#its just been a week since the store found out we were evicted

[francofolle]

okay so i should probably be writing all of this in my journal but im writing here instead, oh well

since the store closed wednesday, i havent had a moment to myself until just like three hours ago. i went from work to hanging out with k to back to the store for the free for all (we all took a shit ton of stuff, basically anything that was left in the store) to skyping melissa to drinks with coworkers friends to sleeping to spending the day with my best friend from middle school to sleeping to going to the farmer’s market with her, but now here i am. took me two hours to get bored. never mind that im just constantly remembering things about work. and i feel so dumb because i remember how much i complained, i know things look bad for months, and things ended up working kind of in my favor. but im really sad. i went to open this box of cashews (like a box of individual cashew tins i got from the free for all) and wanted to pull the plastic knife from my chef’s coat to open it (our uniform was a chef’s coat and since day 1 i carried a plastic knife with me to open boxes... i lost it in the store on my last day). and then i wanted to tell someone that but like.. i realized im back in this position where im feeling hella nostalgic and sentimental but i dont want to be too much for other people. i want to message my coworkers friends about that habit of going for my plastic knife, or the fact that i keep waking up at 5am and i have a moment of trying to figure out if i have to get up for work, or that i saw one of our regulars at the farmers market this morning (medium decaf mocha & her husband, medium decaf mocha frap) and we said a brief (kind of awkward) hello. but since i was a kid ive always felt like im the one that holds on the most and keeps messaging when it seems like no one else wants to. i know we’re friends, i know we are, and i know they wouldnt be upset by me messaging them, it was just easier somehow when we were working together. 

and just honestly im really sad. we’ve joked a lot about the store closing and ive gotten good at making light of it, but im really sad. ive felt it since wednesday, despite being busy and preoccupied. i want to go back and make another cappuccino (those were always my favorite.. i got really good at making the foam). i want to go back and stock milks in the walk in for nearly an hour. i want to go back and try all the cheese samples the guys in cheese would make. i want to go back and have stefaan say classic as soon as i opened a soda water to drink first thing in the morning. i want to rant about that one lady who always orders a dry iced cappuccino or the lady who get an iced mocha but always wants the chocolate put in last. i want to use all these PLUs in my head like 91109 for croissants or 91070 for slices of cheesecake or 19435 for brownies or 10791 for chocolate truffles. i want to scoop big batches of almonds into boxes and tag and label them. i want to double over in laughter from whatever my coworker was saying or doing and have to wipe my tears away and compose myself very quickly as soon as i see a customer approach. i want to have the breakfast sandwich i had every morning again. i want ernie to try to tease me by saying my shoes were untied even though i never wore shoes with laces to work. i want j to try to scare me. i want k to give me a big hug as soon as she came in. i want to compliment whatever jewelry araya was wearing and whatever lipstick christine was wearing. i want to wave and wiggle my fingers at daniel. i want to slightly tune out whenever justin started going on about physics in detail. i want to laugh cry with honestly everyone. i want to hold hands randomly with a handful (lmao) of coworkers as we were working. i want to do a random quality check of the gelato whenever things got slow. or try to shoot rubber bands across the store. or talk about doing a store wide the floor is lava game. or wear our hats backwards. or make up crazy drinks and try to make them. or play hopscotch on the tiles. i want to make the regulars’ drinks again. 

it was a good job and these last six months were hard, but i had the best coworkers, i really did. and whether customers believed it or not, we were trying our best in the face of really bad circumstances beyond our control. and now im sad and really missing how often i would see my coworkers and i dont know how to bring it up to anyone really without being weird. but its all i can think about right now. i thought because it worked out well for me, id be fine, but no. im really sad. this really sucks. and every single person who’s like “well we all knew it was coming” should just shut up. really makes me feel worse, thanks. 

[punkofsunshine]

The (Informal) Miniature Anarcho-Solarpunk Manifesto

The integration of communalism into a classless system away from the main caste-esque system of hierarchy around the world is very costly when viewed from a consumer lens, but is essential in the degradation of the overbearing hierarchy that the main populace is subjected to and thusly become numb to the pressures placed upon them from an early age, spiral into endlessly consuming for a sense of being in a world that doesn’t care if you’re alive, to them you’re just a replaceable cog in the profit machine. The goal of the communalist, socialist, solarpunk, etc. should not be to live in their own bubble, but to expand their influence exponentially through participation with the outside world, turn a commune into a city as it were. Less people in a place that has dictated control by the state and the consumers within, the less control the state and capital have over people. A migration of people increases quality of life and food consumption, luckily food growth can be optimized to accommodate many people when given according to need as opposed to given to whomever has the money to afford produce. One must also keep in mind, the debt accrued is now a community responsibility, so the members will do everything in their power to keep people functioning in the community, that must include people paying off debts. Who are you if you let a fellow worker suffer on their own? Who are you to let a human such as yourself be subjected to the violence of the state in its many forms? Pushing back against such oppression is why we ascribe to this ideology, so we can taste freedom and save the earth from ourselves.

No individual is solely responsible for the pollution and poverty. Multiple corporations and their figureheads are. Jeff Bezos, Bill Gates, Bernard Arnault, Qin Yinglin & family, Michael Bloomberg, The Koch family, Jim Simons, Alaian & Gerard Wertheimer, Mark Zuckerburg, Amancio Ortega, Larry Ellison, Warren Buffett, the Walton Family, Steve Ballmer, Carlos Slim Helu & family, Larry Page, Sergey Brin, Francoise Bittencourt Meyers & family, Jack Ma, Ma Huateng, Mukesh Ambani, Mackenzie Scott, Beate Heister & Karl Albrecht Jr., David Thomson & family, Phil Knight & family, Lee Shau Kee, François Pinault & family. Sheldon Alelson, The Mars family, Elon Musk, Giovanni Ferrero, Michael Dell, Hui Ka Yan, Li Ka-Shing, He Xiangjian, Yang Huiyan & family, Joseph Safra, Dieter Schwarz, Vladimir Potanin, Tadashi Yanai & family, Vladamir Lisin, Ray Dalio, Takemitsu Takizaki, Leonid Mikhelson, etc. (Forbes) The list could go on, but I’m not about to list four-hundred people, the people have to change what the ruling class refuses to, hijacking corporate manufacturing and removing police of their power is essential. The police are targets due to the fact they protect corporate interests and stunt progressive growth, all of the people listed above refuse to let power be taken from them, there are too few people willing to make attempts to go after them because what would happen to their favourite source of consumption if that happened? What would happen to convenience? It would disappear, they don’t want to have to make things themselves, such is the first world’s entitlement. Doing without the convenience to save the environment should be a priority, things aren’t going to just get better on their own just because you installed solar panels and an eco-friendly water filtration system. The extent of the work that needs to be done is tremendous and must be organized efficiently and with regard to equivalency of power.

The world is in the process of ending due to all the turmoil we put it through, but the fact we’re more worried about comfort and convenience is very telling of what kind of culture western society has, instead of trying to fight those who destroy the environment and oppress us, we’re eager to mimic them. Why? Because they have and we have not. Such is the downfall of the consumerist mind. A majority of Americans think like consumers, not citizens, which is very telling because the anti-communist culture moted it be after the second world war. (Vox) There’s no telling where the zeitgeist is headed, but there’s political radicalization on both sides of the spectrum, sadly the other side of the spectrum is what we fought against, fascism, nazism, and authoritarianism. 2016 through 2020 were the worst years in terms of hate crimes committed on minority groups since the 60’s which is really saying something, neo-nazi groups sprung up and made themselves the focus, where there are fascists, there will always be anti-fascists or to be informal, antifa. I, the author am a background informant for the loose collective known as antifa, our job is simply to let people know where rallies are going down, we use pseudonyms and VPNs so we cannot be tracked. So why am I telling you this? Isn’t this supposed to be about what we can do to rebel against the systems that oppress us? Yes, and I’m getting there. There’s a reason I’m talking about fascism, and that is the fact fascism and capitalism are linked together.

Fascism/imperialism has been described as “capitalism in decay” by Vladimir Lenin due to the fact that neoliberalism is capitalism functioning as normal, communism post-capitalism, and fascism is capitalism going away slowly. It is an unjust and evil way of looking at the world, but once capitalists sense danger to their power, they fund fascism just so they can keep their power for longer. Anti-fascist action is also anti-capitalist action, for every nazi destroyed, we are one step closer to freedom. For every capitalist institution raided and demolished, we are one step closer to freedom. The city isn’t made of buildings that you can buy from, it’s made of the people who live there, so when the BLM protests occurred and stores were “looted” and burned, that was a form of praxis that hasn’t happened in years it was truly inspiring to see the people of Oregon (among other places) fight the police, fight back the alt-right, give capitalists the middle finger, create autonomous zones, and keep people from getting evicted during the pandemic. That is what communalism is partly about, supporting each other in the face of adversity no matter the cost of personal wellbeing, it’s the pinnacle of mutual aid.

Revolutionary action is one-hundred percent essential in securing future freedoms for not only generation Y, but generation Z and subsequent generations. As a member of generation Z, I feel fear, anger, and dread when it comes to climate change and the fact our generation will have to clean up the messes of the former generations when it comes to pollution, greenhouse gas emissions, unsustainable farming practices, soil health degradation, deforestation, the melting of polar habitats, natural disasters, etc. The weight of the world falls upon our shoulders and we realize this as a truth or we reject reality and follow in our parent’s footsteps and do nothing about it, it’s up to us, the most depressed and angry generation in the U.S.’s rather short history to right the wrongs made by former generations when most of us can’t even find motivation to get out of bed in the morning. I am writing this manifesto in my bed as I have been for the past week when I remember to write it down. It’s not enough to just write a theory however, put practice in it and it becomes more than just a talking point. It becomes a movement, how far you want to take it depends on you, but I do not condone violence against any of the people in the list above for strictly legal reasons. It is not absurd to think that we don’t have a snowball's chance in hell to stop the impending climate disaster that is about to fall onto us, because that assumption is correct. The best we can do is rebuild afterwards then hope and pray the next generation continues our work to restore the planet and maybe move outside our solar system, god willing.

I’ve tried writing a short solarpunk novel, I realized that the fiction may be important for outreach, but I was trying to add personal political theory to a narrative that’s supposed to be about a character’s internal conflicts as opposed to what I’m doing now, informal political theory, which is why I’m addressing you, the reader. I’ve read and listened to political theory in the past, and it’s incredibly dry and hard to pay attention to, don’t get me wrong, it’s important when you’re a part of various movements such as eco-socialism, communalist-anarchism, and anarcho-solarpunk, but I think it’s more important to connect with a reader or listener to make sure they understand the message before saying “do some praxis.” That is the goal here, not to be the leftist, humane version Ayne Rand, but instead instill in people a hope for the future that learns to do without mass manufacturing, that learns to make their own food sustainably, that learns that we all have a right to food, clean water, housing, medical treatment, and clean air without having to pay for all of those things. I may not be a part of the bottom percentage of people, but if I were my point would still stand strong, the notion that you have to work to get basic necessities is immoral on many levels, but in “free market” economies that’s the standard and I was as blind to it as most people before I found solarpunk, it started out by liking the aesthetic, but I started thinking about what we do to our planet and realized this isn’t just a bunch of pretty pictures, this is an idea for a utopian future entrenched in equality, sustainability, environmentalism, and anti-corpocracy.

Many people say that socialism has never worked, they give reasoning such as “Income inequality expands under socialism.” Which is just capitalist projection, during the 2020 pandemic, which is still ongoing at the time or writing, the rich got richer and the poor got poorer. “. . . in the months since the virus reached the United States, many of the nation’s wealthiest citizens have actually profited handsomely. Over a roughly seven-month period starting in mid-March – a week after President Donald Trump declared a national emergency – America’s 614 billionaires grew their net worth by a collective $931 billion.” (USA Today) The middle class, which skyrocketed post-feudalism/post-monarchy has been getting erased by the ruling class, which is the goal of capitalism. Capitalism is rooted in the aristocracy or the bourgeoisie and was created to have control over the masses without having a direct economic power structure overhead. Things may have gotten better for the growing middle class and the poor marginally, then the industrial revolution kicked in and everything went downhill from there. Pollution began with burning coal, the car came along, now it’s coal and oil, and so on until today where we have access to truly world-altering technologies, but what’s holding us back are the people who continue to exploit non-renewable resources for profit and solely profit. The betterment of mankind isn’t on the mind of the capitalist, they can avoid global catastrophe, they aren’t the peasants, they’re the monarchs. Why do you think billionaires fund space travel and cryogenics research? It’s not to better the rest of the world, it’s to get the hell out of dodge after global warming takes its toll and they have no more workers willing to fill their pockets by letting their labor be exploited. As I said above, it’s up to my generation to fix the mess they made. Maybe we’ll learn a lesson, or maybe we’ll die in the process, either way the situation is dire and action needs to be taken.

Who will take action? Well, if you made it this far into the manifesto without falling asleep or getting angry at the things I have to say, it’s you, me, and everyone else who cares, is tired of selling their soul, and wants freedom. Freedom, not via the dollar, but via being human. It matters not your ethnicity, skin colour, religion (or lack thereof), sexuality, gender, or anything else; you matter, the world matters, and it takes all of us to save it.

-A manifesto by Aeron Fae Greenwood

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: An Adventure in Pink Fluffy Earmuffs

AU-gust Day Twenty-Six: Monster Hunters AU Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Rumbelle

Rated: T

Summary: Renowned monster hunting team Belle and Gold have some fun on their latest case, evicting a banshee.

An Adventure in Pink Fluffy Earmuffs

“Belle, have you seen my earmuffs?”

From her position in the library, Belle rolled her eyes. The one disadvantage to her husband being a hoarder of useless junk that he was certain he would find a use for someday was that he could never find any of the items that were actually of use to him. 

Reluctantly, she slipped a bookmark into her latest read and got up from the sofa, throwing the blanket over the back. She knew that she was going to have to get up sooner rather than later anyway, she had heard Gold on the phone and it was clear that he had his business voice on - they were being hired for a job, and Belle couldn’t exactly let her husband go it alone against monsters unknown just because she wanted to get to the end of her chapter. 

“Let me guess, it’s a banshee.”

Gold appeared in the doorway and nodded. “Apparently it’s in the cellar of a pub about fifteen miles away. It moved in whilst the owners were away last week and they can’t get rid of it.”

“Well, I can certainly see why we’ll need the earmuffs. All right, I’ll help you look.”

People often asked Belle how she had ended up in the monster hunting business. It was really very simple - her mother had been a monster hunter, as had her grandmother, and she was just keeping the tradition going. When she’d met Gold whilst on the hunt for a particularly destructive werewolf that was causing havoc raiding a local convenience store, they’d hit it off, and despite a healthy dose of professional rivalry at the start, they’d eventually set up shop together and eventually turned their professional relationship into a romantic one that had culminated in marriage. Belle’s maid of honour had been the very werewolf that had brought them together in the first place. 

She always enjoyed seeing the looks on everyone’s faces when she told them her story. She would admit that monster hunting wasn’t really a career that most people thought even existed, let alone that it was a job for a five-foot-nothing-and-a-bit woman who looked as if she might blow away in a strong breeze, but it was the only life that Belle had ever known, and she thoroughly enjoyed it. 

“Have we got any more clues as to what we’re going up against this time?” Belle asked presently as she continued to search for the earmuffs whilst helping Gold gather together all the classic equipment for the catching of a banshee. “Traditionally, when banshees move in they have good reason. The owners are in good health, I trust?”

Banshees were said to manifest whenever a death in the household was imminent, but in Belle’s experience, their sense of timing and direction was often out by a few years, and they’d turn up either far too late or comically early, or in the house next door by accident.

“As far as they both know, they’re absolutely fine, and there’s no one elderly or frail in the household. At any rate, whilst they might have a portent of doom in the cellar, they’d really rather not have their demises foretold, and it’s causing them all sorts of problems when they’re trying to get down and change the barrels. I think they’re more concerned for the loss of custom than the possible death sentence she’s brought with her.”

Belle nodded. “Sensible people.” She did not hold much sway with the appearance of banshees and other creatures as signs of imminent disaster, but they received numerous calls from people who were incredibly superstitious. Whilst she and Gold could not always get to the bottom of what had caused the issue, they could usually hope to set their clients’ minds at ease. Banshees were always difficult in that sense given their longstanding association with death, and it was sometimes hard for people to understand that supernatural beings could be just as fallible as natural ones - sometimes more so given their infrequent appearance in the corporeal realm. They were somewhat out of touch. 

“Well, I can’t see your earmuffs anywhere,” she said. “Are you sure you didn’t leave them in the van from the last time? I seem to vividly recall a conversation the last time we were up against a banshee and had to spend half an hour looking for your earmuffs, in which I advised you to do just that.”

“I know, and I did leave them in the van for a long time afterwards. They were in the glove compartment, but the last time I saw them in there, they were looking all dusty and cobwebbed so I brought them in and put them in the laundry, and now I don’t know where they are. I think the Eater of Socks has had them.”

“Darling, you know full well that the Eater of Socks only eats socks, and I fed him just last week.”

(Some of the ‘monsters’ they hunted were harmless enough to keep as pets. The Eater of Socks, shooed out of a youth hostel’s laundry room two years ago, was a case in point.)

Gold sighed. “I can’t go up against a banshee without earmuffs, Belle.”

“I know. You can borrow my spare pair.”

Gold was visibly unimpressed with that suggestion, but he said nothing, and Belle knew that he didn’t have another choice. She grabbed both pairs of earmuffs from her kit, popping one around her own neck and the other around Gold’s. She probably shouldn’t have laughed at him, but it was his own fault that he’d lost his earmuffs and now was being forced to wear bright pink fluffy ones with little kitten faces on them. 

“All right, let’s go and get this over with and hope that this banshee’s an agreeable one. I don’t want to have to endure this humiliation for any longer than I have to.”

Belle just laughed again.

X

The pub was easy to find once they reached the town, and as soon as Belle saw the name of the place, she knew exactly why they had a resident banshee. Anywhere called ‘The Irishman’s Lament’, well, they were sort of tempting fate when it came to creatures from Irish folklore. 

The owners met them outside; even from a distance Belle could still hear the wailing in the cellar, and she grimaced. 

Thankfully the owners did not mention the pink fluffy earmuffs as Belle and Gold entered the building. They either assumed that Gold was wearing them in solidarity with Belle’s own cute earmuffs, or they were so grateful that someone had come to deal with their banshee problem that they didn’t care what they were wearing in terms of protective gear.

The spirit in question was easy to find in the cellar, and the fact that she was making no move towards concealment told Belle that she had likely ended up in here by accident and was just as eager to leave as the owners were to get her out, but there had been a breakdown in communication somewhere along the line. Over the years of working in close proximity to all kinds of weird and wonderful creatures, Belle had long since learned that usually they were just as scared of humans as humans were of them, but they had trouble getting that across, normally just making themselves even more scary in the process. 

“All right, this should be easy enough.” Gold set up a lantern on one of the barrels, readjusting his earmuffs. She was certainly loud in her lamenting, this one. Perhaps if they could get her to quieten down for a moment they could explain that they were here to help and she’d be out of the cellar in no time. 

Belle switched on her recording equipment. The best way to get a banshee to come quietly was to play it at its own game, recording its own wail and playing it back. She and Gold always liked to get through evictions with the least amount of fuss and least harm to the creatures - annoying or hurting them would guarantee that the next time they found themselves surrounded by humans, they would lash out and cause even more problems for the monster hunters.

The ploy worked and the banshee stopped wailing on hearing her own voice, giving Gold and Belle a confused look. As Belle took the equipment towards the cellar door she followed obediently, pausing when she reached the light and shying away. 

Gold draped a dark cloth over her and coaxed her gently up the steps from behind, Belle leading their strange little convoy until they were back out in the sunlight, whereupon she switched off the recorder. The sheet covered shape looked around for a while, perplexed, and then melted away, leaving only the cloth behind. 

“If we’d known it was that simple then we wouldn’t have needed to call you,” the landlord said, “but at the same time, we’re very grateful.”

“Banshee wails don’t record well on standard equipment,” Gold explained. “You did the right thing in calling in the professionals. Do let us know if she or any of her sisters come back.”

The entire eviction had taken all of ten minutes, and then Belle and Gold were back in their van, on their way home - or to their next call out if something happened to come in during the journey. With more and more monsters, creatures and spirits turning up by the day, hunting was getting to be a lucrative career. 

“You know,” Belle said as they were driving along, “you can take the earmuffs off now.”

Gold touched the earmuffs that were hanging around his neck. 

“I think I’ve become rather attached to them, actually.”

Belle just leaned in to peck a kiss to his cheek. “I knew you would.”

She smiled as they continued to drive, chalking up both another successful eviction, and another successful conversion to the wonders of pink fluffy earmuffs. 

[coneygoil]

Walking Wounded, part 4

Caryl AU. The waitress at a diner Daryl decides to start frequenting catches his eye, but things are complicated. Now, Daryl is the only thing standing between her and her abusive husband.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Daryl had assumed most of his life that he was a loner. Merle was company enough. The guys he sometimes hung out with were just drinking buddies, and they caused more trouble in his life than what they were worth. He tended to keep to himself. He concluded that this was how the universe planned for him to be and he accepted that.

Daryl enjoyed talking with Carol. Their conversations came naturally. He found he also enjoyed her quiet company. They didn’t need to fill in the quiet space around them with unnecessary words.

Sophia worried him though. She hadn’t spoken a word out loud in front of him. When she talked to her Mama in his presence, she’d pull her mother down and whisper in her ear. Daryl did hear her speak a few lines that night when Carol and Sophia – adorn in their secondhand pajamas – had retired to the bedroom. He stood in the hallway and listened to the little girl speak – softly like her Mama. He reckoned it’d take a while for her to trust him. Her father had shattered any trust the poor kid had in men or maybe anybody.

Daryl didn’t know how long his guests would be there. This was only the second night, and emotions were still ramped up from the encounter at the diner. As he sat in the living room, gazing around at the clean kitchen and the blanket folded neatly on the couch and all the little touches Carol already left in her short time there, he hoped they’d stay for a long time.

***

“Do you work?”

Daryl had held down odd jobs from the moment he was legally able to work. Merle didn’t know how to keep a job more than a few weeks, so Daryl had taken it upon himself to keep what little income he could flowing in. He rather liked his latest job and the fact that it was the longest job he’d ever held down.

“I work at a garage as a mechanic,” he answered Carol as they ate breakfast the next morning. “Mostly work on bikes, but I dabble with trucks and all. I go in when I get called.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Don’t pay much, but it’s enough to get by.”

Carol rolled the deer sausage absently around on her plate. Something was on her mind. “I-I don’t know if I’ll be able to work anytime soon. I have nowhere for Sophia to go even if I could. I can’t go back to the diner.”

“I should make enough. You and Sophia already got a week’s worth-a clothes that we paid like $15 bucks for and all the bare necessities you need. I can bring home more meat when I hunt. If you don’t mind eating things like squirrel or rabbit or raccoon. The landlord keeps a vegetable garden. We can talk to him about tradin’ or somethin’. We should be okay.”

Carol didn’t look appeased. “I want to earn my keep for staying here. I can clean and cook and do laundry. I’ll mow grass if I have to.”

“Naw, don’t worry about the grass. That’s what the neighbor’s goat is for. Don’t have to pay her. The grass is all she asks for in return.”

Carol laughed – a true laugh. Daryl couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face at the lovely sound. He looked forward to hearing it again. A moment passed and her frown returned.

“Sooner or later, we’ll need to look for a place for me and Sophia to live. We can’t live here forever.”

Daryl’s stomach churned at the reality. She couldn’t stay at his place forever. Carol wasn’t his wife. She wasn’t even his woman and probably never would be. There was the matter that Ed was out there and that she was very much married to him by law. Legalities would have to come into play. Daryl wasn’t sure if she’d wish to press charges against her husband. She’d need a lawyer to divorce him…if that’s the direction she wished to proceed. It was the only route Daryl could fathom that would help move Carol and her daughter into a better future. But, all this depended on what Carol wanted.

Daryl stared at the bottom of his coffee cup as if it held the answers he sought. “Not saying you have to make up your mind today or this week, for that matter, but you gotta decide what you wanna do. Press charges against your old man. Be legally separated. Figure out what you’re gonna do with your life after all of it.”

Without prompting, Carol grabbed the coffee carafe and filled Daryl’s cup three-fourths to the rim. He now knew why she was such a diligent waitress. Her husband trained her to serve his needs well. Daryl thanked her for the refill.

Carol slipped back into her chair. She stared straight ahead, lost in thought. He heard her swallow a lump in her throat. “I can just…be for a little while. Give me some time to collect my thoughts. I’ve been under Ed’s thumb so long I don’t know how to function without him over my shoulder. I feel like I need to relearn how to live again.”

“I understand. I want you to have time for that. But you can’t wait too long. If there’s anything I know about men like Ed, he’ll be on the lookout for you.”

Her next words spent a chill down Daryl’s spine. “Wouldn’t expect anything less from him.”

***

Daryl couldn’t stay cooped up in the trailer all day. He wasn’t sure what Carol and her daughter did at home when Ed was at work, but he had a hunch they didn’t get out much. He was thankful there was land between his trailer and a fair amount of space between next door neighbors. Him and Merle were tucked away in the farthest corner of the trailer park with woods surrounding them, the way they preferred. The landlord was one of those Christian men who’d offered help to his brother multiple times to break his addictions. The landlord had dealt with his own addiction a long time ago from what Daryl gathered. The landlord didn’t so much as blink when Merle cursed him from his offers to better himself. As long as Merle didn’t cause disruption or damage within the community, they wouldn’t be evicted.

Daryl led the way to the trail he’d pounded out when they’d moved in, Carol and Sophia in tow. Sophia stuck close to her mother’s side. She kept her gaze straight ahead and squeezed Carol’s hand with an iron grip. Daryl pointed out various trees and bushes just to keep conversation going, including Sophia into his dialogue hoping to continue to show her he was an okay guy. The trail eventually opened up into a meadow. Dark orange flowers dipped with yellow tips blanketed the knee-high grass.

Daryl stole a glance at Sophia and it was in that moment he caught the wonder spreading across her face. Her grip lessened on Carol’s hand. She reached out to touch the petals of one of the flowers. Her amazement was so great, Daryl wondered if she’d ever touched a flower in her life.

“These’re called Indian Blankets,” he informed, “but sometimes they’re called Firewheels.”

Sophia tilted her face up at Carol and a shock shot up in Daryl at her murmured inquiry, “Can I, Mama?”

Carol glanced at Daryl in question, and he nodded. She shook Sophia’s hand, playfully. “Sure you can, baby.”

Sophia released her mother’s hand and trotted off into the blanket of wildflowers. Daryl watched her then looked at Carol. The most radiant smile graced her lips, as if this was the happiest moment of her entire life.

