ive been thinking for a while now how bonkers it is that ochako has a floatation quirk and an almost identical hairstyle to inko midoriya, and now that we're closing in on deku mastering all 7 ofa quirks, I can't stop thinking that nana, a woman who has been textually compared to inko midoriya, ALSO had a floatation quirk. i wanna ramble about it a little bit:

inko's first introduction to the comic is her telling us that she can float small objects toward herself:

she's an older generation, so her quirk isn't all that powerful compared to the kids' quirks. this is apparent when ochako comes into play and can float much larger objects, but with less control over their trajectory. i think we're not ever meant to compare the two characters' quirks, since ochako is more powerful, and can also float herself. even further, inko doesn't seem to suffer any consequences for using her floatation quirk, but since we are only shown her using it once, there's no way to know.

(i find inko to be such a strange character. she spends so much time crying and being deku's mom that we forget that she is her own person. she's married. she has a quirk. what's her job? how does she pay the bills? how did she meet her fire breathing husband? does she have parents of her own? we know so much more about everyone else's parents than we even know about the main character's mom! this feels so deliberate, even beyond the fact that we are all wondering if deku's dad is somehow ~a villain~. like I don't care about deku's dad! what's up with his fucking mom!!)

so now we're so focused on ochako's journey to mastering her quirk and learning how to float herself in addition to huge objects that we almost forget how similar to inko she started out: her hair, her face, her kindness, her strength.

spoilers ahead: 

now, like 150 chapters later, we learn about nana shimura's quirk: float. deku knows what's coming, so he asks his friend ochako, who can float, for pointers on floating. this is excellent strategy, deku! good call! you don't know anyone else who can float themselves so you learn from ochako!

meanwhile, absolutely NO MENTION of how 'hey, my mom can float stuff too! weird coincidence!' despite him remembering all might's comparison of nana to his mother.

all of this leads me to have a few theories about the nature of afo & ofa, the relationship between ochako, nana, inko, and deku, and the major themes of legacy in bnha.

theory one: Gramps For All

there's a massive theme in bnha of grandchildren of importance. first, we learn that tomura shiguraki is the grandson of nana shimura, a pro hero, one of the three factions warring for a place in post-quirk society. then we learn Eri is an instance of this: she's the granddaughter of an equally influential player. The comatose boss of the yakuza, one of the three factions warring for a place in post-quirk society.

there's all kinds of legacies in bnha: shouto, the son of the number 1 hero, a direct victim of hero society. iida, the younger brother of a hero who was victimized by a villain hell-bent on changing hero society. hawks, the son of a serial killer, a victim who perpetuates the cycle of victimization in the name of upholding hero society. all these legacies, but we don't know anything about their extended families. what are endeavor's parents like? were iida's grandparents pro heroes too? does hawks really have no other family?

and where are deku's grandparents? did they ever watch him while his single mom was working?

my theory is that afo is not dad for one, but actually gramps for one. he had children, more than one, and they each had their own children. inko is one of them, and izuku is the resulting child.

deku, grandson of all for one, one of the three factions warring for a place in post-quirk society. eri, shiguraki, and deku, each representing the groups most affected by post-quirk society: yakuza, "villains," and "heroes."

theory two: ochako & deku are cousins

why the hell does ochako look so much like inko midoriya and NOT her parents?

(in the anime, they look a lot like her, but in the manga...)

gramps for one had children, more than one, and they each had their own children.

i think that ochako may be adopted, or one of her parents is, or perhaps even inko was, so ochako's connection to biological relations is distant or non existent. she may not even know. we've seen that horikoshi doesn't make character design mistakes, and he's gotta realize that every time he draws deku & ochako in the same scene that he's drawn the same face twice.

so either he's trying to throw us off, or he's making a grander statement about who they are. he's a fan of star wars- he's already done a reverse of "I am your father" with touya & endeavor, so I think it would be interesting if he's set up this ochako/deku thing as a fun homage to luke/leia, too. but they're cousins, not twins.

(that's just deku times two, babey!)

inko, unconnected to her family as she seems, may never know if she had siblings or half-siblings. ochako's parents may never have known about ochako's biological relations.

this is a much weaker theory, but i think quirk singularity theory can make some sense of it. we have the original float quirk user, nana shimura. I don't think she is related in any way to inko or ochako, but her quirk helps demonstrate the generational growth of power. she was a hero before all might, meaning she's an earlier generation and had an arguably weaker quirk. but since she was a hero, she honed her quirk so that it comes across as incredibly strong, however she seems to have only been able to float herself, not objects or people.

float quirk user number two, inko midoriya, who can float small objects toward herself. she's the next generation after nana, so her quirk is still kind of weak, and in fact looks incredibly weak compared to nana's and ochako's quirks. inko is a nobody, not a hero, just deku's mom. she had no reason to hone her quirk. who knows? maybe if she'd gone on to be a hero, she could float entire buildings if she wanted to.

float quirk user three, ochako uraraka. ochako can float objects AND herself. she's a hero and a strategist, and incredibly strong despite being 16. she can float pieces of buildings and people and herself all at once. she's a hero. she's powerful. she's thoughtful & kind, yet willful and strong. she's the ultimate culmination of the other floatation quirks as well as inko & nana's personalities. but since we were introduced to these three float quirks all out of order, it's difficult to see the exponential power growth that happens each successive generation.

I don't think that ochako's ever going to be a major player in the end of all for one, or even the plot overall, but i think the THEME of ochako being the ultimate floatation hero in the series is a major player in the final story. ochako REPRESENTS the singularity. the generation after ochako will be so strong, perhaps her descendants would be able to negate all gravity in the vicinity, maybe on the planet. who knows! even if ochako isn't related to deku, let's say dechako happens, they have babies. that's a lot of float quirk in one couple! their kids are gonna have no bones! no muscle development because they never have to fight gravity! ochako's existence represents such a huge, yet nearly invisible thematic element of bnha.

tldr: ochako looks exactly like inko and has a cumulative float quirk reminiscent of both inko & nana, and i suspect the parallels between the three is deliberate for some reason. i just think that's neat.

[ninyard]

Could you write something with a Nicky & Kevin friendship or just supporting each other, set at any point during the series

you know what anon I don’t think I’ve ever genuinely thought about Nicky n Kevin’s friendship before ?? But! What a fantastic friendship it is!!!! I think there’s a pretty pivotal moment in the series of their relationship, but obligatory CW for The Raven King Chapter 11 (the thanksgiving dinner) before we get into it

First of all I think when Kevin first arrived in PSU, and when he was staying with Abby, still healing his broken hand, Nicky was the only fox except for Andrew who visited him regularly? Even Andrew didn’t really “visit” at that point, but Nicky was the only one who pro-actively wanted to see how Kevin was doing, instead of asking Wymack or Abby or gossiping between the team. It was probably in part because Nicky LOVES breaking a good story, but mostly it was because of the fact Nicky is such a genuinely kind person? He knew how alone Kevin must’ve felt after being essentially banished from his “family”, with no future in sight or a will to live, really. So Nicky showed up. He always brought a gift, and even though Kevin didn’t really speak much and really seemed to hate Nickys fast, drama-filled way of speaking, he never told Nicky to leave.

When Andrew came along and took Kevin under his wing, that kind of drove a wedge in between any semblance of relationship they could’ve had. It was Andrew And Kevin, and that was it. Andrew didn’t see a point in leaving room for Nicky in that. But Kevin never forgot what Nicky did for him, and even though they’re practically opposite types of people, Kevin and Nicky never had beef, like literally ever. Nicky tried flirting seriously with him once, but Kevin scrunched up his nose and shook his head and for the first time Nicky didn’t persist. They really just had this unspoken respect for each other, but their relationship was never really much more than that. Whereas Kevin’s relationship with Andrew was a joined-by-the-hip kind of deal, Kevin and Nicky more so looked out for each other in the smallest ways. When Nicky sprained his wrist during practice the end of freshman year, Kevin was there for him to show him the best ways to move it to build his strength back up and to take care of it so it could heal properly. When Nicky was struggling with some type of homework on the bus to a game, Kevin would peek over his shoulder and nonchalantly point out the answers. When Kevin was starting to play again, Nicky always offered to play defence to help him regain his strength against an opponent.

But you know, as soon as you mention Nicky and Kevin my head INSTANTLY goes to the aftermath of Chapter 11 in TRK. Like, Kevin had to go downstairs after finding that situation, and presumably Nicky had no real idea. So Nicky looks in the Kitchen window, while talking to his mom about nothing, and he sees Neil and Aaron head out of the kitchen. He watches Kevin follow. It’s not long before Luther is back outside with a look on his face that says nothing good, and then Nicky sees Kevin. He’s on the phone, chewing at his fingernails, face white like he’d seen a ghost. He leaves the table, overhearing Kevin reciting his parents’ address and they lock eyes when he enters the room. Kevin’s eyebrows are knitted together like he’s about to cry. He puts a hand out when Nicky tries to push past him. It takes him a minute to hang up, and suddenly Nicky’s heart is racing and he’s desperate to go upstairs. Kevin can’t find the words.

“Andrew’s hurt.” The words don’t do it justice. It feels like a lie coming out his mouth. “Nicky,” he tries to push past again. “I don’t know if you should go up there.” Nicky turns back to see his mom and dad watching them. They look like they’re about to follow. Nicky asks if he called the police or an ambulance. Kevin says both.

“Who hurt him?” Nicky doesn’t know what to say. He can hear the mumble of voices upstairs.

“I don’t know.” Kevin’s voice is almost a whisper. “There’s so much blood.” And then Nicky shoves him out of the way and suddenly Kevin’s following him up the stairs and Nicky’s reaching out to hold Andrew’s face, Neil holding a blanket around his presumably naked bottom half. Kevin nearly got sick at the sight again. He’d seen enough blood in the nest, he’d seen enough rapes and tortures and beatings and dead bodies, but this was so much worse. This was messy, this was family, this was Andrew’s abuser killed at the hands of his brother, blood on the wall of Nicky’s childhood bedroom.

So Andrew and Neil leave in the ambulance, Kevin and Nicky left to take a taxi to the police station, waiting for Aaron who left in cuffs, waiting to give their statement. They don’t say much, but Kevin puts a hand on Nicky’s shoulder when he finally cries, and leaves his own shoulder free as a place to cry on. They’re told to leave without Aaron and they’re left alone again in Columbia, waiting for David to bring Andrew home safe. Neither of them have much of an appetite to eat, and it’s a while before either of them speak.

“Did you see it happen?” Nicky is staring at a wall, hands wringing around the end of a pillowcase. “Did you watch him die?”

“No,” Kevin fought off another panic attack that crept up his throat. “Did you know who he was?”

They skirted around the topic, afraid that if they said what really happened, it would be real, it would be unfixable. But Kevin knew Nicky needed him, until somebody else came back. Can you even imagine how much Nicky must’ve been in shock? I don’t think he even called Erik until the next day, you know. The only person he spoke about it with was Kevin, and when Betsy arrived he cried with her for ten minutes before a car was pulling up and he knew it was Andrew. Kevin and Nicky had never spent so much to me alone, but there was a strange comfort in the air. Kevin was the rock that Nicky needed, and Nicky was the distraction Kevin needed. Kevin wasn’t a hugger, really, but when Nicky asked to be held, he pulled him into his chest and didn’t let go until he was ready. They both comforted each other that night, but they never spoke about it again. Nobody else had to know that they’d practically broken down in each other arms, half in shock, half processing the trauma they’d just witnessed. Nicky had never been exposed to something like that before; Kevin knew it was a life-changing event for him. Nicky didn’t have any sort of ideas of superiority about his relationship to Andrew, either. He knew how much Andrew meant to Kevin, how he had walked in to see his protector so vulnerable, so hurt. He knew Kevin had to say that word down the phone to the operator, and how he had to say it to Coach, too. And he had to say it again and again and again to the cops in the station.

I know it’s an extreme example of their friendship, but I think a lot of it goes unspoken. That night was the night where their respect for each other became physical, and visible. It became more than just nods across a court or a pat on the shoulder after a good game. They were all they had that night. Just Kevin and Nicky, alone for god knows how long, just waiting, trying to keep it together. They each took a shot of whatever spirit they could find before Betsy arrived, and nobody had to know about that either. They coped in their own ways after that, but it really solidified how much they cared about each other, I think. Kevin texted Nicky for the first time that week, a couple different times, just to see if he was okay, how he was doing, if he needed anything. And oh man, did that mean the absolute world to him. Kevin and Nicky’s relationship is probably one of the more unexpectedly close relationships in the series, when I think about it. They didn’t experience what happened that night in the way Andrew or Neil or Aaron did, but the way they looked out for each other when both their worlds came screeching to a halt in the upstairs bedroom in a house that was no longer home? Unmatched.

There’s definitely softer/“fluffier”/funnier instances of them being friends but my mind couldn’t NOT let me write about this cos it was all I could think about SORRYYYY

[secret-engima]

Team Gremlin verse: The Reunion

(So this is ... a very rough draft so to speak of what I wanna do for the reunion scene with Oscar and Ozpin. I’m not dubbing it ‘canon’ yet because I’d have to wait for the actual fic to catch up and then tweak accordingly but so far- this is what is in my head and I figured I should let others enjoy the angst :D)

...

     Ozpin slipped away from the crowd exiting the tent with a pounding heart. He could feel his fingers shake on the hilt of Long Memory as he managed to duck into the shadows outside the large emerald and gold tent. He had found him. All this time searching, all this time praying and hoping and looking only to be too late and he had found him. He had sat in the stands and seen the boy in action, heard the music and seen the magic both fake and real, and felt the sheer energy and joy the little Ringmaster felt in his performance like lightning in Ozpin’s own bones. And then- the song. The final song. Because Oscar always rounded off with a song, ones not meant for spectacle, but instead for the heart. A sincere wish and message for those fortunate to sit beneath the ceiling of the Emerald City for the night.

     The song alone could have brought him to tears. But to hear it sung by the little boy in the ring, the impossible, wonderful, miracle child who had every right to lash out at the world in hate, yet instead chose to fill it with wonders … it had been all he could do to keep from crying with there in the stands. To not try to climb down the makeshift seating and into the ring because all he’d wanted was to hold him.

     His son. The son he had never seen outside of grainy photos and shaky recordings, who he had tried desperately to find the more he learned what the child had lived through. And now Ozpin had found him. Now Ozpin had a chance to meet him. He just had to get backstage.

     It wasn’t hard to escape the eyes of the crowd, and it wasn’t much more difficult to slip through the shadows to the little ring of emerald tents set up behind the big top, the tents where the various performers of the rare and popular Emerald City act stayed. He hesitated on the boundary, trying to pick out which one of the colorful, green-themed tents belonged to the Ringmaster —his son, his child that he had never gotten to meet, would never have known about save a series of accidents—. He heard laughter and activity behind him, the performers returning to their temporary homes, and he ducked forward into the shadows of a tent at random. They would run him off if they found him, he was certain of that. He was a stranger to them at best, or worse, a known player in the war that had created the boy he hoped to meet, that had no doubt hurt many of those who followed him —such as Hazel, and how the man had ever been swayed from Salem’s promise of revenge, Ozpin could not fathom but did not want to test—.

     He heard no activity from the tent he was hiding behind, and while the air whispered with hints of magic, it wasn’t coming from this tent, so he moved on to another. This time, he dared peak into the tent flap, but saw nothing but the vague shadows of personal belongings. No sign of the little Ringmaster —his son, his child—.

     Ozpin backed away from that tent, heart drumming anxiously in his chest. Then he turned and froze.

     The massive Grimm, the strange one that Qrow called Hound. The monster that for some reason Ozpin never wanted to contemplate —but had spent many hours doing just that— followed his son everywhere. Behaved like it was tame and natural rather than a creature of Darkness that longed only for destruction. It stood just a few feet away, so large it’s head was even with Ozpin’s chin as it watched him with flat, glowing red lights for eyes.

     His fingers tightened on the hilt of Long Memory, lifetimes of instinct screaming to raise his weapon and attack first before it could kill him or anyone else here. But he had seen recordings of this same Grimm, dressed up in ridiculous costumes to hide its true nature from unpracticed eyes, parading around in the circus ring like a big dog. He had seen his son ride on its back and balance on its head and Qrow had recounted more than one instance of Oscar and the other children escaping on its back. It hadn’t been present for this particular show, but he had seen multiple recordings of previous ones where it entered the ring and no one had been harmed. Of course, Ozpin’s son —Salem’s son, for all the second half of that coin tore at his guts— had been close by all those times, but here there was no one in sight but the two of them.

     The Grimm tilted its head slowly to one side, a ragged ear pricking like an actual dog’s. It wasn’t attacking. Even though Ozpin knew he must stink of so many different types of fear he could attract an entire pack of Beowolves all on his own. It just … studied him.

     Slowly, it’s jaws opened, and Ozpin prepared to dodge some attack. Instead, the large, blood red tongue slid out from between massive teeth and lolled there, a slow, thoughtful trio of pants before it licked its teeth and shut its jaws again. Without any further reaction, it lowered its head and turned away, walking slow and ponderously toward one of the tents that had light peaking through the bottom. Ozpin watched it leave with a blank, confused mind, then startled when it stopped and twisted around to look over its shoulder at him.

     It looked like it was waiting.

     It looked like it wanted him to follow.

     Inhaling raggedly —this was the stupidest thing he had done in lifetimes he was sure—, Ozpin started following in the Grimm’s footsteps.

     It led him to the tent farthest from the bigtop, nudged open the flap with something like practiced ease, and shouldered its way in. Ozpin lingered outside, suddenly too afraid to go a step further. There was a Grimm in there, but somehow, the realization that his son might be in there was even more terrifying than that. If he stood out here too long, he would be caught, he knew that, and yet…

     “Hey, Sondor,” murmured a voice through the tent fabric and Ozpin’s world crystalized, “Everything alright? You left in a bit of a hurry.” A deep rumble, inhuman and bass and … oddly content sounding. The voice —a child��s voice, a gentle voice, a voice he’d just heard laughing and waxing dramatic for a show of fake magic and real mysteries— laughed faintly, “Checking on someone then? You know everyone has to stay up late on performance nights.”

     If he held on any tighter to his cane, he thought it might shatter, but the feel of it grounded him like it always had, and with the last bit of courage he possessed in this lifetime, he pushed the tent flap open and slipped inside as the voice —his son— finished saying, “We’ll be sure to take long naps in the morning.”

     Ozpin was here. He was standing in the same space as his child, without a crowd to be wary of or a performance to keep them apart. He was standing in some kind of makeshift workshop, with a cot on the floor on the far side and the vast majority of space taken up by a battered, foldable metal table that seemed to be a desk and all the tools of a magician’s trade. Cards and wands and hats, gloves and fanciful outfits and a hundred thousand other things that didn’t matter, because amid all the mess, with his back mostly to the entrance and a massive Grimm lying contentedly next to his feet, was the Ringmaster.

     His child.

     The Grimm raised its head again to stare at him, a low noise he’d never heard the monsters make before rumbling from its chest, and the boy tilted his head toward the tent entrance absently, still not looking away from the Dust gem he was setting in his elaborate cane, “Hey Neo, you’re back early. I thought you were still scoping … out…” he finished setting the Dust in his cane, looked up and saw Ozpin standing there. Neither of them moved. Green-gold eyes in a young face —he looked ten had Qrow really been correct on estimating his age closer to twelve or thirteen?— went wide, and the magic passively swirling through the tent shrunk in on itself until he couldn’t feel it.

     It occurred belatedly to Ozpin that while he had essentially been stalking his son for the last few years in an attempt to meet him and make sure he was okay, the boy wouldn’t know him at all. Or worse, had only heard of him from people who hated him —from Salem herself even—. And now Ozpin had just shown up in the boy’s living space without warning or invitation.

     Terror and nerves tangled up all the words he wanted to say, all the ones he’d longed to say, and instead he found himself folding both of his shaking hands on the pommel of his cane and bleating out the first, most habitual line currently living in his brain, “Hello, I’m Professor Ozpin-.”

     A shout, loud and gutted, and all his words died in his throat again as the boy threw himself off his little camp chair and at Ozpin. Long Memory clattered to the ground unnoticed as Ozpin instinctively raised his hands to wrap around the little body that collided with his waist, slender arms tightening like a vise around him and Ozpin couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe-.

     Had he really said-?

     A hiccuping sob from the child in his arms, a fully body thing that shook him from his tousled black hair to his shoes while that word spun endlessly in Ozpin’s mind, haunting him and confusing him because he couldn’t have heard that right. He couldn’t have heard…

     “Dad.”

     The word echoed between them again, muffled by a young face buried in his suit jacket, and Ozpin felt his own breath start to stammer as he clung tighter to the boy in his arms, sinking down to his knees despite the screaming in his leg and burying his face in flyaway black hair, “I’m here.” He choked out, “I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re alright. I’m right … I’m right here.”

     Magic pressed against his skin, burrowed into his soul, needy and desperate and fearful in a way his daughters’ had never been until the very end —until the moment his shield broke and he could no longer protect them—. It begged him and Ozpin forgot about everything else, forgot every other concern or person in the world as he let his own magic unspool and twine with the younger, needy magic begging him for comfort. Behind his closed eyelids he could see it, the colors spinning and twisting in the space between their souls. His ever-dwindling green wrapping around a younger, deeper, stronger wellspring of emerald laced with snapping red, whispering black and dancing flickers of purple, gold, blue, and white.

     The younger magic coiled tightly in his, desperate and pained, crying in relief and fear just as loudly as the sobs that shook his son’s body. It was open to him, painfully open and raw, trusting despite how this boy had every reason to fear another’s magic. In the breath between crying and comforting and accepting, Ozpin’s magic brushed up against what could only be called a crack in his child’s soul. A jagged old wound that had never properly healed. Glass sharp and weeping and-.

     Pain-pain-pain-fear-fear-please-pleasedon’tleavedon’tleaveme-.

     Magic, green and old, bodiless and desperate and half-mad with agony sinking inside and locking in place in a message that screamed all the way down to bone marrow and soul fiber.

    Mine-my-child-I-love-you-I-loveyoumychildmy-

     “Oscar.” Ozpin choked out, struggling to shake off the remnants of memory hidden in soul shards and old wounds. Realization reeled, pulled at the fabric of reality beneath his feet. “Oscar,” he repeated, rolling the name of his son over his tongue and wondering at the sensation of right, of familiarity even though he had never met this child before. He had, of course, known his name. The boy made a little joke of it at the beginning of all his performances, but now the name had weight. Had an echo of knowledge to it that he couldn’t quite grasp.

     Even though, somehow, his son knew him. And perhaps that should terrify him. Because his son was a child still, yet somewhere in the spaces between incarnations, or in the moments between life and death and dreams, his child remembered him and clung to a message of love even though it had been tangled up in so much pain.

     “I tried,” Oscar sobbed into his chest, “I tried, I’m- I’m so sorry-.”