Daryl didn’t know what over came him. He barely registered his actions before he’d plucked up a flower and extended it to Carol. She stared at the flower offering, bewildered. He raised his eyebrows and gave a little nod as if to say for you. She smiled warmly at him in thanks, taking the flower delicately in the tips of her fingers. He’d never given a woman a flower before, never had the desire or the woman to do so. But if it made Carol happy, he’d give her a flower every day for the rest of his life.

***

Carol couldn’t remember the last time she felt joy. She’d nearly forgotten the emotion existed. Today reminded her of its presence.

Daryl had taken her and Sophia for a walk in the nearby woods. She hadn’t traversed that close to nature in years. Daryl seemed to be at home among the trees. His knowledge of the woods astounded her. He told them what every tree and bush were named. He showed them how he tracked wildlife and pointed out deer tracks that would have been completely lost to the naked eye.

When he brought them to the meadow, Carol’s breath caught. Dozens upon dozens of flowers blanketed the grass. The sight left her in awe. Her throat tightened when Sophia quietly asked her if she could wander through the flowers. The sunlight gleaned on Sophia’s blonde head, the flowers surrounding her, creating a beautiful memory that Carol would cherish.

Then, Daryl presented to her a single flower. Their silent exchange spoke more than any words ever could. Ed had given her flowers before. He’d come traipsing in with whatever bouquet he could snag at the store. He’d shove it at her, slide his palms roughly up and down her arms, and grunt out a ‘didn’t mean to’ for whatever atrocity he’d laid upon her the night before. It’d been 5 years since he’d made an effort to even do that.

Here was Daryl. A man she’d met two months ago. A man that saved her and promised to take care of her, though it was the farthest from being his responsibility. Here he was, shyly giving her a flower in the spur of the moment. She was practically a stranger to him, but he’d given her more in a few days than Ed had in their 10 years of marriage.

Carol gazed at the two Indian Blanket flowers extending from the neck of the beer bottle on the nightstand. Sophia had picked a flower, proudly presenting it to her after she’d seen Daryl give her mother one. Seeing her daughter smile was the greatest gift she’d received. Daryl helped make that possible.

With one last gaze at the flowers to etch into her memory, Carol switched off the lamplight and snuggled close to her daughter. For the first time in years, Carol could believe in a brighter tomorrow.

[chiseler]

The next to last MOVE

[The release of Delbert Africa after 42 years in prison has lit me up like fireworks. Most of what's below was written several years ago, so this is a minor update. But goddamn am I glad he's out. It doesn't put the end to anything – one other MOVE member is still languishing – but it lends the closing bracket on a time and place that's long, long been central to my life. I never talked to Delbert, but I was never less than monumentally impressed by him, even though I thought MOVE was basically off its nut. See what you think.]

In the summer of 1978, my wife Linda and I had fun towing her little red wagon full of rocks through the police line during the first confrontation between the city of Philadelphia and MOVE.

Never heard of MOVE, or only recently with an odd revival of interest? I'm not surprised. Only in Philadelphia could the record of summer-long martial law effectively... vanish for decades.

Back then, MOVE was often called a "back to nature" and/or "anti-technology" outfit: A back-to-nature-anti-technology outfit that used bullhorns, lived in the middle of a city of 1.5 million inhabitants and organized protests of Jane Fonda and Buckminster Fuller. Demonstrating against the then-82-year-old champion of the geodesic dome – who would do such a thing, why?

Only MOVE, only in our itty-bitty liberal enclave of Powelton Village, and I think no one will ever know exactly why. They followed the teachings of Vincent Leaphart, whose rambling treatise made little sense to anyone beyond his small band of raucous believers. "MOVE" wasn't an acronym, just a word, but always capitalized. Leaphart changed his name to John Africa and insisted his followers all take the last name of Africa.

Powelton, a ten-square-block Victorian snippet of West Philadelphia north of Drexel University and the University of Pennsylvania, began as the city nabobs' summer-retreat in the late 19th century, just across the Schuylkill River from Center City. By the late 1960s it had attracted a loose rattle of quiet leftists and inoffensive layabouts who were tolerant of most anybody but Drexel, which was determined to devour as much of the community as it could ladle down (and has now debased the area with overpriced apartments for its students.)

During the late '70s, Powelton's squishy acceptance allowed MOVE to occupy a pair of brick twins at 33rd and Pearl Sts., no more than a block from our commune, where they nailed together huge, ramshackle ramparts, kept a pack of half-feral dogs, ate raw meat and tossed their garbage in the yard. An all-black group (except for one scrawny white woman), they were dreadlocked and more physically fit than any health poster.

For income, they washed cars on 33rd St. (and did a damned fine job of it). On no particular provocation, they would mount the ramparts, pick up a bullhorn and harangue the world. It made a hell of a racket. They could also explode into sudden violence, especially against the police, though I regularly walked past their house and was never harassed.

The city, citing housing and sanitation regulations, declared them pests and obtained a court order telling them they had to go. The order set off one of the strangest confrontations in modern American history.

On a quiet summer evening, the MOVErs mounted the ramparts carrying rifles and dressed in camo fatigues. You'd think the police would act. Well, they did: They blocked traffic on 33rd St. That was it. They never approached the MOVE house. During the protest, Delbert Africa, their chief spokesman (one of the most beautiful human beings who ever existed) issued this statement, part haiku, part tautology, that has always defined MOVE for me:

"Any motherfucker

tries to take away my motherfuckin' rights,

that man is a motherfucker."

I doubt their guns were loaded (they have since claimed they were not). For one thing, they were pointed straight up, for show. For another, the fatigues still had folds in them – the protestors had bought them that afternoon, probably at I. Goldberg's, a decades-old army-navy surplus store.

The city's mayor was Frank Rizzo, former police commissioner from South Philly, idolized by the Italian community, hated by the gays and blacks he had hounded throughout a career of sneering, swaggering machismo (my favorite quote: "I'll make Attila the Hun look like a faggot").

Rizzo's response to MOVE was incomprehensible and ultimately ruinous for the city.  Rather than clear the house of this rabble on outstanding charges of health and safety violations, he directed the police department to place a cordon around our neighborhood and wait for MOVE to capitulate. (If China had suggested starving out a bunch of dissidents, the U.S. would have been mightily upset.) Worse, he announced his plans a couple weeks in advance, giving MOVE's supporters ample time to haul in truckloads of supplies, including a skid of dog food.

For the next roughly six weeks, Powelton was occupied by up to 2,000 police and support personnel. I still find it hard to grasp that a judge blithely approved a state of martial law to enforce health regulations. And that his ruling was never seriously challenged or overturned.

To those familiar with MOVE, the result was foreordained—they simply hunkered down and refused to... move. Us Poweltonians, meanwhile, had to show identification to enter our own streets. The local activists, in their vocal but placid way, formed so many committees to discuss the situation – roughly equal pro- and anti-MOVE – that a higher committee coalesced to coordinate them all.

About then, Linda was moving back to the commune where I'd met her and where I still lived. We had no "transportation" beyond a battered wire shopping cart and her little red wagon. Back and forth we clumped from her apartment, the wagon loaded with books, kitchen equipment and the big garden rocks she'd brought from her home in Kansas. After awhile, even the cops found it ridiculous to keep asking for our IDs. They'd grin lightly, look bemused, then stand aside.

The immense police presence was absurdly ineffective. They exempted the street behind us from the cordon, and since our block had no internal fences, I would walk Pearl, our exuberant St. Bernard, down our front steps and half way around the block, then in the back way, without a single police challenge. The neighborhood also experienced a marked increase in breaking and entering – I guess it heightened the crooks' street cred to thumb their noses at the Man.

Across the city, the police force was in a shambles from diverting 20% of its resources to a pointless, static operation. (Once the blockade was lifted, they found that MOVE had moled a tunnel through to Powelton Ave., sneaking in supplies during the entire occupation.)

As I hazily recall it, the city and MOVE reached an agreement that if the police lifted their blockade, MOVE would hand over their guns. The police lifted the blockade, and –surprise! – MOVE handed them a bellylaugh.

Then one morning Linda and I were awakened by a short, intense rattle of gunfire. It hit like a mallet: "My god, they're killing them all." As it turned out, one police officer, James Ramp, was killed but no MOVE members. Despite conflicting forensic evidence on where the shot had come from, nine MOVErs were convicted of third-degree murder and for decades were regularly denied parole.

When I returned from work that afternoon, the street in front of our house was scored with caterpillar treads. I followed them around the corner to 33rd St. The MOVE houses were gone – three-story brick Victorian twins evaporated, the ground a smooth expanse of Philadelphia's yellow-brown clay. As Linda's young son Ben said, "At least they didn't salt the earth."

The occupation and confrontation were big news in city media back then, but they never caught national attention. Why? Can you name another example of weeks-long, uncontested martial law in a major American city?

That wrapped up MOVE for Powelton, but not for the city. Seven years later, on May 12-13, 1985, under Mayor W. Wilson Goode, the local government again lost its ability to think like adults in response to MOVE. The remaining group had moved to Osage Ave. on the city's western edge and again erected ramparts, but the local population was less willing than the loosey-goosey Poweltonians to accept such disruption.

This time, the city cut corners and turned to direct confrontation. The result was an armed standoff that ended when a collective of official imbeciles OKd dropping a parcel of C4 explosive onto MOVE's roof bunker. As the resulting fire spread, rather than endanger the firemen standing ready (or so read the official rationale), it was left to go its merry way.

The entire square block of over 60 rowhouses burned flat. When the smoke had cleared and the flames died out, 11 members of MOVE were found incinerated, including John Africa and five children. There were only two known survivors, Ramona Africa and nine-year-old Birdie Africa, who was permanently disfigured.

A footnote: Ramona, along with Birdie's relatives, were paid millions in damages. Ramona bought a house in the city's Kingsessing neighborhood, where she and MOVE remnants live a relatively quiet life. After hemming and hawing, the city agreed to rebuild the houses destroyed through its asinine incompetence. As a monument to shoddy, graft-infested contracting, the replacement homes proved uninhabitable, the contractors faced criminal charges, and the bedraggled homeowners were once again evicted while their "new" homes were razed and replaced.

by Derek Davis

[littlemeowmeowschimmy]

Until We Meet Again [Yoongi x Hoseok x Reader]

credit: Cindy

Requests opened // m.list next

Genre: Dark // Angst // Some Smut

Summary: The Imperial kingdom has come to its breaking point. The emperor who had taken over was and is to be known as ruthless and unforgiving. In this society, power is ultimately given to those who align themselves with the imperial family as it takes many lives of those who oppose them. When your little medicine shop is under destruction from the new emperor, you decide its your best to fight back. However, you never imagined the murderous emperor to take a liking to you..

Word Count:2.5k

A/N:Ah a small series I'm thinking of doing. Warning though, this is not going to be fluffy and cute. Rather, dark and very suspenseful. I should also warn that as I was writing this I was considering on deleting it because I didn't know how people would take it. I've always been into the darkness of humanity and although I would never go as far as to write about certain things, there are others that I am willing to write. Such as corrupted power and its influence on people, that stuff fascinates me. Yeah sorry I'm weird D: But enjoy though~

»»————-　★　————-««

The wind felt nice against your flushed cheeks. Everything was moving smoothing, according to your father. Trade was coming in nice, the crops were growing tall, and your family was prosperous. Life had been extremely well, that was under a new emperor stepped into power.

You were young when life was well, your father mentioned all the time. The country wasn't fighting with anyone, everyone was getting along. So much so that rebels from earlier had settled down. Your father also mentioned that he considered retiring when you were of age if the country was going to continue to be in peace. But he spoke too soon. Soon after the new emperor emerged, the bad years quickly followed.

It was often wise for younger ladies such as yourself not to go out alone. There was horror stories of females who the emperor would scout and never return them to their families. Most of whom were bright young ladies who had the world to offer. Since you were an only child, your parents often took lengthy measures to make sure you would stay out of the emperor's grasp.

Rumors began to spread about him, claiming that he was blood thirsty. That if one didn't follow his rule, he would chop their heads off almost immediately. You grew up in fear of your own emperor. So much so that you often stayed inside away from his or anyone else' eye. You didn't want to be taken away, nor did you want to go outside were people could judge you.

Your family was known to be the medics of the town. Offering herbal remedies to those who fell ill, or those who needed spiritual help. You found yourself learning everything there was to offer about plants and nature as you grew older. To the point where after your father had passed, you took over the business.

Since there was no one to hand it over to, you opened your shop for help. You wanted to carry on your father's business even if you didn't marry. You found it necessary to help your father's wish to come true. By the time you turned twenty, your father's business had grown to about three or four workers under you.

But what you didn't know was that ahead of you, troubles were brewing. What you found as familiarity would soon be ripped into pieces.

»»————-　★　————-««

"Ms.[L/N]! Ms[L/N]!" Seoyeon, a bright fifteen year old who studied under her eldest brother, shook you awake and spoke to you in a hushed whisper. You employed her brother to help you around the shop, she often tagged along because she was interested in medicine and helping others.

You groaned, rubbing your forehead with the tips of your fingers. You had stayed up late the previous night, looking at new information that was given to you about a week ago about medicine. You glanced over at Seoyeon, tilting your head just a little to the side. Glancing up, you noticed that Seoyeon's eyes were filled with concern and she looked almost as if she was about to pass out.

"Seoyeon, what's going on?" You questioned back using the same tone she previous had.

"Imperial guards are here!" Her voice quivering. Your heart shot up into your throat as your hands started to shake. You set your scroll down, flattened your clothes only to move yourself forwards with Seoyeon behind you. Her eldest brother, Jun, was standing in front of the door with two Imperial guards glaring down at him.

They looked rather annoyed, considering they assumed a male would be the head of this shop. It was very uncommon for a female during this period to be taking care of something as big as what your father had built. You reached out to touch Jun's shoulder carefully, reassuring him that you had this under control.

"You're the owner?" One asked his eyebrow raising in concern. It was almost as if he was looking at you, mocking you for even being in the position you currently held.

"Yes, I am. Is there a problem?"

"The emperor has his eye set on this place." The one from before continued. "He wishes to build another section to his palace due to the growing amount of power and staff he currently positions. You have less than one week to clear everything and find another place or you will be destroyed."

With that the guards turned around to head off, your heart being pulled out of your chest with them.

»»————-　★　————-««

What had happened in a week was more than a surprise to you. Starting off with the delivery of your eviction. You cried for hours in your futon, got less than three hours of sleep and still carried on business perusal. Jun and Seoyeon tried to comfort you, however their efforts seemed to go to waste. You weren't the type to reach out to another person, but they could sense that something was bothering you.

Even the other two employees wanted to help you, however they didn't know exactly how to. Everything seemed to be crashing down, to the point where your mother stopped in. She offered to move the business to their home, but you refused.

You hadn't stepped in there since your fathers passing and you weren't going to conduct his business were he ate and slept. It would be too much for you to handle, let alone the burden of your mother. She was growing older and you refused to let her step in the shop to help. This was your responsibility and you were going to take care of it.

By the end of the week, you didn't find a solution. Instead, you were filled with rage and confusion. Why would the emperor want to take something your father had worked years for. Why did he have to be so selfish? The imperial family had caused the country so much harm, so much pain that you couldn't understand why they were still in power. What the rebels were preaching and even being thrown out of the cities were right. If someone had to take down the imperial family, they had to do it now.

You couldn't suffer because of the imperial family any further...

As those thoughts were big and bold, you had to try and convince yourself to stop shaking. You knew the guards were going to show up and eventually detain you. Those stories you had heard when you were younger started to circulate. The sights you had seen as the imperial family started their rise haunted you every night.

Bodies being thrown like trash, fries erupting from the north and south. Screams of young women and children ringing caused small tears to formulate and trickle down your cheek. You stood outside in the pale moonlight to look in front of you. If you were going to go out swinging, you might as well in front of your store.

In a matter of seconds the two guards surrounded you with a few more. They held knives up to your throat as a carriage from the distance came rolling in. The thumping of your heart could be heard in your ears as your palms started to sweat. Your body could be seen shaking from underneath your clothes, despite the fact that it looked as if you were calm.

The carriage stopped just behind the guards, the knives still being pressed as a man stepped out. He was dressed in the highest fashion, his hair pulled back and his eyes dark. He moves almost like a snake, his expression mischievous. You couldn't read him, nor did you get a good feeling about him.

"Ah the owner's daughter, a pleasure to meet you." His voice sending chills through your veins.

"No I am the owner and what you and this emperor is doing to my store is beyond horrendous." Your entire body shook even further, now visibly showing to those around you. However, your voice didn't quiver or faulter.

The dangerous man gave a half smirk. His eyes lighting up at your bravery as his hand signaled for the guards to lower their swords. As the metal left your chin, it was replaced by his hand. He cupped it in his thumb and index finger, turning your face side to side. He was examining you and it discussed you.

He took into account your shaking body now as he could feel it. It seemed to pleasure him to see someone so fragile and beautiful quiver just at the sight of those of royalty. He chuckled to himself, lowering his grasp on you and turning to look at the guards again. In one single, “Take her away, the emperor will have fun." you were swooped up into the guards grasps.

»»————-　★　————-««

Once again, you had never realized that your life would be where it was now. All you wanted was to fight for your store, to fight for your rights and yet you were stripped of your clothes, placed in rags and chains. Those horror stories of emperors were coming true. What you had saw was more than less what you expected of him. You knew that he was horrid, but you prayed to your ancestors that you wouldn't see him.

Now you were tossed and thrown like a doll, forced on your knees with your head lowered. The palace was beautifully decorated with gold and silver. The walls red and the floors marble. Everything was handcrafted to the emperor’s tastes, those from before and now. The hard earned money of those taken away to fulfil such a ruthless man.

"My my my, what do we have here?"

"Hoseok please, don't scare her she's already terrified out of her mind. I don't like my prey to be trembling."

"Oh c'mon my dear, she looks absolutely delectable~" Hoseok purrs his body moving closer towards you. You saw black shoes in front, then was forced to look up at him. His eyes were the first you took into account. They were dark and playful, a bright heart shape smile slowly emerging. He tilts his head to the side, examining your features. He brushes his thumb against your cheek, taking your skin in.

"Oh my Yoongi, she's absolutely gorgeous." Hoseok hums his hand moving from your chin to grasp your neck. He squeezing you, the air being taken as you made a choking noise. That heart shape smile turned into a dangerous, almost sadistic grin.

"Would you stop!" Yoongi demands smacking his hand against his throne. Hoseok pouts, letting go of your neck as he turns back around to skip towards who you assumed was the emperor. Yoongi stood with his body slouched in his throne. Hoseok sat next to him, curling himself up against him as Yoongi brought his hand back to stroke his hair.

He brought the same hand that was stroking Hoseok up to his lips. His fingers covering them as his eyes glared down at you. Once again, you were captivated by his glance and by his beauty. The thought you had of the emperor was completely washed away when seeing him. But that didn't excuse his ruthless and chaotic behavior.

Due to his intense glare, you hadn't realized that all this pent up anger from before came forwards. Eventually furrowing your brow and giving him an intense glare back. Normally you would hear stories of people who wouldn't dare look in his eye. But you had enough of him and you wanted to see him gone as soon as possible.

Yoongi seemed to be enjoying himself, especially when you glared at him. He enjoyed the anger people fed him, because it made him feel invincible and yet it also turned him on. He was sadistic in his own ways and it certainly played out in his rule.

Yoongi stood up, pushing Hoseok to the side just a little. Who whined because he was comfortable, but Yoongi didn't give a damn. He moves himself forwards, slowly descending from the stairs. He walked closer to you, bending down and getting right in your face.

"I heard you challenged me in front of my officers, is that correct?" His voice deep and threatening. You weren't shying away from it, despite the terrified pit in your stomach.

"Yes because you do not deserve my store nor do you deserve to be emperor." Your words causing Yoongi to give a low throaty laugh. What confused you was that he seemed to be calm in this entire exchange. It was almost as if he had heard it a thousand times and wasn't terrified by you nor anyone. Yoongi brought a hand up to your face, caressing your skin gently.

What happened next surprised you. Mostly because you were taught to be kind and respectful, but how could you be respectful to someone who wanted to take your life away? You turned your head out of his hand, ultimately spitting on Yoongi.

It went silent in the room, guards in shock as they didn't know what to do. It seemed as if this was the first time someone had ever done something like this to Yoongi. Speaking of, he was in shock for point two seconds. Yoongi brought his hand up to wipe some of your spit from his cheek, his eyes lingering on his fingers before he swiftly wrapped them around your neck.

With all of his might, Yoongi lifts you up, his grip tightening as he brings you to your feet and closer to him. As he does so, he beings laughing, extremely amused but you.

"Oh I like you, I really do." his voice dropping in tone as his grip tightens further. Because your hands were chained, you couldn't do much. You tried moving them, but they wouldn't reach up as far as your waist. Choking noises escaped as your legs stared to frail. Attempting to wiggle yourself out of his grasp, only for him to tighten it.

"Yoonki, don't kill her we just got her!" Hoseok whines shifting himself on his plush cushions, his legs crossing as he watches the scene unfold.

For a split second it seemed as if Yoongi was debating if he wanted to let you go or not. He watched you suffer for air, his face twisting in pleasure as he saw your body flailing. He couldn't help himself, this is what he had become under his father's rule. The joy of someone suffering was enough to bring him happiness.

Out of the "graciousness" of his heart, Yoongi let you go. Your body falling in front of him as you gasp for air. He looks down upon you, his eyes darkening further. Turning around, Yoongi walks back up to his throne, sliding himself back in and holding Hoseok close.

"Take her away, I don't want to see her face in front of mine..just yet." The guards rushing forwards to force you on your feet again. Yoongi's eyes never left yours, that disgusting expression staying as he waves at you.

"Until we meet again kitten~"

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 3: An Unexpected Journey

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: DRAMA, panic attacks, mentions of past death Relationships: Loki x Reader Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), OFC, Heimdall (Marvel) Additional Tags: Loki is Impatient, Loki is Kind Of A Jerk, Reader is Impertinent, Reader is Kind Of A Jerk. Hey Everybody Makes Mistakes Summary: Reader is afflicted with a mysterious illness that has slowly been killing her. Salvation comes, but the price is high.

“What are you doing here _____?”  Your manager demanded.  You flinched, and concentrated on looking healthy.  You knew you were failing, despite all the makeup you’d put on to hide your ill health. She marched right up to you and tried to take a box of frozen, unbaked sandwich roll dough out of your shaking hands. You held on as tightly as you could.

“I’ve gotta work.” You said, voice small and weak. “Gotta make my rent.”

“I didn’t schedule you today.” She said tersely. You shrugged.

“I traded with Anette.” You’d pleaded with Anette. You’d lied to Anette, told her you were feeling so much better. You weren’t, but you were pretty sure you would feel so much worse if you got evicted.

You were sick. You were too sick to be doing your job, honestly, but at least you weren’t contagious. No one knew what was wrong with you. You’d paid doctors way too much money, just for them to give you clashing diagnosis, and prescribe medicines you couldn’t afford.

You had finally gotten one to admit that they had no idea what was actually wrong with you, but you knew what was wrong. You had been inflicted with a slow, wasting death. You had grabbed a vengeful god by the hand, and intended to demand something of him. No wonder he had cursed you.

That’s what the thing on your hand was: a curse, branded into your skin, a punishment for your insolence. You had made Tara promise not to tell anyone what had actually happened back in the tower, and whenever anyone asked about it, you just told them you had gotten very drunk when you were in New York, and had decided to get a body modification. Your manager didn’t care about it, since it was so easily covered up by the gloves you were required to wear.

What she did care about, was your dropping performance, and your failing health. Working in a bakery, even a tiny, grocery store bakery, required a certain amount of vigilance and effort, and over the past six months, you had slowly lost your grip on both of those things. Much like you were losing your grip on the box of frozen dough.

You set the box down on the counter, and began arranging the dough on a large sheet pan. You only dropped a few of them, and none of those hit the floor. Your manager followed you, hands on her hips.

“_____, I can’t allow this. You are definitely still sick. Both HR and the Health Department will be down on me like a ton of bricks if I let you work when you’re sick like this.”

“I can stand, and I can use my hands.” You protested. “What more do you need?”

“A competent worker!” She snapped. You knew it was only frustration. She liked you as much as a manager was allowed. She wouldn’t fire you for this, since you hadn’t done anything against the rules. But corporate might fire you, if you missed any more shifts on account of being sick.

Beyond the looming threat of homelessness and not being able to pay your bills, the loss of your job would spell the loss of your last remaining anchor to other human beings. Tara checked up on you when she could, and sent you texts every day, but she had her own job and her own life. Your father, likewise, still had to travel a lot for his own job. When you turned to your online communities for help with understanding what had happened to you, they quickly came together to discover that the man you had grabbed in the tower was none other than the outcast Asgardian prince, Loki, the scourge of New York, an extremely controversial figure who, five years ago, had tried to take over the world. He led an alien army into New York and caused terrible death and destruction. Now, he showed up more and more often in Avengers custody. Some surmised that it was some kind of rehabilitation program, especially now that Asgard was being rebuilt in Iceland.

You hadn’t known any of these things, and you didn’t get much chance to learn more. Considering you compromised, the communities had banned you, and blocked you entirely. Finding communities that were more friendly to the idea of Loki was no walk in the park either; most of those catered to a particular type of person you considered pretty damn creepy. They didn’t have what you needed, but they did have lots of…desires. And pictures, so at least you’d been able to confirm that the man from the tower was indeed Loki, brother of Thor.

So now you were nearly alone, your only reliable point of contact was your job, and you might be on the brink of losing that as well. That would leave the rest of your presumably short life with nothing but the torment of your dreams.

That was part of the curse, these terrible dreams. They stole your strength and haunted your waking hours, always the same. There was a soft, velvety darkness that you wanted so badly to sink into. It was rest, glorious rest. It was gentleness, stillness, quiet and peace. It was everything your body and mind desperately wanted. And he was there to deny you, every night he denied you that peace. He dragged you away from that welcoming darkness, fought to keep you from its hypnotic draw. He would never let you rest, like a demon, slowly draining you of your strength and health. He bore the mark he had inflicted you with, flaunting it like an insult to you.

You wished you could go back, wished you could apologize.  That you could tell him you simply hadn’t recognized him with his hair grown out, without the armor, without the horns. Without the alien invaders. You hadn’t meant any offence.

You also wished you could yell. Scream your anger and swing your fists. A little touch on the hand was no reason to do this to someone! You were just an ordinary woman who had made a small mistake. You didn’t deserve this! If you ever saw him again, you’d give him proper cause to curse you.

You heard a sound then, like a freight truck barreling down a street too small for it, like a hurricane wind. You shouldn’t be able to hear any of those things this far inside the building. The world trembled, and a burst of brightness outshone even the neon lights.

“The hell was that?” Your manager demanded. “Ladies, are you okay?” You and your coworkers chimed in with soft affirmatives. “Okay. We need to stay put and-“

The sound of screams began floating back from the entrance of the store.

“Nevermind.” She said. “Get to the back room, and out the emergency exit. Stay together.”

She led the little group of you out between the displays of cinnamon rolls and cornbread, all of you crouching low. Your hand ached, as if the mark was being pulled from inside. That couldn’t be a good sign. Nothing had made it react before, not for months and months, not since the initial cursing.

The world around you seemed to lose some of its reality. Everything moved slowly. You felt hot. There was a loud, heavy throbbing in your head, and you collapsed against a stand full of cupcakes, unable to stand by yourself any longer.

So this was how it ended. You finally pushed too hard, and now this sickness was going to claim you among the cupcakes. You never thought you would die at work, but at least this way your body wouldn’t molder in your little apartment for a week, before Tara or your father finally found you.

“_____, what are you doing?” Your manager hissed, and took your hand. Agony shot up your arm, drawing a rough cry from you. “Oh my god, _____, are you okay? Come on, we’ve got to go!”

One of your coworkers screamed. You propped yourself up on one elbow and looked where she was pointing, terrified of what you might see.

He strode purposefully out of the produce section, and your world plunged into frigid horror.

Foreign armor. Dark leather and gleaming metal, just like all the footage you had watched, over and over again.

No.

Shining golden horns, curving a foot above his forehead, the silhouette unmistakable.

No.

The entire loss prevention department surrounded him, shouting, but unable to do anything. They weren’t equipped to deal with anybody more dangerous than the occasional shoplifter, not this. This was never supposed to happen. He pushed right passed them, paying no attention. His eyes locked on yours, wearing the smile of a demon.

No!

Your manager tugged your hand urgently, sending spikes of pain up your arm, causing you to collapse further. Cupcakes scattered as you hit the floor. From this vantage point, he looked even bigger, some kind of giant, impossible to stop.

Your manager released your hand and ran, just as he reached down and hauled you to your feet. You couldn’t even find it in you to be mad at her for abandoning you. She had kids at home. You had no one.

Besides, he had you in his grip now. You were beyond saving.

As he set you back to standing, the fever clouding your brain began to clear and strength returned to your limbs. You drew a deep breath, and it was like expelling sickness from your lungs. You felt almost good. Even with your coworkers retreating as fast as they could, with screaming customers rushing past, with Loss Prevention shouting and trying to assure you that everything was going to be okay, and standing in the far too strong grasp of the entire planet’s number one enemy, you felt better than you had in half a year.

“Ah, there it is.” He murmured, still completely ignoring all the shouting and demands. “Looks like I was right.”

You turned slowly to look up at him, stared him straight in the eyes. They looked so normal.

Then you smashed the heel of your palm upwards into his nose with all of your returned strength.

His head did not snap back, his nose did not break, his grip on you did not loosen in the least. He did look just a little surprised, but nothing else that was supposed to happen, happened. You really shouldn’t have given up your self-defense courses. But you hadn’t been able to afford them, and could they really teach you how to fight a god anyway?

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment you thought your head was going to roll. Then he burst into derisive laughter.

“Oh! She has spirit!” He exclaimed. “Not much common sense, though. Disappointing.”

“Not here to impress you!” You began to struggle, now that you knew you could. He wrapped one arm around your throat and pulled you flat against him.

“Heimdall.” He called, a word you didn’t recognize. It must have been some kind of magic, because seconds later, a flash of multicolored light blinded you, and a feeling of weightless set your stomach twisting.

For a few seconds your world was flight and light, then the sky seemed to spit you out onto a wide green field.

“Hmph.” He grunted. “Too far north again. We really must get that fixed.”

You saw men in the distance, one approaching at great speed. Loki swore quietly and released you. You dashed immediately. You heard him swear again, but only pushed yourself faster. You could see a river just a few dozen yards away, and you were a very good swimmer.

“Not that way!” He shouted, not far enough behind you as far as you were concerned. No way were you going to stop.

The ground beneath your feet gave way, toppling you forward. Within moments you were engulfed in sucking, freezing mud. What the hell was this? Quicksand? Quickmud? A National Geographic in the doctor’s office spoke of bog mummies found in Europe, but there was nothing like that in Iowa. Just where were you now?

Loki dragged you out of the mud before you could sink entirely, just as someone bellowed his name behind you.

“Oh good. You’re here. A proper welcoming party.” He said evenly in the face of his enraged brother. “I assume Heimdall tattled?”

“Loki, what have you done?” Thor demanded. “I told you to wait! Just a few days! You really couldn’t give it just a few days?”

“There was no time!” He argued. “She was dying when I found her. Tell him.” He shoved you forward. You tried to run for it again, but he caught you before you got more than a few steps. Taking you solidly by the shoulders, he leaned down and looked you right in your mud-smeared face.

“If you try to run again, I will let the land devour you.” He threatened.

“Went to a lot of trouble to kidnap me, just to let me die.” You snapped.

He sneered. “I’ve been known to change my mind on less than a whim.”

You looked at Thor, who shrugged slightly as if to say it was certainly possible. But Thor would help you, wouldn’t he? He would save you from this monster. Wouldn’t he?

Then why wasn’t he doing it?

“Please.” You pleaded quietly. Thor did nothing.

Loki took your chin in one hand and turned your head back to him.

“No.” He said. “You don’t look at him. You look at me, and you listen. You were mere steps from death, and I have saved you. Twice.” He wiped some of the mud from your cheek, shaking it off his fingers with obvious distaste.

“You’re the one who did this to me!” You shouted.

“I did not throw you into that bog.” He said.

“No, but you brought me here! And you cursed me in the first place!” You were aware that you shouldn’t be yelling at someone who was pretty much holding all of the cards, but one of Earth’s mightiest heroes was just right there, and he would help you eventually.

“I did no such thing-“ He began.

“Bullshit! You burned my hand back in the Avenger’s Tower, just because I touched you! And I’m sorry for that, but you went way overboard, cursing me with a slow death and constant nightmares like that! There was no call to go that far!”

He looked taken off guard for just one moment. “Nightmares? They were nightmares to you?”

“You didn’t even tell her what was going on, did you?” Thor accused. “Do you have any idea how much heat we are going to take for this?”

“You knew?” You shouted at him. “You knew he was doing this?”

Thor shook his head. “No, I was only just notified-“

“And the tower?” You continued. “When he cursed me, why didn’t you do anything?”

“It’s not a curse!” Loki protested. “Look, it’s on me too.” He held out his hand, but you completely ignored him.

“You were just letting me die! You were there when it happened, you saw it happen, and you didn’t even check to see what was going on!” Your temper was completely enflamed; you were shouting in the faces of gods. It was idiotic, but once you had started, half a year of stress and pain and fear came boiling out and you couldn’t stop. Loki was still trying to say something, but your anger was loud in your ears, drowning him out. “I know you don’t know me, but isn’t handling him part of your job? You brought him back here, you let him back onto the world. Why are you just standing there? Why haven’t you done anything to save me from this monster?”

Your voice rang over the field as your words reached their end, all of the bile poured out. They were both just looking at you while you caught your breath. A tiny trickle of worry wormed into your chest. You’d gone too far, hadn’t you? There had to be some kind of reason Thor hadn’t swooped in to rescue you. He was a king, he had so much to do. You were some nobody from the middle of nowhere. Insignificant. Regret grew behind the worry.

“I’m sorry-“ You began. Loki’s hand cupped your cheek; very gently snaked around to cradle the back of your head. Your breath caught. No one had touched you like that in years.

Then you saw the ice in his eyes, felt his fingers clench in your hair, and it snapped you right out of it.

“I have shared in your suffering.” He said. “You aren’t alone in this.” The words would have been comforting, if they hadn’t been said in such a threatening tone. If he hadn’t been wrenching your hair. “You have struck me.  You have disrespected me. You have insulted me and my family. Now you will listen to me. This-“ He held his right palm in front of your face, displaying the exact same mark you had. “-is an unknown affliction. I did not curse you with it. What fool would cast a curse that affected himself as well? That draining poison that stole your strength did the same to me. Ask him. He saw it happening.”

He turned your head forcibly to look at Thor, who held his hands up. “Okay, let’s calm down now. Brother, be careful.”

“You felt stronger the instant I touched you, didn’t you? Yes, you did. Strong enough to fight. Strong enough to run. When I first saw you, you could no longer stand on your own, and now look at you. Throwing tantrums in the faces of gods. That was me, that was because I came and rescued you. There was no time to explain. You were going to die, right there among your baked goods. I prevented that from happening.”

You tried to shake your head, but his grip was too tight. He felt it though.

“You need more proof? What about this then? What happens when I do this?” He took your marked hand in his, again seeming gentle, except for the fact that you could not move away.

The instant your bare palms came into contact, you felt the mark react. Like flipping a switch to power up a generator, a buzz of power rushed up your arm, trailing glowing runes in its wake. Just like back in the tower, you felt rooted to the spot, though Loki pulled you forward to press his forehead against yours, to get right into your personal space. Runes coursed over his cheek, infected his eye with their glow. The sight in your left eye became blurry, and you knew it was happening to you again too. It didn’t hurt this time, but it was overwhelming. A feeling of being filled up, like having too much blood, like your skin was too tight, and you needed to shed it. It robbed you of sense, of any thought other than getting out of your binding skin and becoming bigger than you ever had before.

“Do you feel that?” He asked through labored breaths. “I knew the instant I touched you that proximity was key. Too far apart for too long, and our lives drain away. But close up, we revitalize each other.” You saw light escape his mouth, unable to be contained even by him. It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying now, unfamiliar power overtaking your mind. You were shaking uncontrollably by now, your heart hammering your ribs.

“Enough, Loki!” Thor grabbed him by the shoulder to pull him away. “She can’t take this! Let go!”

Loki was drawn away from you, but kept tight hold on your hand, fingers laced with yours.

“Not until she understands!” He snarled. But Thor again took your wrists, and fully separated you.

You tumbled to the ground, groaning and nearly senseless. Thor wrapped his arms tightly around his brother, partly to hold him up, and partly to hold him back. He was scolding Loki fiercely, though you could barely make out the words. You lay back on the grass and let the world spin around you.

Moments passed, and then Thor knelt beside you.

“I am so sorry about this.” He said, scooping you up, and handing you over to Loki, who carried you effortlessly, despite your being dead weight. “You were not supposed to arrive here this way. But you were in danger, and we are going to take care of you. And Loki isn’t going to do that again, is he?”

Loki grimaced, but nodded. “I might have gone a bit overboard. Might. But if this thing is a curse, it affects me as well. I will get to the bottom of it. Until then, yes, we will ‘take care’ of you. I suppose it’s only fair.”

“Could you have said that any more ominously?”  Thor asked.

“What? What did I say? I just agreed with you, what’s wrong with that?”

“Did you have to say it like a looming supervillain?”

“Thor, I am carrying her, I can’t not loom.”

“You are carrying her like you’re on your way to drop her on some railroad tracks.”

“I’m sorry, are you carrying her? Because it looks to me like I am the one carrying her. Do you want to carry her?”

“I think I can walk.” You spoke up. They certainly bickered like ordinary siblings.

“Are you sure?” Thor asked. You hesitated, then shook your head. While being in contact with Loki did make you feel better, your legs still felt like jelly, and you were definitely still dizzy from all that light being inside you.

“Was that magic?” You asked. Your voice felt small and far away. “Is that what magic is?”

“It was a kind of magic.” Loki said slowly. “Either very old, or very new. Or perhaps very obscure. It feels familiar, but I can’t quite place it yet.”

“Why is it trying to kill us?”

“I don’t think it is.” He explained. “Rather, I don’t think it has a motivation. I don’t think it had a mind. It’s just something that exists, and there are consequences for interacting with it, however inadvertently. I don’t think you are to blame for this, and for once, I don’t think I am either. Until proven otherwise, I am going to be treating this as a coincidence that we just have to deal with.

But I believe it’s abundantly clear that we have to stay in the same area at least. Hopefully not touching all the time; that would be terribly inconvenient for the both of us. But not far apart. And since, as you might imagine, I can’t go traipsing all over Midgard-I have duties, you know-“

“And a hel of a reputation.” Thor interjected. Loki glared.

“Yes, and that. Because of those things, it is you who had to come here. If there had been time, I would have simply showed up at your home and tried to talk it out with you. But there was no time.”

“You had six months.” You pointed out. “And you’re just figuring this out now? You had that mark the whole time, and you never wondered what it was?”

Loki pursed his thin lips. You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or amused.

“Tell me, do you live a busy life?” He asked.

“Well…I work a lot. Or at least, I did. I worked as much as I could. I needed every shift possible, just to get by, especially when I had to start going to the doctors.”

“Mhm. I co-rule an entire nation that is attempting to rebuild itself from scratch. I am busy. The mark was a curiosity, the sickness was inconvenient, but I had much more important things to do with my time.”

“Oh.” You said, and went quiet for a time.

They finally approached the other man you had seen in the distance, the one who hadn’t moved at all. He stood on a small, stone pavilion, gazing out into the distance. He looked even taller than your escorts, dark skinned, wearing warm brown leathers and an ornate bronze helmet with flanges in the shape of a crescent moon. Asgardians seemed to have a thing for elaborate headwear.

Before him was a large sword, partly buried in an odd contraption unlike anything you had ever seen before. He glanced at you with the kindest and most beautiful eyes you had seen all day.

“She is a guest.” Loki said as he passed.

“I know this looks incredibly shady, but-“ Thor began.

“I will let you know when they are coming.” The man said in a deep, even voice. Thor thanked him, then hurried after his brother, who hadn’t waited.

Loki crested a low hillock, and the skeleton of a city came into view. Even from here, you could see teams of builders at work, their construction efforts kicking up clouds of dust. From the looks of it, the place was eventually going to be huge, but for now, it was little more than foundations.

It was interesting to look at. You’d never seen an embryonic city before.

“Welcome to Asgard.” Thor said. “It’s a bit of a work in progress, but we’ll find a place for you.”

“I’ve already got one.” Loki said. “It just needs to be properly refurnished.”

You felt much better now, though your wet, muddy clothes were getting very cold. All the construction made you a bit apprehensive, especially all that dust. This was kind of like enemy territory you were being brought into. If you went inside, would you ever come back out?

“I’m pretty sure I can stand now.” You said. If you were going in, it should be on your own two feet. Loki obligingly set you down.  “Um, my name is _____.” You said. It was likely that they already knew who you were, but control of your own name demonstrated what small personal power you still had.

“Pleased to meet you.” Thor said. “Stay close to us, and don’t stray. Security doesn’t know you yet.”

You did as he said, but you still felt vulnerable with so many eyes on you. Of course people would stop and look if their rulers came strolling down the street. And they did attract attention; Loki with his shining horns, Thor with his resplendent cape. And you, sandwiched between, tiny in comparison, wearing a mud-drenched, company issue uniform that had always fit you poorly. Function was far more important than fashion in your line of work. But the people still stared.

Asgardians came in a surprising range of colors and features, but they were all pretty tall compared to you. They wore unfamiliar fashions, and some were carrying loads that you were sure a regular human couldn’t handle. They looked human, but they weren’t the same as you.

Construction continued all around you; even the roads were unfinished. You were led along the only areas that were fully constructed, workers rushing to and fro all around you. They all stared, especially the kids, many of whom seemed to be trying to help out with the building. You didn’t know how legal that was, but maybe child labor laws were different in Asgard. Or maybe they just needed every available hand, or had no concept of babysitters.

An adolescent girl energetically sweeping up construction debris sent a large cloud of dust into the street. It enveloped the three of you, and suddenly, you were no longer there.

You were back in Iowa, in a Summer drier than you could remember. The cornfields were dead for miles around, the destruction on such a massive scale that it had actually lowered the ambient humidity of the area. The town was mostly empty, streets choked with dust that stirred at the slightest breeze. You couldn’t breathe the dust.

You held your breath, lips pressed tightly together, heart speeding. You’d stopped walking, and someone was talking to you, but these were not your neighbor’s voices. You didn’t know them. The dust hadn’t settled. You couldn’t breathe the dust.

Panic beginning to rise, you frantically searched your soiled shirt for some patch of cloth that wasn’t soaked in mud. You held it over your mouth and nose, carefully trying to breathe through it. You couldn’t breathe the dust!

The dust used to be people.

A strong hand grasped your arm and dragged you out of the cloud. You looked into the face of a murderer and yelped in fear. The dust, a killer, an unfamiliar place…

“What’s wrong with you? Are you feeling sick again?” Concern over your wellbeing?

“The dust.” You choked out. Where were you? “The dust. Don’t breathe the dust. Cover your mouth, don’t breathe the dust. Please don’t kill me. Everybody’s already gone. Stay away from the dust.”

“What are you talking about?” A demand. You couldn’t answer.

“What’s going on? Look, she’s having some kind of fit.”

“We’re almost there, get her inside. Get her out of the dust.”

The Scourge of New York led you along, you couldn’t tell how far, but by the time they had brought you inside, you had started to calm down and remember your situation.

“S-s-sorry.” You said, still trembling. “I-I’m just overwhelmed.” It was clear from their faces that neither of them believed you.

“Just come along.” Loki commanded. “You need to bathe.”

You wouldn’t remember the corridors or the rooms, but you would remember the bath. It was bigger than any bathtub you had ever seen, and it was set into the floor.

How were you going to explain this? Tell them you had a phobia of dust? Would they buy that?

You sank into the bath and tried to let it wash you away.

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Chapter 33: Amulet of Deceit

Becoming The Mask

In addition to their permanent collections, the Museum of Arcadia played host to a rotation of touring exhibits and collections throughout the year. Geology collections were especially common, since Arcadia Oaks had begun as a mining town during the California gold rush, and humans loved interesting rocks.

One of these shows was opening the weekend after the weekend where the world had been supposed to end. Since the world had not ended, Jim and Toby were there, metaphorically drooling over the mineral samples.

"I bet I could eat that," said Jim, about a chunk of torbernite. The interfolding swirls of green crystals resembled a head of cabbage. "If it wasn't radioactive." Torbernite contained uranium. Probably not enough to actually kill someone, since it was on public display, but eating it would be an entirely different degree of exposure than simply standing by the case.

Jim took a selfie, angling his phone so the glass case wasn't creating too much glare, and opening his mouth like he was about to nom the rock. Toby, in the background, pointed at Jim, his other hand on his cheek, mouth and eyes wide in comically exaggerated shock.

"Remember the April Fools' jawbreakers?" said Toby. In elementary school, Steve Palchuck had given a jawbreaker to everyone in class and claimed they were gumballs. Jim had crunched right through his. "They might have some stone orbs in the gift shop if you wanted to recreate that."

"Or I could just get some marbles from the dollar store. You know, cheaper."

It was a safe conversation for a public space. Two teenagers, talking about stupidly eating things they shouldn't, possibly to film for the internet, possibly as hypothetical boasting they would never follow through on. Nothing suspicious there.

"Whoa, check out that chrysocolla formation!" Toby moved on to some blue-green spikes. "The nodes don't usually get this long before something happens to break them off. This probably has a higher ratio of silicates; that would make it harder. Or maybe it's mostly quartz, with chrysocolla inclusions for colour."

The chrysocolla made Jim think of Draal, except for the rounded points. Maybe Draal once he reached Vendel's age? Did trolls' facets lose sharpness as they got older, the way humans got wrinkly?

Toby was examining an emerald in pyrite from various angles when Jim started to feel watched.

Had the museum gotten its security cameras back up and running now that Bular was out of the picture? … No; well, maybe; but Nomura was on the other side of the room. When she saw Jim look her way, she titled her head in a 'meet me outside' gesture.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom. I'll be right back."

"I really am just here for the rock show."

"Of course you are." Nomura rolled her eyes. "If you were here to check up on me, it would be as a distraction while someone with actual subtlety searched my office."

A plan which would have already failed, since Jim and Nomura were in her office now.

"… Okay, feeling like I should be offended by that, but I really can't argue."

"And because you have no subtlety, I thought I'd help you out, in case the next agent to catch you isn't as merciful as I am." Nomura got something small and shiny out of her desk and tossed it to Jim.

Jim fumbled his catch and blinked. He flicked one of the device's watch-like hands. It was a nearly perfect replica of the Amulet of Daylight. It didn't glow and it wasn't warm, but for a second he almost thought she'd gotten the real amulet from him somehow and this was a lesson on how not to be pickpocketed.

"Two questions," he said.

"Stricklander made it," Nomura answered pre-emptively. "Decades ago. He thought a fake amulet might be able to trick Killahead Bridge into reopening."

Like using a lockpick instead of a key. There was some logic to that.

"He gave it to me when I was … infiltrating Trollmarket. If I could get close enough to Kanjigar to switch them, it would muddy the waters as to when and how it was stolen. After that mission failed, the first idea remained a possibility – at least before it was rendered moot when we gained access to the real thing – and I kept the fake out of sight so Bular wouldn't destroy it in a fit of temper at the implication we doubted he could defeat the Trollhunter."

"Still one question."

"If someone sees you with the Amulet, but not in armour, you can now pretend Stricklander gave you the fake one for safekeeping. Everyone knows you're his favourite."

"I … wouldn't say 'favourite'. Favoured, maybe –"

"You're his favourite," she repeated flatly.

Jim rotated the false amulet. It was remarkably similar to the real one. How many snippets of reports and distant glimpses had Stricklander had to piece together for this imitation?

This would also come in handy if Jim was ever in a 'surrender your weapon' situation.

"You really like having me in your debt, don't you?" the Trollhunter asked the Changeling.

She smiled. "I believe I'm owed four favours, now."

"Three," he countered – just on principle. A quick mental tally confirmed she was right, assuming they were counting the same things, but some of Nomura's favours could be argued as self-serving beyond putting Jim in her debt.

Toby was waiting for Jim down the hall.

"You know, they have public bathrooms here," he said casually. "You don't have to break into the Employees Only areas."

"Did you follow me?"

"I had to go, too. You weren't back at the rock show when I came out, so I figured you were still here."

"… Toby, I –"

"Don't. Just – just tell me it was because of your volunteer work, because otherwise I really am going to freak out."

"Yeah. Yeah, it was."

"And next time maybe just say that's why you're leaving. It's not fun to think 'is he lying?' every time you tell me something."

Jim had been avoiding Trollmarket for the past week. Blinky and AAARRRGGHH were getting worried – worried enough that, just a few days ago, they'd taken the tunnels to Jim's house to check in with Draal.

Jim had not been there. According to Draal, Jim had followed through on his plan to live with Toby after Barbara evicted him from her home.

Jim still visited the house in Barbara's absence, and Draal reported that the young Changeling did not appear particularly distressed – though Blinky was hardly inclined to trust Draal's assessment in matters of emotional sensitivity, nor did he think Jim was likely to confide in Draal regarding such things.

Perhaps Jim thought, falsely, that the need for a Trollhunter had been lessened after Bular's death. Perhaps he thought, also falsely, that Vendel would bar him entry now that his true species was known. Perhaps he thought, falsely, that it was now widely known that the Trollhunter was a Changeling, and therefore Trollmarket was no longer safe for him.

Blinky didn't know what Jim thought, because Blinky had not spoken to Jim in nearly a week. It was very frustrating.

Bular's severed head was still in the library. Jim had brought it back from the troll pub but hadn't taken it to the surface with him. Blinky, grimacing, had covered the head in cloth and put it on a low shelf, where it wouldn't be in the way or immediately draw the eye. He'd wanted to dispose of it somehow, rather than keep it in his space, but AAARRRGGHH had been adamant that Jim should be the one to decide what to do with it.

AAARRRGGHH had not been very clear on why, only enough to confirm that such gristly battle trophies were part of Gumm-Gumm culture and doing anything to Bular's head would now be an insult to Jim.

Blinky had made the mistake of pointing out Gumm-Gumms didn't count Changelings as members of their society. He'd been intending to follow up with the point that while Jim, like AAARRRGGHH, had once served the Gumm-Gumms, neither troll did so anymore, but before he could say as much, AAARRRGGHH roared at him, and growled for Blinky to stop saying Jim wasn't a troll.

(AAARRRGGHH had not been in the library when Blinkous made that grievously mistaken statement, but Blinky had given him a full run-down of the conversation prior to his arrival.)

AAARRRGGHH did not roar at Blinky. AAARRRGGHH seldom roared at all. Being roared at by AAARRRGGHH was nearly as shocking and upsetting and unthinkable for Blinky as the idea of AAARRRGGHH hitting him.

Blinky had covered and shelved Bular's head, and declared they could discuss the matter further once they were both calm.

AAARRRGGHH apologized later, of course, for losing his temper and for acting like Blinky wasn't sorry for hurting Jim's feelings and for not being able to explain battle trophies better. Blinky, too, had apologized, for pushing a subject that he knew AAARRRGGHH found rightfully upsetting instead of taking the information AAARRRGGHH volunteered and accepting that as launching point for future research that did not require AAARRRGGHH's direct input.

Blinky did not apologize to AAARRRGGHH for saying Jim wasn't a troll. That was an apology that needed to be made to Jim.

The head stayed covered and shelved, waiting for Jim to come back to Trollmarket and decide what to do with it.

Blinkous would prefer for this to happen soon.

"Tomorrow night," he announced, "we should go back up there and look for him. It's been a week, that's a respectable length of time as humans measure it; if Master Jim needs space, no one can say we refused to allow him that; but we cannot allow the Trollhunter to simply – shrug off his duties and vanish."

"Other Trollhunters did," AAARRRGGHH pointed out. "Sully-fairy quests."

"Solitary," Blinky corrected reflexively, "meaning 'alone' or 'independent'. Yes, but they also traditionally notified Trollmarket's elder that this was what they were doing before they went and did it."

"Blinky? AAARRRGGHH? Knock-knock – you guys here?"

That voice, that was one of Jim's human friends!

"Mary!" Blinky greeted warmly. "It's good to have you back. And Claire, as well! Are Tobias and Darci elsewhere in the market?"

"They dragged Jim right to the Forge," said Mary. "We said we'd get you. I come bearing gifts!"

She handed Blinky a rectangle. He almost popped it into his mouth.

"This is a prepaid cellphone. I programmed the number into ours and all our numbers into it so we can call and text each other."

Mary also gave Blinky a pen.

"I'm not sure how well a touchscreen will work with stone skin, but this pen's been specially designed to work on phone screens, just in case. Push this button here," Blinky followed her instructions and one face of the rectangle lit up, "and then drag your finger or the pen across the screen to unlock it. I didn't bother with setting up a password."

AAARRRGGHH leaned over Blinky's shoulder as Blinky experimented.