     Ozpin hushed him, ran shaking fingers through his son’s hair and ignored the way his glasses had completely blurred over from the tears they caught, “I know. It’s alright. You’re alright. You’re alive, Oscar.” He guided his son’s face to his scarf and pressed his cheek against the top of Oscar’s head, “You’re alive. That’s all that matters to me.” He inhaled raggedly and set aside the spinning theories trying to take root, the odd mix of age-youth-age and time-turned-back in Oscar’s magic that made him wonder. He had long assumed that Oscar’s aging was … strange, a byproduct of being the child of two immortals. Yet feeling Oscar’s magic, the soft echo of bells and clockwork gears hidden inside it, he couldn’t help but remember that gravity and its magic was an aspect of space and space was a partner of time. There had been spells that toyed with time long ago that left impressions on the souls that used them, though never on such a large scale as what Ozpin was contemplating.

     But if anyone could reinvent a way to turn back the hands of the world’s clock, it would be the child of Ozma and Salem, surely —had his son known a previous incarnation, or had his son met Ozpin himself in the future, had he lived a prisoner of Salem until he was a teen or even an adult, only meeting his father to see him die in agony at his mother’s hands, had a single dying message of love amid a lifetime of darkness truly been enough to make him fight time itself to make things right—.

     But that didn’t matter right now.

     He was here. Oscar was here. They were both alive and safe and his little boy was tucked trustingly in his arms, and that was what mattered right now. It mattered more than anything else in the world.

     “I love you, Oscar,” he whispered into his son’s hair as he rocked them back and forth, uncaring of his jacket and scarf becoming soaked with tears, or the way Oscar’s magic coiled around his soul so tightly it was almost burning, “I love you. I’m here.”

     “I missed you,” Oscar choked out between sobs, another piece to Ozpin’s puzzle set aside for later times, “I love y-you t-too.” A hiccup, loud and ugly, a shiver in Ozpin’s arms, “Don’t go.”

     “I won’t,” Ozpin promised, hand cradling the back of Oscar’s head, trying to shield him from the nightmares he could sense lurking within, “I won’t go. I’m right here.” He exhaled wetly, “I’m right here.”

[inforapound]

The Devil Inside  - Part 4

Ugg, I did it again. This was supposed to be the last chapter but it didn’t happen. Sorry. Thank you so much for reading and your lovely comments and likes. 

Pairing – Ivar x reader

Warning – jealousy, possessiveness, arguing, me making up words 

For months your life ran more or less in the same way, that black Camaro like a waiting chariot, always ready to whisk you off.

Friday and Saturday nights were spent driving around, going to the movies or the mall, hand in hand with your gorgeous boyfriend, always ending up in his room to fool around. Occasionally, very occasionally, he’d give you a night off so you could stay at home and study.

Lunches were spent in much of the same way; in Ivar’s bed with most of your clothes on the floor. Kissing, cuddling, touching and tasting and... well...sucking. He had been true to his word, though, and despite the amount of time spent between your legs, you had not yet done the deed. In a way, it surprised you as he was so demanding for affection and you had done pretty much everything else. Made you wonder if he had his own hang-ups but some topics with him were off-limits.

It took some time but your friends were finally resigned to the fact that you were never around. Amanda going as far as to call you the person she used to know. They weren’t upset really but you couldn’t say they were thrilled with your all-consuming relationship. And it was all-consuming. You were in la-la land and when you weren’t with him, you were thinking about him; his cutting blue eyes, his gorgeous face, and wicked, sexy body. You had done things with him you hadn’t even known about so it was hard to imagine, once you did start having sex, how much needier he’d become. How much more he’d want you close. In reality, he craved you, and getting time on your own resulted in what you referred to as an ‘Ivar pout-a-thon.’ It was cute and if asked he would deny it, obviously.

At times it was difficult to understand his upset, his constant need to know where you were, who you were with and why. Yes, why was a big one for Ivar. Why did you need to do other things? Why did you need time alone? Oh, and why did you need to study at the library as he had a perfectly good desk in his room?

Love was new to him, like it was to you, and he just handled it differently. It was sweet though and you simply ignored Amanda’s jokes, when walking class to class, that you better text him and let him know you were on the move. Yes, on the outside, it would seem intense but Ivar was intense. Moody and brooding, in a constant state of internal struggle until you were there. You seemed to make everything better and with you, he seemed free; sweet and smiling, overwhelmingly affectionate, so incredibly loving, kissing, even in public, any part of your skin that showed. Always, always, always holding your hand. He called you his baby, his princess, bought you so many cute things, and kept a picture of you up in his car. Even texted in the morning to ask what he should bring you that day for lunch. And you were truly lucky as some boyfriends weren’t communicators. Not your Ivar; his messages were non-stop and he loved to talk on the phone at night too, always saying “just a few minutes more” until you were both half asleep and mumbling. He was beyond adorable, totally devoted and you felt cherished.

Ivar Lothbrok was the best boyfriend ever.

----

On that day, pulling out of school, he did not make the normal right hand turn to head to his place but drove straight and eventually into Maxwell Park. The flat-black Camaro roared on, hugging the winding road all the way up to the lookout, Ivar, as usual, holding your hand.

Killing the engine, he tilted his steering wheel up before releasing and sliding his seat back as far as it would go. Once reclined, he extended his arms out to you and you climbed over the console to lie on him. It took a moment to shift and settle so your weight wasn’t on his legs but then you snuggled in, eliciting from him the world’s loudest sigh.

“Why are we here?” you asked knowing by the strength of his hug and the deep crease between his eyebrows that his thoughts were heavier than normal.

“Where’s my boob?” was his response and you automatically unbuttoned you’re blouse enough for him to reach in and rest his hand where he liked to keep it.

The silence continued and you knew you couldn’t ask again so you waited and while doing so enjoyed the feel of your cheek on his broad chest and the smell of his neck; that perfect mix of aftershave and leather. Ahhh, his strong arms were wrapped around you and his lips were pressed to the top of your head. God, you loved having such a tall boyfriend and as attached as he was to you, you were a total leech.

But... it did feel strange that you were there, alone, so close and he wasn’t trying to grope you or kiss you or reach up your kilt. It made you feel a little insecure, in fact.

“I dated a girl last year for a bit,” he kissed your hair, taking his time, and you wondered where it was going. “Some chick that always hung out with my brothers and their girlfriends so... it seemed like it made sense. She was good-looking and stuff but, I don’t know... the whole time...it just didn’t feel like I thought it should. And she was my first. That’s supposed to make you feel something…like... how it feels with you,” he squeezed you tighter. “My brothers couldn’t understand why I broke it off but I know now that this is how it’s supposed to feel. Like it does with us. I would do anything for you. Anything. I love you so fucking much it hurts. And when we’re not together, it's like....it’s like...I can‘t....”

“Breathe?”

“Yes,” he exhaled loudly. “See baby, you know. You feel the same,” he kissed the top of your head again. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whispered back, hugging him tighter not entirely sure you did; however, you did understand that’s how it felt for him, so…pretty much the same thing.

There was no question that you were in love! So much, but, if you were being honest, there was a small part of you, just a tiny part, you purposefully held back. It felt like the only way to keep a little power and not get swallowed up entirely. You still loved him though. Head over heels.

Tipping your head up, you looked at him and his eyes were shining with what looked like the start of tears and his expression was vulnerable and heart-stoppingly handsome.

Clearing his throat a few times, he looked down at the console between the seats.

“I wanna give you something.”

Popping open the compartment, he grabbed a small burgundy velvet box and you pushed yourself up from his chest to better see. It felt important.

Opening it, he held it up and showed you a locket inside. It was large and silver with a long silver chain and from the patina around its edges, you knew it was an antique. The entire thing was gorgeous.

“It was my mother’s,” he said quietly, watching your face as you picked it up, holding it carefully. “She always wore it.... even when things turned to shit with my dad. It was like...a symbol of her promise to him,” he shook his head as if just thinking about it was painful. “She wore it right up until the end like they might find their way back to each other.”

For a moment, he was silent but you could tell he wasn’t done.

“Baby,” he grabbed your free hand in his large one. “Let’s promise to never get lost in the first place? I want us to be together always. Hmm?”

It was hard to speak. You weren’t sure what to say but nodded your head, the gravity of his gift and his beautiful words filtering through, making your own tears rise in your eyes.  

“Let me put it on you,” he whispered and took it out of your hand, spreading the chain to drape over your head. The chain was long and the pendant sat low on your chest, right between your breasts and you loved that it was so close to your heart.

“Ivar,” you picked up the locket again, running your thumb over the intricate, oval surface. “It's so beautiful. So special. Are you sure you want me to have it?” You glanced up. “It means so much to you.”

Shit.

Shifting his jaw around, you watched his face tighten and his mood begin to sink.  

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I wouldn’t be giving it to you if I wasn’t sure,” he spoke in a low, slow voice, stressing each word. “Would I?” His nostrils flared and you could see in his eyes that he was hurt.

SHIT!!!

“I’m sorry,” you rushed, “that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.” Immediately you leaned forward and kissed and kissed him, not pulling your lips away from his until you felt his body begin to ease and let you back in. “I’m sorry,” you whispered again, hugging him harder. “I love it so much and I love you. It’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me. I’ll never take it off. Never.”

As if returning to the moment, he adjusted in the seat and cleared his throat, his eyes focusing on yours again. And thank god, some of the brightness from before was returning to his expression. Brushing your bangs away from the side of your face, he kissed you softly, so perfectly and with so much feeling, before pulling back and gazing into your eyes. There were instances like that, fragments in time, even after kissing you likely a thousand times, that he still looked blown away by you. Blown away that you were there and his and looking back at him with love in your eyes.

“My mother was the most beautiful and most important person in my life. Now you are. Of course, you should wear it. It is my gift to you.”

“Thank you,” you smiled unable to look away from his beautiful, sincere blue eyes. “I love it,” you whispered.

“And I love you,” he whispered back. “Forever.”

The ride back to school, holding Ivar’s free hand did not seem close enough and so you leaned over and rested your head on his shoulder. It was then that you decided that you would call him later that night and tell him you were ready to take the next step. The ‘point of no return’ you had heard it called in some psychology book or.... somewhere. In your heart of hearts, you knew that he was the one and felt that there wasn’t anything you didn’t want to share with him.

“What baby?” he asked, side glancing down at your smiling face.

“I’m just happy.”

Kissing your forehead, he mumbled that he was too.

In truth, you were also laughing at the fleeting thought of telling him right then that you wanted to have sex but Ivar was a walking hard-on! You’d never make it back to school. Instead, you decided to wait and tell him before bed on the phone. He was going to be thrilled.

Yes, everything had fallen into place. You were weeks away from graduation, you had met the love of your life and the future felt full of possibilities. Nothing could slow you down.

----    

As expected, Ivar had responded enthusiastically to the news, so much so, you spent 15 minutes pleading with him not to try and sneak into your room. So, in the morning, as you dressed for school, it was a bit ridiculous that you took extra care selecting a pretty bra and panties to wear, knowing that they would last about 3.5 seconds on your body after entering his room. Some days, he couldn’t even wait to get home and made you take off your underwear while still en route. He loved stuff like that, evidenced by his nightstand full of your drawers.

So, at lunch that day, you were surprised when climbing into your waiting chariot that your gorgeous boyfriend looked rather serious and had two subway sandwiches sitting in a bag between the seats.

“We’ll eat here,” was all he said as he passed you your favourite veggie sub loaded with extra olives and pickles. Roast beef for him, of course.

You ate in silence and by the way he didn’t look over at you, you knew he was upset about something. In your head, you ran through your phone conversation from the previous night, analyzing what you could have said wrong, but your attention was pulled back when he started the car.

“We’re going home now?” you asked, trying to keep your anxiousness out of your voice.

He didn’t answer.

“Ivar?”

“Reynolds,” was all he said.

“Pardon?

“Reynolds,” he said again and pulled the Camaro out onto the road.

“Reynolds High? Why? Are you selling something to someone?”

When he didn’t answer, you reached over and squeezed his arm but he pulled it away and you were stunned.

“Ivar?” you mewed, sounding baffled.

“I want you to point out that guy you dated. The one you slept with.”

What the fuck.

“Why?” You straightened in your seat, confused but it was mostly dread that came over you. “Why?” you asked again, a little louder.

He still didn’t answer and it was not helping your nerves.

“Ivar!”

Inhaling loudly, he blew air out his nose as if barely coping.

“After we got off the phone last night, I was so fucking happy about today. But then....” he shook his head keeping his eyes on the road, “I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about the fact that you had done it already with someone else. It made me sick.”

Oh no.

“Why do you want to know who Adam is? “

“Adam!” he exclaimed, his voice shooting high. “Adam?” he glared over at you, repeating the name like it was poison in his mouth.

“Ivar stop,” you whined. “You knew that I was with someone before. God, it was nothing even close to what we have. Not even close.”

Stewing, he just kept staring ahead, his face frozen in the most miserable, disgusted look.

“Babe, pull over, please, so we can talk,” you were using your gentlest voice attempting to coax him down but he ignored you. “Okay, at least tell me what you are going to do once we get there.”

Still nothing.

“Ivar!” you shouted. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing,” he sneered. “I just want to see him. Know who he is……and I want you to tell me everything you did with him. Every detail,” he looked over again, shooting you some look as if you better not even think about lying.

“What? No!” you were dumbfounded but knew he was serious. “Ivar, it was over before I met you. None of that matters. I love you so much, Ivar.”

“It does matter!” he sneered again. “As long as I don’t know the details, it’s like a secret that the two of you share. My girlfriend is not going to keep secrets with other dudes,” his voice was dramatic as if he was talking about hundreds of other guys. “It’s enough that you’ve been fucked before.”

Woah. You felt punched in the chest. In the stomach. You felt attacked like he was shaming you and despite understanding it was all coming from his insecurities, it felt like a knife in the heart.

“Ivar?” you pleaded softly. “Please babe. This is crazy.”

“Crazy? You think I’m crazy?” he chuckled, glancing over, his laugh sounding awful and his eyes looking strange. “As far as I’m concerned, you are the only girl I’ve ever been with.

Ummm….

“Ohh-kay...,” you replied cautiously, “but that’s not actually true…. is it?”

“Tell me!” he shouted again. “What did he do to you?”

“Please stop the car. I want to get out.”

This was insane.

“Fucking tell me!” he kept at you.

“Fine!” you gave in, just wanting it to end. “You tell me first then,” you yelled. “What did you do with that girl before me? The one who was good-looking and stuff,” you mimicked him sarcastically.  

“Barely anything,” he scoffed as if it was absolutely absurd that you were even asking. “She was a lump. Something that was just…. there. A body that followed me around all the time. I couldn’t cum with her either!” he announced as if that explained everything. “That’s how in-love I am with you. You make me blow my load so fast and we haven’t even had sex yet,” he shot you a sharp eye. “Your turn.”

Watching his demented expression and listening to his bullshit, you were floored. He was totally unable to see the situation from any perspective but his own twisted one. You were horrified…. possibly a little jealous and, maybe even a bit proud. It was true, you could make him finish quickly.  Sidelining the thought, you just wished the hurricane storming inside of him would head out to sea.  

“Tell me,” he snarled, “and then it will be over and we won’t ever talk about it again.”

That seemed unlikely, you thought.

“You’re the one dragging it out,” he added.

“Fine, I hung out with him for eight or nine months before anything happened. We started dating and fooled around a bit and then, well, we tried it,” you threw up your hands in defeat. “I can’t believe you.”

“Why did it end?”

“I just didn’t have those feelings for him. I just wanted to be friends.”

“How many times did you sleep with him?”

“Only a couple of times. I wasn’t... I don’t know... I wasn’t turned on. That’s it, okay?”

Apparently, it was not okay.

“Did he cum in you?”

“What!”

“Did he cum in you!” Ivar shouted.

“This is so stupid, Ivar.”

“Tell me!” he shouted again, the speed of the Camaro getting a little faster.

“The first time no, cause it hurt,” your eyes skipped over watching the needle on the speedometer rise. “It was my first time…..but…the second time he did…. with a condom.”

That was it, Ivar shrieked and punched the center of the steering wheel making you jump. Adrenaline surged through you and you were both pissed off and out of patience. Fuck you Ivar, you said in your head.

“Feel better?” you jabbed. “Glad you know. Are my answers everything you hoped they’d be? Done treating me like I cheated on you…before we met?”

“Don’t fucking mock me,” he growled.

“You know what. Pull over. I’m done. I’m getting out.”

“No.”

“Pull over right now,” you glared at the side of his face. “I’m walking back to school.”

Leaning forward in his seat, his hand squeezed the wheel tighter and you felt the car speed up a bit more.

Okay, you thought, he wanted to fight. Wanted to attack you and punish you for something that happened in the past. That’s fine, you could hit back, hard, and aim right for his soft spots.  

Reaching up, you grabbed the chain of the locket around your neck and pulled it off up over your head. Unwinding the window, you looked over at him and dangled it out of the car.

“Pull. Over. Asshole.”

Doing a double-take, his eyes shot wide and he growled, taking a swipe at your arm holding the necklace but you shifted your hand away just in time.

“Pull over!” you shouted. “Or I’ll let go.”

His eyes blazed at you, terrifyingly, but somehow it worked. Magically, he hit the breaks and swerved off the road, the tires jumping from the pavement to the dirt shoulder on the side, jostling you both before coming to a dusty stop.  

Run, your own voice screamed in your head and you tossed the necklace in his direction and at the same time pulled the handle on the door, shooting out. Thank god, there was virtually no traffic and you rounded the back of the Camaro bolting straight out into the road, across the street, not looking back when you heard him scream your name.  There was an opening in the guard rail fence and concrete steps down which you took, two at a time, knowing it led to a path that cut through the neighborhood back toward your campus. It was the very same path you and Kim and Amanda used to walk back in the days before boys and cars when everything was simple.

On you ran, not stopping when you heard him call a second time and without looking back, you imagined him standing at the top of the stairs, crutch under one arm, watching you desert him. It wasn’t until you reached the edge of the grass hockey field at your school, that you stopped and bent over, leaning on your knees, to catch your breath.

It was…. The whole thing was…. What just…

You couldn’t process it.  Couldn’t put thought to what had just happened. It was insanity and you felt a rise of emotion making you straighten and look up at the sky, your hands on your chest as if it might help slow your speeding heart. Were you going to be sick? Throw up? Were you going to cry? Scream? Nope. You stopped and.... started to laugh. You started to fucking laugh. You laughed until your cheeks hurt and your eyes watered. You laughed like a psycho who hadn’t just been accosted by her boyfriend. You laughed as if it was all one big fat game.

Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was something else…but it was hard to stop. Feeling sweaty from the run, you took off your cardigan and tied it around your waist, and headed off in the direction of school not wanting to be late for your chem class.

Not once on that walk over, with a dazed smile on your face, did you think about what Ivar would do next.

Next chapter

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[corishadowfang]

Forest Child - Original Fiction Big Bang

My piece for @originalfictionbigbang!  I was paired with @cecilsstorycorner, and they created an amazing illustration for the story; visit their blog to check it out!  (Link)

Summary: Nobody goes into the Forest at the edge of town.  People say you’ll go missing if you do--that’s what happened to Mary’s Uncle Ian, after all.  But after briefly entering the Forest on a dare from some friends, she realizes there might be more to it than she thought.

Trigger Warnings: Child abuse as a major story theme; some instances of body horror and general horror elements; brief instance of alcohol-induced anger towards the end.  If you think these will be triggering, then please stay safe and skip this one.

Story is under the cut.  Or, if you’d prefer, you can read it on the Google doc here.

           “Look at this!”

           Mary, much like the other students near her, started at the sudden exclamation.  She’d been drawing, absorbed in trying to get a bird’s wings just right, and hadn’t even noticed one of her classmates excitedly bouncing into the room with something cupped in his hands.  Now the boy proudly presented the item—a small stone—to a group of surprised fifth graders.

           One snorted. “That’s just a rock, Blake. What’d you do, pick it up during recess?”

           “It’s not just a rock,” Blake protested.  “Look closer.”

           Several of her classmates glanced at each other, as if deciding whether or not it was worth risking the embarrassment.  Mary found she didn’t really care much about the risk, and so she leaned forward, squinting a little.  “Is it glowing?”

           Blake beamed. “Yeah!  It’s easier to see if it’s dark.”

           Someone shouted, “Get the lights!”

           The student nearest the door flicked the lights off, and suddenly everyone was crowding closely around Blake and his find.  The rock glowed a very faint purple, the color spreading out across Blake’s hands.

           Mary’s fingers itched to draw, and she scooped her sketchbook into her hands, fumbling for a purple pencil.

           “Where’d you get it?” someone asked.

           “From my brother,” Blake said, and then, in a conspiratorial whisper, “and he found it in the Forest.”

           Mary’s pencil skittered across the page.  “He actually went in?”

           “Uh-huh!  He wouldn’t tell me how far, though.  Said he saw these weird glowing lights and felt like they were drawing him closer.  Before he knew it, he was suddenly standing underneath eerily dark trees, with something moving in the undergrowth.  Ran out of there as soon as he realized!  The stone got caught in his shoe, so he gave it to me.”

           “Right,” said one of their classmates.  “I bet he just painted a rock with glow-in-the-dark paint.”

           “It’s true!”

           Mary asked, “Can I see it?”

           Blake clutched the stone tightly, giving her an almost-suspicious look.  After a few moments he relented, tipping the stone from his hand to hers.

           Mary stared at it for several moments, running a finger over the stone and watching as the purple glow painted the tip.  She scratched at the surface with a fingernail.

           “Hey!”

           “No paint’s coming off,” she said, and gave the stone back to Blake.  “I think it’s real.”

           “See?”

           “I still think you’re lying,” one of their classmates said.  When Blake opened his mouth to retort, she continued, “Or your brother’s lying.  Nobody goes into the Forest.”  She paused, then amended.  “Well, nobody goes into the Forest and comes out.  That’s why people keep disappearing around town, right?”

           Blake opened his mouth, closed it, and then frowned thoughtfully.  “Well,” he said slowly, “there’s one way to find out.”

           A few moments of silence passed before someone hissed, “Dude, seriously?”

           “You can’t really be thinking about going into the Forest, right?”

           “If you go missing, do I get your stuff?”

           “I’m serious,” Blake said.  “I mean, come on!  Hasn’t everyone thought about going in there at some point?  You guys are just scared.”

           Mary’s breath caught, and she clutched her sketchbook to her chest.  The town was filled with stories of the Forest, most of them some degree of frightening, but the ones she most remembered were the ones told by her Uncle Ian, a man she mostly remembered for his soothing voice and exciting tales.

           “Sometimes it just looks like a normal forest—maybe a little darker than average, but nothing out of the ordinary.  But then—then you see these things at the edges.  Great big, monstrous things that look like they’d tower over the trees if they stood upright.  Birds with too many eyes, covered in glowing feathers.  Things that might’ve been deer, at one point, but are so covered in moss and vines that they look more plant than animal.  And the lights—those are what get you.  Bright colored things that hop and bob and mesmerize anyone who stops to look.  If you’re not careful, they can lead you into the woods without noticing.  And then—bam!  You’re trapped there.  You become part of the Forest.”

           “Is it real?”

           “Well, see, lots of people around town don’t think it’s real.  They think someone’s inside the Forest, doing something to make all those people disappear.  But you and I?  We know better.”

           Before she really had time to consider what she was saying, she breathed, “Can I go, too?”

           The class went quiet. “You?” one of her classmates asked. “Isn’t your dad, like, really strict?”