The device did seem to respond to Blinky's touch, but the phone screen proved too small for the pad of one of AAARRRGGHH's fingers when the larger troll gave it a curious, gentle tap. Blinky handed AAARRRGGHH the pen; AAARRRGGHH held it delicately, and tried again, successfully pushing one of the onscreen buttons.

"Now we don't have to depend on Jim to let us come down here," said Claire. She sounded … bitter? Had she resented her enforced week outside of Trollmarket while Jim avoided the place? "We can contact you directly."

"Claire …" said Mary.

"Did you know Jim's a Changeling?" Claire asked, apropos of nothing. "He said you knew but we don't know if he was lying."

"Claire," said Mary again, more sharply.

"This … did recently come to our knowledge, yes," said Blinky. "Considering the pains he took to keep it secret, I'm surprised and relieved to learn he's confided in you."

"He didn't. We found out he was one when we found out he replaced my little brother with one."

"Claire!"

Previous Chapter (Strickler and Barbara talk about Changelings)

Table of Contents

Next Chapter (Maybe finally starting to look for the Triumbric Stones)

The image isn't there anymore, but the Wikipedia page for chrysocolla used to have a photo of a spiky chrysocolla-and-quartz specimen which I thought was kind of Draal-esque. Luckily I saved it on my computer: 

Look in my blog’s Becoming The Mask extras tag if you want to see the torbernite. 

I do not have a specific emerald and pyrite formation in mind for the third stone described, but it’s relatively common for those minerals to form together so a quick Googling should show you how cool it is to see bars of emerald poking out of glittery gold rocks like the columns of some ancient ruin.

[suggestionstories]

#24. Suggestion: Persnickety

Title: Apple Cider Vinegar

She was a blur of purple moving throughout the stark white kitchen.

Her shoes were a regal lavender closing her toes off from the tile. A deep shade bubbled in and out up her ankles and calves. A long light shade that looked like repurposed curtains flowed from her waist. Her jacket and blouse dueled in clashing shades of amethyst and jam. Her purse, spilling miscellaneous tissues, coins, receipts and empty tubes of Burt’s Bees Wax, was a handwoven mess of periwinkle and plum.

Marie contemplated her sister, her exact genetic copy, as Mona whirled around opening cabinets, picking up canisters of spice and examining boxes of tea.

“I’ve been making all of my clothes. Well, most of them. These shoes,” Mona looked down at her feet, “I traded for them with a young girl in my yoga class. They were probably made by some child in Asia, but I didn’t pay for them so I’m not responsible. Well, not really anyway. Do you have any green tea? Any apple cider vinegar? Turmeric? I’ve been making this health potion. It’s keeping me young and thin.”

Marie shook her head. Mona definitely looked thin. They’d always been exactly the same size, but now she was a good 20 pounds lighter. Young? With patches of stark white popping out from the magenta dye and deep lines on her face and hands, Mona looked a good 20 years older. Well, 15 at least.

“I’ll get some at the store later. How long are you in town for?”

____________________________________________________________________________

Later, they took the Volvo to Safeway.

“I suppose you don’t have too many health boutiques around here. My friend Stan opened one in Saugerties. He makes these detoxifying smoothies that make me feel 16 again.”

They walked through the health food aisle.

“Make sure you get the one with the ‘Mother” in it. Otherwise, it’s no good. The ‘Mother’ is what really cleanses your guts. You’re going to love it, Mar’.”

Marie put the jar of turmeric, three bottles of Apple Cider Vinegar (with the “Mother”), a pound of gourmet coffee, two boxes of green tea, a container of organic shea butter soap and two packages of Acai berries on her Visa. As they carried the packages back to the car, Mona took in the landscape.

“My goodness, it is such a shame what they’ve done to this area! Wasn’t that a forest over there? Does Lingley really need a Cheesecake Factory? I mean, I’ve never eaten in one, but I can’t imagine the cheesecake is good enough to make up for the homes lost by all those poor, innocent creatures. Oh well, I guess the squirrels and the deer will have to make two with a dumpster for their home. I hope they like GMO-laced garbage.”

Marie didn’t respond. She’d quite enjoyed the times she’d gone to the Cheesecake Factory. She’d shared a delightful crab and artichoke dip with a man from Manoa she’d met on Match just the week before.

___________________________________________________________________

Marie had wanted to watch American Idol. She’d really been enjoying Alejandro’s performances.

“Oh God, Mar’, really? That’s not music they make on that show. It’s plastic. Shiny plastic.. Junk, made for the illiterate masses. YOU are better than that.”

Marie would have to look up Alejandro’s performance later and figure out what number to text to vote for him.

Instead, they sat in the living room.

“Mar’, make me a G&T, will ya?”

Marie came in with a full pitcher and a bowl of sliced limes. They citrus smell hit her in the nose and took her back to the beach house they’d gone to every summer as kids. Mona, apparently, went to the same place.

“Do you remember how Mimi used to make them? It all seemed so elegant and grown up.”

The twins would wait until their mother, grandmother and aunts would drift off in a tipsy fog to the porch to listen to the ocean and gossip about cousins and neighbors. Then, they’d drink from the mostly empty glasses and pitchers. They’d get stone drunk, then hold hands, giggling as they snuck off to the beach hoping to meet boys.

“It’s good to see you, Mona,” Marie told her sister for the first time since her arrival.

___________________________________________________________

The mornings, at least, were mostly the same.

Marie would wake up, as she always had, at 5:45 am. Decades of being at school in time for the early arrival kids had made her incapable of sleeping past sunrise. No matter how long she’d been retired, no matter which time zones she visited, she always woke up very early.

Not Mona. She woke up between 10:30 and 1. She’d wander down to the kitchen and grumble for coffee. She wouldn’t speak in full sentences until she’d had at least half as cup. After a lot of caffeine and a small bite of food, the adventures would begin.

They drove out to an antique store in the country. Mona pointed out puffy red stools and burgundy rocking chairs and gaudy little faux-Buddha statues and urge her sister to buy them.

“You should get that and put it in the living room. It would add some DESPERATELY needed character. My goodness Marie, all of that white you have. It’s so… sterile. I feel like I’m back in the loony bin.”

Marie politely declined and suggested Mona buy it for herself. It would be a nice piece for her to bring back to Saugerties with her.

“I have everything I need there. YOU need some life in your house.”

________________________________________________________________________

Three weeks was a rather long time to have one’s life and space disrupted. Marie tried to stay light and positive. But she kept finding purple rings on her counters and her coffee tables. She found a pile of dried, discarded bags of green tea on the guest room desk while Mona did yoga in the backyard. She found splotches of maroon on the carpet in the living room, and in the den.

She ordered more bleach and carpet cleaner and furniture polish from Amazon Prime.

____________________________________________________________________

She spent the next morning thinking about how she could talk to Mona. She needed to find out what Mona was planning. Why was she here? Was she planning to stay? Was she just going to hang around until Marie forgot they hadn’t seen each other in five years, until she forgot that they weren’t roommates, until she forgot it wasn’t HER house?

If she was going to stay, there would HAVE to be changes. Mona would have to pick up after herself, and try not to make such a mess in the first place. And if she wanted her pricey organic foods and teas and spices and Apple Cider Vinegar, she’d have to chip in for groceries. And she’d, she’d, she’d….

Mona came downstairs, earlier than usual. She looked solemn.

“We need to talk.”

______________________________________________________________________

Needless to say, they didn’t talk about any of the things Marie thought they needed to talk about.

“I’ve been worried about you, and it turns out I was right to be.”

Marie started to protest.

“Wait, let me say what I need to say. I’ve been thinking a lot about us and why we’re the way we are. I think it’s partially my fault what happened to you.”

“What happened to me…”

“This… person you’ve become, Mar’. I mean look at yourself, look at your house. It’s so fucking tidy, so fucking clean, everything is in its place. I’ve been waiting for you to scream at me over the mess I make for a month, but you haven’t said a word. You’re so bottled up you can’t even stick up for your own anal-retentiveness.”

“Well, I was going to…”

“When? I’ve watched you sigh and tense up since the moment I got here. You think I’m so far off in Mona world that I don’t notice you? That I can’t still feel what you feel. Your aura is a hot mess.”

“That is rich coming from you, Mona. I... have my life together. Why are you even here? Did you get evicted? Are you coming to live here? Do you have any money in the bank? I, I… You’re the hot mess and you just want me to take care of you! Again!”

“That’s my point. That’s, exactly, my point, Mar’. That’s what I’m trying to get to. I was at this meditation retreat a couple of months ago and I had this very clear, very disturbing lucid dream. We were at mom’s funeral and I was looking at you. But you were so old. Even older than you are now. And you started shaking, like, really violently. And then you were a teenager again. And then you were a baby. And I picked you up and you looked right at me and you said to me ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.’”

“That is what I said to you when you….”

“I know. I was talking to my therapist about it later. When we were kids, we were both wild. Mom was wild too. Mimi and Aunt Sarah and Aunt Nancy. They were all wild women. We come from a legacy of wild women. Wild women who couldn’t be tamed. But when Mom died….”

Mona started crying a little. Marie felt a pit of fire in her stomach. She began obsessively swallowing to tamp it down.

“When Mom died, somebody was going to have to grow up quick. To get their shit together quick. It was like a race to self-destruct the fastest to avoid the responsibility. And I won.”

Marie was struggling to keep her breath under control. Mona was wiping her tears.

“When I… when I.. hurt myself, you had to grow up. You took care of me. You took care of the estate. You took care of everything. And you never stopped. You still haven’t stopped. When I left, you stopped taking care of me, but you’re still holding everything together. It’s like you’re furiously pulling a, a, a tarp around you, but there’s not anything else to hold in.”

Mona came across the room and took Marie into her arms. They’re faces were both sopping wet with tears and snot and history.

“So… that’s why I’m here.”

“Why… exactly?”

“To save you.”

“Save me, how?”

“Well, um, this was the best I could come up with.”

Mona produced a plastic baggy with about two heaping fistfulls of gnarly looking mushrooms.

___________________________________________________________________

The trip was surprisingly delightful. Marie had taken mushrooms as a teen and as a college student, but she certainly hadn’t touched them as an adult. They’d rented a cabin in the country for the night and wandered through trees and a lovely garden for hours.

Marie picked up a very large green leaf from the ground and stared at it.

“I think this leaf is our mother. Is that a terribly sad thing to say? It doesn’t feel sad.”

“No,” Mona agreed. It didn’t feel sad at all.

______________________________________________________________________

She’d pleaded with Mona to stay, at least another week, if not longer.

“I really have to get back. I’m afraid all of my gentleman friends will have new old ladies by now. I’ve got to reclaim my turf. Besides, I’ll be back soon. It’s been so wonderful to see you, Mar’.”

Marie watched her sister drive off. Then she went up to the guest room and collected a half a dozen cups of half-drunk Apple Cider Vinegar and turmeric tea. She took them down to the kitchen sink and left them to soak. Then she began carefully scrubbing purple stains out of her formerly pristine white countertops.

[emilysarsam]

Taking back the market: An auditory dérive through Pueblito Paisa

Dérive (“drift”) in psychogeographic terms, suggests to derive the meaning of a place by passing through its varied ambiences with a playful and constructive awareness of the space and the encounters which it facilitates (Debord 1958). The concept offers a lens through which I will explore microclimates within the Seven Sisters market in Tottenham. My approach to this study was heavily influenced by spacial theorists such as Henri Lefebvre and David Harvey, whose book “Rebel Cities” I happened to be reading at the time of discovering the market. Pueblito Paisa, strongly resembles Harvey’s idea of a “microstate”, which he describes as an autonomously functioning fragmented state, that is born out of the stark polarization of wealth in highly urbanized cities  (Harvey 2013, p.15). In the market, I’m also reminded of the concept of heterotopia, which according to Foucault, is a non-hegemonic space of “otherness” and, in the case of Pueblito Paisa, illustrates the result of social heteronomy, a product of class systems within urban capitalist centers. In this heterotopia however, “ethnic, gender and language inequality are key factors in encouraging agency and entrepreneurship which contribute to a sense of belongingness, identity and self-representation” (Roman-Velazquez 2013).

This fieldwork project, in the shape of diary entries and a sound map, reflects an exploration of the market through dérive. It aims to shed light on the complex social fabric that forms Pueblito Paisa’s community and illustrate the important role that such communities play in today’s urban context.

The market (When referring to the market, the names “Latin Village”, “Seven Sisters market”, and “Pueblito Paisa” are used interchangeably.)

Latin Village, located at 231-243 High Rd., contains 39 shops, of which 23 are owned or leased by Latin American retailers (Roman-Velazquez 2013). After Elephant & Castle in Southwark, The Seven Sisters market has the second highest concentration of Latin American business in London (Cabrera 2017). Since 2004, Haringey Council and Grainger development company have been negotiating a regeneration scheme for the area which requires the demolition of the market to make way for 196 non-affordable residential units and 40,000 sq. ft of retail space. Although the developers promise to provide a new long term home for the Seven Sisters Market within this space, the market community fears that it will disintegrate and be unable to afford the rent in the new development (https://tottenham.london/WC).

1. December: My first visit to Pueblito Paisa

I’m sitting in Latin Village’s Peruvian restaurant, “Pueblito Paisa Café”, which looks out on to the Seven Sisters station, allowing a glimpse of the outside world and reminding me that I’m in London. The restaurant is the only place I’ve spotted any other “gringxs”, by which I’m referring to people like myself. Regarding most of the market community is Latin American and speak little to no English, I completely forget my geographic location.

Music is ubiquitous. Almost every shop has its own speakers, playing a selection of Bachata, Salsa, Merengue and Cumbia tracks. Multiple tv-screens hang above the aisles, displaying the, mostly Youtube, playlists. Music is a vital element of the market’s soundscape and its impact on people’s uplifted mood is striking. Conversations are interrupted by familiar tunes, when spoken dialogue turns in to a song, whistle or dance.   While wandering through the market like a tourist, I meet Alejandro Gonzalez Gortazar, a Cuban journalist and artist who’s been in the UK for 10 years and has known the market equally as long. He’s helping his friend Fabian, who owns the restaurant “Monantial”, with renovations. Having heard that the market would soon be moved to a temporary location, I am surprised to see people investing time and money in improving a space which developers were threatening to demolish. He happens to break for a cigarette so I take the chance to approach him and introduce myself, hoping he would be able to tell me more about the market. Luckily, he’s eager to speak and begins to talk about Pueblito Paisa’s foundation. According to Alejandro, a group of Colombian immigrants discovered the market about 20 years ago, which then was a half vacant market run by mainly African traders. Noticing they could rent stalls for cheap, they took their chances and started businesses, sending out for kin in Colombia to join in on the opportunities.

All of the market’s stalls have a commercial purpose, but still people seem to be using the space as a community center. There’s a notion of informality and inclusiveness at Pueblito Paisa which allows the general public access to and usage of the space without the pressure to consume or spend money. I think that markets function as important places of integration and solidarity for diverse communities and vulnerable people, where they can find affordable (and sometimes even free) food, social networks and even job opportunities. So why talk about Pueblito Paisa? And why through my eyes and ears, a gringa who has no prior connection to the market or the Latin American community.My sense of “rootlessness”, having been raised in Austria by a Canadian mother and an Iraqi father, has sparked my interest in the formations of “homes away from home” by immigrants and displaced peoples. At Latin Village, sound strikes me as one of the most powerful stimulants in recreating this sense of home. The omnipresence of Latin-American music, Spanish speaking voices, the sizzling of empanadas in the deep friers. Modern technology has enhanced the mobile notion of sound, allowing displaced people to reclaim space through sound and reestablish a sense of “home” wherever they go.Pueblito Paisa offers a fascinating location to study sound’s capacity to communicate impressions of a vibrant community’s social dynamics which is experiencing a period of transition. The Seven Sisters regeneration plans will uproot a well established community and possibly eliminate its collective memory. All I feel that my project can achieve is to exhibit the importance of this market to the livelihood and wellbeing of a community which is overlooked by developers interested in little more than reproducing capital wealth. To create documents that will allow the continuation of Pueblito Paisa’s existence, if only in people’s memory.

6. December: Second visit with Rita

(Screenshot taken of Seven sisters market through Google Maps Street View)

We’re sitting in Pueblito Paisa Café’s conservatory again, juxtaposed between two realms, Latin Village and Seven Sisters. The market is invisible, hiding in plain sight behind trees and vegetable vendors on High Rd., making it hard for passersby to assume what lays behind. This invisibility has offered the community a safe place to establish and express itself freely but the market’s lack of visibility has also made it hard for the community to gain the support they need to protect it.

This time with Rita, my Spanish speaking friend who’s offered to help with translation, we meet Fernando and his colleague Nixon of El EstanQuillo, Pueblito Paisa’s most dynamic hang-out, functioning as a grocery store, butcher, bakery, café, bar, and dance club. Nixon is a baker from Colombia who came to London and found work in Fernando’s shop two years ago. The space is a melting pot of sounds, where the noise of a juice mixer blends with Colombian christmas music and the chopping of meat. All the while kids, sipping on their hot chocolates, watch their parents dance with Corona bottles in their hands. Just across the aisle, we find Fabian from “Manantial”, replacing the carpet in front of his restaurant, completing the renovation process that Alejandro started last week. Later I find out through Mirca Morera, the founder of the Social Enterprise Latin Corner UK and one of the leading women fighting to save the market and protect the rights of its traders, that Fabian is a victim of the 7/7 bombings and is currently facing eviction charges on false accusations by the council appointed market facilitator, Jonathan Owen.

Just next door is the salon of a lovely Portuguese hairdresser, who is repainting her storefront and invites us to the reopening of her shop the following Saturday. Mirca will later tell me that she has a heart condition relies on the income and stability that the market can offer her, to ensure her health and livelihood. While she chats to us about family and work, her warm and welcoming spirit makes us feel like she’s always known us. Some in the market recognize me and wonder how I am and where I’ve been. Many traders tell me that their customers to them are friends before potential income-sources. “When a frequent customer doesn’t show up for a couple of days, I begin to worry and, if possible, call them to see if they’re alright”, Victoria Alvarez tells me. Vicky is the president of the association El Pueblito Paisa Ltd, owns two businesses in the market and is the face of the current crowd-funding campaign striving to raise 7,500 pounds towards a legal defense fund to preserve the market and its community.

9. December: Third visit with Paul

We’ve decided that Latin Village reveals elements of the failing system we live in.

Pueblito Paisa succeeds in protecting individuals who have fled economic hardship and possibly persecution, by offering them job opportunities and social networks. Rather than just facilitating economic reproduction, the space functions as a safe place guaranteeing the community’s happiness. Here, individuals do not self-maximize for the sake of reproducing their own wealth, but rather self-sustain for the sake of reproducing their own and community’s happiness. In an ideal reality, where governing systems enforce city development to improve the life quality of its citizens, particularly minorities and the most vulnerable, the protection of spaces, like Pueblito Paisa, woul be of highest priority.

Upon arriving at the market we head straight to El EstanQuillo to visit Nixon and Fernando. “Bomba En Navidad” by Richie Ray and Bobby Cruz, who Nixon adores, is playing while customers dance beneath the christmas decoration. We go over to see the Portuguese hairdresser who’s celebrating the reopening of her shop. She invites us in for snacks and drinks and to dance to some Reggaeton tunes together with her family and friends. After getting in touch with Latin Village UK over Facebook in the hopes of learning more about the organisation’s activities, Mirca invites me to the market to chat this evening. I find her sitting at her little community desk which she has set up in her stepfather’s video and music shop, “Videomania”. Her table is surrounded by artwork made by children from the market community, for who she organizes regular field trips to universities and museums. A trained educator, Mirca adores and is adored by the market community. With slogans and hashtags like, “take the Victoria line to Latin America”, she’s targeting the anglophone community through Latin Village UK’s campaigns. She’s also taken her plead to the UN triggering an intervention by the UN working group on business and human rights. Mirca and Vicky Alvarez seem to be the informal mayors of the market. They know the names and stories of everyone and fight restlessly to make their stories heard. They tell me that half of Pueblito Paisa’s business owners are female and that the market plays an important role in offering women, especially from Latin America, the opportunity of employment or entrepreneurship. These opportunities have raised their self-esteem and empowered their agency in a city which makes it extremely difficult for migrants, particularly female, to integrate into the job market.  

Above: Images from Latin Village UK’s crowdfunding campaign: https://www.instagram.com/savelatinvillage

Below: Video still from Latin Village UK’s campaign video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=luEy65Y5n7s

16. December: Fourth visit alone

I’m on the tube heading back South, siting across from three men who left the market the same time as I did. They recognize me, smile and start speaking to me in Spanish, the market’s notion of community clashing with London underground’s nature of anonymity. It’s an incredibly precious feeling, realizing that inside this vast city, a sense of familiarity amongst strangers is possible.

Back at the market, I sit inside Vicky’s salon, chatting to her and Mirca while outside the market begins to fill up for an evening full of music and dance. Vicky tell her life story, of how she arrived in London from Colombia about 30 years ago. It was only until her father was murdered due to the Colombian conflict, that the UK granted her asylum and she was able to flee the country. She lost four of her siblings during the war and has undergone immense trauma, making her a very anxious person today. She tells me that the current market facilitator, Jonathan Owen, uses harassment to tear apart the market community and make way for developers to start working on the regeneration project. Many community members are Colombian refugees and suffer from PTDS. Vicky fears for the mental health of the community and is convinced that Jonathan’s bullying and threats may evoke anxiety and flashbacks of the terror they lived through in Colombia. “We are not just a shopping market, we are like a psychological clinic, a therapeutic market.” (Roman-Velazquez 2013). I am deeply humbled by Vicky and Mirca, who fight day and night to protect the market. Not to ensure their own livelihoods, but to defend their community’s right to existence, free cultural expression, and mental health and stability.

In the bathroom, which goes dark after 9PM when electricity is cut, I meet Lorena who is holding up her phone to illuminate the bathroom. She notices that I’m new to the market and asks me how I like it here. “I love it, what about you?”. She laughs, “me? I am Colombian, of course I love it! It’s the best place in London”. We continue to chat about life in the city while she holds the flashlight over the sink while I wash my hands.

Pueblito Paisa is a place of casual heart-warming encounters like this, a public space in its purest form, which is open to all and is shaped by the diverse people who use it. These are the spaces we need most in increasingly urbanizing cities like London where urban commons are reclaimed by profit-driven developers who are privatizing the city for their own economic benefit. It is places like Latin Village that remind us that cities can exist for people and not only for profit. It is places like this that make me feel “at home”.

“Dériving” in Pueblito Paisa: A sound map

Follow the link for the soundscape and its description (to trace the dérive, refer to the map above):

https://soundcloud.com/emily-sarsam/pueblito-paisa-an-auditory-derive

Follow the link for a Spotify playlist of music heard at Pueblito Paisa:

https://open.spotify.com/user/1111197818/playlist/1y5DaUkpu0nnBbowCwv2hM

References:

Cabrera, Maria. “We need to recognise the latinx community in the UK: Save Pueblito Paisa.” http://www.gal-dem.com/latinx-community-pueblito-paisa/ (accessed December 30, 2017)

Costa-Kostritsky, Valeria. “‘I won’t be displaced again’: the fight to save London's latin market.” https://www.opendemocracy.net/5050/valeria-costa-kostritsky/fight-to-save-london-latin-market (accessed December 30, 2017)

Debord, Guy. “Theory of the Dérive”. 1958. http://www.bopsecrets.org/SI/2.derive.htm (accessed December 30, 2017)

Harvey, David. Rebel Cities: From the Right to the City to the Urban Revolution. Paperback edition. London: Verso, 2013.

Roman-Velazquez, Patria. Valuing the work of small ethnic retail in London: Latin retail at E&C and Seven Sisters. Presentation given at Department of Sociology, UCL. 23 March 2013. https://latinelephant.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/valuing-small-ethnic-retail-space_ec.pdf (accessed December 30, 2017)

Photographs & Map:

All Photographs and the map are my own.

Photo 1 (cover) : An aisle in Pueblito Paisa, 2017.

Photo 2: El Pueblito Paisa Café, 2017.

Photo 3: El EstanQuillo, 2017.

Photo 4: Tiendas Manuelita, 2017.

Photo 5: Horvipan, 2017.

Photo 6: El EstanQuillo, 2017.

[nataliesnews]

Subject: Sheikh Jarrah...one honest man

F 

  And the corona is back and so are masks   26.6.2021  The article which explains Sheikh Jarrah is at the bottom.   Nir Hasson from Ha’aretz phone me to ask if I was willing to be interviewed for an article has was writing for the paper about people who had taken part in the demonstrations and how they feel now. So I did and then he said that they would come to photograph me the next day. When they did not contact me, I thought that’s that as had happened with other interviews. But the next morning I started getting sms  from friends…you are a star, you are famous……I thought it was only about facebook but then one friend sent me this picture and I understood. I hoped it would appear in  the English edition but translated it and am sending it on also with this letter seperately  

I think that I will miss the feeling of being together with thousands. I realise now how along we were all the years in Machsom and when I went out with Arik or the rabbis. Now at Sheikh Jarrah I also feel the alone where we are only one or two hundred standing against the police and with the public so uninterested in what is happening there. They will feel it when the police act against  the ordinary citizen and then they will open their eyes in suprise     Well yesterday At Sheikh Jarrah the euphoria of last week at Balfour and the Knesset disappeared. What was it Kahll Jibran said….the height of your sorrow is the height of the joy you once felt and vice versa. I went with Varda and at first it was all so quiet that we thought we would be home early. Also there were fewer people than usual as in Tel Aviv there was an enormous gay demonstration. But then we moved forward to the police barrier which has now been added to so that they cannot be photographed so easily having a little party at the post. A bus of settlers came along and we did not let it past us. Why the hell should they go in when Palestinian visitors and family member can’t. Then the police started getting themselves ready with their helmets and batons which they are now provided with swinging. Besides as in the photo which I am putting on the stun grenades ….only about 20 of them are waiting for  the bodies of two of the police.

  This  young woman is amazing. She has come up dressed up as a policeman to every demonstration. She often imitates them but this time she was so funny I told her Charlie Chaplin would be proud of her and her walk. She mocked the police in every way she could also acting as traffic director once or twice when cars stopped to watch what was happening. Strutting along, pretending to give out tickets. She really pissed off this idiot who was in charge.  

So much so that he can into the crowd to arrest her. They pushed her off down the road and this blond policewoman went behind her pushing her along and not gently. I was so tempted to tell her who she reminded me of. Much as I try to push thoughts like this away I find it harder and harder

The Palestinian flag is like a red rag to a bull ….the police see it. Their hair stands on end. Their nostril distend. Their eyes blur and then go red. What remains of the brain goes into automatic attack zone.