           “I-I—well.  We don’t have to tell him!”

           “Getting rebellious, huh?”

           “I-I’m not!  I just—I just don’t want to worry him, that’s all.”

           Blake snorted. “Sure,” he said, “you can come.  Anyone can come.  We’ll go to the Forest this Saturday around lunch.  Anyone who’s not a chicken can meet up there.”

           The lights flicked on.

           Everyone whipped towards the front of the room.

           Their teacher watched them with a skeptical look.  “So,” she said dryly, “I hate to interrupt your weekend plans, but I have a class to teach.  And besides that, none of you are allowed to go anywhere near the Forest unsupervised.  It’s dangerous.  I’m sure your parents have all told you this already.”  She gave Mary a pointed look.

           Mary shrank in her seat.

           Blake tried, “But we just—”

           “No buts,” their teacher interrupted.  “If I hear any more of this, I’ll have to inform your parents.  Clear?”

           Mary caught her breath, and found herself blurting, “Please don’t.”

           Someone murmured, “Knew she’d back out.”

           Mary flushed.

           Her teacher just gave her a long, tired look that, if Mary stared at it long enough, might’ve been read as sympathetic.  Then she said, “Pull out the homework from last night.”

           Class passed in the usual manner, but Mary found her mind drifting, a nervous, fearful excitement bubbling in her chest at the thought of stepping foot in the Forest.  No one’s ever gone too far in, she thought.  Nobody’s come back to talk about what’s in there.  What if I’m the first?  It could be like—like an adventure!  I could draw pictures of all the strange things in there, and people would talk about it forever.

           Maybe it’d help stop people from disappearing, too.  Like Ian did.

           The intercom came on, startling Mary out of her thoughts.  “Good afternoon.  Baseball practice has been cancelled tonight due to rain…”

           The rush of students shoving things in their desks and packing their backpacks overrode the sound of the intercom.  Their teacher shouted, “Wait until announcements are over!” to very little success.

           Mary sat at her desk silently.  She closed her sketchbook, slowly, ignoring the nervous tension ticking through her shoulders.

           The announcements ended with, “Teachers may now dismiss their students.”

           “Now you can go,” their teacher said.  “And Mary?”

           Mary looked up at her.

           Her teacher sighed, looking resigned.  “You know the drill.”

           Mary nodded, tugging her backpack on.

           “Sucks to be you,” someone said.

           Another shouted, “See you later, Mary!”

           Blake said, “Saturday, if you still want to come.”

           Mary gave him a weak smile, but didn’t dare reply with her teacher still watching.

           The school emptied and went quiet.  Mary walked slowly to the office.  She hated this part; hated the waiting, hated that she couldn’t go and play with her friends after school, hated the tension that built in her chest as she sat in those hard plastic chairs.  But she knew Papa wanted to check on her grades, and make sure she made it home safely, and that he was really just worried about her wellbeing, and so she tolerated it, settling into one of the chairs to wait.  She didn’t know what to draw, this time, but the conversation about the Forest was still buzzing through her skull, and so she found herself playing with one of her bird sketches, adding eyes and strange, curling plants.

           Her homeroom teacher showed up a few minutes later, looking as tired and disgruntled as always. Mary gave her a weak smile and went quickly back to drawing.

           The entryway doors opened.

           Mary’s shoulders rose, just a little.

           Papa looked intimidating, sometimes; she didn’t know if he meant to be, but he always had this serious, stern look on his face that made her wonder if she’d done something bad. He studied her carefully for a few moments and, seemingly satisfied with his findings, turned towards the teacher. “How was she today?”

           Her teacher flattened her lips.  “She was fine, Rick.  As usual.” Her teacher seemed to hesitate a moment, and then continued, “She talked about going to visit the Forest with some friends—”

           Mary sent her a panicked look.

           “—but I put a stop to that and explained why it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

           Papa said nothing, but he did turn, slowly, to look at Mary.

           She couldn’t quite meet his eyes.  “I-I didn’t—we weren’t really going to—it’s just, Blake’s brother found this rock, and—”

           “Thank you,” Papa said, curtly, and it took Mary a moment to realize he was talking to the teacher and not her.  “I’ll make sure she understands not to go there.”  He reached for Mary’s arm, grabbing it tightly as she tried not to flinch backwards.  “Come on,” he said, dragging her to her feet.  “It’s time to go home.”

           “Rick,” Mary’s teacher called.

           Papa paused.

           “I don’t think these meetings are necessary anymore.  Ian disappeared years ago.  Mary hardly seems to remember it.  It certainly hasn’t affected her grades or performance.  What might affect her is being unable to spend time with friends outside of school.”

           Papa didn’t answer for several long moments.  “Thank you for the input,” he said, “but I’d like to keep up with this, for now.”

           Mary’s teacher made a disgruntled noise.  “I agreed to this as your friend, and out of concern for both of you, but Rick—I understand you’re still grieving, but you have to move on—”

           “I’m fine,” Papa said, “and my daughter’s fine.  We’ll keep up the meetings.”  And then he was dragging Mary, again, out of the school and to the car.

           Their town wasn’t particularly large; it had a few small convenience stores, the school, a gas station and a diner.  Beyond the edge sat the Forest, equally small, but strangely separate from everything. Mary tried not to look at it, slipping her sketchbook slowly into her backpack.  Papa didn’t say anything to her, but she could see the furrow of his eyebrows in the rearview mirror, and so she turned her head to look, firmly, out the window, and tried hard not to think about the pit in her stomach.

           They pulled into the driveway too quickly, and Mary fiddled with her seatbelt, unbuckling it slowly.

           Papa stepped out of the driver’s seat and slammed the door.

           Mary flinched.  She found herself caught between moving quicker and dawdling.

           Papa decided for her, opening her door roughly and catching her arm; she’d just barely gotten free of the seatbelt when he dragged her free, corralling her up the stairs and into the house.

           It was very quiet, for a while.  Papa turned to look at her slowly, expression downturned, and Mary found herself desperately trying to fill the space.  “Papa, I—”

           “What have I told you?” Papa’s voice was low, rough, just on the edge of angry.  “You don’t go to that Forest.  You don’t even think about going.  You understand?”

           Papa’s grip was too tight around her arm.  She pressed on his hand a little, trying, “Papa—”

           Papa grabbed her other arm, his hands still too tight, and shook her roughly.  “Do you understand?”

           Mary swallowed and nodded.

           “This is for your own safety.  That Forest is dangerous.”

           “I-I know, Papa.”

           “You’d best remember it.” Papa let go, finally.

           Mary didn’t rub at the handprints on her arms, instead holding her hands tightly at her side. Papa liked to keep her in his sight—wanted to make sure she never got into trouble—and she knew, if he was already mad, it’d be a bad idea to leave before she was dismissed.

           His eyes softened, just a little, and the tension eased out of Mary’s shoulders.  “Go change out of your school clothes,” he said, “then come down for dinner.”

           She nodded, then hurtled down the hall to her room.

                                                             ~*~

             -Mary almost considered not going to the Forest on Saturday. Almost.

           She didn’t want to make Papa worried—or get scolded again—but the Forest was still a fascinating subject, filled with mysteries she was aching to solve.  Something inside her tugged her towards the tree line, and a part of her desperately wanted to follow that pull, even if it meant getting in trouble with Papa.

           But she couldn’t just walk out the front door.  She’d have to sneak out; Papa didn’t like her going anywhere without him.

           She worried her lip, debating.  He usually likes to come and check on me if I’ve been in my room for a while.  Her door didn’t have a lock, so she couldn’t keep him out.  Her eyes darted to her dresser.  She slid off the bed, opening a drawer and pulling out some clothes. She shoved them underneath her comforter, arranging them as best she could to make it look like she was just sleeping underneath.  It didn’t look much like her, but she hoped it would be enough that Papa wouldn’t notice she’d slipped out.

           She hesitated before moving to her window.  If I do this, she thought, then I’ll be disobeying Papa.  If he finds out, I’ll get in a lot of trouble.  She glanced nervously at the door.  He doesn’t have to know, she decided.  I won’t be in the Forest that long. Just long enough to try and see something cool.

           Mary gripped the bottom of her window and worked it open.  It made barely a sound, and she hesitated for just a moment longer, glancing uncertainly at the door.  Then she grabbed her sketchbook and a pencil and slipped out the window.

           Her feet hit the ground with a quiet thump.  She stood there, eyes screwed shut, half waiting for someone to come by and yell at her. When they didn’t, she opened her eyes a little.

           She was outside. She was outside, and Papa didn’t know, and no one was saying anything.

           Mary just suppressed a giddy laugh, her shoulders shaking a little.  She was out!  She was going to the Forest!  She was going to see things no one had seen before!

           She just barely remembered to pull her window closed before darting away, sock feet slapping against the ground as she hurried towards the edge of town.

           The other kids were waiting there already, hovering near the tree line.  Mary lifted her free arm to wave, shouting, “Hey!  Hey, wait for me!”            

           “We didn’t think you’d show up,” one of the kids said—Henry, she thought.

           “Of course I was coming,” Mary said, skidding to a halt, lifting her chin and trying not to show her nervousness.  “I want to see what’s in there, too!”

           Blake snorted and turned towards the Forest.  “So,” he said, “who’s going in first?”

           All of them swiveled to stare into the darkness between the trees.  They remained very quiet, and in the silence, Mary strained her ears, trying to see if she could hear something from within the trees.  She caught no birdsong, no rustling of the undergrowth—nothing.

           “I think Blake should go,” someone said.

           “What?” Blake protested. “Why me?”

           “Because it was your idea.  What, too scared to go in now?”

           “I am not!  I just—I just think someone else should have the chance.  You know, since I already have that cool stone.”

           “Don’t be such a baby—”

           “I’ll go.”

           Mary hadn’t even entirely realized she’d spoken until the group turned to look at her.  She clutched her sketchbook a little closer.  “I’ll go,” she repeated, more firmly this time.

           Blake recovered first, looking at the other kids and saying, “Hear that?  She’ll go.”  He turned to give her a scrutinizing look.  “So?”

           Mary turned back to the Forest.  For a moment, it felt like it was just her and the trees, the group of students fading to background noise behind her.  A breeze stirred the leaves and ruffled her clothes.  The darkness stretched in front of her, deep and thick enough that she wondered if she’d feel it when she stepped inside.

           Mary took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and took a step forward.  Then another.  Then another. She hesitantly stretched out a hand, and didn’t stop walking until her palm brushed rough bark.

           Her hand rested against a normal-looking tree, the bark chipped and peeling away, a couple of bugs skittering out of holes in the wood.

           Mary’s shoulders relaxed marginally.  She turned back to the others, who were still watching warily from the Forest’s edge. “Come on!”  She hurried into the trees.

           The darkness deepened, and she slowed a little.  She wondered if the trees were the ones blocking out the sunlight; she squinted at the tree tops, but couldn’t see well enough to tell.  The darkness made her shiver, but she stuffed it down, calling, “Hey, why do you think there aren’t any animals here?”

           “Don’t know,” Blake said, closer to her ear than she’d expected.  She yelped and jumped, scrambling to keep her sketchbook from falling. Blake snorted; in the dim lighting, she could just barely make out a dryly amused expression.  “But we need to find something cool.”  He moved towards one of the trees, feeling around the trunk curiously.

           “Isn’t coming in here enough?” one of the kids asked.  “I mean, we all did it, right?  It’ll be something to talk about at school.”

           “No,” Blake insisted. “I want to find something else like my stone.”  He reached up and tugged on a branch.  It came free with a crack, and he stumbled, almost falling off the root he was standing on. “See anything weird about this?”

           The kid leaned forward. “Dude, it’s just a normal branch.”

           He tossed it aside. “There has to be something.”

           The bushes rustled.

           Mary jumped, whipping towards it.  The leaves shifted, and for a moment, Mary thought she could see a flash of eyes. “Um.  Guys?”

           Blake and the others didn’t pay attention to her, moving towards some ferns and cautiously shifting through them.

           The bushes rustled again. Hesitantly, Mary inched towards them.

           The thing inside them moved.  It flicked its attention to her, and for a moment, the creature seemed to glow, two sets of eyes blinking up at her.

           Mary started backwards.

           The thing disappeared into the undergrowth.

           Mary braced herself against a tree.

           A branch creaked overhead, and something whispered through Mary’s ears, more impression than sound, almost forming words that sounded like, What is it?

           The whisper echoed with the rustling of another bush, with a brief flutter of bird wings overhead, or with the quiet creek of the trees:

           What is it?

           What is it?

           What is it?

           “Guys,” Mary asked, voice sounding unusually loud, “are you the ones saying that?”

           “What are you talking about?  Hey, do you think this leaf is glowing, or am I just imagining things?”

           Humans, the whisper voice said again.

           Humans.

           Humans, danger.

           Breaking, breaking, breaking—

           Something landed overhead.

           Mary whipped towards it, stumbling away from the tree.

           A faintly-glowing bird perched on a branch.  Flowers wove through its feathers and gathered on its back, leaves raising like plumes on its head.  Its glowing eyes flickered as it leaned closer.  It opened its beak, and the whisper-voice pressed, more insistent, into her mind, words a flurry of quiet trills and a ruffling of feathers: I know you.

           Mary’s mouth opened and closed several times as she stared at the bird.  It took her a moment to realize there had been confusion in the voice—the bird’s voice?—and that made her still.

           A sharp crack sounded behind her.  Blake yelped in alarm, then shouted, “Nope!  That won’t work!”

           The bird whipped towards the noise almost as quickly as Mary did.  It let out an ear-splitting screech, and Mary rushed to cover her ears. The bird took flight, swooping low over the others’ heads, nearly brushing Blake’s hair.

           A low rumble went through the Forest, shaking the ground.  The trees suddenly seemed like they were leaning in, closer, closer, pressing until the branches dipped too low.  The whole Forest suddenly came alive with noise, and between the rustling leaves, the buzzing, the hoof beats, Mary could barely make out something that sounded like words:

           Breaking breaking breaking get out stop breaking leave go leave leave leave—

           “What is that?” someone whispered.

           Another turned and sprinted out of the Forest.

           Blake didn’t move right away, standing frozen, staring blankly into the trees.

           “Blake,” Mary hissed, starting towards him.

           Something split from the shadows.  It reared, dark, above Blake.  Glowing patches seemed to ripple across its back, and its mouth stretched just a little too wide as it roared.

           The sound shook Mary, and for a moment she wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, the pressure beating deep inside her mind.  Her legs shook and she wondered, very suddenly, if she should’ve snuck out at all.

           Blake seemed to break out of his stupor finally.  He screamed, sprinting away from the strange, shadowy beast.

           Mary’s legs moved without her conscious input; she turned and followed Blake, hurrying out of the Forest and breaking into the sunlight.  She stumbled, then fell, losing her sketchbook upon impact.  Her palms scraped the ground, tearing up grass and dirt. She scrambled back to her feet, and then started running again, and kept running until she could scramble back into her room’s window.

                                                             ~*~

             -Mary couldn’t get what she’d heard in the Forest out of her head.  The rest of the day, she wandered around in a daze, a part of her half-focused on the creatures that had emerged to terrify her and her classmates, the rest focused on the strange words.

           I know you.

           “You’re distracted,” Papa said, and it started her out of her thoughts.

           “I-I’m fine, Papa!” she said, forcing a grin.

           “You should be focused on finishing your homework,” he said.  His scowl deepened, and he said, “You should have finished that Friday night.  Or earlier today, when you were in your room.”

           “I-I know, Papa.” She leaned over the paper, but her mind drifted.  She found it hard to focus on math equations when her mind still pounded with the words, over and over again.  I know you, I know you, I know you—

           “Papa,” she asked before she could think better of it, “what happened when Uncle Ian disappeared?”

           Papa stiffened.

           “I-I just—did he disappear because, um—”  Because something in the Forest spoke to him? she wanted to ask, but couldn’t quite get the words to form.

           “I’m not going to talk about him,” Papa said, voice harsh.

           “I-I, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to—”  She trailed off.  “I just wanted to know.”

           Papa was silent for a long moment.  “Go finish your homework in your room.”

           Mary knew better than to argue.  She just nodded, scooping up her papers and scampering to her room.

           She knew Papa would check on her, eventually, to find out whether or not she’d actually finished her homework.  She tried to do it, but her attention kept slipping, flicking back to the window and the Forest, not quite visible, beyond.

           She didn’t want to go back to the Forest.  Not really. She was still curious about what was inside, but her adventure with her classmates had given her a scare.  But—

           (I know you.)

           I left my sketchbook there, she thought.  I should go back and get that, at least.

           She didn’t acknowledge what would happen if Papa came to check on her and she wasn’t there.  She just slid out her window, hurrying across the town in bare feet, trying not to worry too much about how dark it had gotten.

           The Forest was just as dark and silent as always.  She noticed a dark shape, pages fluttering a little, on the slope.

           Mary hesitantly lifted her sketchbook.  It’d sustained some wear and tear, the pages covered in dirt, the cover torn a little bit. Mary brushed off what she could, fingers gently running over the pages.  She clutched it to her chest.  I should get back, she thought, before Papa notices that I’m gone.

           The Forest loomed in front of her, dark and imposing.

           (I know you.)

           Mary bit her lip. She shifted a little on her toes, glancing furtively down the hill.  After a few long, agonizing moments, she took a few cautious steps towards the tree line. “Hello?” she asked, her voice coming out as more of a squeak.  She cleared her throat, then tried again: “Hello?  Is, um.  Is anyone there?”

           The trees creaked ominously, but nothing answered.

           Mary fiddled with the edge of her sketchbook.  Maybe whatever it was is mad, she thought, because we were breaking things.

           After a few moments of debate, Mary murmured, “I’m sorry for breaking things.  I won’t do it again.  I just had a question.”

           For a few moments, she didn’t think anything would answer.  Then a low breeze stirred, and with it, a quiet, almost imperceptible murmur: Human human human back danger back they’re back they’re back.

           “Why are you here?”

           Mary jumped, whipping around, trying to figure out where the voice had come from.  It didn’t sound entirely human; it felt almost as if the words had been pressed into her mind, formed between the low wind and the steady creaking of the trees.  “Who are you? Are you that bird?”

           The breeze picked up. Something flickered between the trees.  “I have been called many things by many humans,” came the voice again, making Mary’s head ache faintly.  “You would not understand most of them.  Your people do not have a name for me.”

           “Are—are you the Forest?”

           The Forest didn’t answer.

           Mary caught her voice. “You can talk,” she breathed.  “Have you ever talked to anyone before?  Nobody’s ever said anything about that!”  She took a half-step forward, suddenly excited.  “Is it because of magic?  Can you—”

           The wind picked up, blowing past her so strongly that it almost knocked her back.  Something growled from the shadows.  Danger, a cacophony of voices seemed to whisper.  Breaking breaking breaking—

           “I-I—”  Mary’s voice caught in her throat, and she backed up a little, not quite leaving the edge of the trees.  “I’m sorry.  I d-didn’t mean—I won’t do it again.”

           “Humans say many things,” the Forest said, “and rarely do they mean them.”  The murmur quieted, fading to low chittering sounds, then silence.

           Mary’s shoulders hunched a little, and she couldn’t help the guilt that bubbled in her chest.  “I just had a question,” she murmured, “about something you said.”

           The Forest didn’t speak, but she thought she might have heard the fluttering of wingbeats overhead.

           Mary steeled herself and said, “Y-you—you said you knew me.  B-but I’ve never been here.  How?”

           The Forest was silent so long that she didn’t think she’d get an answer.  “I don’t know,” came the quiet response, like a whisper of a bug against her ear.

           “Oh.”  It was almost disappointing, and she felt a little silly for even trying to ask.  “Okay.” She took a couple steps backwards. “I guess—that’s all I wanted to ask.” She started to leave, then paused. “I—I really am sorry.  We just wanted to see if what we’d heard was true.  Honest.”

           The Forest didn’t respond this time.

           Guilt flickered in her chest for a moment.  I wouldn’t like it much, she thought, if someone hurt me.

           (Papa never apologizes.)

           The guilt solidified into something a little more solid and actionable.  She squared her shoulders and, an idea forming in her mind, made her way back to town.

                                                             ~*~

             -Mary stood outside the Forest with her backpack slung over her shoulder, decked in her overalls and heavy boots and her coat. Papa hadn’t noticed her sneak out the window, and she hoped he wouldn’t come looking for her just yet.  I won’t be long, she thought.  I just need to do this.

           The Forest was very, very quiet.  Mary squinted, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see more than a few feet into the trees.  “Um. Hello?”

           She waited a little while for a response, but when she didn’t get one, she let the backpack slip to the ground.  She unzipped it and pulled out one of several water bottles, hesitating at the Forest’s edge. “Um.  Is it okay if I come in?”  When the Forest didn’t answer, she took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

           Darkness shrouded her, and she blinked.  The dim lighting made it difficult to see, but one hand reached out to brush the trunk of a nearby tree.  She twisted the cap off the water bottle, opening it with a quiet crack.  She poured the water onto the roots of the tree, humming a quiet song to herself as she tried to look further into the woods.

           Something rustled behind her.  She jumped, then held her breath, but nothing moved again.

           She finished pouring the water and darted back into the sunlight.  Her chest rattled with a few deep, shaky breaths.  After a few moments she bent, grabbing the next water bottle and hurrying into the Forest.

           She’d made it through three bottles and was well onto the fourth when that same strange impression of a voice asked, “What are you doing?”

           Mary was so startled that she lost her hold on the water bottle.  She tumbled backwards with a quiet oomph!

           Things stirred inside the trees; vague shapes she couldn’t identify, tall gangly things that looked like they were bent out of shape, the gleam of eyes that were clustered too close together for comfort, the twitching of tree branches that seemed to move all on their own.

           Mary took a shuddering breath.  Her hands shook a little, but she managed to keep her voice steady as she said, “Watering you.”

           She didn’t think she was going to get a response for a moment.  Then the voice came again, brushing around her like a breeze: “Why?”

           “Be-because! Um.  Because I want to make up for the other day.”  She stood and brushed off her overalls.  The bottle was empty, now, so she stuck it underneath her arm and listened to it crinkle.

           “I did not require reparations,” the Forest said, in the hurried footsteps of animals, in the quiet whisper of the leaves.

           “Oh.”  Mary bit her lip.  “Well, I’m going to keep watering you, anyways.  Is that okay?”

           The Forest didn’t answer.

           Mary nodded decisively. “Okay.  I’m going to get more water.  Um, please don’t do anything to me?”  She started back towards the Forest’s entrance, then paused. “Oh!  Um, by the way.  My name’s Mary.”

                                                             ~*~

             -It became a routine, of sorts.

           Mary didn’t know how much she owed the Forest—wasn’t sure if she’d repaid it after giving it a few water bottles—and so made a game out of bringing it things she thought it might be able to use.  She planted some seeds, near the edge; stole bird food out of the feeder; brought table scraps for some of the animals.  She made sure to stay close to the Forest’s edges, always wary of going too far.  (Of going missing, and of no one coming to find her.  She wondered if Papa would grieve like he did for Ian.  She wondered what that would look like, with no one else around.)