Zadi was arrested…I am not sure if I am remembering correctly but I think that the sequence was that he had a Palestinian flag…..and as far as I know there is no law of holding a flag of another organization at a demonstration….if that of Lahava is allowed ….but there was a pulling match between him and the commander of the idiots and, only with the help of another police man did the latter manage to get it away from him and afterwards he was pulled out from the throng and arrested.   Then two of the men who went to wait for him at the police station. The one had on a scarf with the Palestinian flag and, though other policemen evidently spoke to him and took no notice, one of the more stupid came up and demanded he take it off. Which he refused. I wish I could send you the videos where you can see the amount of violence and how many policeman are necessary to take back one scarf. Like the Israeli joke of how many…………. Are required to put in a light bulb.  This is what interests the police today.   I had a feeling that the commander did not really know what he was doing. Every time he would barge into the group and then go back and stand as if thinking……or maybe like that man who said, “Sometimes I stands and thinks and sometimes I just stands.” And about twice they came all the way across the road to arrest someone who, as in most cases, is kept for a couple of hours and then released without even appearing in court          

The flag

No borders

One feels the desire to attack. 

Zaid

                  Former Attorney General Discovers Settler Group Took Over His Family’s Sheikh Jarrah Home

Michael Ben-Yair was surprised to find that a religious nonprofit group had charged Palestinians living in his grandmother’s East Jerusalem house hundreds of thousands of shekels in rent, with the approval of a rabbinical court. His legal journey to reclaim the home reveals the settlers’ modus operandi in their drive to ‘Judaize’ Sheikh Jarrah

 Ben-Yair with his sister Naama Bartal in Sheikh Jarrah in 2019. Credit: Hagit Ofran / Peace Now

Nir Hasson

Get email notification for articles from Nir HassonFollow

Jun. 15, 2021

A nonprofit settler group took over a building in East Jerusalem’s Sheikh Jarrah neighborhood that belongs to the family of Michael Ben-Yair, a former attorney general and retired District Court judge. The group controlled the building for years, collecting rent totaling hundreds of thousands of shekels from Palestinian residents, without the knowledge of the legal heirs of the building’s original owner.

Ben-Yair discovered two years ago that his grandmother’s house had been taken over by the group. No one from the Justice Ministry’s Administrator General and Official Receiver Division, rabbinical courts or a settler group had tried to find her legal heirs. Since then, he’s been waging a legal battle to wrest the building from the settlers, and to allow its Palestinians residents to remain there. On his journey, Ben-Yair discovered the settlers’ contorted and legally dubious methods to “Judaize” Sheikh Jarrah.

‘They could have easily found us.’

Nahalat Shimon was a small Jewish neighborhood in the Western part of Sheikh Jarrah in the late 19th century. Michael Ben-Yair, who was attorney general under Yitzhak Rabin and Shimon Peres, was born there in 1942. In 1948, the residents fled after the neighborhood was conquered by Jordan’s Arab Legion. Like most Jewish residents who fled from East Jerusalem to the western side of the city, the family was compensated for the loss of their house, and received an alternative house and store in the Romema neighborhood.

Open gallery view

 In the 1990s, settler organizations began a drive to replace the Arab residents of Sheikh Jarrah with Jewish ones, based on a law that allows Jews to reclaim property they held in 1948, even if they were compensated for its loss. Nahalat Shimon was divided into an eastern section called Karm al-Jaouni, where land was owned by the councils of the Jewish Ashkenazi and Mizrahi communities. Land in the western section, called Umm Haroun, where Ben-Yair’s family lived, was privately owned by Jewish families.

Land in the eastern section was subsequently purchased by a nonprofit group called Nahalat Shimon, which is controlled by a foreign company and run by a settler activist named Yitzhak Mamo. In the western section, Mamo and settler groups needed the cooperation of Jewish families who had inherited the properties. In some cases, they received cooperation and purchased the buildings, evicting Palestinian families living there. In the case of Ben-Yair’s family, they took a different method.

The house and an attached store are listed in a “trust document,” a type of will drafted by Ben-Yair’s grandmother, Sarah Jannah, daughter of Menashe Shvili. In 1927, she declared before a rabbinical court in Jerusalem that the house and store would pass to her heirs and then the heirs’ heirs. She added that if, God forbid, no family member remained alive after the original heirs, the property would be transferred to a neighborhood Georgian synagogue. This was common in those days, in cases of families with no living descendants.

‘We will never     leave our land’: The Palestinian families facing eviction in Sheikh Jarrah

Israel won't     intervene in Sheikh Jarrah case, making eviction of Palestinian families     more likely

Israel is shirking     its responsibility for residents of Sheikh Jarrah

Israel’s policies     in East Jerusalem are outrageous, idiotic and unjust

Based on this last phrase, a right-wing nonprofit group called Meyashvei Zion (settlers of Zion), managed by Mamo, appealed in 2002 to a rabbinical court, asking that Mamo and another person named Oren Sheffer be appointed as court delegates to determine who the property belonged to. The court approved their request. Shortly thereafter, the two informed the court that they had not found any heirs, and the court quickly appointed the two as trustees of this building, without any significant effort by the court to locate the heirs.

Sheikh Jarah, Jerusalem

The decision was based on the presumption that no heirs could be found, even though Sarah Jannah appears in the Population Registry, since she died in 1955, after the state was established. Anyone wanting to could have easily found her heirs through a simple search at the interior ministry. “The identity numbers of the whole family were consecutive,” says Ben-Yair. “My brother’s ends in 03, mine ends in 04, my grandparents’ ID numbers ended in 05 and 06, respectively.”

In 2004, the Administrator General and Official State Receiver, which had managed the property since 1967, objected to the appointment of the new trustees, arguing that an effort should be made to locate living family members, but the court denied this request. A year later, the receiver handed the building over to Mamo and Sheffer, even reimbursing the nonprofit 250,000 shekels ($77,000) for rent the state had collected from Palestinian residents up to that time. Over the next nine years, the group received 600,000 shekels in revenues from the property.

In 2011, another nonprofit group, the Georgian community council, managed to take control of the property with the support of a rabbinical court. This group also failed to search for the real heirs. Minutes from rabbinical court sessions in 2016 show that the Georgian council knew that the property had legal heirs who were not benefiting from it. The council even knew their names. “They told me it belonged to Professor Yair somebody … Prof. Michael Ben-Yair; we’re trying to find him,” said the Georgian trustee David Bandar, in one of the sessions.

Open gallery view

 Ben-Yair in Sheikh Jarrah in 2019. Credit: Hagit Ofran / Peace Now

‘Lack of basic decency’

When Sheikh Jarrah stared making headlines following the eviction of Palestinian families from their houses a decade ago, Ben-Yair joined demonstrations organized by a solidarity movement against Jewish settlers. He even drafted a pamphlet stating that Jewish families who had fled homes there had received compensation for their houses, making the demand to reclaim their old houses illegal and immoral.

Two years ago, Ben-Yair discovered that settlers had begun evicting Palestinians from a store which he believed was part of his grandmother’s house. He subsequently appealed to the official receiver, attorney Sigal Yakobi, who is also the acting director-general of the Justice Ministry. “Up to that time I thought the property was still registered in my grandmother’s name and I assumed it was occupied by Palestinian refugees, living there untroubled. Since we’d received compensation in 1948, I didn’t bother checking the current ownership in the land registry office,” he says.

Ben-Yair says that when he met with the official receiver, she did a review and discovered that the property had been released.

“I told her that we are the heirs, so she asked to see the trust document and she was stunned. She saw that it was a private and not a public trust,” he recounts. At the meeting, the family members learned of their grandmother’s will for the first time. Ben-Yair and his sister, Na’ama Bartal, subsequently asked the court to look at the trust file. The court rejected the request, saying they did not have sufficient documentation to prove their family relation to their grandmother.

Ben-Yair appealed the decision to the Tel Aviv Magistrate’s Court, asking that the Interior Ministry be directed to give him the documents confirming that he is his grandmother’s grandson. Ben-Yair won the appeal, and the Interior Ministry is due to hand over the documents next week.

At the same time, attorneys Michael Sfard and Alon Sapir, with the assistance of Peace Now, submitted a request to the rabbinical court to appoint the family members as the trustees. “Michael Ben-Yair did not go into hiding and was not abducted to an enemy country; he did not change his name or hide in his bedroom. Not only is this a person who is easy to find, he is a public figure who makes public statements and even published a book about Sheik Jarrah three years earlier,” Sfard and Sapir wrote in their request to the court.

A ruling on their request has yet to be handed down, but meanwhile the rabbinical judges ordered that all activity in the trust be suspended. Ben-Yair and his sister said they hope that they will soon get their house back and that afterward they intend to sue the trustees from Meyashvei Zion and the Georgian council for the money they collected from the Palestinians over the years.

Since the trust document prohibits the sale of the house, Ben-Yair hopes to convince his family to lease the property to the Palestinian family living there for a token fee for an extended period. “It’s not just a matter of ‘what’s mine is mine and what’s yours is mine.’ It’s a basic lack of decency and inconceivable under any legal system that I should receive both compensation as well as the property for which I received the compensation,” Ben-Yair says. “It would also involve eviction of Palestinians who would become refugees for the second time, while they are not entitled to seek to reclaim their property from before 1948. Justice requires that they not be evicted and that their custody of the house be ensured.”

Open gallery view

 Attorney Sigal Yakobi, the official state receiver and Justice Ministry acting director-general.Credit: Ohad Zwigenberg

“It’s a crazy story,” says attorney Sfard, who is representing Ben-Yair. “The person they were supposed to look for was sitting right there in his office on the floor above the Official State Receiver in the Justice Ministry. It just shows the intensity of the concealment and of the connection between the Judaizing elements and the rabbinical court. The court is supposed to ascertain that the trustees are not doing anything to distort the wishes of the person who left the bequest or created the trust.”

“Ben-Yair’s story gives us an opportunity to peek into the system of dispossession in East Jerusalem,” says Hagit Ofran of Peace Now. “The state authorities, the Official State Receiver and the rabbinical court are enabling and even promoting the Palestinians’ eviction and replacement with settlers. The government can no longer argue that Sheikh Jarrah is just a real estate matter. It is a political matter that is the state’s responsibility, and the state is also responsible for preventing the injustice.”

‘There may have been some confusion’

The administration of the rabbinical courts says: “In 2011, several people came before the court and claimed no heirs were found. Therefore, the court ordered that in keeping with the trust document, the property be used for a public purpose. The Georgian council is also among the current custodians. The material in the file shows that the name of the woman who established the trust – Sarah bat Menashe Hannah/Jannah/Shvili is spelled in different ways, which may have caused confusion.

“It is most important to note that those who claim to be the deceased’s heirs have to date not proven that they are indeed her descendants, and they conducted a legal proceeding on this matter before other forums. Despite this, and out of caution, when the applicant first contacted Rachel Shakarji, the supervisor of religious properties earmarked for charitable purposes, she wrote to the court and requested that a temporary injunction be given instructing the receivers of the trust not to take any actions that would alter the condition of the trust from a legal or economic standpoint.

“An injunction was immediately granted by the court and it remains valid, even though those who claim to be the heirs of the person who established the trust have not proven their relation to her and even though half a year has passed since the temporary injunction was issued. Considering the time that has passed since the trust’s establishment, the location of the property and the upheavals that occurred there, it is possible that mistakes occurred. However, as noted, to date the claim of the familial relationship between the applicants and the originator of the trust has not been proven.”

Open gallery view

 Ben-Yair with his sister Bartal in Sheikh Jarrah in 2019.Credit: Hagit Ofran / Peace Now

Attorney Shlomo Toussia-Cohen, who is representing the Georgian council, declined to comment for this article. In their response to the rabbinical court, the Georgians claimed that Ben-Yair and his sister had not proven their blood relation to Sarah Jannah and that Ben-Yair’s public pronouncements about the rights of the Palestinians there indicate that he seeks to act counter to the principles of the trust and therefore is not entitled to a part of it.

The office of the Official State Receiver responded: “This is a trust property that was managed by the Official State Receiver and regarding which a release request was submitted by the appointed trustees in the early 2000s. In light of the fact that this is a trust for private purposes, the Official State Receiver opened an inquiry to the court, which appointed the trustees, and expresses its position that the relatives of the deceased should be appointed as the trustees. However, this position was not accepted by the court and therefore in 2006 the property was released to the trustees. It goes without saying that it is the duty of the appointed trustees to act in accordance with the purposes of the trust as set down by the deceased.”

Yitzhak Mamo and Meyashvei Zion declined to comment.

  About Haaretz

Cookie settings

Load more

Haaretz.com, the online English edition of Haaretz Newspaper in Israel, gives you breaking news, analyses and opinions about Israel, the Middle East and the Jewish World.

© Haaretz Daily Newspaper Ltd. All Rights Reserved

[gadgetgirl71]

Top Ten Tuesday 22 September 2020

Welcome to this weeks Top Ten Tuesday. Originally created by The Broke & The Bookish, which is now hosted by Jana @ That Artsy Reader Girl. Each week it features a book or literary themed category. This weeks prompt is:

Books On My Autumn 2020 TBR:

Meet Me in London by Georgia Toffolo

What do you do when your fake engagement starts to feel too real…

Aspiring clothes designer Victoria Scott spends her days working in a bar in Chelsea, and her evenings designing vintage clothes, dreaming of one day opening her own boutique. But these aspirations are under threat from the new department store opening at the end of her road. She needs a Christmas miracle, but one is not forthcoming.

Oliver Russell’s Christmas is not looking very festive right now. His family’s new London department store opening is behind schedule, and on top of that his interfering, if well meaning, mother is pressing him to introduce his girlfriend to her. A girlfriend who does not exist. He needs a diversion. Something to keep his mother from interfering while he focuses on the business.

When Oliver meets Victoria, he offers a proposition: pretend to be his girlfriend at the opening of his store and he will provide an opportunity for Victoria to showcase her designs. But what starts as a business arrangement soon becomes something more tempting, as the fake relationship starts to feel very real. But when secrets in Victoria’s past are exposed will Oliver walk away, or will they both follow their hearts and find what neither knew they were looking for…

Breathless by Jennifer Niven

From Jennifer Niven, the New York Times bestselling author of All the Bright Places, comes an unforgettable new novel about a sensitive girl ready to live her bravest life–sex, heartbreak, family dramas, and all.

Before: With graduation on the horizon, budding writer Claudine Henry is making plans: college in the fall, become a famous author, and maybe–finally–have sex. She doesn’t even need to be in love. Then her dad drops a bombshell: he’s leaving Claude’s mother. Suddenly, Claude’s entire world feels like a lie, and her future anything but under control.

After: Claude’s mom whisks them away to the last place Claude could imagine nursing a broken heart: a remote, mosquito-infested island off the coast of Georgia. But then Jeremiah Crew happens. Miah is a local trail guide with a passion for photography–and a past he doesn’t like to talk about. He’s brash and enigmatic, and even more infuriatingly, he’s the only one who seems to see Claude for who she wants to be. So when Claude decides to sleep with Miah, she tells herself it’s just sex, nothing more. There’s not enough time to fall in love, especially if it means putting her already broken heart at risk.

Compulsively readable and impossible to forget, Jennifer Niven’s luminous new novel is an insightful portrait of a young woman ready to write her own story.

The Illustrated Child by Polly Crosby

Romilly lives in a ramshackle house with her eccentric artist father and her cat, Monty. She knows little about her past – but she knows that she is loved.

When her father finds fame with a series of children’s books starring her as the main character, everything changes: exotic foods appear on the table, her father appears on TV, and strangers appear at their door, convinced the books contain a treasure hunt leading to a glittering prize.

But as time passes, Romilly’s father becomes increasingly suspicious of everything around him, until, before her eyes, he begins to disappear altogether.

In her increasingly isolated world, Romilly turns to the secrets her father has hidden in his illustrated books, realising that there is something far darker and more devastating locked within the pages…

The truth.

The Illustrated Child is the unforgettable, beguiling debut from Polly Crosby.

Ghosts by Dolly Alderton

Nina Dean has arrived at her early thirties as a successful food writer with loving friends and family, plus a new home and neighbourhood. When she meets Max, a beguiling romantic hero who tells her on date one that he’s going to marry her, it feels like all is going to plan.

A new relationship couldn’t have come at a better time – her thirties have not been the liberating, uncomplicated experience she was sold. Everywhere she turns, she is reminded of time passing and opportunities dwindling. Friendships are fading, ex-boyfriends are moving on and, worse, everyone’s moving to the suburbs. There’s no solace to be found in her family, with a mum who’s caught in a baffling mid-life makeover and a beloved dad who is vanishing in slow-motion into dementia.

Dolly Alderton’s debut novel is funny and tender, filled with whip-smart observations about relationships, family, memory, and how we live now.

Friends and Strangers by J Courtney Sullivan

An insightful, hilarious, and compulsively readable novel about a complicated friendship between two women who are at two very different stages in life, from the best-selling author of Maine and Saints for All Occasions (named one of the Washington Post’s Ten Best Books of the Year and a New York Times Critics’ Pick).

Elisabeth, an accomplished journalist and new mother, is struggling to adjust to life in a small town after nearly twenty years in New York City. Alone in the house with her infant son all day (and awake with him much of the night), she feels uneasy, adrift. She neglects her work, losing untold hours to her Brooklyn moms’ Facebook group, her “influencer” sister’s Instagram feed, and text messages with the best friend she never sees anymore.

Enter Sam, a senior at the local women’s college, whom Elisabeth hires to babysit. Sam is struggling to decide between the path she’s always planned on and a romantic entanglement that threatens her ambition. She’s worried about student loan debt and what the future holds. In short order, they grow close. But when Sam finds an unlikely kindred spirit in Elisabeth’s father-in-law, the true differences between the women’s lives become starkly revealed and a betrayal has devastating consequences.

A masterful exploration of motherhood, power dynamics, and privilege in its many forms, Friends and Strangers reveals how a single year can shape the course of a life.

Our Story by Miranda Dickinson

Otty has just landed her dream job. She’s about to join the writing team of one of the most respected showrunners in TV. And then the night before her first day, she’s evicted from her flat. Joe has been working with Russell for years. He’s the best writer on his team, but lately something has been off. He’s trying to get his mojo back, but when his flatmate moves out without warning he has other things to worry about. Otty moving into Joe’s house seems like the most obvious solution to both their problems, but neither is prepared for what happens next. Paired together in the writing room, their obvious chemistry sparks from the page and they are the writing duo to beat. But their relationship off the page is an entirely different story, and neither of them can figure out why. And suddenly the question isn’t, will they, or won’t they? It’s why won’t they? An epic and modern love story for our times, we will all see ourselves reflected in Otty and Joe. We are our own biggest barriers and this novel explores what happens when we get out of our own way. And it is glorious.

From Breath and Ruin (Elements of Five Book 1) by Carrie Ann Ryan

New York Times bestselling author Carrie Ann Ryan dives into a world with magic and sacrifice with the Elements of Five.

It is said the Spirit Priestess will one day unite the two Kingdoms of the Maison Realm. She will one day fight alongside Wielders and unlock the five elements of power.

It wasn’t until I nearly died that I realized they were talking about me. They tell me I have the power to save the world, and yet the war raging around me seems insurmountable. I must rely on those I thought shunned me long ago: a boy who isn’t who I thought, and a new realm of warriors who have come to protect me.

The darkness is coming, and the Queen of Obscurité wants to ensure that the King of Lumière can’t get his hands on me. And to make that happen, the Queen will sacrifice anything—including me.

Reflect (Reclaim Trilogy Book 1) by Jess Booth & Joanna Reeder

Their romance only lasted a short few months… but that was more than 100 years ago.

Ever since his fiancé, Gemma MacLugh, was killed at the hands of a dragon shifter, vampire Leif Villers has mourned his loss. Still, a part of him never gave up on her. He could hear her voice, feel her love even through the grave, relive her memories over and over until they were stripped from him.

Now Leif has discovered the final piece to bring her back from death’s clutches. He carried her brooch, never knowing it held the key to resurrecting his love.

Too bad it’s now in the hands of the formidable kraken shifter who nearly destroyed the Shifter Academy in the recent vampire/shifter war and then slithered away, never to be seen again.

Across time, powerful selkie Gemma MacLugh–a magic user who can shape-shift into a seal–should have a wonderful, comfortable existence at her home in New York in 1897. But jealous sisters target her with their cruelty, making life miserable. If not for her Grandmother and her best friend and fellow selkie, Frederick, things might have been truly unbearable.

But when a mermaid seer foretells her upcoming death and opportunity arises to leave her home and travel across the country to a boarding house in Washington, she takes it.

To get away from her cruel sisters.

To escape her destiny.

But is it luck or fate’s final joke when she meets a tall, dark and handsome man by the name of Leif Villers?

Their love will challenge time and death itself, but can Leif get Gemma back? Can Gemma truly escape her fate?

**Reflect is the first book in the Reclaim Trilogy within the Shifter Academy Universe written by USA Today Bestselling Authors, Jesse Booth and Joanna Reeder**

The Trials of Koli (Rampart Trilogy Book 2) by M R Carey

The Trials of Koli is the second novel in M R. Carey’s breathtakingly original Rampart trilogy, set in a strange and deadly world of our own making.

Beyond the walls of Koli’s small village lies a fearsome landscape filled with choker trees, vicious beasts and shunned men. As an exile, Koli’s been forced to journey out into this mysterious, hostile world. But he heard a story, once. A story about lost London, and the mysterious tech of the Old Times that may still be there. If Koli can find it, there may still be a way for him to redeem himself – by saving what’s left of humankind.

The Golden Hour by Beatriz Williams

The New York Times bestselling author of The Summer Wives and A Certain Age creates a dazzling epic of World War II-era Nassau—a hotbed of spies, traitors, and the most infamous couple of the age, the Duke and Duchess of Windsor.

The Bahamas, 1941. Newly-widowed Leonora “Lulu” Randolph arrives in Nassau to investigate the Governor and his wife for a New York society magazine. After all, American readers have an insatiable appetite for news of the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, that glamorous couple whose love affair nearly brought the British monarchy to its knees five years earlier. What more intriguing backdrop for their romance than a wartime Caribbean paradise, a colonial playground for kingpins of ill-gotten empires?

Or so Lulu imagines. But as she infiltrates the Duke and Duchess’s social circle, and the powerful cabal that controls the islands’ political and financial affairs, she uncovers evidence that beneath the glister of Wallis and Edward’s marriage lies an ugly—and even treasonous—reality. In fact, Windsor-era Nassau seethes with spies, financial swindles, and racial tension, and in the middle of it all stands Benedict Thorpe: a scientist of tremendous charm and murky national loyalties. Inevitably, the willful and wounded Lulu falls in love.

Then Nassau’s wealthiest man is murdered in one of the most notorious cases of the century, and the resulting coverup reeks of royal privilege. Benedict Thorpe disappears without a trace, and Lulu embarks on a journey to London and beyond to unpick Thorpe’s complicated family history: a fateful love affair, a wartime tragedy, and a mother from whom all joy is stolen.

The stories of two unforgettable women thread together in this extraordinary epic of espionage, sacrifice, human love, and human courage, set against a shocking true crime . . . and the rise and fall of a legendary royal couple.

Until next Tuesday

#JustForFun, #Top Ten Tuesday, #TopTenTuesday, #TTT

[maddermyth]

RCIJ 2020

Prompt: Not looking for love.

A/N: Hi @joylee56, thank you for your prompt, it has been fun writing to you each week. I’m sorry for the delay, I grossly underestimated the extent of the story and overestimated my time management skills. I must admit this is my first time writing fanfiction and there was no beta (so right now I’m crossing my fingers to even get this posted correctly), but regardless of this I hope you like and enjoy it. Thanks for your patience and for the inspiration amidst these weird times.

Rating: T there’s some imagery some would consider violent but nothing really significant.

------

Unholy Requests

Night

There was a dead body on the floor. 

A man, his body in an obviously uncomfortable position, laid on a carpet that had seen better days. By all accounts tall and big, in a bodybuilding kind of way. Belle would bet that to most he must have looked attractive: blue eyes, dark hair, expensive if questionable taste in clothes. 

And she had killed him.

If asked how a woman of 5”5 (including heels, and they were quite high) had killed such a man, she wouldn’t know how to answer. To be honest, Belle couldn't remember how it had happened, she just knew it had been her. Guilt more than shock had frozen her at the sight the first time, but after a month of seeing variations of the same tableau everytime she closed her eyes, she was frustrated at the lack imagination of her dreams, or was it her brain’s stubbornness? Luckily it appears there’s no blood in the scene this time. She didn’t recognise the cabin where this always took place, and had never the opportunity to explore it since that first dream, but she was grateful this particular dream didn’t involved cleaning it as well. It had happen once.

“What now, dearie?”

Since the dreams started there were three people in them: herself, the dead body and for a reason she hadn’t figured out, the town’s landlord. Admittedly she had recently moved to Storybrooke and apart from the introductory batch of gossip that welcomed her, and taught her who was who in the small town, there were an alarming number of warnings against the infamous man. That he was a loan shark (not unfeasible since apparently many owed him money), soulless (had a no extension policy on rent, and was to anyone’s opinion a yerk for following it, the rumour about trying to evict the convent was always the main piece of evidence), possibly in the mob (inspired by his choice of clothes and frankly that sounded ridiculous, she quite admired his sense of fashion). However, the man himself seem to feed the rumour mill. From the way he dressed, to turning his pawnshop into his lair, dark and full of treasures people exchanged when desperately needing money. Owning more than half of the town, residential and commercial units,  he still make rounds on foot, and on complicated situations he even had a man for muscle Mr Dove. 

Belle thought it was some kind of apprehension born out of so many whispers that had made the man feature in the murder scene that repeatedly appeared in her dreams. But it didn’t fit, for all the town talked she couldn’t summon fear or nervousness the times she had cross words with the man. Admittedly, most of them were at the library with in either with family or doing some favour or other for them, it was hard to see the soulless aspect of his being then. As if her brain wanted to challenged her statement on dullness, as the dreams continued the same, the man himself started to transform. The only trace of imagination in her dreams had turned the man into a reptilian humanoid, even his clothes had changed, dressed now in leather and high boots. His eyes darker and larger than any human, scales in his skin sometimes reflection in greenish or golden hues depending on the light, and talons. It could be a shocking image and certainly she could imagine his renters running from him in that look, but the changes had happen so gradually that Belle could only wonder were the inspiration for it had come from.

With a weary sigh, because it was always the same: he would ask a mere formality and to encourage her to move, she wouldn’t wake up until the body was disposed, and the cabin would supply whatever they needed to get the job done, in some manner or other, it didn’t have to be neat and the golden skinned landlord always helped, but all the same, it wasn’t restful. She would wake up the following day tired, with aching arms and back… eyeing the pair of shovels laid behind the door she said, “We could try bury him in the garden this time.”