           It was fun, almost; it felt like she was getting away with something exciting and new. Papa would pick her up after school, and she’d wait a while, then duck out the window and run to the Forest, some new item stuck in her bag, ready to see if it was something that it would like.

           The Forest didn’t really say anything, but that was alright; Mary had plenty of words for the both of them, and would often talk to herself—as much to keep her nerves down as to explain things.

           “Kevin said he could fit three whole golf balls in his mouth, but I know he’s lying because his mom would yell at him for putting even one in.”

           “I found a feather today! I think it was from a blue jay, but I didn’t see the bird.  See, see, I put it in my hair.”

           “Kathrine says that you can keep frogs as pets.  I want one, but Papa says that we can’t have pets.”

           A breeze brushed across the back of her neck.  “Why do you keep coming back?”

           She stiffened, her hands twisted in the grass as she tried to plant some flower seeds.  “Huh?”

           Lights blinked faintly in the darkness.  Something moved a little, still too coated in shadow to accurately make out.  “Most humans stay away.  Why do you return?”

           Mary fidgeted with her pants.  She rocked back on her heels, careful not to sit.  “Do you not want me to?”

           A long, long pause, before the Forest answered, “You do not do harm.  You can stay.”

           Mary grinned, and surprised herself with her excitement when she chirped, “Okay!”

           An animal (a deer?) started, jumping away into the undergrowth.  A couple of birds took flight, letting out odd, tinny cries. “But you did not answer.  Why do you return?”

           “O-oh.  Um.”  She worried her lip, suddenly feeling very much like she had done something wrong, somewhere, and couldn’t quite figure out what it was.  “Well.  It’s. Um.”  She shrugged, looking at her feet.  “I just want to,” she finished quietly.

           When the Forest didn’t respond, she hurried to say, “Um!  I like—I think you’re very cool!  And, uh, and I still owe you for—for what happened.  And—and you listen.”  She trailed off, hands wrapped around her legs.

           For a few moments, nothing moved.  Mary wondered if she should start heading back; time always moved strangely in the Forest, and she found she could end up staying here for hours instead of minutes, if she wasn’t careful.  (Papa had almost caught her climbing in her window, once, and she’d sat on her bed frozen, expecting to be scolded, or to find her window locked from the outside, or—

           Papa had never said anything, but she hadn’t gone out for a few days, to be safe.)

           A bright glow caught her attention.

           One of the strange birds had hopped down from its perch.  It ruffled its feathers, bouncing closer, head tilted towards one side.

           Mary caught her breath and held it.

           The bird moved just a little bit closer.

           Mary, hesitantly, reached out to pet it.

           Its feathers were unusually soft—softer even than the blankets that were piled on the couch at home. Up close, she could tell that the bird had what looked like flowers twined through its down, long stems twirling round and round its body.  Mary fingered one of them, but didn’t pull, gently running one thumb over a petal. “I need my sketchbook,” she breathed, and got up so quickly that she startled the bird into flight.  “Um!  I’ll be back!”

           Her cheeks ached from grinning as she sprinted down the slope.

                                                          ~*~

             -“Hey, Mary, I’m having a birthday party this weekend,” Helen said, coming up to her with a grin.

           “A birthday party?”

           “Yeah!  You should come.”

           Mary’s grin faltered a little.  “Oh. Um.  Papa doesn’t usually like me going places without him.”  But I go to the Forest, don’t I?  She tried not to think about Blake or the others, sitting not that far from her. “But maybe I can ask!”

           Helen nodded, appeased, and Mary tried to ignore the nervous excitement buzzing in her stomach. Maybe Papa could come, she thought.  Then he wouldn’t have to worry, and I could still go and hang out with my friends.

           When Papa came to pick her up after school, she asked, “Hey, Papa?  Helen’s having a birthday party this weekend.”

           “I’m sure she’ll enjoy that.”

           “She invited me to come. Can I go?”

           Papa studied her for several long, agonizing moments.  “You’ll have homework to do,” he said carefully.

           “I’ll get it all done Friday night!”

           “You never get it done that early.”

           “But I will!  You can watch me.  Or, or you could come to the party, too.  I won’t get into any trouble, Papa.  I promise.”

           “You’re a child, Mary. Trouble is all children get into.”  He shook his head.  “No.  I don’t think you should go.”

           “Come on, Papa, please. I never get to hang out with my friends.”

           “You spend time with them at school.”  Papa grabbed her arm, roughly, and dragged her to the car.  “You can go when you’re older.”

           “How much older?”

           Papa didn’t say anything.

           “I really won’t get into trouble,” Mary said, something tightening in her chest.  She didn’t know why this bothered her so much, but she found herself pressing, “It could even just be for a few moments!  I just want to—”

           “No, Mary.  I want you safe.  Where I can see you.  This discussion is over.”

           “Everyone else gets to hang out with their friends.”

           “You aren’t everyone else.  I don’t know why any responsible parent would let their kids run around unsupervised—not when so many people go missing.”

           Before Mary had really had time to think about what she was saying, she muttered, “Just because Uncle Ian disappeared—”

           “Don’t talk about him!” Papa roared.

           Mary shrank.  Her heart thundered in her chest.  Very suddenly, she was aware of the fact that they were still in the school parking lot, and that people had stopped to stare at Papa’s outburst.

           Papa seemed to realize this, too, because his attention swept around the observers.  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  “You’re not going,” he growled.  “That’s final. I don’t know why you’re putting up such a protest.  It’s unreasonable.”

           All she could do was nod, even as something tightened in her chest.

           “Get in the car.”

           I don’t want to, some part of her thought desperately, but she listened, anyways, sliding into the front seat and trying not to hunch her shoulders.

           Papa got into the driver’s seat.  He started the car, and they pulled away from the school, the worried faces of Mary’s classmates disappearing behind her.

           Something welled in Mary’s chest and clogged her throat, but she bit her lip and shoved it down, some part of her understanding that crying would probably make Papa angrier right now.

           “I’m doing this to keep you safe,” Papa said, breaking the silence.  “You understand that, right?  I can’t risk you disappearing like—like others.”  He stumbled over the words, and his voice was strained, like he was trying hard to keep it level.

           “I-I know, Papa.” Her voice cracked, a little, and she didn’t quite dare look at Papa to see how he reacted.

           Papa didn’t say anything more—not even when they got home—and Mary hurried to her room, shutting the door.

           She hadn’t even had half a second to think about what she was doing before she was scrambling out her window.  Running to the Forest was almost second nature, now, and she found herself sprinting up the grassy slope before she’d really had time to think about it.  Her eyes burned, and her vision blurred, a little, as she hurtled between the trees.  She nearly collided with a sturdy trunk; her hands flew out to brace herself against it, and she just stood there for a few moments, shaking, tears flowing down her cheeks.  She stayed quiet, scrubbing at her eyes as she tried to get the tears to stop.  It’s stupid, she thought.  I shouldn’t be so upset.  It’s just a birthday party.

           “Your face is wet.”

           Mary started, despite herself.  She pulled away from the tree.  “Y-yeah.”

           “Why?”

           Mary rubbed her eyes fiercely.  “B-because I’m crying.”

           “Crying?”  The Forest’s voice trailed off into a breeze, the word picked up by various creatures inside.  After a few moments, an answering murmur came: sad upset overwhelmed too much emotion—

           “You are hurt.”  It wasn’t a question, and there was something almost angry underneath it.

           Mary flinched backwards, because for a moment all she could hear was Papa’s voice, and she hadn’t come here because she wanted to be yelled at again—  “Don’t be angry. Please.”

           The whole Forest seemed to suddenly go quiet.  “You are hurt,” the Forest repeated, and this time it sounded vaguely uncertain, “because of anger?”

           “I’m not hurt,” Mary said stubbornly.  “It’s stupid.”

           “Mary,” the Forest said, and for a brief, fleeting moment, she was reminded of Uncle Ian, gently soothing her after she’d fallen and scraped a knee, just before picking her up to tell her a story.

           (Papa had told her stories too, once.  When had that stopped?)

           When the Forest spoke again, its voice was back to normal, and she could believe she’d imagined the whole thing.  “It is understandable,” the Forest said.  “Humans often hurt others when they are angry.”

           “H-he—he just wants to keep me safe.  He’s just worried.”

           “But you are still hurt.”

           “I don’t want to talk about this,” Mary said quickly.  “I just—I don’t want to think about it.”

           The Forest went silent again.

           Mary stayed silent, pressed against a tree, until something fluttered near her foot.  She blinked, lifting her head.

           A bird had fluttered closer.  Its faintly-glowing feathers illuminated the ground around her.

           Something shifted in the undergrowth.  A creature that vaguely resembled a fox emerged from the bush, lifting its head to press against her hand.  Mary’s fingers curled into the animal’s fur, and it curled up against her.  Mary giggled, the sound wet, as more animals emerged, gently pressing against her.  “Thank you.”

           A low hum went through the Forest as a response.

                                                              ~*~

             -The Forest asked, “Why do you talk to me?”

           Mary stopped pouring the water for a moment, startled by the unexpected question.  “I, um.  Do you not want me to?”

           The nearest tree creaked. “It is simply strange.  Humans do not often talk to me.”

           She wasn’t sure how to take that—as a reprimand, as a statement, as a question.  She tried to answer, anyways.  “Well, um.  It’s because I like having someone to talk to.”

           “You do not have humans to talk to?”

           “I do!” she hurried to say.  “I have Papa, and the kids at school, and lots of other people!  But, um.  They maybe don’t listen as well?  But it’s okay!  I know they’re just busy and have lots of other things to worry about and I’m just a kid who makes them worry and causes trouble and—”  She paused for breath, and found she wasn’t sure how else she could continue, so she just fell silent instead.

           The Forest waited.

           Mary whispered, “It’s lonely, sometimes.”

           The trees creaked. The wind echoed between them, making the whole Forest sound strangely hollow.

           Mary asked, “Is it lonely for you, too?”

           Birds fluttered overhead; vines twisted a little around the nearest tree trunk.  “I have never talked to anyone before.”

           “Is it because of the stories?  Because if it’s the stories, then—then I can make them stop!”

           A wingbeat fluttered near her ear.  “I do not know the stories,” it answered.  “I have never had need to talk to anyone before.”

           “Oh.  How come?”

           “Everything within my borders is connected.  The trees,” the trunks leaned forward, “the birds,” one rushed overhead, “the stones,” a couple pebbles bounced down the path.  “I can see, and hear, and feel everything that is connected to me.”

           “Even me?”

           “No.  You are not a part of the Forest.”

           Mary tried not to think about how strangely empty that made her feel.  “But you know I’m here.  You can hear me.”

           “Yes.  Through the ears of the birds, and the mice, and the deer. I can see you through the eyes of the ants and the rabbits and things humans have no name for.  I can speak through the voices of the wind, and the leaves, and the stones, and you will hear because of your presence within my boundaries.  I am many and one at once; I have no need to talk to others.”

           “Oh.”  Mary scratched a finger in the dirt.  “But, um.  Then.  Um.”

           The Forest waited, silent save for a bird call, somewhere in the distance.

           Mary chewed her lip, then took a deep breath.  “There are stories about people disappearing when they come here.  I thought maybe, um—maybe you were taking people because you were lonely?  But if you don’t need to speak to anyone—and it’s silly, anyways, I’m being dumb, because if people disappeared then you would’ve taken me and Blake and it’s just a silly superstition, anyways.”

           Something soft brushed against Mary’s legs; when she turned, it had already disappeared, eyes gleaming in the undergrowth.  “Sometimes,” the Forest said, “things from the Outside enter my boundaries.”

           Mary cocked her head.

           “Some find their way out. Others stay, and become a part of the Forest.”

           “Become a part of you?”

           “Yes.”

           “But, um, how does that—how does that work?  Do they build homes here?  But then why don’t they come back to see their families?  Dad had a friend—he thought he came here.  They never found him.”

           “No,” the Forest answered, in a long burst of wind that was more like a sigh.  “You do not understand.  They become a part of the Forest.”

           Mary frowned.

           “I can show you.”

           Some warning rang in the back of Mary’s mind, then; some instinct that told her that she should leave, that she would not like whatever she was about to see.  But she didn’t move, her legs too stiff, her eyes wide as she stared into the too-dark depths of the Forest.

           The undergrowth rustled and shifted.  A nearby tree creaked and cracked, loudly, and it took Mary a moment to realize it was turning, the roots tugging free of the ground and shifting.  Small lights flickered from the grass and popped around the tree’s trunk.  A large, bulbous growth had formed on the side of the tree, half-covered in bark and moss; the layers peeled back slowly with a cracking, snapping sound to reveal what lay underneath.

           The thing might’ve been human, once.  It looked vaguely human-shaped.  The arms were twisted above its head, almost completely subsumed by the trunk.  A large branch curled through one shoulder, sprouting several large, faintly glowing flowers.  The legs had elongated into something that almost resembled roots, toes breaking through shoes that had half-decayed.  Moss patterned the lower portion of the person’s face like a beard.  Its eyes were half-lidded, glowing white and pupil-less in the dark.

           A jumble of emotions Mary couldn’t quite parse apart fluttered in her chest.

           Then the maybe-person’s mouth moved, and spoke in a voice that rasped with disuse.  “This is what I mean,” it said, and the words seemed to be echoed by the birds, by the leaves, by every single thing around them until Mary felt too hemmed-in.  “They are transformed by the Forest.  They become a part of me.”

           Suddenly it felt like the unnatural darkness of the Forest had lifted, and Mary couldn’t help gaping.  Each tree seemed to have something else attached to it—a deer skeleton, threaded through with vines, or a fox that still seemed mostly alive but was covered in mushrooms, or nothing more than a vague face that had been trapped in the hollow wood.  The mouse that skittered across the ground carried fungus on its back; the deer that pranced, just in view, had antlers that had twisted out of shape, greenery growing along its chin and neck, legs too long and too many. A many-eyed thing blinked at her, long claws trailing through the undergrowth.

           Mary didn’t know when she’d surged to her feet, nor when she’d started running, nor when her breath had gotten caught in her throat.  All she knew was that she needed to get out, out, out, back to light and safety and away from that thing in the tree—

           She burst into daylight, tripped, and fell, skidding across the grass and scuffing her palms. She lay there a few moments, shivering, hiccupping, waiting for something to step out of the Forest and follow her.

           Nothing did.  When Mary pushed herself onto her knees, the Forest was as silent as always.

                                                            ~*~

             -The man in the tree wouldn’t stop staring at her.

           She saw it whenever she blinked, or looked in a mirror, or caught something out of the corner of her eye.  She couldn’t stop seeing it, those glowing eyes boring deeply into hers.  It made her chest clench, and her breath shuddered.

           “Mary,” one of her teachers said, voice just on the edge of concern, “are you doing alright?”            Mary looked at her teacher, and for a moment, she thought his eyes were glowing.  She blinked, and it was gone.

           (I know what happened to the missing people.)

           Mary forced a smile and said, “Fine!”

           “I can call your father. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind picking you up if you’re not feeling well—”

           “No!”  Mary took a deep breath, then continued, “I’m fine. I don’t need to worry him.”

           The teacher didn’t look convinced, but he let it go.

           The day passed in a haze. One moment, she was sitting in class, staring at a worksheet.  The next, the end of day announcements came on, and she was wandering down the hall towards the office.

           Papa came to pick her up and speak to her homeroom teacher.  She couldn’t really focus on what they were saying; she kept staring at Papa, wondering if she should tell him.  (I know what happened to Uncle Ian.)

           Papa tugged her towards the car, and she didn’t protest, allowing him to usher her into the seat. Ask, a part of her whispered.  Ask me what’s wrong. Please.  I need to talk about it.

           Don’t ask, another part of her hissed.  I can’t do it.  I can’t say anything.  I don’t want you to be mad at me.

           She didn’t even realize how silent the ride home had been until they pulled into the driveway. Papa pulled her, roughly, from her seat and dragged her into the house.  He shut the door, but didn’t let go of her arm.

           Oh, she thought.  He’s noticed.  He’s going to ask now.

           “Mary,” he said, and for the first time she noticed how hard he was working his jaw, and how harsh his voice came out.  “One of my coworkers said they saw you running out of the Forest yesterday.”

           Mary’s heart dropped like a rock into her stomach.  That’s not what I wanted to talk about, she thought, desperate.  That’s not how I wanted this conversation to go.

           “What did I tell you,” Papa asked, “about going to the Forest?”

           Mary knew she was supposed to say something, here, but she froze, Papa’s image overlapping with that of the man in the tree.

           “I told you,” Papa growled, “not to go back there.”  His voice lifted, rising to an almost hysterical pitch.  “I told you not to go to the Forest!  You could get hurt!  Do you want to disappear like all those others?  Is that what you want?  To disappear and leave me alone?”  He shook her, roughly, and her head spun.

           Maybe it was the disorientation, or Papa’s words, or the desperate attempt to get attention off her. Maybe she just didn’t know how to keep it in anymore, because she blurted, “I know what happened to Uncle Ian.”

           Papa suddenly went very, very still.

           “H-he—the Forest—it’s magic.  He became a part of it.  He’s still there.”  Mary looked at Papa desperately.  “I’m sorry.”

           Papa didn’t move for several long, long moments.  When he did, it was to hit her, sharply, across the side of her face.  Mary would’ve fallen, had Papa not still had such a harsh hold on her.  “Don’t talk about Ian,” he shouted, and he hit her again.  “He made his own choices.  It’s his own fault he’s gone.”  And again.  “I won’t let you make the same mistakes.”  And again.  He was crying, now, his voice near hysterical.  “I’m doing this for your own good.”  He hit her again.  “Don’t go back to the Forest.  Don’t go back there!”

           “Papa—”  Her head throbbed.  She was crying too, she thought, but her world was spinning, and she was having trouble focusing.  “Papa, please—”

           She woke up on the floor, with the house dark, and Papa gone.

                                                            ~*~

             -Mary hadn’t intended to go back to the Forest.  Not really; not after seeing—

           Eyes glowing, moss coating its chin, Mary wondering desperately if this was how the Forest knew her—

           But she was tired, and lonely, and hurt, and she no longer knew where else to go.

           The route to the Forest seemed longer than before.  She wondered, absently, if Papa would notice that she left and come after her.

           (Did it matter, if she didn’t come back?)

           Mary dragged herself up the slope; she shook, a little, her heart thundering in her chest.  She pulled herself inside the tree line, but didn’t make it very far before she collapsed, curling up against the trunk of the tree.

           The Forest was silent. That was good; Mary wasn’t sure what she would’ve done if something had come to see her.

           She stayed curled against the tree, shaking and silent, for a long time.  “Is Uncle Ian here?” she whispered.

           The Forest didn’t respond, save for a quiet wind that, if she listened closely, she thought might’ve whispered Ian’s name.

           “It’s just—he went missing.  Like a lot of people.  Him and Papa were really close.  They used to tell me stories—Ian was really fascinated about the Forest, you know. But then he disappeared, and Papa stopped telling stories.”  Mary pulled her knees to her chest, but it couldn’t quite stop her shaking.  “Why?” she whispered.  “Why do you take people, and—and—”  She couldn’t quite bring herself to say the words; she didn’t know what she might’ve said if she did.  “Can you let them go?” Mary asked instead.  “I-if Uncle Ian were—if he came back, then maybe Papa would change back, too. Maybe he’d stop—”  She broke off, a fractured part of her brushing against another thought she didn’t really want to have.  “Please let him go.  Please.”

           The Forest was silent for a long moment before something gentle brushed her shoulder.  “I can’t.”

           “Why not?”

           “They are interconnected to my magic.  They are part of the greater consciousness.  I do not know if their consciousnesses can be unwound.”

           “Oh.”  Mary leaned heavily against the tree.  “Do you think,” she asked tiredly, “I could become part of it, too?”

           The Forest went still.

           “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.  “Papa’s always angry or worried or—he’s not happy.  A-and I don’t—he scares me.  I don’t want him to scare me, because I know he loves me, but he does, and it’s—!  And I keep thinking about the—the person in the tree, and I can’t sleep, and Papa won’t listen because he’s just mad that I went into the Forest, and I’m tired!  I don’t want to go back, and I don’t want to think about—about what happened to Uncle Ian, and I don’t want to be alone anymore.”  She didn’t know when she’d started crying, but once it started, she couldn’t stop.  She shook and heaved, great shuddering sobs rattling her chest and she pressed herself against the tree trunk.  “If I disappear into the Forest,” she whispered, “then no one would mind.  Papa would be sad for a while, but then he wouldn’t have anything to worry about anymore.”  Her words died out slowly, and she just sat there, a heavy sense of exhaustion weighing down on her chest.

           The silence went on for a little longer.  Then, in a voice so quiet she might not have heard it, had it not been magic: “I hurt you.”

           Mary curled up tighter.

           “I hurt you,” the voice repeated, and it sounded so strangely human that Mary couldn’t help thinking about the person in the tree again.  “I am sorry. I am sorry, I did not mean—I only wanted to explain—I should not have showed you that.”

           Mary shrugged, shoulder scraping the bark.  She winced, but didn’t move away.

           “If I hurt you,” the Forest asked, “why did you come back?”

           Mary didn’t know how to answer that for a long moment.  “Papa hurts me, too.  But he does it because he cares.  I—I know you didn’t mean it.”

           “That does not make it okay.”

           Why do you sound so human now? Mary wanted to ask, but didn’t, almost afraid of the answer.

           (A part of her wondered if it was because of the people who were a part of the Forest’s consciousness; if they gave the Forest a way to understand what humans were like.  She wished it had worked a little sooner.)

           “What can I do?” the Forest asked, the trees creaking.

           “Just let me stay here. Please?”

           The Forest didn’t respond, and Mary took that as an affirmative.  She stayed, curled against the trunk of a tree, until faint sunlight started to peek through the tree line.

           She knew she should leave, then.  She didn’t want to.

           (Didn’t want to go back. Didn’t want to stay.  Didn’t know what she really wanted anymore.)

           Eventually Mary stood, her legs stiff.  She hesitated just inside the tree line.  A part of her thought of turning and running deeper; going so deep that she’d be lost in the Forest forever.

           (She wondered if that was the reason so many people went missing; if they had just gotten so tired of living in the town that they’d decided leaving for the Forest was better.)

           After a few long moments of deliberation, she took a step back into the sunlight.

                                                              ~*~

             -Mary made it back to her room as the sun was coming up, tumbling into her bed and falling asleep almost as soon as she’d hit her pillow. Papa came to wake her up barely a moment later.  He didn’t say anything; he just ushered her along, shoving her school clothes at her, driving her to school in silence.

           (Mary didn’t want to go, but she didn’t want to stay.  The car felt suffocating with its silence, and she practically held her breath until they reached the school building.)

           The whole day seemed to pass in a sleep-deprived haze, but that was alright; it meant she didn’t have to think about Papa so much, and about his reaction and what it meant.

           But she did think about the Forest, her mind twisting in useless circles as she tried to make sense of her feelings.

           (She liked the Forest. She liked that it listened, and she liked the mystery, even if it scared her.  But she didn’t like that it took people, and that they ended up like the thing in the tree, and that maybe there were other people out there like Papa who—

           But the Forest had been upset to find out it had hurt her, and it had apologized, so maybe—

           Papa never apologized.)