Morning

It was a mistake. He had been making many of those recently, but this one was a simple one to avoid and yet here he was. For weeks now Neal and Emma had had a rough time balancing work and a small child, so he had offered to take his grandson for a weekend and given them the keys to the cabin in the woods. The boy had a sweet tooth and it was Sunday, a trip to Granny’s had seemed like the perfect idea.

Since his son and now wife moved to town, the image of the impassive Mr.Gold, owner of most property in town, nemesis of the town mayor, loan shark and heartless landlord had taken a mortal wound, especially since four months after that his grandson Henry had been born. But years of people fearing him were working in his favour, even when he had his grandson by his side people still gave him a wide breadth. Today though, Miss Lucas had greeted him with a smirk on her face and a knowing look that had hunted him since he crossed the door. “Unusually early for a Sunday, Gold.” 

“If you don’t want customers this early you should reconsider opening hours.” He said with as much indifference as he could, strangely it took him some effort. “And miss my favourite customer? No.” There was that look again. “She is one of the few that rises with the sun regardless of the day, but of course you know that.” Oh. That's what this is about. Since Regina had the magnificent idea that the library was to reopen, he had opposed her. It took no more than the right thing said here and there before any council meeting. She knew of the intricate maze of mines that ran under the town, and knew that it was the safest place to keep his, and even some of hers, more unusual experiments. It’s secrecy and its contents one way or another benefited someone in town. That’s why they had agree to sealed the mines in the first place, with only one access point located in the town clock building, inside the library. However, a Belle French had arrived four months ago in the ship of Mrs. Finn. He didn’t pay attention to her, apparently she was a tourist, as rare the sight was in Storybrooke. But Regina had. And at some point Miss French decided to stay and become the librarian. He had try to put a stop on that but it was to late. He had made the mistake of making everyone aware of how much he loaded the idea. And then, he had meet the young woman, chatted with her whenever his found a solid excuse to into the library. The fight to close the building had since then remained restricted to paperwork. And that was unusual for him. And apparently, someone like the wolf-girl had decided to mock him for it. He must have let his face react because her smile only grew. “The usual? And extra blueberry pancakes for little Henry, after all he’s such an excellent wingman.” 

Either it was the implication that he was using his grandson somehow or that even though he enjoyed his time with Henry like nothing else, his reason to be there in the heart of town instead of his home spoiling his grandson was so easy to see, the comment rattled him more than he was ready to admit. And even though he was at the edge of leaving, he reminded himself everytime the over entitled waitress looked at him with the same smirk in her face, that he couldn’t let her win. It was still too early, they could avoid her (yes, it was now a team effort with Henry) and the wolf-girl would be set to right, or she still could come into the dinner and make the mortifying comment worthy.

Five minutes after their order arrived, and with his attention on trying to keep Henry from turning his breakfast into a Pollock piece, his cell phone rang. “Gold.”

“Hi pops!” a little too cheerful voice greeted. “Neal? Is everything alright?”

“Well... a couple of your friends had no idea of our ‘weekend far from the world’ plan and broke into the cabin.” Neal answered with a patient tone. “Something about needing a place to do an experiment?” In the background the distinct noises of Jefferson moving around the kitchenette could be heard. “Emma is trying to keep Jeff from settling in as he now thinks we need breakfast.” 

“Just send them to the store. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Meddling fools. After hearing a door close in the other side of the call, his son said “They wanted me to call you, you know?” A sight left him, after noticing the call had distracted him from paying attention to Henry’s anctics.“Their great talent is to pretend to be idiots, I bet they wanted to get through to me in the most effective way. Sorry son.”

“It’s ok, dad. Just keep them busy and happy until tomorrow? Probably give them their own lab, one of those storage units at the edge of the docks, huh? Where they can play and have fun.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Too close to the surface and to drunk sailors, that particular idea was discarded some time ago.  “I’ll keep them away. You just send them out and enjoy your day��.

After hanging up and turning his full attention back to the toddler, Gold was glad of his foresight of having a change of clothes for both himself and the boy in the back of the store. “You’re going to help me with those two, right?”

---

“Bluebell!” 

Hurrying down main street Belle stopped at the unusual nickname, there was only one person that called her that. Looking at her watch, still not too late Ruby was still on her shift, she headed to the two figures currently shadowing the front of the pawnshop.

“Jefferson, Dr. Whale.” Bear hug from one, and hand shake from the other. “Glad to see you again. How was the trip?”

“Successful if hours exploring are counted.” Answered the young man with a smirk and a wide movement of his hands. “Alas, not so much if the treasure had to be found.” 

“It was a waste of time.” While Jefferson had a flare for the dramatics, Whale drifted towards a general disposition of antiphaty. The later did a great job at not rolling his eyes constantly at whatever the first said. It was in itself an entertaining performance.

“That only means we’ll have to go away again and we took plenty of photos.” Said Jefferson with a boyish smile and already taking his phone out. “Want to see?” 

“I would love to, but I’ve got to get to the dinner.” She had taken to drop on early Sundays at Granny’s to have breakfast with Ruby. She’ll get worried soon.

“Has my favourite librarian replaced me already?”

“Madder, she is the only one in about a decade.” Belle still could not believe the library had been left abandoned for so long, not that it had been in as good as state considering once she started preparing it for opening.

Jeff did roll his eyes at that, “Still my favourite.” 

“Bet you already made friends in town.” the unusual small talk comment from Whale came with a look she couldn’t quite place.

“Since Ariel and you guys abandoned me as soon as we touched shore, I’ve had to look for alternatives.” Deep in her pocket her cell phone beeped. “Speaking of, if I don’t get to the dinner soon Ruby is going to think I’ve dropped dead or something. See you later. I’ll hold you on to it Jeff, to tell me all about this trip of yours.” “You have my word.” He swore with a hand over his heart and a seriousness to his expression, as she started to walk away. “Come for tea soon and I’ll tell you all about the places we visited.” He shouted after her.

Looking back with a smile at the comment, she fail to notice someone was exiting the dinner in time to stop, until a gentle hand held her at the upper arm. Startled, she turned her head back to come face to face with… well, literally the man in her dreams, and until the day before she hadn’t confide in anyone about that. His eyes though beautiful, were not the same, and was it weird that she missed in that moment those he sported at night?

“Oh, I'm so sorry Mr.gold.” Belle had to take a step back, noticing she had been staring. Avoiding the man’s eyes she noticed that he was carrying a very content and covered in food toddler. “Hello Henry, seems like you enjoyed breakfast today. Was Ruby in a good mood?”

“It seemed so.” The gruff tone of the answer had her looking back at the man’s face. No matter that the question was meant for the little boy, it seemed Ruby had been up to something. He seemed to realise then that it wasn’t a real question. “I- I mean like everyone else she looks tired but definitely entertained.” Was he blushing?

“It’s been nice to see you. I really have to leave you I’m already quite late but.. see you around.” She hadn’t meant for that to sound like a question. He nods, though. “Have a nice day Mr.Gold, Henry.”

“Good day, Miss French.”

 The tiny bell on the door, signaled her arrival. Quickly catching Ruby’s eye, she came to sit at one of the booths at the back. The dinner had quickly become a welcome sight in her short time in town. By now she could identified all those early visitors, a town routine that was more comforting than dull, perfect for people watching, until Ruby took her break.

At the bar, Leroy seem to still be drunk and happy telling a story animatedly to his brothers, who in turn seem more worried than anything else. A glass unceremoniously put on the table got her attention back to her friend. “Where have you been?” And she looked a little anxious, but it had been right, she look dead on her feet. “I was getting worried something had happened?”

“Good morning to you to Rubes. Got distracted.” Ignoring her friend’s look she explain. “After yesterday’s fiasco I went back to the library, do a little work, clean the back... and guess what?”

“Come on, just spill.” Ruby sat forward in the table, crossing her arms. A determined glint in her eye. “What happened? Did Pongo came to apologise to you in place of its owner?”

Her appointment with Dr. Hopper the day before had been a disaster. She had come to town, both as a break from her home but also because of the reputation of the man. He was known to be an expert at unlocking the human mind. She had been unfair with him, he had been doing his best and she too for months now but nothing had changed. She had decided to stay longer in town, and took on the job of temporarily put the library up and running. Yet,frustration had reached a high point the previous day. After a car accident with her mother, that left her motherless and with no memory of the entire week before, she had gone to more doctors and try even more therapies to remember that tragic day, that was recommended. And though the week had come, that day and the accident had yet to. Dr. Hopper was her last option, and he was failing.

“That’s not- It was my fault too. Archie was just doing his job, but it definitely wasn’t a good day for either of us.” If she was being honest, the man had also been at edge for whatever reason. It had motivated her to confrontation, a desire to fight still burning inside even now. “There was no need for apology delivering dogs. However, I was restless so I got to tamper with the old elevator in the library, and it works! I mean, I only got it to open last night so I went this morning and found a control panel.”

“Isn’t it like too old and dangerous? The library has been abandoned for years now, you remember all the work it took to make it presentable” Oh, she remembered and felt it for days afterwards.

“I know. But that’s why I went back today, inside there are just basic controls to go up and down, everything else is on the outside. And the panel seems functional but it needs a key to work.”

“A job for more than one.” she said nodding, a small frown forming. “And the mayor didn’t gave it to you along the ones for the library?”

“No, it wasn’t either with the ones for the apartment or the library clock. You should come with me when your shift is over, you are great at finding stuff.” Noting the way Ruby was sitting she added, “After you’ve taken a nap. You look like hell.”

“Gee, thanks. Yes, as much as I’d like to wake up Monday morning after trespassing into dangerous basements-”

“It isn’t that dangerous…”

“..I’d think you’ll have other plans for tonight. And in the meantime I get a proper rest.”

“What do you mean?

“There is an older gentleman waiting for you at the lounge, arrived late last night and lucky for him it was me and not granny’s turn on the B&B reception.” Slamming her hands to the table she started to get up. “Alright, take your iced tea and I’ll bring you your breakfast when it’s ready.” Since she was already waving her on, Belle got up from the booth and allowed herself to be guided to the hall between the dinner and the B&B. “Just move along, the man has been waiting long enough.”

The lounge was a small room with two sofas against the wall, facing towards an old looking TV on a small table. There was fruits and biscuits on the centre table. It was mostly empty but for a tall, large man sitting down in the corner of a sofa. He look small, hunched over his knees, but Belle would recognise him anywhere.

“Papa, what- how are you here?”

“Hello princess, not so happy to see your old man?” Looking up to her, she could see he had been having a hard time. He seemed paler, and older. His smile was honest but it didn’t reach far.

“Of course I’m happy, papa.” She said, coming into the lounge and hugging him, hard. After so long, and the nature of her parting, she hadn’t been aware of how much she missed him. Especially after the last couple of days, this was the best of visits. “Just surprised. I wasn’t expecting you here, least of all without notice. I almost imagined you coming back with Ariel in her sailing trip.”

“Oh, that would be dreadful.” Maurice French lost any trace of colour on his face at that.   “I’m not a man for the sea.” Guiding him to sit down, he took one of her hands in his. “I should have told you before but the flight messed with my notion of time and then it seemed better to just see you.”

“Are you ok? You look beyond jet-lagged, tell me you had a break before driving up here.”

With a sigh he let go of her hand, taking a sip of his coffee. “I did, petal.” Her father was acting weird, she knew he was stalling whatever he wanted to say. His hands kept turning the cup. “Things have changed.”

“I know…” Losing her mother had affected both, to a scale none of them were prepared to deal with. He retired from the company handing it to Gaston, and went to live in the countryside. That had felt as he had abandoned her, but she admitted she did the same, even before accepting Ariel’s invitation to come to Maine. She had spend weeks, chasing doctors, therapist, new methods, whatever clue to settle her amnesia. She could wait for it to happen naturally, even though many a person told her to have patience. Dr. Hopper was the last name in that list of options, and while her father had changed county, she had changed continent. And she knew there were no bad feelings, both agreed they were trying hard, in their own way to cope.

“Not just that. I was called into the office a couple weeks ago.” Softly he continued. “And I was just so ready to retire.”

“I thought you left Gaston in charge”.

“I did. But my girl, the fate is against us!” The booming voice of her father, startled her. A voice that was either happy in family occasions, or annoyed at work now had the taste of defeat. He looked so tired. “I missed you so much but by now I’m just happy you left. Not that I helped to make the decision a nice one.” It hadn't in any case an easy conversation.

“Don’t worry, papa. I understand why you said what you said. It wasn’t nice but I knew where they were coming from.” I wanted to tell you the same when you moved again, first.

“I hurt you. I forced you into marriage twice and one of those was just to keep you by my side. The thought of you going away, to America nonetheless so soon after your mother left us… As always, you made the right choice.”

“What happened?”

“Another bloody accident. Gaston crashed, apparently fell asleep while driving. Went into a coma but right before I came here he died. As soon as the crash happened I got called into the office again, there’s no one else prepared enough to handle the company at the moment, it was meant for him.” He looked up into her eyes at that. “You first, and since you refused it, him. It took me a while to get a break and come to tell you about it in person. I know you didn’t have the best relationship especially at the end but…”

“No, we didn’t. Still, that’s awful. And it doesn’t make sense, he was a freak with rules. He wouldn’t drive in that condition. Is someone with him?”

“His personal assistant, the man was half in love with him. And of course the company is going to cover the ceremony and burial. I’ll be in charge of that.”

“Good.” That’s all she could say, she knew she had to ask but she really didn’t want to listen to the answer. It had become easier to say no to her father, but not only had she missed him a lot, but she knew how much like a son he had loved Gaston. “Do you want me to go?”

“I’ve learned my lesson, princess. It’s your choice.”

---

“Our new librarian almost crashes into the dark lord of Storybrooke. Are you alright Gold?” At least he waited until he nearer the store to speak. Jefferson was his most talented hunter, he could find almost anything that he requested and bring objects he hadn’t considered. It was his talent what kept him in the job, but there were times Gold wondered if he was too patient with him.

“I’m perfectly fine.” Gold answered, moving his cane to the hand holding Henry. And unlocking the store’s door with the other. “But since you seem to be in a good mood I take it you found what I requested.”

“No such luck.” Answered Viktor. For the last past year it was the same answer. It was annoying but he couldn’t find it in himself to be truly bothered by now. Gold had resign himself to look for alternatives, yet they will require some time. If they could just locate this text, it all could be over by next month. “There was a trace, someone else that’s been looking for it but we hit a dead end soon enough.” 

“Almost literally.” Jefferson said, the little bell at the door marking the comment.

“So you failed and then claimed my attention by using my son, instead of just notifying me.” There was a small cot in the back room where he put Henry while going to find a change of clothes for the boy. “Don’t make me waste my time.”

“Actually, we want to try something different?” offered Viktor.

“We?” He knew what was coming, Dr. Whale and himself disagreed in method most of the time, moments like this led to a bet of sorts in which he currently hold the lead. Magic after all failed less than science.

“I want to try something different.” Oh, did he enjoyed the challenged in the eyes of the blond man.

“Do enlighten me.” 

“It’s possible we’ve been looking not in the wrong place but for the wrong thing.”

“Our deal is very specific.” He said with enough ice in his voice to remind the doctor that that wasn’t an option, his back to the man and back to the task of changing his grandson. In the background he could hear Jefferson looking for the scotch. He had the good manner of host, that one.

“Yes, I’ll help Jefferson locate this method Morpheus’ child used to become mortal. And in compensation I can run some tests on you.” Another mistake for the list, thought Gold. “And so far we have assumed is in a text, you said it had to be read aloud to be enacted.” He paused, giving him time to interfere. He has been learning Jefferson’s dramatics, that could be useful sometime. Turning his attention from Henry to the man Gold raised an eyebrow in questioning. “What if it is coded in another way?” the man continued. “Information hidden somewhere not in a physical object. After all, for everything we have learned we still have no clue of what Morpheus’ child was capable of.”

“You have an idea of where to look.” His grandson had grown since he bought the clothes, giving up on the jacket, he tried the sweater.

“More like a first place to tackle. The brain.” Done with Henry he turned his attention to the men, in time for Jefferson to handle him a glass, giving the doctor another. Gold nodded his thanks. “Your type is notoriously antagonistic of science, if the child wanted to hid the formula to turn divinity into humans it probably is where you don’t want to look or only reached by something you’d never use.”

“Dr. Whale are you telling me our next option is to go around opening skulls in search of some brains that do the trick.” Catching Jefferson’s eye he continued. “I never thought I’d lived to meet a zombie.”

“Brain activity while sleeping, not an outlandish idea let me assure you. However, since in the 24 hours I’ve been back, I’ve had people lining up in the street coming at me to help them deal with their insomnia...”

“Welcome to my existence.” 

“...I gather my best option, despite the atypical ancestry, are you.”

“As you have pointed out, I don’t particularly follow the same rules as you mortals. If there’s any information hidden in you, it most likely won’t be in me.”

“Do you dream?”

Usually, no. If he was honest with himself, he required less rest than most and when he decided to sleep it was a game of chance to dream something. However, the question gave him pause, because as of the last month he had been sleeping everyday and dreaming every time. It became an appointment, it felt now as its own small ritual. “Yes.”

“Then, what’s the harm in trying? It will be only one night. Although if you know of someone else that unlike the rest of the town can sleep for at least six hours undisturbed, we could try with them.” That’s not something he wanted the doctor to know.

“It’s hardly a request you can make out of thin air to anyone without having to explain something or other though, and those who would understand are affected by magic which by the same logic would affect the result.”

“Why do you think this would work?” Asked Jefferson, taking a seat on the main desk.

“The guy who was chasing after it, he got close and for unfortunate circumstances this type of monitoring took place. I just got lucky to take a peek at the results, unusual definitely not supporting of the diagnosis he was given.”

Give it to the man to be sneaky, any test was payment for his service, but he had promised it to Baelfire. Everything in order to fulfil his son’s only request. He had refused once upon a time, and resulted in decades of no contact. It was Emma and Henry existence that made his son sought him out. It was for them that Neal, as now he insisted to be called, had come back to ask for his help in ridding himself of his longevity, and subsequently the reason he was trying to give him another chance at being involved in his life as his father. And Gold could be honest, he didn’t want to do it, anymore than all those years ago. But Bae’s reasons made more sense now, and he had missed his son terribly. He promised, and if it meant giving into this man’s small victories he would play dumb. “When?”

“As soon as we get access to my lab.” There we go again. Their main lab, or at least the one where common projects was inaccessible at the moment. Since Regina had an unsuspected guard at the door. That left few options, either they involved the mayor and had access to the crypt, or they risked her knowing by going to the hospital, then there was Whale’s… “Your garage?” 

“Oh, that place is dreadful.” complained Jefferson. He had to agree.

“Not that one!” 

Whatever the doctor had going on in his home lab was a sore topic, everytime the man spoke about it there was emotion on his voice. Gold had made the point of finding out what it was, if only to know if any precautions were needed, or if he had to hide his link to Whale in case whatever he was doing attracted too much attention to all of them. The look Jefferson gave him, told him he wasn’t the only one wary of Whale’s displays of emotion. “The access through the mines hasn’t been possible, Dove estimates at least a month more of work.” Before he could be interrupted he added, “If we don't want to call attention of anything being done there.”

“We can’t wait that long.” 

At that Jefferson jumped from the desk, turning his head to look at each in turned he did his best attempt at controlling the mischief when he said, “So… are we sneaking into the library?”

“If I may” said a voice from the courting that divided the back room from the customer area. Archie Hooper, only psychiatrist in to, seem to startle at the intensity with which the three men were looking at him. Clearing his throat he offered, “Your best chance of that, would be tonight.” 

“Dr.Hopper.” greeted Whale.

“Jiminy!” said the other man with a little hop.

“Please, Jefferson. Don’t call me that.”

“What happens tonight?”

“Nothing special, I just heard in the dinner that a visitor has arrived and Miss French will be occupied as tourist guide. A better moment than most for you to get to the basement.” At one point Hopper was the man in charge of finding the objects he needed for his collection, a future deal, so satisfy Gold’s need of been the one to have them. He had been good even when his methods tended to be old school. After saving enough, he got into university and came to the town to set his own practice. Since then, cordial and ever offering his new abilities he rejected at every opportunity the possibility of coming back to this particular job. Like no one else in town he was aware of Jefferson’s real job, and Gold’s true nature. For whatever reason he never interfered. 

“Huh? I didn't know you still worked with us.” said the young man.

“You worked for Gold?” there was mild surprise in Whale’s voice. If Jefferson was thrifty and technologically and magically savvy, what Archie had going for him was the readiness with which people underestimated him. He felt himself smile at that.

“I did and I’m not.” and unusually cold tone in  the psychiatrist voice. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about, Mr Gold. If you have the time.”

“I guess I owe it to you in exchange of the dinner gossip.” The man was obviously taken with Miss Lucas. Had he been there this morning? “You two, meet me here again at eight tonight.” 

Understanding the dismissal both men said their goodbyes, Jefferson’s accompanied by a wide arc of his arm and a bow, “Lock the door on your way out.”

Gold offered Hopper a seat and sat down on the cot, keeping a hand close to Henry. The boy seemed sleepy but it was better to be close. At least with the psychiatrist he could lower his stance a bit more than with his employees.“Be brief.”

“Do you realise he won’t work for you for much longer?” said the man with a nod to the door were the others had gone out. “His daughter will be born soon enough.”

“I know.” They had already talked about it, it wasn’t retirement, not completely but Jefferson had made it clear he wouldn’t accept any job that required he'd be away for long. One of the reasons he kept sending them, so they could find this spell either as a ‘text’ sooner rather than later. It had already taking a lot of effort and money to convince him to take the last two trips. “ Are you asking for the job? Is therapy not as profitable as you hoped?”

“No, just curious. Dr. Whale is not the type for the job.”

“Agreed. He is useful though. And a sore loser, and that’s always fun. Not of your concern, but Jones is willing enough. I know you have tried to talk to him about his many issues, but I warn you, don’t talk him out of the job.”

“On the contrary, opposite to Jefferson, he’ll be a better father for his daughter if he finally has a stable job. Which is the reason I’m here.”

“The Jones?” Well, that would be unusual.

“No, the issue of becoming a better father.” Ah, that. “Wait, hear me out.” The man seemed to collect himself, sitting straighter he continued, “Is this library heist and overall insomnia pandemic in town something to do with what we talked about Baelfire? Did you do something? Did you finally make a choice?”

“Do I have one?” There was no use in hiding the bite in the question. “I thought the whole point of what you said last time was that I didn’t have one but give him what he wants.”

“That’s not quite it. Is not about giving him what he wants, is about respecting his choices. And listening to him.”

“Even thought that means condemning him to mortality?” Rising his voice was a bad idea, specially with Henry this close. So he took a deep breath pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I thought he was mortal.”

“Shortening his lifespan then, if you want specifics.”

“You understand why he asked.”

“Yes, and that doesn’t make it easier.” He had just fed and changed the main reason. “As much as he doesn’t want to see the love of his life or his child die, he is asking me to do just that. I am immortal, I don’t have a choice.”

“He does.” said the doctor, not unkindly.

“Did you come here to repeat this conversation?”

“I wanted to know if all this mess is related to that conversation, and if the fact that it has lasted this long is because it is a hard task or you are purposely delaying it.” The man kept his posture rigid, drawing any bravery from it as he effectively berated him. It was … well, new. “If it is the second, I’m in the mind of arguing for the common well-being with you and ask you please to either stop it or finish it. And I know how suicidal it may seem to come and ask you this.”

At that, in any other company he would be right. “I’ll give it to you, therapy has given you the backbone that you so much lacked.” It was that comment that had the man hunching down over his legs “Why would you risk it?”

“I met someone more intimidating than you.”  

There was a story behind that statement but the day had already proven itself to be a busy one; on any other day, one of the many in his boring existence he would have give it chase. If only to know this ‘someone’. “And if I told you is neither?”

“Strange phenomenon that affects a whole town? If it is not your doing, you must know what is causing it and how to fix it.”

“It’s not me.” It was the truth, but he could bet his entire fortune that nobody would believe him. The sceptical look that Hopper gave him told him not even the psychiatrist could, but that at least he would try to play along.

“Do you know how to fix it?”

“No idea. It doesn’t seem the work of a curse but it escapes my understanding why would this happen. All of it, including your newest patient.”

“I was hoping it was your fault, specially because of her. If you were messing with her to free the library and give you access again to the famous lab, I could do something. I could help her talking to you.They are not normal dreams, are they?”

“No.”

“And you are actually in them?”

“Yes.”

“Does she know you are real in there?”

“What does she tell you?” Without the fight in him, Hopper had gone back to be a therapist and the look on his face made him feel younger than the centuries on his back could permit. “No, she doesn’t. She says it out loud repeatedly.” “It bothers you.” “She also spends a lot of time complaining about you.”

“You have to tell her, please.” The man was concerned about her. Gold knew from her and her ramblings about Hopper and his methods on her dreams, that she was getting increasingly frustrated. Yet, she still hadn’t shared what she wanted Hopper to help her with. And the psychiatrist wasn’t going to share that, too lawful and professional. He was willing, though, to come all the way to him, berate him, question him, demand of him and now plead to him. It must be draining him too, beyond the sleeplessness. “Make her believe. That way whatever is happening can be fixed. Either the source of the problem it’s she or you, if she has anything to do with it, she won’t be able to do anything about it, if she things it isn’t real.”

“I remind you that I was your employer not the other way around. You can’t come in here and make demands.”

“I can. This is unbearable! Not only I have a permanent headache, every single one of my patients complain of the same over and over again. And it hurts them in different ways. I’ve tried but nothing I do helps. Do you know how frustrating that is? Full moon is coming and… The only ones who sleep are you and Belle, if this dreams are real-”

“They are. It’s another realm, in fact.”

“Another realm then, if you can get there. Please just finish this.” He didn’t care about the town at large, or humans in general. He found himself more often than not, in a situation similar to this, blamed for whatever weird event happened in town. Only on some occasion it was actually his doing. However, Whale had said Neal and Emma looked tired, he had thought it was for the little tyke they had to deal with in a new town, with new jobs, but if this affected them too, it at least had to be checked. He needed to know what was happening if nothing else. And perhaps, the painful direct route of asking the god itself for what he had been looking could end this search he found himself for months now. His son could leave when he got what he came for, but it was Gold who acted like that. His son was better and he deserved a normal life. Hopper was right, he just needed to finish it.

“ Are you certain the library will be empty tonight?”

“You will be able to get to the basement without interruptions, the three of you. I can make sure someone distracts the French for long enough.”

“Go home Hopper, it’ll help.”