           She hiked back out to the Forest after school, tired but determined, and set foot into the tree line with a mission in mind.

��          The Forest spoke, much more quickly than she’d anticipated, the ferns lifting to brush her legs, lights flaring in the darkness.  “You’re back.”

           “Y-yeah.”

           “You did not have to come,” it said, “if I made you distressed.”

           “I-I know,” she said. “I wanted to.”

           The Forest didn’t say anything to that, and Mary gathered herself, trying to find the words.  “What is it like,” she asked finally, “deeper inside?”

           The Forest was silent for several long, long moments.  “Are you sure you wish to see?”

           Mary steeled herself. “Yes.  I want to know if—if there’s anything—I just need to know.”

           “I hurt you last time. I do not wish to hurt you again.”

           Mary smiled, despite herself.  “I-it’s okay. I’m choosing to do this, this time.”

           “That does not—” The Forest broke off, and Mary was struck again by how strangely human the sentiment was.  “If it is too much, then please say so.  I will guide you back out.”

           “Okay,” she said, voice shaking a little.

           Carefully the trees pulled back, inching along the ground, dragging their roots from their places until there was a long, grassy path into the darkness.  Lights flickered along the edges, guiding Mary inward.

           For a moment, Mary remembered the stories about those lights, and how following them could lead to a person getting lost forever.

           But she also knew that the Forest wouldn’t mind if she chose to turn and walk out, instead.  Slowly, hesitantly, she edged forward, walking carefully along the path.

           The pathway was bright, lit by brightly glowing balls of light that kept the darkness in the rest of the Forest at bay.  Trees and stones and animals continued to move out of her way, extending the path further and further into the Forest’s center.  She wondered if she could keep walking and come out on the other side.

           (She wondered if Papa would come looking for her, or if he’d just stay in his empty house and grieve.)

           The trees stopped moving, and Mary stepped into the center of a large, dark clearing.  She blinked, trying to peer through the darkness, willing her eyes to adjust.

           Lights flickered in the clearing, a rainbow of blue and pink and yellow, flooding the grass and the trees with brilliant, fractured hues.  The long strands of grass shimmered with dew, waving in the slight breeze.  A massive tree grew in the center of the clearing, trunk twisted so that it looked like it was made up of dozens of smaller trees.  Bird nests filled the upper branches, protected by a thick canopy of leaves.  Tiny hatchlings peered out of their nests at Mary, feathers still dull, but scattering small bursts of light as they ruffled their downy wings.  A larger bird flew overhead, gliding towards one of the nests and perching to feed one of the chicks.

           Something emerged from the trees, and Mary gasped as a large stag walked towards her.  Its antlers looked like gnarled branches, chipping apart in areas to reveal bursts of color.  Its neck seemed too long, its legs too spindly, and when it huffed, it breathed mist.  Mary was almost afraid, until a doe and fawn stepped out behind it.  The fawn looked much like its father, if a little more proportionate, but had a pair of extra legs it bounced on.  It jumped towards Mary, curiously lifting its head and nuzzling at her hand.  Mary giggled, stroking its velvety fur.

           “Being part of the Forest is not always death,” the Forest said, and it took Mary a moment to understand it was coming from the stag.  “There is life, too.  One is given power and care through life, and when they pass, they become a part of the Forest again, to help support life.  It is the way of things.”  A pause. “But I should not have shown you the man.  It distressed you.  That was wrong.”

           Mary knelt, scratching the fawn under the chin.  “You didn’t know.  You, um. You hadn’t interacted much with humans before.”

           “It was still wrong. I should not have hurt you.”

           A bird fluttered near her, and the Forest shifted, voice coming from it, instead of the stag.  “I do not always understand human morals,” it said, “but I understand harm.  My concern has always been whether or not harm has been done to those that are a part of me.”

           “Y-you said that’s why you chased us out before.”

           “Yes.  I allowed you to stay because you did not cause harm. I should not have then caused harm to you.”

           Mary stood.  A couple more birds fluttered around her, stirring her clothes and making her giggle.  “It’s beautiful,” she admitted.  “I wonder if that’s why people stay here, sometimes.”

           The Forest went quiet, suddenly.  “They get lost,” it said after a long, long moment.

           “They can’t find their way out.”

           “Sometimes. Sometimes, they are lost in their minds, rather than in the physical world.  They stay here and do not leave.”  A pause.  “I do not want that to happen to you.”

           “But you can always guide me back out.  Right?”

           “Yes.”

           “And—and you can guide others out, too?”

           A pause.  Lights flickered, lighting up a path.  “If they choose,” it said finally.

           “Good. Because—because I don’t want—I don’t want people like Ian to go missing anymore.”

           The Forest stayed silent for a long time.  Mary didn’t mind; she let the silence grow, absently petting the fawn until it felt like things had grown too late.  Then she stood, letting the Forest guide her back to the edge, lights flickering along the path.

           The Forest stopped her briefly with a whisper of, “Mary.”

           She cocked her head.

           “You are always welcome here,” it said, “if you need refuge.”

           Mary smiled, a small thing that felt more real than anything she’d given over the past several days.  “Okay.”

                                                             ~*~

             -Mary hadn’t really meant to talk to anyone about the Forest—at least, not until she had a better plan.  She didn’t know how to explain what she’d learned (didn’t think anyone would listen), and so cautiously hoarded the information to herself, going back to the Forest when she could in order to speak to it and learn more.

           But then it was the weekend, and Papa was having people over from his work, and they’d gotten into the adult drinks and gone red in the face and started hollering and laughing in the living room.  Mary knew that she wasn’t supposed to go in there—wasn’t sure she wanted to, really—but she’d heard one of Papa’s friends say, “All those stories about the Forest are bullshit.  Mark went in a couple days ago, and he came back out, perfectly fine.”

           Mary paused, hovering close to the doorway.

           “Maybe he just—maybe he just got so lost that he came out the other side.”

           “Nah, nah, I’m telling you—he said he saw these colored light things.”  The words were slurred, but Mary couldn’t help her grin, and she pressed her hands tightly to her mouth to keep from giggling.  “Said they led him right out.”

           Papa said, “You shouldn’t tell such stories.”

           “Oh, come on, Rick, lighten up.  It’s all in good fun.”

           “You shouldn’t—you shouldn’t talk about stuff like that.”

           Something in Papa’s voice made the hairs on Mary’s neck stand on end.  She peered cautiously around the doorway.

           Papa was leaning forward in his recliner, bottle clasped in his hands, his expression distant and haggard.  “Ian talked like that,” Papa said.  “Ian talked about that all the time, about his—about how the Forest was magic, and how he’d go see it one day.  Nobody believed it.  People just—just fucking ran away.  But Ian believed in those stupid fairytales, and he wouldn’t stop looking.  He believed them so much it killed him.”

           One of the men laughed, and slapped Papa’s shoulder, and said, “Right, a story’s what killed him.”

           Papa shoved the man’s arm away.  “He wouldn’t leave it alone!  He kept—he obsessed over it until—until there was nothing left.  He’s dead, now.  Maybe if people didn’t talk about those damn stories—”  He shook his head and took another swig from his bottle.

           Mary stepped into the living room, and without truly pausing to think, she said, “But they’re true, Papa.”

           All eyes were very suddenly on her.  She quailed under them, suddenly wondering if she should run back to her room.

           “Look at this!” one of the men said, pointing at Mary.  “Kiddo’s going to join us!  What’ve you got to say, kiddo?”

           Papa stared at her, a dark look on his face.

           (Mary remembered telling Papa about what happened to Ian.  Papa had been so angry, then.  She wondered if it’d be different now, with friends around.  She wondered if it mattered.)  “I-it’s true, though.  The Forest—people disappear because they become a part of it.  But it’s not trying to!  It’s because of the weird magic stuff.”

           “Weird magic stuff,” someone repeated, laughing.

           “Yeah!  It’s not all scary, though.  Some of it’s really pretty, too.  A-and we worked out a way to maybe keep people from disappearing? That’s what those lights were.  I talked to the Forest about it the other day, and—”

           “You went back to the Forest?” Papa asked.

           The room suddenly went very, very quiet.

           Mary took a hesitant step backwards.  Papa’s scowl had deepened, his eyebrows so low that they cast his eyes in deep shadow.

           Papa stood.  He stumbled, a little, and nearly dropped the bottle.

           Mary scrambled back further.

           One of the men said, “Hey, Rick, maybe you shouldn’t—”

           “I told you,” Papa said, low and quiet and fierce, “not to go back to the Forest.”

           Mary’s eyes darted towards the door.

           “Look at me!”

           Mary whipped towards Papa, who had come much, much closer than she’d expected.  “I-I’m sorry.”

           Something sharp stung her cheek.  She fell and sprawled across the floor, hands scraping roughly against the wood.

           “Rick, hey!”

           “Why did you go back there?” Papa snarled, and the way his face contorted made him seem more like the not-human from the Forest, rather than the Papa she’d known as a child. “I told you not to.”

           “I’m sorry!” Mary said, scrambling backwards.

           Papa lifted his hand again.

           One of his coworkers caught it, hissing, “Rick, I think you’ve had a little too much—”

           “Let go of me!”

           Mary scrambled to her feet and ran.

           Papa roared behind her, but she didn’t look back, crashing through the door, sprinting bare-foot through the darkening streets.  She wove through the houses, and after a while she heard an angry shout of, “Mary!” from behind her.

           Papa was chasing after her.  Papa was far away, now, but he could catch up quickly.

           (What happens when he catches her?)

           (“I will give you refuge, if you need it.”)

           Mary stumbled from between the houses and onto the field, the Forest looming dark and silent ahead. She hurried up the slope, chest rattling, breathing heavy, scrambling up, up, up, one hand reaching frantically for the trees.

           Heavy breathing and footsteps sounded behind her, and she’d just made it to the tree line when Papa grabbed the back of her shirt.  She stretched an arm, frantically, towards the Forest, but Papa dragged her backwards, lifting her like a disobedient cat.  “Where are you going?” Papa asked, shaking her, and it hurt.  She fumbled for his arm, and she shook her again.  “Huh?  You think you’re going back there?”

           Mary choked on a sob. “Help,” she said, and it was more a sob than an actual cry.

           “Help?”  Papa snarled. “I am helping you, I’m keeping you from ending up like Ian.  You should be grateful, but you never know how—nothing but trouble.  We’re going home. We’re going home, and then you’re going to—”

           A harsh wind echoed between the trees.

           Papa stopped.

           Mary dangled, the tips of her feet touching the ground.

           (“He has caused you harm,” something that sounded eerily like the Forest whispered in her mind.

           He’s protecting me.

           Is he?)

           “You aren’t helping me.”

           The world went very quiet, and it took a long moment for Mary to realize she’d said anything at all. When Papa responded, his voice was low and dangerous: “What?”

           Mary swallowed, but continued, one hand reaching to grab Papa’s arm.  “You’re hurting me,” she said. “A-and I know it’s because you’re scared, but—but—but I want you to stop hurting me!”

           “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

           “Then why do I feel safer in the Forest then with you?”

           Papa’s face contorted into a snarl.  He shook her, roughly.

           Mary grimaced, her head spinning, one hand silently reaching back towards the Forest. Something brushed against her fingertips.

           Papa growled, “We’re leaving.  You are not to come back to this Forest.  You are not—”

           And then the Forest spoke, long and low and rumbling, like it was shaking the very earth. “What are you doing?”

           Papa froze.  His grip loosened, just enough so that Mary could drop to the ground, coughing and sputtering.

           Rough hands—almost like wood—gently touched Mary’s arm.

           Papa’s voice came, low and broken and uncertain: “Ian?”

           Mary blinked up, and for a moment she saw Uncle Ian’s face as it once had been, soft and friendly with a twinkle in his eyes.  Then it shifted, a little, and she noticed the rough, cracked edges of his face and the bushes along his back.  He lifted Mary carefully and turned towards Papa, face contorting into a scowl.

           The trees leaned forward ominously.  “You have done harm to the child.”

           Papa took several steps backwards, eyes too wide.  “I’m protecting her,” he said.  “Ian, I’m making sure she doesn’t get hurt.  I’m trying to keep her from ending up like you.”

           “This is not protection,” the Forest rumbled; Uncle Ian’s chest reverberated with the words, and things moved behind him, large and dark and intimidating, gnashing teeth and snarling loud enough that the cries seemed to blend together.

           “Sometimes,” Papa said, but his voice was wavering, “sometimes you have to hurt people to protect them.  Ian, you have to understand.  Sometimes—”

           The wind roared through the trees, moving so quickly that it stirred Mary’s clothes and nearly knocked Papa off his feet.  “No,” the Forest said.  “You have done her harm.”

           Papa’s expression contorted, into something angry and feral and frightening.  “What do you care?” he snapped.  “You’re not really Ian.  You’re not really here. You’re just some sort of—some sort of crazy hallucination.  Just a bunch of trees.”

           “I have many names, and none at all,” the Forest boomed, and it sounded like the thunder of falling stones, of countless animal cries and the crash of waterfalls.  “I have been here since time began, and even before. I have seen humans far stronger and braver than you.  I have seen love, and life, and death and pain.  I have survived throughout the ages, and I shelter those who would take refuge within my trees.  And I will protect my own.”

           A creature lunged from the depths of the Forest, massive and snarling ferociously, covered in bark-like armor with long claws that stretched like shadows towards Papa.  He scrambled backwards, panicked, as it swiped at his chest.  More appeared, wraith-like and warped, a mass of long fangs and claws and eyes.

           Ian’s fingers curled tighter around Mary, and she lifted a hand to grip his shoulder.

           Papa looked at Mary for a moment, then to the wall of darkness that snarled at him.  He stumbled a step back, and then another, and then turned and bolted back to the town.

           The creatures stayed where they were for a few moments, waiting until he was out of sight until, one by one, they moved back into the trees.

           “Are you alright, Mary?” the Forest asked, Ian carefully setting her back on her feet.

           Mary hiccupped and shook, but she said, “Y-yes.”

           The Forest did not answer, and she found herself admitting, “N-no.”  She sat, and hugged her legs to her chest, and tried not to think about how much her neck hurt.  “I-I can’t go back.  I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

           “Then stay here.”

           Mary’s head whipped up, but she had no one to look at, save the empty expanse of the Forest. “I-I don’t—I don’t want to end up like—”

           Ian stretched out a hand, slowly, and reached to gently touch the space above her heart.  Light flickered through his fingertip, warm and bright and alive.  “I cannot stop that from happening, if you choose to stay here permanently,” the Forest said, and for the first time it sounded pained.  “But I can give you refuge, when you want it.  I can guide you to the edges, so that you won’t be lost for so long that I overcome you.  I can provide you with a piece of my magic, so that even if you travel, you will have my protection with you.  But,” and its voice went whisper-quiet, “only if you want it.”

           Mary touched Ian’s hand, gently.  “You’d look after me?”

           “Yes.”

           Mary grinned, then laughed, and though the tears still stung, they didn’t feel quite as bad anymore. “Okay.”

                                                              ~*~

             -Most of the time, nobody goes to the Forest outside of town.

           There are stories, though; of a young woman who lives within the Forest, who can do strange magic and plays tricks on travelers, who has traveled through the world herself. They say that she was the daughter of someone who lived in the town, once, and that her parents died, or moved away and left her there, or were stolen away by the Forest itself so that it could have their child.

           Sometimes people claim to see her—a wild-haired woman in hiking gear or a mismatched dress or heavy winter clothes, sitting in the trees or talking to animals or yelling at travelers when they get too close.  She’d guide people out of the Forest, sometimes, and those people talked about the fantastic things they saw within—about fairy lights, and unusual creatures, and shifting trees.

           Most people don’t believe the stories—a forest is just a forest, after all.  But every so often, someone gets curious enough to go to the edge and look in.  And, when they do, they sometimes find her grinning back at them.

[commentaryvorg]

Digimon Data Squad Dub Comparison Episode 6 - The Ultimate Team No More?

This is a companion to my commentary on the original Japanese Digimon Savers! Reading my commentary on the original version of this episode (which you can find here) is recommended before reading this dub comparison.

Original name ~ Dubbed name

Masaru Daimon ~ Marcus Damon

Yoshino Fujieda ~ Yoshino “Yoshi” Fujieda

Tohma H. Norstein ~ Thomas H. Norstein

Sayuri Daimon ~ Sarah Damon

Chika Daimon ~ Kristy Damon

Captain Rentarou Satsuma ~ Commander Richard Sampson

Katsumata ~ Boomer

[Since several characters share the same name between the original and the dub, quotes from the dub will always be in italics, while quotes from the original will not, in order to distinguish them.]

Yoshi: “But does he wait? Of course not! Not Mister Reckless!”

Yoshi has some added exasperation at Marcus in the dub and I approve.

Masaru:  “Aw, he’s annoyed at himself.”

Agumon:  “Yeah, he’s annoyed.”

~~~~~

Marcus: “What’s wrong, ya jealous?”

Agumon: “Sorry, but no autographs!”

how does Agumon know what an autograph is

Agumon:  “As if any Digimon could beat us when we’re fighting together!”

Masaru:  “Yeah! Because we’re the strongest combination ever!”

Agumon:  “Ever!”

~~~~~

Agumon: “We’ll just win again, of course! There’s no Digimon that can beat the ultimate team!”

Marcus: “Yeah! Agumon and I are the strongest team ever!”

Agumon: “Yeah!”

The original brought in Masaru and Agumon calling themselves the strongest combination ever kind of transparently for the purpose of this episode. However, because Marcus and Agumon have already called themselves “the ultimate team” before in the dub, this works better and doesn’t seem quite so obvious.

Dub-Agumon doesn’t have that quirk original-Agumon has of echoing the last word or so – or maybe a whole sentence as in the previous quote – of Masaru’s lines for emphasis. Not necessarily a bad thing, just that the dub Agumon has different quirks.

Lalamon:  “This is the worst…”

Yoshino:  “That’s my line.”

~~~~~

Lalamon: “Well, at least they don’t lack confidence.”

Yoshi: “No, they just lack common sense.”

Lalamon doesn’t get to steal Yoshi’s catchphrase, but instead she and Yoshi do some very warranted snarking.

Agumon: “Sarah, you’re a genius chef! Yum!”

Marcus: “Hey! How many times do I have to tell you not to call my mom by her first name!”

In the dub of the earlier episode where original-Agumon started doing this, dub-Agumon actually didn’t happen to use Sarah’s name, so this is the first time he’s done so onscreen. Still, I suppose Marcus’s line implies he’s done it multiple times before now, so this is the dub catching up by implying it’s been happening for a while even if we haven’t seen it.

Agumon:  “But Sayuri is Sayuri. Chika is Chika. And Aniki is Aniki.”

Masaru:  “That’s not what I mean!”

~~~~~

Agumon: “Kristy is Kristy, Sarah is Sarah, and Boss is Boss.”

Marcus: “‘Boss’ is not my name!”

Agumon: “Oh. Well, still.”

Instead of Masaru failing to articulate why it’s weird for his friend to call his mom by her first name, Marcus shifts to an entirely different argument which almost might be implying he doesn’t really want Agumon to call him Boss? That could be considered relevant to this episode, but it’s almost certainly not deliberate.

Masaru:  “It’s manners for the follower to hold back!”

Agumon:  “Look who’s talking! Giving things to the follower shows off an aniki’s generosity!”

~~~~~

Marcus: “Whatever happened to me being the boss here?”

Agumon: “Consider this an employee profit-sharing program.”

????? Agumon how on earth do you know what one of those is. I don’t even know what one of those is. Also, way to make this sound 1000% like a small business even though that never made any amount of sense.

This is basically making the same point as the original that Agumon feels Marcus ought to let him have the last fried egg as part of a boss’s generosity, but man does that get kinda lost in the ridiculous small-business joke.

Sayuri:  “Oh my, they really know what they’re talking about…”

Chika:  “That’s because they saw it on TV yesterday.”

Sayuri:  “Still, it’s amazing that they’re studying while watching TV.”

~~~~~

Sarah:  “Oh boy. Well, dinner just got a lot more interesting.”

Kristy: “Why do boys always have to act like boys?”

Sarah: “Oh, believe me, Kristy, one day you’ll be glad they do.”

The original exchange between Sayuri and Chika here was very strange – I think the subbers didn’t quite get what was meant to be going on there, because their take on it doesn’t really make sense – so the dub changing it to something else is quite reasonable. But Sarah being heteronormative at her daughter was really not what they needed to change this to.

(Is this implying that Sarah was/is into guys who are this kind of ridiculous idiot? Actually, uh, knowing about the kind of person Marcus’s dad is, that’d make… a good bit of sense. Oh dear.)

There’s some similar bickering about snoring here, but then also, still in the background:

Marcus: “That’s it! You’re fired!”

Agumon: “You don’t even pay me!”

Can we not with the small business jokes! It makes this whole thing so difficult to take seriously as a meaningful bond between fighting partners, which is kind of what this whole episode is meant to be focusing on. Also, as usual, how does Agumon even know that an “employee” is supposed to get paid; his entire experience with the word should be limited to what he is to Marcus. And Marcus saying “you’re fired” really should be taken as him officially breaking off their partnership, but this isn’t the part where that happens yet. (Though honestly I’m glad that when we do, we won’t be doing the small business jokes there.)

Agumon:  “Well, I’m not gonna bail you out any more, Aniki! If I wasn’t there for you today, you would’ve been screwed!”

Masaru:  “What?! Don’t be so damn egotistical! You can’t even evolve without my Digisoul!”

~~~~~

Agumon: “Fine, don’t count on me to bail you out any more! Face it, you’d be totally lost without me!”

Marcus: “What?! Gimme a break! Without me you couldn’t Digivolve! Without me, this team would be nothing!”

I’m quoting this whole thing even though it’s basically the same as in the original, because this exchange is very important to the entire episode and I’m really glad the dub kept it intact. Boy could they have ruined the whole episode if they messed up this part, but they didn’t.

(I shouldn’t have to bring this up like it’s remotely remarkable, but after the fire-punching fiasco in episode 3, apparently it is.)

Marcus’s “without me this team would be nothing” is a bit harsher and more jerkish than originally, though that’s probably partly because the dub had more lip-flap to fill. It’s making Marcus more of a jerk like usual, but at least in this instance, Masaru being something of a jerk originally was actually the point, so this doesn’t stick out as much as it does sometimes.

The noises Agumon initially makes in reaction to Marcus’s comment here are a lot angrier in the dub, whereas originally it was more like upset floundering at the realisation that that’s true, before he snapped.

Agumon:  “Damn it! I can’t do this any more! I’m done being your follower!”

Masaru:  “Oh yeah, well, I’m out too! We’re not Aniki and follower any more!”

~~~~~

Agumon: “That’s it! I can’t take this! I don’t want you to be my boss!”

Marcus: “That’s just fine by me! I don’t wanna be your boss, either!”

At least the dubbers had the sense to deliberately avoid using the word “employee” here and keep the small-business nonsense out of the part that really matters.

Tohma:  “You’re arguing over something so trivial.”

Masaru:  “It’s not my fault!”

~~~~~

Thomas: “You’re being immature, even for you.”

Marcus: “Y-Y-*You’re* immature!”

The joke of Marcus proving how immature he is means that instead he’s snapping at Thomas, somewhat shifting away from the issue with Agumon. Meanwhile, Masaru was more subtly and relevantly showing his immaturity by trying to insist that their argument is totally all Agumon’s fault and not even slightly his.

We also lose the interesting implications of Tohma thinking this whole argument is over something trivial.

Masaru:  “Fine! I’m more than enough for one or two Digimon!”

~~~~~

Marcus: “Hah. It’ll probably be *easier* without you, just you wait and see!”

Marcus’s extra jab about it being easier without Agumon shifts this more into an insistence that Agumon was somehow holding him back, rather than focusing on the more relevant point that he simply wants to feel like he can do this without help from anyone.

Agumon:  “We’ll see about that, Aniki!”

~~~~

Agumon: “Hmph. Good luck, ‘cause you’re gonna need it!”

By wishing Marcus good luck, even if he means it as an insult, dub-Agumon is implying somewhat more of a sentiment of at least not wanting Marcus to get himself hurt doing this, which original-Agumon didn’t realise until later.

(Dub-Agumon doesn’t happen to call him Boss in this line, but he did so in an earlier line, so he is still doing that in the dub, too.)

The point I made in the original post about how these two scenes feel like one connected scene that ends on the note of Masaru going off to prove himself rather than them falling out doesn’t quite apply as much in the dub. Partly it’s because the dub doesn’t have the opening here, which isn’t its fault, but it also uses different BGM in each scene.

Elecmon:  “So many toys to play with!” [evil chuckling]

I’m sure you can tell without me quoting the van driver’s line that this is not Elecmon echoing anything that any human said at all. Apparently it’s coming to the human world just because it genuinely personally likes messing with electronic devices. That is not how this is supposed to work, at all. Not even in the dub’s slightly different version of things!

Masaru:  “Now there’ll be peace once again in the Daimon family.”

~~~~~

Marcus: “Finally I have some peace now that Agumon’s not around.”

Marcus not mentioning his family makes this less about the petty eating and snoring concerns that the argument started off about. But this still does very much carry the tone of him trying to insist to himself that he’s totally happier this way when he very obviously isn’t.

Masaru:  “I’ll do it all by myself.”

~~~~~

Marcus: “Soon he’ll see! I don’t need *him* around!”

This, though, I don’t really like. The point was never specifically about Masaru proving anything to Agumon, and it wasn’t even specifically about the fact that he needs Agumon in particular. Masaru just wanted to prove, to himself, that he could do this (whatever “this” was) by himself.

Marcus’s intonation here is also quite overly-moody, making this come across a lot more like just a temporary tantrum rather than that this is connected to something that runs deep.

The dub decides to put a commercial break after this scene rather than after the Elecmon scene where the original opening went, even though this scene is short enough that they could probably have just as easily put it before it. I… think I like that choice? The Elecmon scene was always a bit unnecessary, so lingering more closely on the note of Marcus’s moodiness feels better. (Though it specifically lingers on that dub-changed line that I don’t like much, so, eh.)

That said, this next set of scenes cutting between Masaru out on his own stewing in his frustration and the DATS members trying to talk to Agumon in his Digivice does feel like it’s supposed to be one long connected thing in the original. So I dunno.

Megumi: “Look, it’s your favourite! A cheeseburger wrapped in another cheeseburger! With a cheeseburger for dessert!”

Um, that sure is a way to have a cheeseburger. Since she’s holding what looks like a perfectly normal burger, I can only assume she’s lying to try and make it sound more enticing to Agumon. (Also, haven’t you got the memo, Megumi? Agumon’s favourite is Sarah’s fried eggs, obviously.)

Yoshino:  “How will they ever make up?”

Tohma:  “It’s not something we should interfere with.”

~~~~~

Yoshi: “You think those guys will ever be partners again?”

Thomas:  “I have more important things to do than second guess those two.”

Originally the implication from Tohma was definitely that he imagined they would make up sooner or later and just felt it wasn’t any of his business to try and force it to happen. But Thomas sounds like he’s implying he wouldn’t care if they didn’t ever make up at all. That’d have been reasonable for him before he came to respect Marcus, but not now.

Satsuma:  “They must learn why they’re important to each other. If they don’t find that answer, this is as far as they go.”

~~~~~

Sampson: “They need each other. But if they can’t see that, there’s no place for them here.”

Sampson is spelling things out a lot more explicitly for us. And it also sounds like he’s only thinking about this in terms of their suitability as DATS agents. The sense I got from Satsuma was that he was thinking more broadly about their growth as individuals and is concerned about that, DATS agents or not.

Masaru:  (That little shithead. He was the one who first said he wanted to be my follower.)

~~~~~

Marcus:  (I can’t believe him! He was the one who said he wanted me to be his boss in the first place. Then he gets upset when I act like a boss.)

That last dub-added part misses the point a bit. This is supposed to be about Masaru still having room to feel like he doesn’t need anyone, because Agumon initiated their partnership and looked up to him. This isn’t about Marcus acting in any particular way while being in that “boss” role at all.

(Maybe this could be read as Marcus deflecting from the real point here – but that’s not even necessary, since the real point is him being able to tell himself he doesn’t need Agumon. Masaru was also essentially deflecting from that.)

Masaru:  “Damn it!”

~~~~~

Marcus:  “This day just keeps gettin’ better and better…”

Marcus has more to say as he almost falls over from his missed baseball swing and leaves. I’m not sure I like his comment here, like he’s just thinking about this as one of those Bad Days where everything goes wrong, as if he was playing baseball as a totally unrelated way to pass the time and then this mishap just added to the Bad Things pile. Really, Masaru’s playing baseball because of the initial problem, as a way to physically let off some steam, and then he probably messes up as a result of that frustration of his, which only serves to amplify it.

Maybe it’s just the tone I don’t like as much – Marcus simply sounds fed up and exasperated, rather than actively frustrated about something that isn’t really the baseball at all.

Lalamon:  “You always said you hated being in the Digivice because you were alone.”

~~~~~

Lalamon:  “You said you hated being in the Digivice because it’s cramped and lonely.”

Ayy, the dub is still consistently sticking with its added emphasis that Agumon doesn’t like cramped spaces. I’m so weirdly pleased at this one bit of extra nuance that they manage to be completely consistent and also not-too-unsubtle about – probably because they’re not usually nearly this good. It’s to the point that I’m starting to have a strong theory that someone on the dub writing team had claustrophobia themselves and was projecting this onto Agumon, making consistently writing it this way personal to them, because they otherwise do not usually care enough to think about and follow through with the implications of minor changes like this.

Agumon:  “You two wouldn’t understand.”

Gaomon:  “That’s for sure. But that’s why I’m interested.”

~~~~~

Agumon:  “Just drop it, you guys, you don’t understand!”

Gaomon:  “It’s disgraceful. A member of DATS should take pride in his partnership.”

Original-Gaomon was simply curious here, perhaps showing a side of him that’s similar to his master’s very scientific approach to things. Dub-Gaomon is also showing similarity to Thomas in his strong sense of duty (plus pride in his partnership because he’s a dog)… but he is also kind of being more of a dick in the process.

Gaomon:  “Fighting with your master…”

~~~~~

Gaomon:  “Arguing with your superior…”

Since dub-Gaomon doesn’t call Thomas “Master”, this had to be changed, and this is a perfectly reasonable change, but it does still give Gaomon more of a sense of being an army grunt rather than a loyal dog.

Gaomon:  “Interesting. And why do you argue so often, do you think?”

Gaomon’s tone at the end here is also kind of dickish, like he’s implying that it should be obvious why Lalamon and Yoshi argue a lot. Geez, dub-Gaomon, chill.

Lalamon:  “Yoshino’s always really lazy! She doesn’t clean up her room, she doesn’t fold her laundry, she has bad sleeping habits and—”

~~~~~

Lalamon:  “Yoshi’s great, but she’s bossy and messy! And you should see what she does with her toenail clippings—”

“Bossy” is a lot more in line with the Yoshi we already know (at least towards Marcus, who kind of deserves it), though the “messy” part is similar to the original in hinting at a side of her we don’t usually see. But overall – no thanks in large part to the toenail clippings joke – there’s much less of a sense in the dub that Yoshi’s an entirely different person at home and that she doesn’t work nearly as hard in her home life as she does at DATS.

Katsumata:  “Da… Daimon!”

Masaru:  “Katsumata? You’re still hanging ‘round here?” [he turns to walk away]

~~~~~

Boomer:  “Huh? Oh… Marcus!”

Marcus:  “Hey, Boomer. Uh, sorry I can’t really talk right now. I’ll see ya.” [he turns to walk away, muttering under his breath] “Doof.”

Masaru’s interaction with Katsumata is obviously somewhat unfriendly from the start, based on both their tones and Masaru’s implication of “I thought I drove you out of this turf”. But Marcus and Boomer are both being… polite to each other? I would have assumed they were friends based on this, until Marcus insulted him under his breath.

Which, since they’re evidently not friends – especially given what’s about to happen – just makes it come across as incredibly off that Marcus even pretended to be polite to him in the first place. Masaru would never do that; he never beats around the bush and would never hide it if he had a problem with someone. That straightforward sincerity he has is a really big part of his character and I am sad to see so much less of it there in Marcus.

Since Marcus was enough of a jerk to pretend to be nice and then insult them under his breath, it then also comes across like Boomer and his cronies surround Marcus for a beatdown mostly because of that, rather than that they’ve had a run-in with him before and want revenge.

Masaru:  “What bad luck.”

Katsumata: “Cursing your fate won’t do you any good.”

Masaru:  “I was talking about you. I’m extremely pissed off right now!”

~~~~~

Marcus:  “You *don’t* wanna start a fight with me today.”

Boomer:  “Just ‘cause it’s five against one? Hah. We’re callin’ the shots this time around.”

Marcus:  “Is that what you think? Back off, Boomer, before I teach you bullies a lesson!”

Boomer:  “Yeah, right. Get him, guys!”

On the other hand, Marcus’s “today” does imply that he might have had a fight with this dude sometime before. (Unless he just means “start a fight with me” in the very general sense that people often come to him looking for a fight and not necessarily this guy in particular).

That line is also the only part of this scene that gets across the important sense that Marcus is especially in the mood to give someone a beatdown right now because of everything that’s been going on.

The rest of it… really doesn’t. Bullies? I don’t know if this is trying to say that these guys are known bullies that Marcus has heard of or dealt with before (in which case, why would he bother being nice to them?), or just a comment on the fact that they’re surrounding him five-on-one (though Marcus isn’t entirely innocent in this, since he insulted them first). But either way, this is the dub trying to reassure us that, hey, really, it’s okay that our protagonist beats up these guys, because they’re bullies! They’re bad guys! Marcus is being the good guy here, see!

That is not supposed to be the point of this. Masaru wasn’t beating up unwilling bystanders – he would not do that – and only did this because these dudes were looking for a fight. But this is very much supposed to be Masaru doing something that is kind of not okay, as a result of his frustration with himself set off by his argument with Agumon. That’s the point! It’s good for this to not be a great thing for Masaru to do! Characters – even good characters – are allowed to do bad things. That’s what makes stories more interesting.

Marcus also at least tries to de-escalate the situation by warning Boomer to back off. That makes the resulting beatdown a lot more on Boomer for refusing to listen, and a lot less on Marcus, who is at this point mostly acting in self-defence. Apparently Marcus would have been perfectly happy to walk away from this if they’d had second thoughts and left him alone.

But Masaru never gave them that chance. Once they’d incited aggression first by surrounding him, Masaru took that as a free excuse to start letting loose on these dudes without giving them an opportunity to change their minds. He wanted an excuse to vent his frustration through violence and wasn’t going to back out of it once he’d been given one. Again, that’s the point.

Agumon:  (Aniki hurt my pride.)

~~~~~

Agumon:  (You really hurt my feelings, Boss…)

This is almost the same, but hurt feelings is a bit more of a general idea that hurt pride. Pride in particular is especially relevant here, since Agumon and Masaru both have a lot of it and that’s a big part of the reason why this is happening.

At least the musical cue as Marcus stands over the beaten dudes is appropriately sinister and painting Marcus as very much not a hero in this situation. The dub soundtrack people have the right idea, even if the dub writers don’t.

Marcus:  “See? I don’t need help from anyone.”

Marcus has an added silence-filling line as he walks away, pointing out things that were already implied in the original because who needs subtlety. Also, hey, look, it’s almost like he really did just beat up those guys for his own issuey reasons and not because he was being a good guy defeating the bullies, how about that!

Though I also think this is somewhat missing the point. Yes, a lot of this episode is about Masaru trying to insist he doesn’t need anyone’s help. But this particular part is also here to show that his usual pastime of street fights against other humans isn’t enough for him any more, that he needs something more that fighting Digimon can give him. That’s what’s supposed to be the main thing on his mind as he walks away from this too-easy victory, rather than the more general don’t-need-anyone issue.

This whole part is one of my favourite delightfully-subtle bits of this episode, and the dub watered it down so much.

Old man:  “Well, well, my angry young friend.”

Pfft. Not an inappropriate thing to be calling him right now.

Old man:  “The things you truly need appear even when you’re not looking for them. That’s because you understand why you need them.”

~~~~~

Old man:  “The things you truly need appear even when you’re not looking for them. So look for what’s new in your life and figure out why you might need it.”

Unlike last time the old man showed up to be vague and metaphorical, this time the dub actually translates his speech almost entirely word-for-word! Amazing. This is the one bit that’s slightly different – but if anything, the dub’s version makes more sense at a part where the original was a little bit “???”, so, hey, good job. This does also mean that the old man is somewhat more actively giving Marcus advice in the dub than in the original, but that doesn’t really make a difference anyway (because Marcus is still not listening).

Boomer:  “What luck. I can’t believe I lost to Marcus again.”

Okay, so the dub is definitely going with the fact that Boomer is someone Marcus laid a beatdown on before today. They really shouldn’t have thrown doubt on that to begin with by having them sound like they’re being polite to each other in that earlier scene.

Katsumata: “Damn it, the stupid light’s taking too long again! Come on, change!”

Elecmon:  “Lights, change!”

~~~~~

Boomer:  “Why won’t these stoplights change already?! C’mon, c’mon!”

Elecmon:  “More toys to play with!”

…So, yep, Elecmon coming here is totally unrelated to anything Boomer is saying or feeling. And therefore it’s nothing to do with Marcus that this is happening. (Which also makes it a hugely convenient coincidence that he happens to be nearby to this Digimon incident when he doesn’t have DATS to tell him where to find it.)

Agumon:  “I decided I wouldn’t come out until Aniki apologises.”

~~~~~

Agumon:  “I’m staying here until Boss apologises, so blame him if something goes wrong!”

Dub-Agumon is being more of an immature dick here. If something goes wrong that he could have helped with, it’s totally not his fault for choosing to put his personal issues above the importance of the case, sure.

Bystander:  “I still can’t believe that no-one was seriously injured!”

Yeah, sure, dub, you just fill a silence with this to reassure the kids. It’s a huge flaming car crash, but it’s fine! Nobody was even really hurt, let alone killed!

Masaru:  “It’s okay. You’re not hurt anywhere.”

~~~~~

Marcus:  “It’s okay, kid, you aren’t hurt. Thanks to me, of course!”

Marcus, unlike Masaru, feels the need to make things about himself here, somewhat putting the damper on his selfless moment of heroism. Not completely, but he comes across as slightly less genuinely selflessly good as a result.

(It could be read like that comment is a result of the I-can-do-everything-alone issues he’s having this episode, but it feels like now of all times is when he should stop acting that way at all. That was the idea behind this bit in the original. Marcus’s tone for that part is still quite soft, so it also doesn’t sound like it’s part of his overcompensating.)

Agumon:  “Aniki!”

~~~~~

Agumon:  “Oh no!”

Because “Aniki” is two lip-flaps, they can’t just replace a lone “Aniki!” with a lone “Boss!”, so instead Agumon says this, coincidentally sounding more worried than he did originally.

Yoshi:  “Marcus, where’ve you been? Why didn’t you contact us?”

Marcus:  “I’ve been busy doing my job!”

Yeah, sure, doing your job definitely includes playing baseball and beating up some random dudes. (Masaru did not try and make any such claim.)

Yoshino:  “You don’t have a partner, so just wait here.”

~~~~~

Yoshi:  “Without a partner, you’re useless, so just stay out of the way, Marcus.”

Yikes, Yoshi. Calling him outright useless like this is going to rile him up even more.

With the dub’s insistence on using its evolution music every single time someone evolves, at least these shorter evolution animations mean that the music doesn’t awkwardly loop exactly twice, and instead it plays smoothly through the two animations.

Masaru:  “Even if I am [being absurd], I’ll use it to cut through a new path! That’s what a man does!”

~~~~~

Marcus:  “An ultimate fighter never quits! Let’s go, you overgrown puppy!”

Even aside from removing the manliness part, they also removed the rest of what was fun about this line. Masaru has a delightful insistence about how he doesn’t care if he’s being absurd, that can be a good thing that’ll help him win! Marcus is just… never quitting, and then trash-talking his opponent. Which is fine, but… simple.

Agumon:  “Aniki!”

~~~~~

Agumon:  “Oh, Boss!”

More ways for the dub to get around the lip-flap issue with short exclamations like this.

Yoshi:  “Chasing something we may not be able to catch, to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved! Marcus must be terrified all alone.”

[cut to Marcus on Garurumon’s back]

Marcus:  “Yaaaaa-hooooo!”

Look, I get the joke they’re going for here, but doing so compromises two characters. Why would Yoshi even worry about Marcus being terrified, after she literally just complained that he won’t want to be saved? She knows him, geez.

And then Marcus having great fun riding the Garurumon would normally be perfectly fine – see Drimogemon last episode – but one of the interesting points about this part in the original is that Masaru wasn’t having nearly as much fun with this as he had with Drimogemon before, as a sign that he knows deep down how outmatched he is without Agumon.

Masaru:  “Hey, asshole, how far are you gonna go? Stop sometime! Damn, my arms are giving out! Are you trying to see which of us lasts longer?”

~~~~~

Marcus:  “Hey, you digital dimwit, give it up! You’re never gonna be able to shake me off you! …Except my arms are starting to get tired. Well, let’s see who gives out first!”

He’s also a lot more openly cocky about being able to hold on, generally, despite that he does admit his arms are getting tired. Masaru’s lines gave more of a subtle sense that he was hoping it would stop so he wouldn’t have to keep holding on, if still not directly admitting that.

Masaru:  “Hey. Don’t underestimate me!”

~~~~~

[Garurumon growls]

Marcus:  “Woof.” [he lets out a wordless battle cry]

As much as I am kind of amused by Marcus aggressively making fun of his enemy being a big dog, I am sad that this comes in place of that fun original line in which Masaru had decided Garurumon was totally underestimating him, which definitely wasn’t him projecting his own self-doubt onto it.

Masaru:  “Damn it, what do I do now?”

~~~~~

Marcus:  “Oh, that’s right! I’m on my own here!”

Somewhat less of a sense in the dub line that Marcus is starting to wonder how the hell he’s going to win this now.

Marcus:  “…Not fun.”

Marcus has this little comment about how it felt to be slammed into a wall, and I enjoy it.

Masaru:  “Am I not… strong enough to beat him…? Is it really only a Digimon that can stop a Digimon…?”

~~~~~

Marcus:  “Man, maybe I’m not strong enough to defeat this guy… Maybe it really *does* take a Digimon to defeat a Digimon…”

Despite his “maybe”s, Marcus generally sounds a lot more sure about this here, like he’s not actually having any real difficulty accepting this now, whereas Masaru was still struggling with it to the point of phrasing it as a question.

Marcus:  “But still, there’s no way I’m gonna give up even if this turns out to be my last stand…!”

The dub has some extra lip-flap here, so this is also added in. Which I’m not super sold on. In keeping with a dub difference in episode 1 (wow, consistency), Marcus is apparently openly willing to just throw his life away for no good reason. Plus, the fact that he’s explicitly accepting the possibility he might get killed here means he really has accepted that he can’t do this with a lot more willing certainty than Masaru did.

(At least the dub managed to phrase the concept of him dying in a way that sounds natural despite not directly mentioning death.)

Masaru:  (I was wrong… I need…)

~~~~~

Marcus:  (What was I thinking? I couldn’t have defeated that guy [Tortamon] by myself, and I can’t beat Garurumon either! I need Agumon, and now I’ll never get to tell him I’m sorry!)

These are both lines that take up the same amount of time, believe it or not. Marcus is way more internally-talkative and generally perfectly articulating the problem he was having and the Lesson He’s Learned. Meanwhile, Masaru was coming to this realisation a lot more slowly and gradually, barely able to articulate it to himself beyond the most simple and important part. The original’s writers were happy to leave some silent gaps in between his thoughts to do the rest of the work more subtly.

The dub’s also really doubling down on the idea that Marcus is very consciously aware that he’s probably about to be killed here. Him lamenting not being able to apologise to Agumon is cute, but I still don’t know if I like him having admitted the about-to-die part to himself in the first place.

Sadly, the dub does not have the extra layer of Marcus’s screams of exertion that are what’s physically coming out of his mouth during this part. Regardless, these are definitely internal thoughts, because they have an echoey sort of effect on them to imply that. (The original doesn’t use that effect for its inner monologue lines at all.)

Masaru:  (I need… I need Agumon! I want to fight together with Agumon!)

~~~~~

Marcus:  (I get it now. I need you, Agumon! What makes us strong isn’t you or me… it’s both of us working as a team!)

Them working together as a team being the reason they’re strong is a cute (and correct) sentiment, don’t get me wrong, but I still like it less how Marcus is able to perfectly articulate this to himself and has just very straightforwardly Learned His Lesson.

Also, the loss of specifically “I want to fight together with Agumon” loses the possibly-unintentional call-forward in that line, which makes me a little sad.

Marcus:  “Right. We’re the ultimate team!”

With the dub’s “ultimate team” being a whole Thing that’s in more than just this episode, it has a more impactful effect to bring it back here that the original can’t do. So that’s a plus for the dub, at least.

Marcus:  “Never surrender, GeoGreymon!”

The evolution theme, being an instrumental remix of the dub’s opening theme, happened to have the part of its melody which matches with the dub’s opening lyric of “Never surrender!” just a few seconds before this line. Heh. I wonder if that was deliberate.

Masaru:  “There’s no way you can lose to a Digimon like that!”

~~~~~

Marcus:  “Remember, you’ll never lose as long as we fight together!”

Marcus’s line here is more adorable than Masaru’s, putting the focus on their partnership rather than just implicitly insulting their opponent! (It could be read that Masaru was specifically referencing the fact that Garurumon doesn’t have a partner and that’s why GeoGreymon should win, but if so that’s not all that clear.) I approve.

Masaru:  “You did it, Agumon!”

Agumon:  “Aniki!”

~~~~~

Marcus:  “You did it, Agumon!”

Agumon:  “*We* did!”

The dub did indeed go for “you” with the translation of Masaru’s subject-ambiguous Japanese line – and then they had Agumon add in a “we”, for maximum adorableness!

Masaru:  “We can beat any Digimon if we’re fighting together!”