-

Night

This time around had been faster, the soil in the garden was soft and there was no need to remove the grass, the shovels were comfortable in weight and Belle had secretly changed her shoes to trekking boots that made it easier to help her companion. He was unusually quiet tonight, not to say he was always chatty. Only once had he talked until she started to get annoyed, mostly because he profusely disagree with anything she said, just for the fun of arguing. But even though he tended to be mercurial, he could also be funny in a darker acid way, that had her laughing freely at jokes she know would draw looks in the real world. So far the theory was that he reflected her deeper feelings, and today just seemed to prove it. With the news her father had brought and the pending decision to go back to Australia, if just temporary, had put a weight on her shoulders. Sadly, what she needed was a distraction from all that, and her imp was in no mood to help.

“That’s becoming easier” she said, trying to get his attention. “Practice makes perfect.”

“I don’t think it is meant for murder, or body disposal. Gardening though...” The rectangle on the garden was obvious, but it wasn’t meant to be perfect just functional. At least the dream required only practicality to end.

Flattening the raising soil, she realised it was the first time she ever did that. “This is unusual.”

“What is?” Everything in this dream. Today. The way you are behaving!

“Everytime the body is out of sight the dream ends.” 

“That’s when it ends for you?” His voice sounded deeper, more his real version than hers.

“Isn’t it the end for both of us? After all I’m dreaming you.”

“Right.” He said leaning heavily into his shovel, and he kept reminding her of the real man. It was a pose familiar to her, she was sure he only allowed himself to look that tired when he thought nobody was looking. Softly he added, “Wonder why me.”

It didn’t sound like a question, he didn’t ask for an answer to that. But she had the same question and hadn’t come to a satisfactory answer while pondering it awake, perhaps here she could answer it through him.“No idea.”

“Really? No theories of why it’s me here every night. Nothing to do with the tales of the beast of Storybrooke.”

“My job are tales among others, it would be impossible to believe wholeheartedly in all of them.”

“Ah, so why do you keep casting me as a murderer?”

“I do not.” If it was about casting, she had cast herself in the lead role. “You are here to help.” 

“Oh, so I’m a henchman.” He said with a light in his eyes. “Right… that’s new. Have you met Dove?” The smile in his face was teasing. “He is my henchman and looks like it to.” He turned to look to the freshly made burial, and with a self deprecating tone he continued, “Don’t know how an old, crippled man can be much muscle power”.

“Your limp is not always present here. And, you do realise that for this pit you did most of the work? “

“After a month of this merciless fitness program something had to give. My grandson certainly thanks you.”

“As if, it’d be great if Henry benefited from this, regardless how dubious that makes his grandfather. But, nothing here changes what happens out there?” She knew if was not common to be as conscious as she was within her dreams, and she had taken proper advantage of it. Being able to summon objects and change clothes, and wishing quite adamantly that no animal she was afraid of appeared while in the nightly task, she had thought she could bring her mother here, talk to her one last time. But it never happened. She knew this was its own bubble, never to influence reality not even by giving her hope.

“What if he could?”

“I don’t think writing these dreams for or telling them to a toddler is appropriate. Murder and all included.” she joked only to see the intent look in the eyes of her accomplice.  “Ok, let’s go along with it. Let’s say somehow you are Mr Gold, regardless of scaly shining skin, flickering limp, and reptilian eyes.” at that said eyes widen a bit, as if he hadn’t been aware of their appearance. “Oh yes, I’ve noticed. If whatever happens here affects day life. How did you get here?”

“I could always fall asleep in the sofa at my house but unless I want my ankle to kill me the following morning, I just go to bed.”

“Smartass.” He laughed at that. “It’s good to know you didn’t decided to infiltrate my dreams, I’d have to inquire after method and intention in that case.” The mere idea seemed like an invasion of privacy, but then, if this wasn’t her dream. Where were they? She hadn’t recognise the cabin they always appeared at, not the forest that surrounded it, or the lake half a mile out to the north. Looking around her she notice for the first time the beauty of it. Even in the dark of a crescent moon, the vibrant green colour of the leaves and bushes could be seen. “ When does your dream end?”

“At dawn, right at the point you expect the sun to appear in the horizon but not after. When the sky is changing colours some cold some warm all at war.”

“That’s… good.” Why did that sounded good? “It’s always night when I’m here. No light.” A chill ran up her back, noticing that the wind was picking up and they had stood long enough to lose the warm gained while digging. “Should we go back to the cabin? I don’t like to be so close it.” She said glancing towards the fresh grave. “I’ve never had to look at it for too long.”

He nodded, walking just a couple steps ahead enough to get the door first. “Do you believe in dreams?” he said, his hand still on the nob.

“What do you mean by believe?”

She could tell it took him a moment to decide what to say, but the moment he did it was clear, with a faint show of irritation he answered, “Anything other than explaining them as a chemical reaction produced by your brain.”

“Is Mr Gold not a pragmatic man?

“One more than the other.” He opened the door, moving to the side and with a tiny bow of his head. “Ladies first.”

“Before this month I used not to dream. Always wondered after what I read and heard about them, people tend to give them high significance. So, can't say I believe or not yet”

Belle stepped inside the cabin frowning at the darkness and heading to turn the lights on, even though she was certain neither of them turn them off when they headed out earlier. Since this was the first time she had the opportunity to explore she headed towards the farthest door opposite to the entrance. Her companion seemed unsure of what to do pacing slowly around the small living area. Letting him to his exploration she cross the door.

“Belle?" His voice sounded far away. "Miss French!" It was screamed and coming closer. Why was he so far away? There had been a scream, a loud one. Turning around taking in her surroundings Belle can only see forest, and it didn't make sense. nothing did. Feeling tears falling across her face, the image comes back to her. The room had been empty, no more than a couple of meters squared. In it laid another man, injured, dead and pretty familiar to her. And then she was here.

How? 

--

There had been a sense of trepidation since he found himself in that room with Miss French. A simple potion was needed to help him relax enough to sleep once they got in the lab with both Viktor, Jefferson and Henry. The lab and the dungeons well fitted to contain most kinds of experiments, from magic, to science and the mix of both. Due to the nature of it, there were compartments fitted to rest in between trials or in the occasional long process. And even though he could had left Henry with the Nolans, he felt wrong being to far away from the boy. He asked Jefferson to come and the man was as always over enthusiastic, perhaps seeing as a trial run of what it will be his life in a couple of months.

Despite knowing that for once there was a whole crowd keeping an eye on his well being (or at least the state of his body), or perhaps because of it, a restlessness had settled inside of him. Once the woman had claimed today’s dream was not going to plan, he knew to keep his guard up, however he hadn’t expected what happened after. He had noticed earlier the few changes in wardrobe that she sported while digging but this realm had different rules, and she was adamant that this was her dream, she could shape it to her will and he had been too distracted to call it for what it was. After she open that door, her scream send shivers down his back looking in her direction he only caught her silhouette disappearing. He recognised, after all he used it once upon a time before coming to the world ‘without magic’. Looking into the room he found the same man they’ve been dealing with for a month, admittedly in worst shape than most days but nothing that could motivate that reaction. Not now.

If she had the ability to jump between place in this realm, it was likely that she didn’t know to control it. After all, he had been here all this time by her side and she had never done such a thing. Morpheus would be able to easily locate them after her move, e needed to find her. Regardless if the confrontation with the king of dreams was something he’d likely avoid until he held the spell in his hands. Going to their tools, the last object she had been in contact for a considerable amount of time, he cast a spell to figure the general direction she headed. After all, she couldn't have gone too far.

It took him a while trekking in the forest surrounding the cabin to find a small earth path in between the trees, where the roots of the same were easier to see. It lead to a small clearing where she was. “Belle?” He called her name softly to not startled her. Walking to stand next to her he tentatively put a hand over her arm, he felt the strange impulse to comfort her but there wasn’t much he could do at the moment. He could use a little bit of magic now, after all they wouldn’t be alone for long now, so he magicked a jacket and gave it to her. She nodded her thanks. “What happened?”

“Didn’t you see?”

He did, it still didn’t explain her need to get away from it. A need so big she had done something she’d never done before. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” he knew the tone was wrong, and not entirely the one he wanted to use but apart from accepting his presence she kept going inside herself. It was better now that she kept aware of where they were. “At least twice the man has been in a similar state to that before.” He was being honest, at least.

Slowly she raised her eyes to him with confusion, “That’s completely different.”

“How so?”

“Is a different person!” 

There it is, she was seeing someone else. “Who was he?”

“Stop this please, you know him because I know him.” She said heading towards the place he came from.

“I don’t, in all honesty. All I saw was the same man we buried all these days. It seems this is not true for you.” Her attention was in exploring the edge of the clearing. “So, help me understand, who is the man back there?” he asked trying to get her attention, it would be difficult to find her again if she transported herself.

“Gaston.”

“Boyfriend?” he ventured, the man didn’t look like a brother or other close family plus she had moved recently. It could be him Hopper had been talking about.

“Ex-fiancé.”

“Right.” She looked back at him, and he noticed he spoke aloud. “That’s- That’d be a shock, to see him like that.” It wasn’t only that, whether she believe it or no, the man was real. Had been for as long as both of them kept on coming here. Why were the three of them in this? “I’m sorry.” he added as an afterthought. If their visit to this realm had no end in sight, and there was already a visitor dead, whatever had kill him was likely to come to them eventually, after a month of playing the game was coming to an end. They needed to move to a better place, it wouldn’t do to be hunted and be standing in a small clearing in an unknown forest. “Miss French, we have to move.”

“Is it wrong that I don't want to go back there?” she said.“I don’t want to see him like that.” she added softly, looking into the forest were he had come from. She had found the slight earth path leading into the trees.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to.”

“We can’t leave him like that. I don’t want to but we should.”

“I’m not digging another hole tonight, and he is dangerous.”

“He is dead.” she said flatly.

“Exactly, he is dead and he is here.” And he was still too close for his liking. “That simply does not happen. Many a thing with appetite for human flesh hides in the corners of this place, within minutes we could be surrounded, specially since death reeks in this realm.” Nothing died here, everything just changed shape.

“Realm? It is my dream, no monster will come out that I don’t wish for it.” She moved into the path carefully avoiding the roots jutting out.

“And if t is a nightmare.” Going back was possibly the worst thing they could do, but he needed her to see it. Stopping right inside the line of trees the sound of the wind lowered and other sounds made the forest seem full of live, like never before.

“We are doing right by him, again”. It was said more to encourage herself to move further into the path, but a loud growl froze her. 

“No, we won’t. Listen to that, they have smell him.” and they were many, for the first growl kept being answered by smaller ones of different tone, and if the sound could be trusted, from multiple directions. “Humans don’t walk in this land, is dangerous for them.” He grabbed her hand and started to go back to the clearing.

“Then what am I if not human?”

Circling the clearing much like she had done just moments before he looked for a new path. “You are special. Unusual.” Keeping his use of magic low, in case they could follow them like that, was really frustrating.

“If humans can’t be here how do people dream?”

Before he could find any way out, Belle walked ahead of him, pulling him on still holding his hand, leading him towards one of the biggest trees in sight. 

“They are… when they are here you could call them ghost-like.” she kept walking straight to the tree with a determination that stilled his tongue on the possible crashing, instead he focussed on explaining further on, “if attacked they can wake up and nothing has changed, they are neither harmed nor do they benefit from the dream.” At the last moment she sidestepped the tree, continuing sideways as if in a narrow passage. He does the same, turning just so to keep in touch with her, if this was a passage it was best to make sure they both went out of it together. “You’ve been digging with me, deny that you woke up tired. Not just tired from restless sleep, tired as in all you’ve been doing here your body is going through it too.”

The uneven ground that so far had characterised the forest was gone. Just after noticing the change, they emerged from the trees still walking sideways into a field walled in rocks. In the horizon started a series of hills. “Whatever these creatures are… when I wake up I’ll see what they’ve done?” 

“If you survive them and that’s hard even with my powers, then yes.”

Keeping with the direction they had being walking, they entered the field. “What are you?

“What am I?” he said, making his voice higher giving her a clue of that which wasn’t human about him. “That’s unexpectedly rude from you.”

“Are you human?”

“Partly.” 

“Is the other part why you shine?” she asked, it could have been in jest but her eyes held true curiosity, still...“Shine?”

“Your skin…” she said vaguely gesturing with her hand towards his general direction.

“That… is part of a rather old curse.” A story only his son knew, for everyone else he had blamed the imagination on mortals and their inability to report objectively, specially about non-human creatures. Who said fairies looked like in those animated pictures? The doing of a young girl back in the turn of the century had cemented that image in modern imagination. At least before they had been more creative! “True enough the colour has to do with that part, usually scales are darker, and sometimes duller in a cursed human.”

“Can your powers help Gaston?”

“There’s nothing to be done. Nothing you or I can change, the dead do not rise.” The latest attempt he had witness was by Viktor, the man was as obsessed with it as all those that attempted it before him. None had a good ending, and Gold had been there to see each spectacular failure. It was better for everyone if such a feat remain unachievable. “Did you love him?”

“No. I think my father did, the idea of him as his son, and somewhere along the line but before it was too late I realised that that wasn’t reason enough for marrying him.” there was sadness in her voice, she was mourning but what? It didn’t seem she was fond of the engagement, “What other things can you do?” she asked obviously changing the topic.

“I only have to follow three rules, everything else is free land. Depending of course, on the land I find myself in. In this place I can only influence my own being, like getting rid of the limp to dig better, instead of magicking a pit.”

She smiled at that, “That would have saved a lot of time.” It seemed she was ready to drop the conversation, her mind probably going back to the cabin. The growls had muted once they got out of the forest, but Gold couldn’t help the need to turn back and check nothing had found them. After a moment though, her face light up with interest “Ok, listen to this. If all of this is real, how come you limp in the real world?”

Apparently this was turning into an extended inquiry, if he had the heart to shut her out he would have done it. As it was, he clamped down the voice in his head warning him of anyone so curios, and managed a smile that only to the keen eye seemed strained, “I don't like to draw attention, especially of other magical beings. I only use enough magic for the glamour.” sending her way a pointed look he waved over himself,  “The skin, the eyes.” 

“Is that how you looked before the curse? Did you have magic?”

She was sharp, not that it surprised him. It was one of the aspects he could admire about her, and that he had noticed while she dealt with the townsfolk. It could become a problem if they ever found themselves at odds. Knowing himself, he thought that would eventually happen. “Close enough. Of course I have to keep in mind what is appropriate clothing now. As for the second one, if I did I wasn’t aware of it.” He hadn’t been aware of a great many things back then. The weight of war, man’s capacity for cruelty and for standing pain. He got to know all of that eventually before his own magic and ancestry, but even in the dark he had had a good life, he and his son, a flimsy roof and less than enough food considered.

“Were you already near Maine, back then?” 

The ludicrous though surprised a laugh out of him, which he quickly tried to keep quiet. “As far as one possibly can be.” He knew for a fact, it was likely that back then the area was nothing but forest. At edge by the questioning into his past, he took the opportunity to turn the tables, after all, it was evident by now that she was the cause for all this upheaval. Did she know it? “Storybrooke is a good town for new beginnings, and renewing identities. Don’t you agree?”

“It’s welcoming.” the way her hands clench by her side told him his intention had been too clear, but she had avoided an answer to his real question. Belle liked subtlety in her worlds of fiction and frankness in words, another difference between her and the town she had come to live in. 

“Why did you come to Storybrooke? Surely, you could have enjoyed and thrived in the city, a small town can become dull after a short time.”

“A relentless friend who lives in town? A break from the city and its problems? All of the above… It was always meant to be temporal.”

“What’s changed?”

“I’m not sure. There’s another reason I moved here and it’s been a failure, and yet today I was… confronted with the idea of going back home.” they had finally reached the hill at the edge of the field and the sounds that filled the forest had yet to appear here. Belle headed towards the top, to look what was beyond. He hoped they still had time before something bad happened. “It felt wrong, the whole idea of going away.”

“It’s not time yet, then.” the pain in his ankle was coming back, as a numbness that made stepping a weird experience. It didn't bode well, to lose his magic so soon. Was it soon? It seemed as if they  were being hunted before, now he thought, they might still be, but the hunter was waiting for them to tire.

“Look!” Belle said from the summit looking forward. It sounded like good news. “We should go inside. They might not find us there.” stepping beside her, he noticed she was pointing at a small cottage around fifty meters downhill, there was light coming from its windows. He nodded, and both descended. It was clear it was small but apart from two tiny windows visible from the side they were approaching, nothing more could be said about it, the night still in full bloom made it hard to see much detail. 

“Oh, It’s very pretty.” there was a feeling in the back of his head that kept distracting him. Something was familiar about this place and while he took his time going around it, he could here Belle inside talking to him. “It is larger than it looks from outside. There’s two cots, do you think it is possible to sleep within a dream?” for a moment while he stood under the door frame looking at her exploring inside the land left his feet. There was enough light coming from the hearth and a candle in the only table. It was exactly as it had been all those years ago, except for the company. But the warmth that grew inside of him at the sight of the place only grew as the woman carefully and enthusiastically got to the only surviving object of that past. “And there’s even a spinning wheel.” she was looking at him with a small but real smile and his feet seemed to follow it on their own accord, until he was inside the building. “We could wait here, while those things roam outside.” something in his expression or his silence had called her attention, she probably assumed he didn’t agree with her. “There’s plenty of space. Are you alright?”

“This place… How is it here?” So far everything that they had seen was either new or familiar to her. Never to him, suddenly he felt threatened and an uneasy feeling started to crawl up his back, the same that had bother him in the field. They were being hunted.

“Where are we?”

“My home.” He looked her in the eyes, not wanting to put anything in words but he knew he failed at making her understand his fear at the situation.

“I know people love to exaggerate, but I’ve been told you life in a castle-like mansion…” she had been trying to hard to put a positive spin to almost everything they had experienced during this night, but he could hear the strain in her tone.

“I do. A three-storey building can inspire that description. This was before all that.” He allowed himself to come further into the small cottage. “Before the scales. Be careful of gossip though, a small town can become the underworld itse-” loud footfalls could be heard from outside and a young man ran in, closing the door quickly behind him. “Neal?”

---

With his hands still on the closed door and trying to catch his breath, Neal look up to them with a hint of surprise in them, “I’ve been looking for you.” 

“How are you here?” asked Gold, who was now in between both of them. Belle tried to listen for whatever it was that had Neal running like that, but there was only silence around them.

“A potion, like the one you used on her.” said the young man looking at her. “After a couple of days of neither of you waking up, I had to come and find out what happened.”

“Excuse me, what potion?” she asked. Did he said days?

“It was for him, but Emma collected it and apparently she shared it with you in one of Miss Lucas outings.” Gold answered walking nearer with a contrite look in his face. “It was a mistake, she’s still not very familiar with that side of my business.”

Apparently there were more than just curses and magical powers in this world of him. “So, you brought me here.”

“Technically yes, but it should have worked only once and never meant to completely bring you here.” A dreaming potion, then.

“It didn’t work out like that.” The first time in her life she dreamed and it was because of an accident with a potion, and she had gotten trapped in it for days on end.

“No.” He echoed softly. He never seemed to enjoy the dreams, admittedly he spend them doing hard work. Which at the beginning had been amusing if only for the contrast with the real man. But if he had been that man, it wouldn’t make sense for him to do any of that on purpose. It had been a mistake, that affected both and he was as sorry for herself as for himself.

“Were you intending on being there in Emma dreams?” The implication annoyed her, it didn’t seem right to accuse the man of that.

“No. Believe me son, I had no intention of visiting this place.” She had wanted to answer to Neal, he was crossing a line and this was his father. He could imagine the relationship was complicated but still. She was expecting something different, the sorrow and pleading tone of the reply shut her up. This man, that in both of his versions looked unreachable most of the time, looked tired, the sadness in his expression difficult to pass as something else.

“You have been lying to me then.” there was no surprise in Neal’s voice when he continued. “You were never going to help me”

“That’s not what I meant. The potion effects shouldn’t have involved me in any way.”

“You always do this, don’t you? You trick people into thinking you are working for them and then you are only working for you. All that business with Morpheus’ child and the spell you promised me, it is all a lie. You never intended to do it. Why are you really here?” Belle knew this wasn’t a conversation in which she should be present. The circumstances though, forced her to remain there and she couldn’t help pay attention to both men, the more loud and angry one became the other one became more pleading and defensive. 

“I never planned to come here, this is the last place where the spell would be. There’s no reason for me to be here.”

“And yet you are here with her, thanks to the potion you made. I bet the spell doesn’t do what you said, knowing you it will grant you power in this land, one of the few that is problematic for you.” The intensity in Neal’s eyes was off, a speck of cruelty. He looked young.

“You don’t believe that, please son. You know I’ve listen to you. I’ve been trying to do the right thing, even when it pains me.” If his skin was normal, she’d bet his knuckles would be white from the strength he was closing his fist, as if holding himself long enough to argue a defence. “And that includes giving you a normal lifetime with your family.”

“You want me to be there for you, regardless of the pain it would cause me to see my family die.” That’s when she noticed it, the anger and cruelty mixed at once. Neal was happy with his family, she saw them at the dinner, the way he looked at Emma and little Henry. That Neal had no reasons for this emotion, and he definitely looked older than this man. “You want me to become you and what? By then when I’m all darkness inside, you’ll give me your grand kingdom?”

“Son…” She was sure the man didn’t want to look weak in front of her, it was obvious he was that proud. But it was just as obvious the words had hurt him considerably, perhaps he had thought about it at some point. He closed his eyes, as if seeking focus. It was enough, she didn’t want to be there for more of that.

“Who are you?”

“What do you mean?” It could have been meant for either of them, and it was the young man’s reply that told her she had been right. He wasn’t Neal even though he looked like him.

“You are not Neal.” Gold’s head spun towards her at that, but thankfully he remained silent. 

“Why would you say that? Do you believe him?” he said gesturing widely with his arm towards Gold. “He’s not trustworthy, he will stab you in the back before you know it.” His eyes locked on her, and perhaps their cruel light was sharper at that. “After all, legends have been told for generations about him, deals with the devil and prices too high to pay.” Adapting a mocking and higher voice, much alike the first days of her dream version of Gold, he continued. “Let me introduce you to Rumplestiltskin.” A smirk appeared on his face. A face that was starting to look like another’s, similar but by now evidently not Neal’s. “If I were you I’d go far away from him.” Remembering the part he should have been playing he composed himself before adding, “My mistake was coming back.”

“I’ve made mistakes, it’s been a long life. I’d love to life it with you by my side, but not at the price of your soul.” He still couldn’t see it. It seemed a feature of this place, it had taken her according to him a whole month to see Gaston.

“Unbelievable!” The laugh of the young man was too loud for the small space.

“Neal wouldn’t say any of that. You look younger than him too. Who are you?”

“Oh, you are stubborn.” He seemed to consider something and asked, “If I’d ask you to leave, would you do it?” Belle just shook her head. “No? If you insist then the name is Morpheus.” Within a blink the young man, Morpheus, changed clothes, going for a long night dark coat. “And you are both trespassing. I’ll admit it, I’m impressed. For a human like you to summon a whole building from someone else’s memories is quite an achievement.” He was smiling towards her, sharp and friendless. “You even recognised me. But you’ve proved what I wanted to know. As amusing as you two have been. Imp, take it from me, you’ll regret keeping that deal with Baelfire.” With the simple sentence he dismissed the man he had been insulting, and his focus was on her. While he was having fun with Gold, Rumplestiltskin, or whatever his name was, he wasn’t planning on that for her. She raised her head and promised to herself not be intimidated by him. “And you, child. I’ve given you enough time.” The threat startled her companion into action, it took Morpheus a wave of his hand to freeze him in place. “Don’t even think it, spiky ears. Your magic is already too strained.” He looked back at her, “Answer me one thing, child. Was it all you ever hoped?”

“I don’t understand… What was-”

“You don’t understand… right. She said you were clever, brilliant even. I meant your inheritance, your claim for my kingdom.”

“I gave up my inheritance, my father gave it to Gaston.”

“Not that one. Listen! My kingdom’s share. The fool though he was looking for immortality, I admit you did a good job with him. You convinced him to do the dirty work and think it was his idea, it took me a considerable amount of persuasion to finally be convinced he was telling the truth in that regard.” Pointing at the still frozen man he added. “Once he proved useless you got him.”

Apparently Gaston had come face to face with this being’s anger, she couldn’t explain how such a simple man had drawn the attention of a god. But it was definitely the wrong kind of attention to attract. “Gaston was not a good man but whatever you did to him, he didn’t deserve it.”

“Of course you’d say that, that’s why I had you help me. He was awake, didn’t you know? Everytime you buried him or set him in the lake, he became a little more willing to talk.” She felt her face becoming red, of shame or anger she wasn’t sure. This being had her torture a man day after day. The pressure in her ears made it hard for her to listen to the rest. “He was here just like you two. But I think you humans called that a coma, there in your world. It was never a coma, never quite a pause but a long dragging ending.”

She was trying hard not to give into the impulse to lower her head with everything that was running in her head. In the chaos of her thoughts she noticed something and that kept her going. “He never felt asleep driving.”

“It shines through, that cleverness of yours. No. Not by himself anyway.”

“Why did you do it? Why are you doing this?” It was all too much, too much time and effort. Why had them doing that to the man? Why make him suffer so?

“Why? Because even though she left me, she was my child. My only child! And you killed her. The worst thing is that she gave her immortality away for you. You took her away from me twice. That first time, she said she loved you too much to see you die. She could never see that you were too much like them not to be driven by ambition. Did you get curious why she didn’t let you come here? What was she hiding? Did you then find out about this world and decided you wanted it? The ability to shape realities?”

“I’ve never killed anyone. Who are you talking about?”

“Colette was the name she chose. You don’t deserve to know her true name. She wanted you to have a choice, be human and mortal or be part of this realm as my grandchild, and third in line to the throne. But there’s a hunger in your kind, insidious and ravenous. Even though my daughter was a mortal, it was a long wait, wasn’t it? So you thought you could sneak here, and make yourself ruler?”

“How dare you?” Her voice was breaking and she could feel tears falling. Somehow her body had understood the situation before her mind; there was a slowness to the words he just said as she repeat them in her head trying to make sense of them. He was there looking at her, all the anger and cruelty she had seen, directed at her with great sadness mixed in between. He was breathing hard, just like her. It was the sharp emptiness in her chest that awoke her. “How can you suggest, even think, that I had anything to do with my mother’s death. I loved her and I’ve missed her every second since then. I’ve wondered why she couldn’t make it, I was in the car too, she could have survived too. Every moment I’ve asked why her!”

“Liar! You’ll die today. No more humans in my kingdom, they all can thank you for that. You are all wretched creatures. You’ll be the last meal of my pets for a long time.”

“Wait!” Rumplestiltskin said, trying to move in between but whatever glitch in Morpheus’s spell that allowed him to talk hadn’t been enough to allow him to move. “We can prove she’s innocent.”

“I won’t allow you to trick me.”

“That won’t be a problem. You are actually the only one that can acquire this proof, you can’t doubt its validity since it’s your job’s result. If you are convinced by it as I believe you’ll be, let us go back. I know you don’t trust humans, and I understand but as bland, idiotic or cruel they can be not all are the same. Belle is your grandchild and your daughter loved her, if just for that give her a chance to prove her innocence.”

“No tricks Rumplestiltskin, or I make this longer than either your sanity or darkness can stand.”

He turned as much as he could his head towards her a question in his eyes he didn’t make. “You were able to access my memory to bring this place.” With a cold tone he address the god. “I take it then you can do that too.”

“Undoubtedly.”

That’s it! “Can you access memories the owner can not? Like amnesia.” She asked.

“That’s different. This is a copy of Rumplestiltskin's first home and it is based on his memories not on the reality that inspired it. Most of it is similar enough, but the hearth there is from later on in his life, around the time Baelfire was born. You need the other person to remember to access their memories. If they can’t you can’t.”

“And if it wasn’t natural amnesia?” Rumplestiltskin asked, pointedly not looking at her direction. “Can you lock someone else’s memories?”

“It’s unusual but possible. I haven’t done such with her. What does this questioning have to do with anything?” Morpheus replied impatient.

“It was a car crash. It was natural.” She added.

Still not looking at her he explain “Your mother came to talk with him after she gave up her mortality. Never in your life you had access to this realm, not even in the capacity common to humans. It is possible she could do this too.”

“Why?” It made no sense.

“You are her child. If she did this, could you get to the memories of the crash?”

“I would see them but not unlock them.” The young man looked at her, all the feelings still visible in his look, but locked away brewing and not longer in the surface. “If what I see is convincing enough and you live, you still won’t remember until you learn how to undo her work, if she did it. What it’d be? Remember that if you did kill her I could see that too.”

“Are you sure about this?” Belle asked her companion.

“It is our best option. You can do this.”

It didn’t make sense, she wasn’t the one doing anything. And yet turning to face Morpheus, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Do it.”

The headache started at the back and advanced to the ears feeling akin to high pressure, every sound muted at the same time the pain increased and expanded inside her skull. She wanted to not react, she didn’t want this being to see her flinch. So she focussed in his eyes, which obviously looking in her direction were nevertheless lost, not entirely seeing her. The eerie feeling of such a look help her to stand the pain as it finally hit her forehead and lowered to the back of her eyes. She knew she wouldn’t keep awake for much longer, the corners of her sight going dark. And she couldn’t be sure if he had indeed given her a chance to proof her innocence or if this was him killing her. But she was sure she wouldn’t forget the moment he saw her again, and the sadness in those eyes didn’t belong in a face so young.

---

“Gold!” 

“Finally!”

The place he awoke in was entirely too familiar, dark and with a faint smell of chemicals, the lab in the dungeons was just the same as the moment we went to sleep. His company was apparently just the same, and he had to admit even just to himself that it was nice to see the pair of eccentrics again.

“Why does it feel like I’m made of stone? What did your machines do Viktor?”

“What did they do? What were you doing?” asked Jefferson with a mix of worry and indignation so balanced in his voice that made Gold certain he had been practicing for the future child of his.

“It’s been… almost 60 hours since you went to sleep.” answered the doctor going back to the machines now that he was awake.

“Henry?”

“He enjoyed the tea party I prepared.” said proudly the jumper. “But his father came the following morning to collect him.”

“Neal has been worried. Specially since you passed the two days mark.” the sound of typing accompanied the comment.

“If it weren’t because Mr French was starting to lose it at the dinner…” said Jefferson with a role of his eyes. “Emma and Neal had been taking turns checking on him, you and Henry.”

“Is she alright?” there was no use in giving details, if he had been asleep for so long so had she, and probably with her father staying in the dinner everyone in town would now who he meant.

“She probably woke up at the same time as you, I’ll call.” offered Viktor.

“Or you can go and wake the town’s own sleepy beauty.” he had to roll his eyes at that, which only made the young man laugh.

---

After almost three days spent sleeping, three days in which her father had drove the Lucasses into a frenzy and almost given himself a heart attack, it had taken weeks for them to find some sense of normalcy. The women had been lovely, taking care of and distracting her father but the three of them had taken to be too protective of her and that had started to drain her. Neal and Emma had been great with her father as well and they had taken to drive him around showing him all the nooks and crannies of town, a knowing look from Emma that told her to take that time for herself. 

And she needed it, all that had happened had shattered her vision of what was normal, she had spend more time that was probably good revisiting her childhood and her memories of her mother, to see if anything unusual was there. It took her awhile too, to understand the part of Gaston in all of it, if Morpheus had been right the man had known about her mother and had killed her. Thankfully it didn’t took much effort to convince her father to stay longer, of only for him to miss the burial. He didn’t need to know the man he loved as a son had killed his wife, but she wouldn’t let him go to the ceremony as petty as it made her. Maurice had taken the extension as an opportunity to convince her to come back, even if he claimed he had understood her decision in the past he argued he couldn’t do much from afar if something happened again. The question about leaving was small but had ingrained itself in her mind, she needed something to kill that small doubt. After all she had said to her father to not hope much in that regard.

And yet, amidst all of that she hadn’t seen her friend since the incident. The store had been closed for a week and then she hadn’t had the time to go in. Neal said he was fine when she asked but that was all she knew. The experience hadn’t been good for him either, even if it wasn’t Neal who confronted him, she had seen how much the accusations had hurt him, and how much he believed them.

That day her father was chatting animatedly with Mrs Lucas and with both completely distracted she took the chance to go to the pawnshop. 

The bell at the door announced her entrance. The man appeared a couple of minutes later from the backroom. “Hey, Good morning.”

He smiled as soon as he recognised her, “Good morning, Miss French.”

“Are we going back to that?” she raised an eyebrow for emphasis, in her mind the dream had erased the need for that kind of formality. “You can call me Belle if you like.”

“Alright Belle.” he said stepping in front of the counter hands over the head of his cane. “What brings you here today?” 

“You haven’t visited the dinner or library in a while, and considering that the dreams are over… I though we might have a chat pending.” she hadn’t been sure what she wanted to talk about but seeing him standing in front of her looking down at his hands, she knew.

“I though it better to give you some time, to process everything that happened. And there was your father…”

“I understand. I needed that time. But I wanted to make a deal with you, Rumplestiltskin, if interested of course.” Better to make sure they were in the same page to treat everything that happen as real, the use of his true name would do it.

“You wanted to talk business.” His smile became smaller, but he looked up to her again. It was easier for him to do so when he close off a little. Did he expect her to agree with Morpheus on his opinion of him?  “What deal do you have in mind?”

“I still don’t remember and you are still looking for my mother’s spell.”

“But, you see, a deal is possible when one party has something the other one wants, and we know I can’t give you your memories nor do you know where is the spell.”

“True. Yet, we are each other's best chance at finding what we look for, you can teach me how to control my powers, and I offer you my help in your search. She was my mother, I might have a better chance than your rock band members.” She hoped he understood what she was saying, with a smile she asked, “What do you say Rumple?

A brief war passed through his eyes, and how did he became so infamous when he was so easy to read? “They do look the part, don’t they?” The smile returned to his face, “I’d be glad to continue being your henchman.” 

There were too many reasons to stay.

[ericvick]

many in US struggle to pay rent. Their stories.

The National Multifamily Housing Council found a 12 percentage point decrease in the share of apartment households that paid their rent through April 5.

Last weekend, Apartment List surveyed 4,129 people and asked whether they were able to pay their mortgage or rent on April 1. The result: 1 in 4 renters/homeowners did not pay it in full, and of the those people who were unable to make their payment, 45 percent of renters and 44 percent of homeowners reached an agreement with their landlords or lenders to defer or reduce their payments.

Most state and local governments are putting evictions on pause as states prepare to pay unemployment and the federal government prepares to send stimulus checks. So for most, April’s knock won’t come with a notice to get out.

A roof over the head is one of the most basic needs in life. Without money for rent, how can the other bills get paid? And while many will get a reprieve in April, eventually the rent comes due, whether or not the restaurant, plant, or construction site reopens when the COVID-19 threat lessens.

Here are some of the stories of Americans trying to make the rent, this month and beyond:

At 21 years old, Jade Brooks pulls in her family’s only full-time salary, working at a hospital switchboard.

Brooks’s mother just lost her job at a health insurance company ­­— a casualty of the plummeting economy. She’s found part-time work at the hospital, but between them, they make only $400 weekly after taxes and insurance, Brooks said. Their rent is $1,810.

During sleepless nights, Brooks worries most about her 8-year-old cousin, who lives with them.

“I don’t want her to grow up in a homeless shelter, having to sleep in a bunk bed with other people, asking why we have to stand in a long line to get a room to sleep in, why we have to stand in a long line to get food, why she can’t invite her friends over,’’ Brooks said. “It’s hard to explain that to an 8-year-old.’’

— Michael Casey, Boston

Itza Sanchez knows she can’t make her $400 rent for April. She’s praying to the Virgin of Guadalupe that she doesn’t get kicked out of her Richmond, Va., mobile-home park.

Sanchez made her money searching for and recycling scrap metal and selling tamales in a heavily Hispanic neighborhood. Fear of getting sick has stopped both income streams.

A single mother of two who emigrated from Honduras to the United States 14 years ago, Sanchez’s 7-year-old daughter and 11-year-old son have been eating lunches delivered to the neighborhood by schools and depending on churches for other meals.

“I’m basically penniless,’’ Sanchez, 39, said in Spanish.

She hasn’t heard from the landlord about what will happen if the rent isn’t paid. So she keeps praying.

“May she help us. May the Virgin put her love over us and help us.’’

— Regina Garcia Cano, Washington

Andrea Larson made $70,000 a year curating wine lists and suggesting pairings to customers at 5th & Taylor. But the popular Nashville restaurant closed its dining area, and working as a sommelier isn’t something Larson can do from home.

The first unemployment check was $275 for a week. Larson said she was humiliated but applied for food stamps.

“I’m screwed financially,’’ Larson said. “If I do pay my rent, it’s going to eat into my food money.’’

Larson, 42, moved from a high-rise downtown apartment to a house in east Nashville four months ago. Rent was cheaper. She planned to pay off debt and start saving. Instead, she called credit card companies and said she couldn’t pay the minimum.

Larson’s restaurant offered a few shifts answering phones for takeout, but she figures it’s not worth the risk of getting COVID-19.

“I do wine, and nobody wants to hear about wine right now,’’ she said. ‘‘They just want to chug it.’’

— Travis Loller, Nashville

Roushaunda Williams was able to scrimp and use credit card cash advances to pay the $1,850 rent for April for her two-bedroom Uptown Chicago apartment.

But the rent comes due again in 30 days. Can she afford a smaller apartment in her building if one’s available? Should she move in with friends if they’ll let her?

“April 1 isn’t even here yet, and I’m already working on what I’m going to do for May 1,’’ Williams, 52, said.

Before being laid off, she made drinks and chatted with people from around the world for 20 years as a bartender at the Palmer House Hilton Hotel in the heart of Chicago’s downtown Loop.

Her income depended on tips — in the best times, she’d make $70,000 to $100,000 annually. Now, she’s on unemployment for the first time and searching for work.

— Kathleen Foody, Chicago

Tnia Morgan shares her Baltimore County, Md., town house with her 18-year-old pregnant daughter and 18-year-old nephew. And they all spend a lot more time together since Morgan was laid off March 6 from her job serving food at a hotel banquet hall.

Morgan’s landlord told her to take her time with the rent, but it isn’t the only bill piling up. She ticks them off: car payment, car insurance, cellphone, Internet, water, gas, and electricity. And she always has to buy food, so tough choices are ahead, especially until unemployment benefits kick in.

Morgan, 39, has checked on getting food stamps and looked for work at stores and warehouses with no luck.

She appreciates her landlord’s kindness this month, but she knows he needs her rent money to pay his bills.

“If I don’t pay the rent, it falls on him,’’ Morgan said. “We can’t be evicted right now, but eventually they’re going to want their money.’’

— Michael Kunzelman, Silver Spring, Md.

Bartender Luke Blaine was laid off when the downtown Phoenix restaurant Fez closed, but he’s not too worried about rent — yet.

He shares his small adobe-style home and backyard garden of tomatoes, beets, squash, radish, lettuce, and eggplants with his boyfriend, Kyle Schomer. Schomer still has his job in technology and works from home.

Blaine, 30, figures unemployment will kick in. His car is paid for, and he owes little beyond a small credit card balance.

Blaine credits his thrifty nature to his family. And that’s whom he worries about most these days. His mother and sister are nurses in Illinois, not far from hard-hit Chicago.

“It definitely is nerve-racking having your family on the front line,’’ Blaine said.

— Anita Snow, Phoenix

Ruqayyah Bailey’s life had balance — so important with her autism — before coronavirus.

She was going to college and was a part-time cafe cashier. She couldn’t wait for the Special Olympics in March, to run and compete in the long jump and shot put.

But the virus closed the cafe, canceled the meet, and ended the community college’s personal instruction.

Bailey, 30, of St. Louis County, was dipping into savings for food and other necessities, so she’s moved back in with her mother. She hopes it’s temporary and she can get back to her apartment, with its $400 monthly rent.

“I had to suspend my Internet and my cable,’’ Bailey said of her apartment. “It’s tough because I’m so used to being there in my own little space.’’

— Jim Salter, St. Louis

Jason W. Still was let go from his job as a cook, and he’s found one small benefit: He hasn’t spent as much money since he’s inside most days.

Still and his wife — who works in packaging for a marijuana dispenser in Spokane, Wash., — should be able to make April’s rent as they wait to see what he’ll get in unemployment and from the federal government.

Still, 30, worked at a high-end restaurant and just finished the last classes for his bachelor’s degree. Now he’s applying for graduate school to study environmental economics and public policy.

In unemployment, he has a lot of time on his hands. “I’ve seen corners of my house that I didn’t know existed.’’

— Anita Snow, Phoenix

It’s a lousy choice, but an easy one for personal trainer and apparel designer Sakai Harrison — food in the refrigerator over April rent for his Brooklyn apartment.

Harrison, 27, moved from Atlanta to see whether he could succeed in the toughest place in the world. And he was on his way, with 20 clients training one on one.

Then his gym shut down with the rest of the city. And the $1,595 rent is due.

“The way I see it, the whole world is on pause,’’ Harrison said. “I’d rather allocate my money towards my actual survival, which would be food.’’

An acquaintance is letting Harrison use a basement as a makeshift gym. It has dumbbells, a bench, and a punching bag left by a previous tenant. Harrison wears disposable gloves and keeps his distance. A few clients keep coming, but not as many as before.

“My clients are like my family, for the most part, especially in New York, because I’m here alone,’’ he said.

— Aaron Morrison, New York

Tinisha Dixon was homeless before she moved into her current apartment and is now struggling to make the rent.

She said she was about to start a new job at the State Road and Tollway Authority. But the job was put on hold, thanks to the virus.

The rent bill of $1,115 is due whether she’s working or not. It covers the apartment near downtown Atlanta she shares with her partner and their five kids. Dixon, 26, said she’s trying to braid hair, and her partner has sought work as a security guard.

Dixon’s landlord had gone to court to evict the family before the coronavirus. Now she worries not making April’s payment will strengthen that case.

“Are we going to be out on the street when this is over?’’ she said. ‘‘Because this is what we’ve been fighting for this whole time, not being back out on the street.’’

— Sudhin Thanawala, Atlanta

With help from friends and a nonprofit, Jas Wheeler can pay April’s rent. But Wheeler and their partner just bought a house down the road in Vergennes, Vt., and the first mortgage payment is due in May.

“I am just really just trying to pray,’’ said Wheeler, who hopes to see unemployment checks soon but worries the system is overwhelmed with so many people out of work.

Wheeler was laid off from a bakery. The 30-year-old thought about a grocery store job, but they don’t want to risk exposure to the coronavirus. So for now, they’ll wait to see whether the bakery reopens.

“I would rather just get an unemployment check and ride it out … I’m really thinking at the end of all this whenever that is, I’ll be happy to get any job that I can get.’’

— Michael Casey, Boston

Neal Miller is refusing to pay April’s rent, to make a point.

Miller’s last stable job was as an adjunct professor at Loyola University in Chicago. He recently was working temporary jobs, until that dried up, thanks to the virus.

Miller, 38, shares a house on the west side of Chicago with four others and pays $400 of the $1,500 monthly rent.

Miller and his roommates decided to join leaders of Chicago activist groups calling for a rent strike amid the virus outbreak.

“We wrote a letter, sort of stated our situation,’’ Miller said. “We’re still waiting to hear back. We’re not sure if that’s a good sign or if that lack of response means we’ll be hearing from a lawyer.’’

– Kathleen Foody, Chicago

Subscribe to the Globe’s free real estate newsletter — our weekly digest on buying, selling, and design — at pages.email.bostonglobe.com/AddressSignUp. Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter @globehomes.

[thestraggletag]

Mistaken Identity, a RCIJ Fic

Prompt: Tinkerbae Twins Reveal Rumbelle Grandparents

Recipient: @maddiebonanafana

Rating: PG

Summary: There’s nothing quite like having people confuse you and your crush for expecting parents.

Author’s Note: I hope you really enjoy this present, Maddie. I have to admit I struggled with it a lot because I just could NOT make it work as a rumbelle prompt. It just... it felt too difficult. The prompt would naturally venture more into Tinkerbae territory but since the focus is supposed to be Rumbelle and I wanted to give you that I tried hard to make it work and this is what came out. I’m sorry there’s no smut, the story just didn’t naturally go that way. I’m sorry that I had such problems with your prompt but I hope you like how I managed to make it all about Rumbelle in the end! Thanks for all your help!

For anyone who is curious about the products mentioned in this fic Gold and Belle go to this baby store, which I thought was very much in keeping with Tink and Bae’s aesthetics. Except that creepy sheep mobile. 

It had taken Bae a year to introduce him to his girlfriend, his old resentment and mistrust making him wary of how things would go. Royce didn't really blame him, after all that had happened between them. He was happy to have been given a second chance at all, really. Cristina- "Please, call me Tink, everyone does"- Green turned out to be a lovely woman. Curious, vivacious and upbeat, and most importantly truly in love with his son. He would have welcomed her in the family even if he'd thought her a horrible person, but thankfully that hadn't been the case. Then again Bae had always been a great judge of character. Not in the way Royce himself was, cerebral and calculating, but in an empathetic way. He saw into the hearts of people.

It was such an ability that first made him distance himself from his father, back when he'd been nothing more than a twisted mass of hurt and anger. And though it had hurt like nothing else in the world had ever had, Royce was glad Bae did it. It allowed him to grow emotionally healthy and carefree, had allowed him to build himself a little family. And had allowed him to, eventually, be open to reconnecting with him, to try to repair what Gold had thought irrevocably broken. And so, little by little, Bae had introduced him to his close circle of friends, his little New York family. Perhaps as a las passive-aggressive gesture he'd started with Fa Mulan, former roommate and chef who took six months to stop giving him the stink-eye. Wendy Darling, though friendly, seemed to always be wary of him, as if she half-expected him to snap at any given moment. Her brothers were little better, though they were a tad more discreet about it.

"Sir, can I help you?"

"I'm waiting for someone."

It had taken Bae weeks to tell him of his first days in New York City, having ran away from his mother's home. At sixteen he'd managed to take odd jobs until landing steady work as a busboy for the restaurant in which Mulan worked. It was her idea to put him up for the night when his landlord evicted him out of the blue but it was her roommate’s idea to sort of adopt him. She'd taken one look at his scrawny teen self and had decided he needed someone. Royce had no doubt Bae had fought tooth and nail against the very notion, still angry at the world and everyone in it, but there had been nothing but love in his eyes when he'd introduced him to "Mama Belle". With a name like that, he'd imagined someone different. Matronly, round, the sort of person that would adopt waifs and strays and keep one too many cats. Reality was... entirely different. Belle French was scarcely ten years older than Bae, a librarian working the Acquisitions department of the NYPL. She was small, even for his standards, and delicate-looking, though incredibly energetic at the same time, a force of nature. Neal found it easier to cave in to her gentle mothering than fight it, even though he was clearly unused to such attention.

Mama Belle was also embarrassingly attractive. A mass of gently-curled brown-red hair, impossible blue eyes, the most enchanting Australian accent he'd ever heard... it wasn't fair. He'd spent the first weeks after meeting her learning how to talk to her in words other than pathetic monosyllabic. Bae, the little shit, seemed to love it. He'd been afraid his father would lash out at Belle, a person who had gotten to be there for Bae when he hadn't, who was privy to a part of his life that Gold was struggling to access. To find him instead falling under Belle's spell was, he often said, karma.

It was Royce's reaction to Belle that finally made Bae introduce him to Cristina, a mechanical engineer working for some Manhattan-based company specializing in green energies or the like, something to do with solar panels that Tink had tried to explain to him at least five times since he'd met her. Fortunately for him his son's girlfriend seemed to be on his side, determined to see father and son working on repairing their relationship.

He considered it a triumph to have been one of the first people to hear about the pregnancy, and the later announcement that they were expecting twins. At forty-seven Royce felt a bit young for grandchildren but he didn't have to pretend to be excited. As unlikely as it seemed he loved children. Children didn't judge, didn't criticise, weren't malicious. Children loved unconditionally, passionately, without pretence or expectations. He'd loved raising Bae, even though they'd been dirt-poor at the time, and had hoped for more children in the future. And though none of his dreams had come true he now had, in a way, a second chance at that. He was wealthy now and had little to spend it on other than grandkids so when Bae asked him for help outfitting the nursery- "Tink's got her hands full trying to finish as much as possible at work before maternity leave and between work and school I just don't have the time"- he'd agreed comically fast. He hadn't considered the dynamics of it at the time, hadn't considered how little he knew about modern childcare products or Bae and Tink's own tastes. When Bae had been born, they had been too poor for anything not donated or second-hand, and had done without much of what he was sure his son and daughter-in-law would consider essential.

"I'm sorry I'm late, but I'm here."

Belle appeared next to him out of thin air, so deep in his own thoughts he'd been. Obligingly he ducked his head a little so she could kiss his cheek, something that had taken some getting used to, and smiled shyly. He was glad the fear of failing his son had pushed him into calling in reinforcements, he was sure that otherwise he wouldn't have dared bother Belle. She, gentle soul that she was, had jumped at the chance to help. At thirty-two she was of an age where friends and acquaintances were starting their own families so she was fairly familiar with what Bae and Tink would need for the twins, and were best to get it. He certainly wouldn't have located the trendy Brooklyn store by himself, with its modern industrial designs very unlike his own preferences. But it was, he acknowledged, very much in keeping with what he had seen in Bae and Tink's flat, modern and sleek.

"So, how does the grandpa-to-be feel? Must be a bit disconcerting, being a grandfather at such an age. I know when Bae joked about his children calling me "Grandma Belle" I almost hit him with a leather-bound edition of Les Mis."

He winced, hoping the glee on his face wasn't stupidly evident.

'She thinks I'm young.'

"Okay, so here we can cover most of the furniture and bedding, but I want to go to other places for the clothing, get more diversity."

It took her one raised hand and a smile to get the attention of an employee, who took one look at Gold's Brioni suit and Belle's patent leather designer shoes and snapped almost comically to action, ready to sell them every single item on the store. Thankfully, however, Belle seemed to have clear ideas about what she wanted and how she wanted it, and though she didn't use intimidation or thinly-veiled threats bur rather charm and gentle coaxing, it reminded him a lot of his own deal-making process.

"Your wife is a very astute shopper, sir."

It took him a moment to realise the shopping assistant was talking to him and a moment longer to realise she was talking to him about Belle. He felt himself grow hot in the face immediately, his mind searching for the words to explain the mistake without dissolving into unintelligible stammering.

"Come, sweetheart, I want you to see this adorable bassinet I just discovered."

As he allowed himself to be lovingly-dragged by Belle he looked around, seeing many sets of eyes on them, many of them male, all of them faintly questioning. And it struck him that what they saw was an old, besotted fool and the pretty young thing he had somehow managed to knock up. They thought they were a couple, shopping and preparing for the arrival of a baby. And, embarrassingly, he found himself loving it. It was easy, especially given Belle's tactile nature, to wrap an arm loosely around her waist and lean close to study the bassinet she was pointing at, easy to keep close to her as they moved on to the mobile section.

"Oh, God, who would buy that awful sheep mobile? It looks like it could be the centre part of a horror movie argument."

It was the shopping experience he'd always wanted for when he'd been waiting for Bae's arrival. A full wallet, a warm and enthusiastic partner and all the time in the world. Belle, with her whimsical yet practical nature, was a perfect complement to his own rather extravagant and over-indulgent tastes. Every purchase meant a lively debate, complete with good-natured bantering and a thrilling dash of flirting. It became a game of sorts between them, a gentle tug-o-war that lead to some interesting purchases.

"Tink's gonna love that giant bunny lamp, just you wait."

"I'm still telling Bae it was solely your idea. I'll tell them I fought valiantly, made him proud."

After the first store came others, and though he had a minor scare when Belle realised people were mistakenly assuming they were expecting parents, she didn't seem to mind, rather the contrary. She played it up, made it a part of her rather formidable shopping strategy. And though he knew it was stupid, and risky and likely to leave him emotionally compromised, he gave himself over to the fantasy completely. It was bittersweet how easy it was, how little effort it required. He was prickly by nature, skittish and touch-shy, but it wasn't so with Belle. Something about her made it dangerously easy to lower his defences, to let her in. By the time the sun began to sink and they exited their last shop, Toys R Us, he knew he was a goner.

"Well, this was fun, being pregnant for a day. Thanks for letting me tag along."

"I couldn't have done this without you. Had no idea babies required so many things, other than the obvious. And I'm glad that people's assumptions didn't make you uncomfortable. I'll admit it was easier to pretend."

Belle bit her lip, which he quickly categorised as the world's most erotic unconscious habit, and tilted her head to the side.

"Maybe people could... mistake us for a couple on their first date? Say... on Sunday? I know a lovely place for brunch, most divine omelettes and a raspberry jam to die for."

It took him a rather long amount of time to process her words, to pair them up with the hopeful, open expression on her face and the rather endearing nervous way in which she tugged a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Y-y-yes, that'd be... yes. Sunday. This Sunday. Around eleven?"

"Eleven would be perfect."

A year later Mr and Mrs Gold were amused at having to pretend to be expecting their second son instead of their first.

"It's the bunny lamp. No shop is going to forget the couple that bought a toddler-sized bunny night lamp."

"Oh, hush and look at this adorable tree bookcase. I swear the moment I saw it I felt Gideon kick. We must have it."