Agumon:  “Yeah! We���re the strongest combination ever!”

~~~~~

Marcus:  “As long as the two of us work together, no Digimon can stand against us!”

Agumon:  “Yeah, we’re still the ultimate team, Boss!”

The dub’s version of this is basically the same right here, but what it unfortunately doesn’t do that the original did is directly echo what the two of them said in the beginning of the episode, but with the speakers swapped. Here’s the earlier bits:

Agumon:  “As if any Digimon could beat us when we’re fighting together!”

Masaru:  “Yeah! Because we’re the strongest combination ever!”

~~~~~

Agumon: “There’s no Digimon that can beat the ultimate team!”

Marcus: “Yeah! Agumon and I are the strongest team ever!”

Alas, apparently the dubbers didn’t realise that was a deliberate callback and make sure the earlier lines were worded so they’d work with this.

Agumon:  “Nah, it’s fine. I’m sorry, too.”

~~~~~

Agumon:  “No. I should be apologising to *you*.”

The dub’s version of this contains the awkward implication that Agumon isn’t just giving his own apology but also feels like Marcus didn’t even need to apologise in the first place. Which isn’t right, since both of them were equally at fault here. I don’t know if the dub even meant to imply this, but that’s how Agumon’s phrasing reads.

Masaru:  “Crap, it’s Yoshino. Run, Agumon!”

~~~~~

Marcus:  “Oh man, I’d rather face another Digimon than Yoshi. Run!”

The original reads like Masaru is trying to run because Yoshino is going to force him to clean up his mess. In the dub, it reads like it’s not so much about the clean-up and more like he’s mostly running because Yoshi is scary when she’s mad, which has a vaguely uncomfortably sexist vibe to it.

(Also, why is he acting like facing another Digimon would be a bad thing? Of course he’d rather fight another Digimon than face Yoshi, regardless of her anger or the clean-up, because fighting Digimon is his favourite thing!)

Overall differences

Well, at least they didn’t ruin the overall point of the episode like they could have by changing the reason Marcus and Agumon fall out. I had wondered if the bizarre misconception I’ve seen of “this episode is bad because they fall out over fried eggs!!!” came from the dub, but no, it very much didn’t. That part is perfectly intact. That said, there’s a lot of other changes going on in this episode that I’m not too fond of, especially because a lot of them mess with the fun nuanced bits.

The ridiculous small-business jokes during their argument further highlight how nonsensical it always was to call Agumon Marcus’s “employee”, and they detract from the meaningful points being made there about their respective roles in the relationship.

Elecmon is entirely lucid and simply coming here because it wants to mess around with traffic lights, which is extremely not how things work, not even in the dub’s version of why these Digimon incidents are happening. It also means this incident isn’t indirectly Marcus’s fault, which was a thing I enjoyed in the original.

The scene where Marcus beats up the dudes is probably my least favourite of the changes. The dub completely fails to grasp that Masaru doing something kinda not okay is the whole point of that scene. Instead it scrambles to insist that their kids’ show protagonist is still a 100% squeaky clean good person actually, because look, he’s only beating up bullies! And yet despite that, Marcus also acts weirdly uncharacteristically polite to this person that he has every reason to openly dislike.

Just like in episode 3, Marcus is a lot more articulate and self-aware about admitting exactly what his problem is and the lesson he’s learned in this episode (though at least in this episode he actually learns it), which continues to be less interesting and nuanced than the way Masaru struggles a lot more to fully accept and understand his issues. There’s also a recurrence of the thing from dub episode 1 in which Marcus is fully, consciously aware of the possibility that he might die, which is not something Masaru ever quite lets himself acknowledge even when he’s inches away from being eaten.

At least a few of the lines in the scene where he and Agumon make up are changed to be a little bit more adorable in the dub than they were originally, so there’s that.

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 11: Prepare For Trouble And Make It Double

In a way, it's nice to know there are Greek gods out there, because you have somebody to blame when things go wrong. For instance, when you're walking away from a bus that's just been attacked by monster hags and blown up by lightning, and it's raining on top of everything else, most people might think that's just really bad luck; when you're a half-blood, you understand that some divine force really is trying to mess up your day. Which was actually what's happening. So there we were, Annabeth, Percy, Grover and I, walking through the woods along the New Jersey riverbank, the glow of New York City making the night sky yellow behind us, and the smell of the Hudson reeking in our noses. Percy and I walked side by side with our hand still connected. Grover was shivering and braying, his big goat eyes turned slit-pupiled and full of terror. "Three Kindly Ones. All three at once. I was pretty much in shock myself. The explosion of bus windows still rang in my ears. But Annabeth kept pulling us along, saying: "Come on! The farther away we get, the better. "All our money was back there," Percy reminded her. "Our food and clothes. Everything." "Well, maybe if you hadn't decided to jump into the fight—" "What did you want me to do? Let you guys get killed? I was not going to leave Y/N." "You didn't need to protect me, Percy. I would've been fine." "Sliced like sandwich bread," Grover put in, "but fine." "Shut up, goat boy," I said. Grover brayed mournfully. "Tin cans... a perfectly good bag of tin cans." We sloshed across mushy ground, through nasty twisted trees that smelled like sour laundry. After a few minutes, Annabeth fell into line next to Percy. "Look, I..." Her voice faltered. "I appreciate your coming back for us, okay? That was really brave." "We're a team, right?" She was silent for a few more steps. "It's just that if you died... aside from the fact that it would really suck for you, it would mean the quest was over. This may be my only chance to see the real world." The thunderstorm had finally let up. The city glow faded behind us, leaving us in almost total darkness. Do you want to see?

Yeah that would be nice.

It was as if it was morning, I could see everything clearly. I wandered my head to make sure I could see everything. This is cool. "You okay?" Percy asked. "Yeah," Not really a fan of the current silence I turned to Annabeth. "You haven't left Camp Half-Blood since you were seven?" I asked her. "No... only short field trips. My dad—" "The history professor." "Yeah. It didn't work out for me living at home. I mean, Camp Half-Blood is my home." She was rushing her words out now, as if she were afraid somebody might try to stop her. "At camp you train and train. And that's all cool and everything, but the real world is where the monsters are. That's where you learn whether you're any good or not." If I didn't know better, I could've sworn I heard doubt in her voice. "You're pretty good with that knife," I said. "You think so?" "Yeah maybe you can teach me some tricks. "Anybody who can piggyback-ride a Fury is okay by me." Percy smiled. I couldn't really see, but I thought she might've smiled. "You know," she said, "maybe I should tell you... Something funny back on the but..." Whatever she wanted to say was interrupted by a shrill toot-toot-toot, like the sound of an owl being tortured. "Hey, my reed pipes still work!" Grover cried. "If I could just remember a 'find path' song, we could get out of these woods!" He puffed out a few notes, but the tune still sounded suspiciously like Hilary Duff. Seeing a tree coming up I tried to pull Percy to avoid it but Percy immediately slammed into a tree and got a nice-size knot on his head. I suppressed my laugh by covering my mouth which made Percy glare at me. After tripping and cursing and generally feeling miserable for another mile or so, I started to see light up ahead: the colors of a neon sign. I could smell food. Fried, greasy, excellent food. I realized I hadn't eaten anything unhealthy since I'd arrived at Half-Blood Hill, where we lived on grapes, bread, cheese, and extra-lean-cut nymph-prepared barbecue. This kid needed a double cheeseburger. >We kept walking until I saw a deserted two-lane road through the trees. On the other side was a closed-down gas station, a tattered billboard for a 1990s movie, and one open business, which was the source of the neon light and the good smell. It wasn't a fast-food restaurant like I'd hoped. It was one of those weird roadside curio shops that sell lawn flamingos and wooden Indians and cement grizzly bears and stuff like that. The main building was a long, low warehouse, surrounded by acres of statuary. The neon sign above the gate was impossible for me to read, because if there's anything worse for my dyslexia than regular English, it's red cursive neon English. To me, it looked like: ATNYU MES GDERAN GOMEN MEPROUIM. "What the heck does that say?" I asked. "I don't know," Annabeth said. She loved reading so much, I'd forgotten she was dyslexic, too. Grover translated: "Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium." Flanking the entrance, as advertised, were two cement garden gnomes, ugly bearded little runts, smiling and waving, as if they were about to get their picture taken. I crossed the street, following the smell of the hamburgers. "Hey..." Grover warned. "The lights are on inside," Annabeth said. "Maybe it's open." "Snack bar," I said wistfully. "Snack bar," Percy agreed. "Snack bar," Annabeth joined. "Are you three crazy?" Grover said. "This place is weird." We ignored him. The front lot was a forest of statues: cement animals, cement children, even a cement satyr playing the pipes, which gave Grover the creeps. "Bla-ha-ha!" he bleated. "Looks like my Uncle Ferdinand!" We stopped at the warehouse door. "Don't knock," Grover pleaded. "I smell monsters." I turned to look at my knife. It had a light glow emitting from it. Probably because it was sheathed. "I think there's monsters." I was now reluctant and sided with Grover. "Grover's nose is clogged up from the Furies," Annabeth told him. "All I smell is burgers. Aren't you hungry?" "Meat!" he said scornfully. "I'm a vegetarian." "You eat cheese enchiladas and aluminum cans," Percy reminded him.. "Those are vegetables. Come on. Let's leave. These statues are... looking at me."

"Percy, I don't think---"

"It'll be fine." Percy took my hand and went in. Be careful and don't look. Then the door creaked open, and standing in front of us was a tall Middle Eastern woman—at least, I assumed she was Middle Eastern, because she wore a long black gown that covered everything but her hands, and her head was completely veiled. Her eyes glinted behind a curtain of black gauze, but that was about all I could make out. Her coffee-colored hands looked old, but well-manicured and elegant, so I imagined she was a grandmother who had once been a beautiful lady. >Her accent sounded vaguely Middle Eastern, too. She said, "Children, it is too late to be out all alone. Where are your parents?" "They're... um..." Annabeth started to say. "We're orphans," I said. "Orphans?" the woman said. The word sounded alien in her mouth. "But, my dears! Surely not!" "We got separated from our caravan," Percy said. "Our circus caravan. The ringmaster told us to meet him at the gas station if we got lost, but he may have forgotten, or maybe he meant a different gas station. Anyway, we're lost. Is that food I smell?" "Oh, my dears," the woman said. "You must come in, poor children. I am Aunty Em. Go straight through to the back of the warehouse, please. There is a dining area. We thanked her and went inside. Annabeth muttered to Percy, "Circus caravan?" "Always have a strategy, right?" "Your head is full of kelp." The warehouse was filled with more statues—people in all different poses, wearing all different outfits and with different expressions on their faces. I was thinking you'd have to have a pretty huge garden to fit even one of these statues, because they were all life-size. I was anxious so I tighten my grip on Percy.  It's stupid for walking into a strange lady's shop like that just because we were hungry. For a child of Athena, Annabeth sure isn't making wise decisions. I mean yeah I agree, you've never smelled Aunty Em's burgers. The aroma was like laughing gas in the dentist's chair—it made everything else go away.  But Grover's nervous whimpers, and the way the statues' eyes seemed to follow me, to add the fact that Aunty Em had locked the door behind us. Made me more cautious. Sure enough, there it was at the back of the warehouse, a fast-food counter with a grill, a soda fountain, a pretzel heater, and a nacho cheese dispenser. Everything you could want, plus a few steel picnic tables out front. "Please, sit down," Aunty Em said "Awesome," Percy said. "Um," Grover said reluctantly, "we don't have any money, ma'am." Aunty Em said, "No, no, children. No money. This is a special case, yes? It is my treat, for such nice orphans." "Thank you, ma'am," Annabeth said. Aunty Em stiffened, as if Annabeth had done something wrong, but then the old woman relaxed just as quickly, I had to turn to Annabeth to check if there was something wrong with her.. Quite all right, Annabeth," she said. "You have such beautiful gray eyes, child."  I wonder how she knew Annabeth's name, even though we had never introduced ourselves. "Percy, I want to leave..." I whispered. "Just a few bites Y/N. Don't worry." He gave me a reassuring pat. Our hostess disappeared behind the snack counter and started cooking. Before we knew it, she'd brought us plastic trays heaped with double cheeseburgers, vanilla shakes, and XXL servings of French fries. I wasn't gulfing down my food like Percy was.  Grover picked at the fries, and eyed the tray's waxed paper liner as if he might go for that, but he still looked too nervous to eat. Annabeth slurped her shake. "What's that hissing noise?" he asked. I listened, but didn't hear anything. Annabeth shook her head. "Hissing?" Aunty Em asked. "Perhaps you hear the deep-fryer oil. You have keen ears, Grover." "I take vitamins. For my ears." "That's admirable," she said. "But please, relax." I don't like it here. I'm scared. Be wary of all things. Aunty Em ate nothing. She hadn't taken off her headdress, even to cook, and now she sat forward and interlaced her fingers and watched us eat. It was a little unsettling, having someone stare at me when I couldn't see her face, and I figured the least I could do was try to make small talk with our hostess. "So, you sell gnomes," I said, trying to sound interested. "Oh, yes," Aunty Em said. "And animals. And people. Anything for the garden. Custom orders. Statuary is very popular, you know." "A lot of business on this road?" "Not so much, no. Since the highway was built... most cars, they do not go this way now. I must cherish every customer I get. My neck tingled, as if somebody else was looking at me. I turned, but it was just a statue of a young girl holding an Easter basket. The detail was incredible, much better than you see in most garden statues. But something was wrong with her face. It looked as if she were startled, or even terrified."Ah," Aunty Em said sadly. "You notice some of my creations do not turn out well. They are marred. They do not sell. The face is the hardest to get right. Always the face." "You make these statues yourself?" Percy asked. "Oh, yes. Once upon a time, I had two sisters to help me in the business, but they have passed on, and Aunty Em is alone. I have only my statues. This is why I make them, you see. They are my company." The sadness in her voice sounded so deep and so real that I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. Annabeth had stopped eating. She sat forward and said, "Two sisters?" "It's a terrible story," Aunty Em said. "Not one for children, really. You see, Annabeth, a bad woman was jealous of me, long ago, when I was young. I had a... a boyfriend, you know, and this bad woman was determined to break us apart. She caused a terrible accident. My sisters stayed by me. They shared my bad fortune as long as they could, but eventually they passed on. They faded away. I alone have survived, but at a price. Such a price." Annabeth gave me a look of worry. I knew she realized something. "Percy?" I shook him to get his attention. "Maybe we should go. I mean, the ringmaster will be waiting." Grover was eating the waxed paper off the tray now, but if Aunty Em found that strange, she didn't say anything. "Such beautiful gray eyes," Aunty Em told Annabeth again. "My, yes, it has been a long time since I've seen gray eyes like those." She reached out as if to stroke Annabeth's cheek, but Annabeth stood up abruptly. "We really should go." "Yes!" Grover swallowed his waxed paper and stood up. "The ringmaster is waiting! Right!" "Please, dears," Aunty Em pleaded. "I so rarely get to be with children. Before you go, won't you at least sit for a pose?" "A pose?" Annabeth asked warily. "A photograph. I will use it to model a new statue set. Children are so popular, you see. Everyone loves children." Annabeth shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I don't think we can, ma'am. Come on, Percy—" "Sure we can," Percy said. "It's just a photo, Annabeth. What's the harm?" "Percy, I don't want to..."  "It's just a photo guys." "Indeed it is just a photo Y/N," the woman purred. "No harm." I could tell Annabeth didn't like it as well, but she allowed Aunty Em to lead us back out the front door, into the garden of statues. Aunty Em directed us to a park bench next to the stone satyr. "Now," she said, "I'll just position you correctly. The young girls in the middle, I think, and the two young gentlemen on either side." "Not much light for a photo," I remarked. But joke's on her I could see quite clearly. Don't look. "Oh, enough," Aunty Em said. "Enough for us to see each other, yes?" "Where's your camera?" Grover asked. Aunty Em stepped back, as if to admire the shot. "Now, the face is the most difficult. Can you smile for me please, everyone? A large smile?" Grover glanced at the cement satyr next to him, and mumbled, "That sure does look like Uncle Ferdinand." "Grover," Aunty Em chastised, "look this way, dear." She still had no camera in her hands. "Percy—" Annabeth said. "I will just be a moment," Aunty Em said. "You know, I can't see you very well in this cursed veil...." "Percy, something's wrong," I insisted. "Wrong?" Aunty Em said, reaching up to undo the wrap around her head. "Not at all, dear. I have such noble company tonight. What could be wrong?" "That is Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover gasped. DON'T LOOK. Annabeth turned to my direction, "Look away from her!" she then shouted. She whipped her Yankees cap onto her head and vanished. Her invisible hands pushed Grover and and I pulled Percy with me. We were on the ground, looking at Aunt Em's sandaled feet. I could hear Grover scrambling off in one direction, Annabeth in another. "Percy, we have to move!" I shook him. But he was too dazed to move. Then I heard a strange, rasping sound above me. My eyes rose to Aunty Em's hands, which had turned gnarled and warty, with sharp bronze talons for fingernails. Percy was about to look higher then her hands and I instinctively covered his eyes. "Don't look!" More rasping—the sound of tiny snakes, right above me, from... from about where Aunty Em's head would be. "Run!" Grover bleated. I heard him racing across the gravel, yelling, "Maia!" to kick-start his flying sneakers. "Percy we have to move please!" "Such a pity to destroy a handsome young face," she said soothingly. "Stay with me, Percy. All you have to do is look up." "Percy please!" Percy pushed my hand away and looked to one side. I turned to look as well and saw one of those glass spheres people put in gardens— a gazing ball. I could see Aunty Em's dark reflection in the orange glass; her headdress was gone, revealing her face as a shimmering pale circle. Her hair was moving, writhing like serpents. Aunty Em. Aunty "M." How did Medusa die in the myth? But I couldn't think. Something told me that in the myth Medusa had been asleep when she was attacked by my namesake, Perseus. She wasn't anywhere near asleep now. If she wanted, she could take those talons right now and rake open my face. "The Gray-Eyed One did this to me," Medusa said, and she didn't sound anything like a monster. Her voice invited me to look up, to sympathize with a poor old grandmother. "Annabeth's mother, the cursed Athena, turned me from a beautiful woman into this." "Don't listen to her!" Annabeth's voice shouted, somewhere in the statuary. "Y/N carry Percy!" "Silence!" Medusa snarled. Then her voice modulated back to a comforting purr. "You see why I must destroy the girl, Percy. She is my enemy's daughter. I shall crush her statue to dust. But you, dear Percy, you need not suffer. We won't even hurt, Y/N." I swung Percy's arm around my shoulder. But he was too heavy.  "No," he muttered trying to make his legs move... "Do you really want to help the gods?" Medusa asked. "Do you understand what awaits you on this foolish quest? What will happen if you reach the Underworld? Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. You would be better off as a statue. Less pain. Less pain." "Y/N!" Behind me, I heard a buzzing sound, like a two-hundred-pound hummingbird in a nosedive. Grover yelled, "Duck!" I turned, and there he was in the night sky, flying in from twelve o'clock with his winged shoes fluttering, Grover, holding a tree branch the size of a baseball bat. His eyes were shut tight, his head twitched from side to side. He was navigating by ears and nose alone. "Duck!" he yelled again. "I'll get her!" I tackled Percy to the other side. Thwack! Then Medusa roared with rage. "You miserable satyr," she snarled. "I'll add you to my collection!" "That was for Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover yelled back. Pulling along an out of a dazed Percy we scrambled away and hid in the statuary while Grover swooped down for another pass. Ker-whack! "Arrgh!" Medusa yelled, her snake-hair hissing and spitting. Right next to me, Annabeth's voice said, "Y/N! Percy!" Percy jumped so high his feet nearly cleared a garden gnome. "Jeez! Don't do that!" Annabeth took off her Yankees cap and became visible. 'You have to cut her head off." "What? Are you crazy? Let's get out of here." "Medusa is a menace. She's evil. I'd kill her myself, but..." Annabeth swallowed, as if she were about to make a difficult admission. "But you've got the better weapon. Besides, I'd never get close to her. She'd slice me to bits because of my mother. You—you've got a chance." "What? I can't—" "Look, do you want her turning more innocent people into statues?" She pointed to a pair of statue lovers, a man and a woman with their arms around each other, turned to stone by the monster. Annabeth grabbed a green gazing ball from a nearby pedestal. "A polished shield would be better." She studied the sphere critically. "The convexity will cause some distortion. The reflection's size should be off by a factor of—" "Would you speak English?" "I am!" She tossed him the glass ball. "Just look at her in the glass. Never look at her directly." "Hey, guys!" Grover yelled somewhere above us. "I think she's unconscious!" "Roooaaarrr!" "Maybe not," Grover corrected. He went in for another pass with the tree branch. "Hurry," Annabeth told him. "Grover's got a great nose, but he'll eventually crash." Percy took out his pen and uncapped it. The bronze blade of Riptide showed. He turned to me and gave the glass then offered a hand. "Percy you can't be seriously bring her along!?" "I'll go with him." Taking his hand, we followed the hissing and spitting sounds of Medusa's hair. I raised the glass so I could guide us. I kept my eyes locked on the gazing ball so I would only glimpse Medusa's reflection, not the real thing. Then, in the green tinted glass, I saw her. Grover was coming in for another turn at bat, but this time he flew a little too low. Medusa grabbed the stick and pulled him off course. He tumbled through the air and crashed into the arms of a stone grizzly bear with a painful "Ummphh!" Medusa was about to lunge at him when I yelled, "Hey!" We advanced on her. I had let go of Percy's hand to bring out my knife. So if she charged, I could help Percy. But she let us approach—twenty feet, ten feet. I could see the reflection of her face now. Surely it wasn't really that ugly. The green swirls of the gazing ball must be distorting it, making it look worse. "You wouldn't harm an old woman, Percy," she crooned. "I know you wouldn't." I could tell he hesitated. From the cement grizzly, Grover moaned, "Percy, don't listen to her!" Medusa cackled. "Too late." She lunged at him with her talons. I ran and raised my knife to block her talons, Percy then swung his sword, then we heard a sickening shlock!, then a hiss like wind rushing out of a cavern—the sound of a monster disintegrating. Something fell to the ground next to my foot. It took all my willpower not to look. I could feel warm ooze soaking into my sock, little dying snake heads tugging at my shoelaces. "Oh, yuck," Percy said. His eyes were still tightly closed, but I guess he could hear the thing gurgling and steaming. "Mega-yuck." Annabeth came up next to us, her eyes fixed on the sky. She was holding Medusa's black veil. She said, "Don't move." >Very, very carefully, without looking down, she knelt and draped the monster's head in black cloth, then picked it up. It was still dripping green juice. "Are you okay?" Percy asked me, his voice trembling. "Yeah," I decided. "Why didn't... why didn't the head evaporate?" "Once you sever it, it becomes a spoil of war," she said. "Same as your minotaur horn. But don't unwrap the head. It can still petrify you." Grover moaned as he climbed down from the grizzly statue. He had a big welt on his forehead. His green rasta cap hung from one of his little goat horns, and his fake feet had been knocked off his hooves. The magic sneakers were flying aimlessly around his head. "The Red Baron," Percy said. "Good job, man." He managed a bashful grin. "That really was not fun, though. Well, the hitting-her-with-a-stick part, that was fun. But crashing into a concrete bear? Not fun." He snatched his shoes out of the air. "I didn't know Grover got Luke's shoes."  Percy recapped his sword. "I can't fly." He shrugged.  Together, the four of us stumbled back to the warehouse We found some old plastic grocery bags behind the snack counter and double-wrapped Medusa's head. We plopped it on the table where we'd eaten dinner and sat around it, too exhausted to speak. Finally Percy said, "So we have Athena to thank for this monster?" Annabeth flashed me an irritated look. "Your dad, actually. Don't you remember? Medusa was Poseidon's girlfriend. They decided to meet in my mother's temple. That's why Athena turned her into a monster. Medusa and her two sisters who had helped her get into the temple, they became the three gorgons. That's why Medusa wanted to slice me up, but she wanted to preserve you as a nice statue. She's still sweet on your dad. You probably reminded her of him." "Oh, so now it's my fault we met Medusa." Annabeth straightened. In a bad imitation of my voice, she said: "'It's just a photo, Annabeth. What's the harm?'" "Forget it," I said. "You're impossible." "You're insufferable." "You're—" "You're both loud and stupid." I growled. "Yeah!" Grover interrupted. "You two are giving me a migraine, and satyrs don't even get migraines. What are we going to do with the head?" I stared at the thing. One little snake was hanging out of a hole in the plastic. The words printed on the side of the bag said: WE APPRECIATE YOUR BUSINESS! I was angry, not just with Annabeth or her mom, but with all the gods for this whole quest, for getting us blown off the road and in two major fights the very first day out from camp. At this rate, we'd never make it to L.A. alive, much less before the summer solstice. What had Medusa said? Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. You would be better off as a statue. Percy and I shared a look. We got up. "I'll be back." "Percy, Y/N," Annabeth called after me. "What are you—" We searched the back of the warehouse until I found Medusa's office. Her account book showed her six most recent sales, all shipments to the Underworld to decorate Hades and Persephone's garden. According to one freight bill, the Underworld's billing address was DOA Recording Studios, West Hollywood, California. I folded up the bill and stuffed it in my pocket. In the cash register I found twenty dollars, a few golden drachmas, and some packing slips for Hermes Overnight Express, each with a little leather bag attached for coins.  "Found one." Percy called. We went back to the picnic table, packed up Medusa's head, and filled out a delivery slip: The Gods >Mount Olympus 600th Floor, >Empire State Building New York, NY With best wishes, PERCY JACKSON <3 Y/N L/N "They're not going to like that," Grover warned. "They'll think you're impertinent." I poured some golden drachmas in the pouch. As soon as I closed it, there was a sound like a cash register. The package floated off the table and disappeared with a pop! "I am impertinent," Percy said. I looked at Annabeth, daring her to criticize. She didn't. She seemed resigned to the fact that we had a major talent for ticking off the gods. "Great, well Fred and George," she muttered. "We need a new plan."

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UwU bb I'm just licherali rippin off now srry -kookie-doughs

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[butterfrogmantis]

What would all the canon smurfs parents make of their kiddos partners? :3

Ok for a second I got quite confused because I was like 'wait there's canon parents' but then I realised what you meant I hope XD

I'm still have some to go of course! Including developing two for another anon atm, but I can go off the ones I currently have :) Actually, I've even been thinking about a grandparent AU~ however that would be likely to change some key events in my timeline so I'd have to work out how the hell to adjust for it to keep things more or less on the same track XD Regardless! I'll treat these like it was the grandparent AU and ignore development, I'll fix that later

Farmer's:

Both Hayseed and Florist would be super open armed and friendly to Tailor! They are literally just sweet simple living folks with big hearts and extra chairs for the table. It's a pretty different atmosphere to Tailor's house so he might feel a little bit strange at first but in a good way! The farming household is cosy and warm and likes to play silly board games into the night and there's always a bowl of goodies on the coffee table. Diligent and Sower are made a big fuss of, of course <3 Hayseed tends to be that cool grandpa that lets them ride the horses or whatever the hell the Smurf equivalent is. Florist calls Diligent a handsome spitting image of his grandpa. I mean not really but go off Florist, she’s just proud.

Tailor's:

Well lets say that regardless of their opinion, almost anyone is welcomed better than Tailor's teenage ex XD Modiste would never have approved of a bully boyfriend. Farmer on the other hand is very obviously hopelessly devoted so that's already a massive improvement! Tailor's household is much larger, especially with his cousins and we could assume aunt and uncle in this situation too. The atmosphere tends to be a bit more serious and conversational, but it's fine, Farmer does his best :) Yarner is somewhat taken aback by the sheer freaking HEIGHT of this Smurf though, but he is as short as his son which doesn't help him perspective wise.

They also fuss over the grandkids but it tends to be more of a literal fussing than coddling - Yarner likes to make sure Tailor's keeping up with proper hair care for Sower since she's the only female Smurf in their household, which Tailor's already told him a million times yes dad we know there's a lot of it, it's fine, leave off. Funnier in the human verse where all three of them have exactly the same hair so it's such a random thing for him to pick on but at least Yarner cares. Modiste just tuts about how her grandkids keep outgrowing their new clothes and could they please stop taking after their other father it's inconsiderate /j.

Clumsy’s:

Well I kind of envisioned that Clumsy wouldn’t have known his father outside of stories about him, but he’d have been verrrrrrry close to his mother <3 Even so, I think Sweet Treat would have only had a .. civil relationship with Stormy. They both tried really hard to get along but at the end of the day they were just very different women. Stormy never really liked desserts or baked goods either, too sweet for her and physical affection (so, hugs) isn’t her love language either so yeahh all of ST’s favourite things gone in an instance XD Again, they were always polite and pleasant but Sweet Treat would feel a bit sad she couldn’t have a proper bond with the mother of her first grandchildren.

And then there was Handy, who was a complete 180. He adores baked goods and sweets (secret sweet tooth don’t ya know). Sweet Treat ADORES her son-in-law. Literally gets more excited to see Handy than her own son /j /j /j. They’d have a very strong bond and ST was also so proud of her ‘handsome boys’. As for ST being a grandmother, oh god she’d be the best. She loves all 3 of her grandchildren equally, there’s no favouritism towards the twins or Mari, but she is absolutely the embodiment of this image

Handy’s:

Well, they’re ... nice, if a bit confused XD More specifically Mechanic, since Chimerical tends to be very outgoing and friendly regardless and was always very encouraging of her son;s uh, obscure romance choices! Mechanic was ... puzzled. He was fine when teen Handy was dating Architect, yeah nice, he could see a cool future there. They broke up? No biggie Handy can find someone else. He’s in love with a what now? A fish? A fish woman? A PRINCESS fish woman? Handy what the hell. Oh he’s serious about this? Oh no they broke up. Oh well that’s a shame Mechanic didn’t see how that would work anyway. Now maybe his son will think sensibly about - he’s dating someone with kids? Well I guess he’s taking the family life seriously at last. What’s the guys name? Oh give your old pa a break, Handy.

Again in terms of parenting, they’d both be very careful to include the twins as they mean a lot to Handy though :) Even if Mari is their bio granddaughter, even Mechanic wouldn’t be able to resist any of those little Smurflings for long, he doesn’t care that much as long as his son is happy at the end of the day.

Vanity’s:

Well, they’d probably appreciate Grouchy’s cynical attitude but not really be impressed by his standing. Ironically, they’d be very impressed by Don Smurfo’s noble title ... and less so by his overly passionate personality. Honestly though these parents aren’t ever really happy. Honestly probably would play favourites with Vanity being their born and raised son and Aloof being their bio grandchild compared to cloned son Somebody and adoptee Quixotic. That’s not the kids fault, Snooty and Spoiled are just kind of arseholes. At least Vanity and Somebody have each other to lean on. 

Don’s:

I still need to design his mother but I actually designed his father ages ago. Here he is :) and in contrast to Snooty and Spoiled not giving a rat’s ass about Somebody, Conte would love him!! A bit untraditional perhaps but you know what? Don loves him! And he’s kind of fun, Conte would take that over any tradition

[thetomorrowshow]

Slower Than Words Ch. 24

First  -  Previous  -  Next

I’ve been waiting for this one :)

cw: bad parenting, arguing, intense anger

~

“Hey, Lo? Do you have a minute?”

Logan’s eyes followed Patton as he went directly to his room, barely flashing a ‘hello’ at him. Then he returned his attention to a strangely nervous Remus. “Of course. What do you need to discuss?”

He almost invited Remus to sit on the couch with him, but he knew the man would decline. Instead, he stood, watching Remus hop from one foot to the other.

“Well,” Remus began after a moment’s hesitation, “this could sorta come as a surprise. But . . . I found them.” A small smile appeared on his face, immediately washed out by apprehension.

Logan smiled gently. “I would guess that by ‘them’, you mean your family. In that case, congratulations.” He stuck his hand out, and after a moment, Remus shook it. “I assume that is why all of your possessions have gone from being strewn about the living room to being contained in a trash bag?”

Remus’s teeth flashed in another quick smile as he nodded. “Yeah. Haven’t really been subtle, huh?”

Logan had been planning for this eventuality for quite some time, and had not been at all taken by surprise. Instead, he dropped the car key that Remus had just given him after returning home back into Remus’s hand. “I want it back, of course, preferably before the end of the month.”

Remus looked down at the keys, then to Logan, then back at his hand. Logan chuckled.

“Naw, I—how will you get to work?”

“I’ve already made arrangements, don’t worry about me.” And he had. One of his jobs was within walking distance, and a coworker had offered to carpool for his other job. He nodded at Remus. “I take it you’ve already quit?”

Remus ran a hand along his slack jaw, still staring at the key in his hand. “Y-yeah. Gave ‘em my letter two weeks ago. You sure?” he asked, almost as an afterthought.

“Of course I am,” Logan waved him off. “You need it more than I do right now. Find them.”

Remus laughed, almost shrill. “Thanks, thank you . . . so much, Lo. Not just for this. For everything.”

Logan inclined his head. “Thank you, too. For bringing my son back to me. Consider us, er, even,” he said. “Will you be leaving immediately?”

Remus didn’t say anything for half a minute, before nodding. “No reason not to, huh? Guess I’ll just . . . say bye to Pat and be on my way.”

Logan sat back down, content to let Remus pack his things into the car and exchange a private farewell with Patton. Thinking of Patton, Logan shifted uncomfortably. He could wait until Remus left to confront his son. Unfortunately, Patton may already have an idea of what was to come. If he had sought out his notebook, it would have not been found under his bed.

Finally, Remus was out the door, with a little wave and a spring in his step. It was time to speak to Patton.

-

Patton rubbed his face tiredly as he followed Father to the cramped kitchen. He really didn’t know what this was about, but he could guess. Now that Remus was leaving, he didn’t see how it was possible to continue with therapy. His weekly appointments would probably become monthly, then he would only still be in contact with the physical therapist in order to continue getting back to full strength. Today, for instance: it was around midday, and he had only had a therapy appointment and he was already exhausted. He’d been about to take a nap when Remus came to say goodbye.

Remus had promised to video chat with him, but Patton didn’t know how much help that would be with voice lessons. Up until now, he’d frequently been able to rest his hand on Remus’s throat and mouth to really understand how it was supposed to feel when he spoke. And with Father’s laptop not having a very good camera, it wasn’t very likely that he would be able to continue speaking lessons at all.

Not that he wasn’t happy for Remus! Patton was as excited as he could be that Remus was going to find his real family. He understood that. And he was sad that Remus was leaving, but not because it meant he was going to be stuck in this terrible apartment for even longer. He was going to miss him as a friend. He was going to miss teaching him sign, laughing at his jokes, his big smile when Patton managed to say a word correctly.

Losing Remus was losing his only friend. He’d already lost his love. Now it was just him and Father, in this tiny house that he could never leave. It was worse than the Haven, because at least then he could go outside. Now he was stuck in this acrid-smelling, too-small apartment. And without his best friend.

“Patton, I need to speak with you,” Father signed. Patton resisted throwing out something snarky and kept his hands by his sides.

“Earlier today, I was cleaning, and I happened to find this.” From the silverware drawer, Father pulled--

Oh no. Oh no. His notebook.

Patton tried not to let his sudden panic show in his face, but could feel his hands fidgeting. He shoved them in the pockets of Virgil’s jacket. This was fine. There was nothing wrong with learning to talk, or writing jokes. Maybe he’d been a bit frustrated in some of his journal entries, but that was normal. Everyone got frustrated sometimes. Father would understand.

“Son, I was not happy with what I found,” Father told him, and Patton’s heart sank. He fell into a chair, knowing exactly what it was. Sure, there was nothing wrong with learning to speak. For everyone else.

“You seem to have been teaching yourself how to speak audibly,” Father continued. “While I admire the effort and your willingness to learn, I have to tell you how disappointed I am. Learning something that could endanger you and this family behind my back? That is not something I will tolerate.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Patton asked cautiously. This was going a little better than he’d thought it would—Father hadn’t outright told him to stop yet.

“What is wrong is it is dangerous. Learning to speak and lip-read may seem appealing, but once others discover your talents, they will want to take you away. I am putting a stop to it right now.”

There it was. Patton felt tears well up in his eyes, but he wasn’t sad. He was angry. The fire that had been simmering in the bottom of his belly rose to his throat, and with stilted movements, he asked, “Who do you think is going to take me away?”

Father was losing his composure as well. He tugged at his own hair for a moment, hands spasming, before answering, “Anyone. They’ll take you away from me, and study you, or make you work, or hurt you. They won’t let you see the light of day ever again. I can’t let that happen! Not again!”

“Well, it kind of feels like you already did.” Patton’s hands moved furiously. Did he really want to say this? “I don’t know if you noticed, but you’re doing the exact same thing that they did.”

“No, I’m not.” Father reached out, but pulled himself back at the last moment. “I-I’m keeping you safe. You’re only a child.”

“Dad, I’m twenty-two!” The anger burst over the surface. Patton shoved back from the table and stood, chest heaving with adrenaline. The leg of the chair scraped against his calf as it fell to the floor. “I’m an adult! I finally got out of that godforsaken cult, and all you do is keep me trapped in this horrible apartment! I know what danger is, I lived through it. I nearly died in that place, starving to death as nobody opened the door. Well guess what? I’m starving again. I’m starving for sunlight, for open space, for the love of my life!”

“Patton—”

“I’m not finished!” Patton kicked the overturned chair, then the table leg, unable to feel the pain it surely brought. “You’re actually worse than them! You know why?”

Logan was crying, a single tear rolling down his cheek. The pain in his eyes only served to fuel Patton’s rant.

“Because Virgil’s out here!” Logan flinched, and Patton kicked the wall, leaving a dent. “Virgil’s out, somewhere, and I could find him, but you won’t let me out! We don’t have any money, but you won’t let me work! There’s nothing to do, but all you do is bring me more and more books that I don’t want! And you know what? I’m done!”

“Son, please—”

“No. I almost died back there. So you got me out. I’m dying here, so I’m getting myself out.”

Patton kicked the wall one last time, then picked up his notebook from the table, resisting the urge to throw it at Logan.

“Wait!”

He looked at his father, who was pressed against the cabinets. He was shaking, eyes wide with hurt and fear. Hastily, he signed, “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere is better than here.” By the look on Logan’s face, that sentence had come out close enough. He nodded curtly at his father, then stalked out of the kitchen, then out of the apartment, only pausing to grab his thin winter coat.

The door slammed shut behind him, and Logan fell to his knees.

-

Remus swung the door shut and threw the scraper to the floor of the car, feeling far too tired for not even having left yet. It didn’t normally get too cold around here, especially not now that it was March, but apparently a cold front had moved in overnight or something and it had been lightly snowing all day. He hadn’t thought it was enough to freeze the windshield--he’d just barely gotten back from taking Patton to therapy, after all—yet here he was, switching on the defrost and scraping off the windows.

He was just about ready to pull out, even had his hand on the gear, when the side door of the apartment complex burst open.

Patton came hurrying out, walking so quickly that Remus would think he was trying to escape a crab that kept snipping at his heels. The kid didn’t even give him a second glance as he walked in front of the car. Remus’s jaw dropped as his head turned to follow him—across the sidewalk, into the parking lot, then right up beside the car.

Patton yanked open the passenger side door with surprising strength, then threw himself into the seat and slammed it behind him. His face was red and wet, Remus noticed, as he roughly drew his sleeve across his face. Then Patton turned to him.

“I’m going with you,” he signed, his movements quick and short. Remus picked his jaw up off the floor and quirked an eyebrow.

“And daddy’s okay with that?” he asked aloud, signing along. Patton rolled his eyes and turned away.

“No.”

Remus shrugged. “Ooookay then!” He made to get out of the car, but Patton grabbed his arm.

“Please—don’t tell him. He’ll make me stay.”

Remus looked up at the building, then back at Patton. He looked like he’d really gone through it, poor kid. And he’d been trying to tell Logan for months that he needed to loosen up, let Patton explore the Outside a bit.

“First place with a phone we hit out of town, I’m calling him,” Remus compromised. Patton nodded, pulling the zippered edges of his two jackets closer around him. Remus hadn’t noticed previously, but now he saw the blue notebook laying on his lap. He reached over and tapped it lightly. “Get some practice in.”

Patton nodded, awkwardly pulling his seatbelt one-handed while he flipped it open with the other hand. Remus gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then shifted the gear.

He was on his way home. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he muttered something that Patton, his nose already buried in his notebook, had no way of seeing.

“Hope you like Sharon.”

~

Taglist: @enragedbees @gotta-love-alejandra @bunny222 @basiic-emo @melancholicbear @rosiepupper @fangirlgeekandfreak @dn-fan21 @that2000skid @remy-the-lemon-berry @itsadastraperaspera @xionbean @sanderssides-angst @hell-yea-we-gay-tonight @maybedefinitely404 @broken-pencils @thewhimsicallibrarytech @doomllily @hereissananxiousmess  @judyismydog  @arodynamic-enby @at-that-one-nerd @therapysides @awkwardandanxiousfander @thekitchenpan @im-an-anxious-wreck @larkiaquail

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Buying Sun Myung Moon a Shiny New Rolls Royce

▲ Hyo Jin Moon with Rolls Royce

September 25, 2010

by MLP

I have a confession to make. I’m not very smart.

When Hyo Jin Moon wanted everyone to stop what they were doing and go fundraising so that we could buy “father” a new Rolls Royce, I basically accepted the explanation without much protest. You see, it was of immense providential importance that we consume several perfectly good weekends alone on street corners selling flowers. “Father” needed this Rolls Royce to restore the souls of all the people in history that had owned Rolls Royces.

Like I said, I’m not very smart. I also apparently didn’t have much else going on during weekends in high school.

I suppose if I had been something other than a complete dullard, my first question would have been: “Who f*cking cares about Rolls Royce owners?!”

After all, what possible difference could it make in a world where millions were dying of war, disease, ecological degradation, etc, etc, etc, if a few thousand of history’s well heeled were “saved”? Helping out real people that were in fact suffering (like so many of the poor members around me) would have made sense. But spending over a hundred thousand dollars on something as vain, pretentious and stupid as a car in order to “restore” a lucky few?! At the very least, I should have seriously questioned Hyo Jin’s priorities. Then again, in those times questioning Hyo Jin meant un-pleasantries better avoided, like a full hour of being screamed at and a bloody nose.    

But, if I really had any sense, I would have realized immediately that this was actually a very big deal. Gears would have turned slowly in my head and dots would have started connecting, eventually forming an awfully worrisome picture. The idea of spiritual restoration being a function of one man’s open-ended repetition of any historical act opened the door for that man to justify pretty much anything.

I remember an early member telling me a story (testimony – for those who only speak moonie) about “father” during ocean challenge. Despite being an experienced captain, he’d been unable to fully control a boat as it was docking at the base of Morning Gardens (the moon’s Vanderbilt era mansion near Gloucester, Ma) during some heavy surf. The boat was slightly damaged and “father” was furious. “Father” verbally lambasted the member with a strange anecdote. He told the member that if he were to get plastered on liquor and drive a car into a wall, that action would help “restore” millions of people who’d been drunk and driven into walls. If the member did the same thing he would have only ruined a perfectly good car.

The implication was as follows: “father” does something - anything - it has restoration value. If someone other than “father” does the same thing, well that doesn’t really count.

Take a second to think about the full ramifications of this idea. He is saying that he has the divine right to do absolutely anything under the sun and it will be of providential value. The rules that others should live by simply do not apply to him. If he eats a Twinkie, halleluiah, all Twinkie eaters are restored. All that happens if I eat a Twinkie is I get fat!

But what about something a little more…sinful? What about an act where there are injured parties? What about adultery, for instance?

Members will tell you that his adulterous affairs and illegitimate children were actually heroic acts of great sacrifice for the restoration of all adulterers of yore. Or at least that’s what the few who actually know about this stuff will say (there aren’t that many). Hmmm…by that logic can we expect “father” to at some point become a heroin addict or commit mass murder?

And what of the injured party? What do they get? Well it seems they mostly get the old shove under the rug, sort of like any prospect of a pension for my dad’s 40 years of church service. When was the last time you heard the name “Sammy Park” outside of this blog? Then again, maybe there will be some fantastic reward in heaven. I won’t hold my breath.

Unfortunately the results of this lack of answerability are all too real and anything but funny. Moon impunity, which apparently also applies to the moon kids, is probably the scariest and most troubling of any church doctrine. If every act restores something, what crime can they not commit? Why shouldn’t they be able to get away with anything? Whatever they do, no matter how stupid or wrong can be whitewashed by the magic of spiritual “restoration”. No felony is punishable, no injustice cured, and no squandered fortune is repaid. They simply do what they want, take what they want, use what they want, and we, the unwashed masses, the sinful troglodyte populace, must get on our knees, pucker up, give them our money, and thank them for their great sacrifice.

And is there any way to verify that any of these supposed restorees are in fact restored? Well…no. We have to take their word for it. No doubt due to our own appalling spiritual deficiencies we are unable see the results of their noble and gracious sacrifices.

But here is what we can see. There is a seemingly endless trail of financial ruin among their followers. While the “members” mostly just get by, the moons live like Russian oligarchs, flying around in private jets and squabbling over assets that someone else built for them. There are no arrangements made for older members, who are simply discarded when finished with. They subject those around them to a regular regimen of physical and mental abuse. And then of course there is the constant supply of platitudes, distortions, half truths and blatant lies that come from the weekly Sunday pulpit.  

According to catholic legend there are seven deadly sins – Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy and Pride. One has to commend the moons for having done pretty good work “restoring” lust, greed, wrath, envy, and pride. I wonder if we should soon expect some work on the rest (doubt it, gluttony and sloth don’t really bring in the dollars)?    

Troubled?

I wasn’t. But then again, I wasn’t very smart. I didn’t connect the dots. I didn’t appreciate the full ramifications of someone living above the rules and how it could affect me or my family down the line.  

You, dear reader, are no doubt far smarter than I was and can see right through all that.

Until next time.

MLP

_______________________________________________

Hyun Jin Preston Moon bullied a teenager at the New Yorker Hotel – MLP

Fun with Numbers – MLP

Sad Stories: The Death of David Ang – MLP

What I Really Learned From My UC Experience – MLP

My Advice on Leaving the Unification Church – MLP