#like girl i was here for yellow church don’t try to explain things to me

[boner4murder]

my main thing is that it felt like my hand was being held through watching it? but not in a good way? that doesn’t make any sense but i’m in math class so please excuse me

[lordabovehelpme]

Tied to You - Bucky Barnes x Reader

For my lovely best friend. Happy birthday my dear, I hope you are having a wonderful morning and this puts a smile on your face. Trust me, it’s been hard to keep this a secret from you for so long, but I hope you enjoy. I love you, and I will see you later!!! 

Summary: You’re so happy to be standing before him, but something on his wrist brings you back to the very first time you met.

Warnings: f! reader, marriage

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Excitement sends thrills up and down your spine, tingling through your toes and pooling in your stomach. You clutch the simple bouquet between your hands tighter and take a deep breath, trying to calm your frantic nerves.

Finally, after what seems like both an eternity and a millisecond, the classic “here comes the bride” starts to echo. Taking one more quick breath, you let your shoulders relax and start to turn the corner.

There you emerge from behind the doors of the little church in Brooklyn. Family and friends stand as you start your descent down the aisle. You meant to smile at the crying relatives, to give them some sort of comfort, but you can’t take your eyes off of him.

He stands before the altar, adorned in a black suit with a black tie. His hands stay clasped before him, but his striking blue eyes meet your own. They soften at the sight of you and his shoulders slightly shift towards you.

However, once you offer him a small smile, his eyes rack down your form and back up before meeting your gaze again. Usually his gaze causes you to fluster and try to hide away, but today you stand tall as you approach him.

He offers you a hand as you climb the few steps and you gladly take it. Handing the beautiful bouquet to your maid of honor, you look down at your clasped hands.

No longer does he shy away from you touching the metal, and no longer do you hesitate.

But something catches your eye as you settle before him. Right there on his metal wrist is a bracelet of thread. The one you made him all those years ago; bright yellows and blues, with tan and green. They all compliment the vibranium perfectly.

The sentiment is overwhelming and a gasp gets caught in your throat. “You wore it.” Your voice is small and he doesn’t need clarification to know what has puzzled you.

“Of course I did, doll.”

***

He can’t take his eyes off you. There you sit with some older ladies, spools of brightly colored thread by your side as you try and explain how to make a bracelet.

“Yeah, you’re starting to get it, this just crosses over here… see?” You lean over and point at one ladys horrible excuse of a friendship bracelet. They all laugh at one another and point out each other's mistakes, but become very defensive when their own flaws are pointed out.

“You should go talk to her!” An elbow is pressed into his side and Yori smirks.

“No I should not.” His eyes snap to face the older man, but not even a second passes before they beg to find your form again.

“Why not? She’s not getting any younger, and neither are you.”

Bucky sighs, but a small smile breaks onto his lips. “Haha, very funny. But I don’t even know what to say.”

Yori shrugs his shoulders. “Flatter her, girls love that. Tell her you love her eyes, her lips, her hair. Anything.”

A scoff falls from his lips as his head shakes. “I’m not going to suck up to her in hopes of a date.”

Yori places his hands over his own and he offers a smile to the soldier. His long white eyebrows twitch in the classic sign that the next few words will be uncharacteristically wise. The older man's eyes meet blue eyes and he gestures for him to lean in. Bucky follows and leans his head down.

“You will.”

Before the words even process in his head, Yori has already walked off, laughing loud as he clutches a hand to his chest. Once again, Bucky shakes his head at his antics.

“No I won’t.” He utters under his breath, before walking over to your little circle of mischievous old ladies.

You look up at him and he swears he might legitimately melt. “Hi!” You offer him a smile and he is already making funeral plans in his head.

“Oh, uh, hi.” Subconsciously, his flesh hand finds itself on the back of his neck, trying to rub away his nerves.

“Can I help you?”

He swears in his head, what does he need? He needs you. But he can’t say that. Swearing again, he tries to think of anything that would make sense to a normal human being.

“Yeah, I…” His eyes flicker around and land on one ladies bracelet. “I wanted to make a bracelet.”

Well great. Now he’s done it. He must look like the biggest dork in history. What was he thinking? Why couldn’t he just admire you from afar?

“Oh.” You genuinely look surprised. “Of course!” A wide smile breaks onto your face and you pat the empty seat next to you. “Come sit down and we’ll get you some thread.”

He can hear Yori’s laugh from the opposing corner. But, he follows your command and takes a seat next to you. Blue eyes follow your movements as you reach for a plastic container holding an entire rainbow of thread.

“So, what color are you thinking?”

He gives the rainbow one good look before sighing. “I don’t know.” You look at him as he offers a small awkward smile.

“Oh, okay. Well… do you know what type of bracelet you want?”

His fingers anxiously pick at the hem of his jacket. Shaking his head he murmurs, “Sorry, I know nothing about thread.”

Things seem to click in your mind that he has literally no idea about this stuff because you smile and slightly laugh. “Ahh, I see. That’s alright! Do you want me to choose some colors for you?”

His stomach flutters and he smiles at your soft laugh. “Yeah, doll, that would be nice.” The pet name slipped before he could even dream of stopping it. Once again, a long, loud, strand of curse words flood his mind.

Your movements stop, but quickly resume. In fact, you were so fast he’s not even sure you caught his slip. He watches with quizzical eyes as you pull brightly colored threads and measure them with your arms. Your fingertips move with ease as they tie the strands together and then hold it out to him. He reaches out and purposefully slides his fingers over your own.

“H-” your voice breaks out suddenly and he just smiles as you slightly fluster, clearing your throat you continue, “Here you go.”

He throws you a smirk and takes them from you. But then his plan of seduction hastingly halts when he realizes he has no idea what to do with the strands. So he just lets his hands rest in his lap as he stares down at the colorful strands.

“Do you need help?” You ask.

His head slowly tilts to meet your gaze and soft smile. He swears his heart stopped. Taking a gulp he prays you don't notice, he offers you a smile back. “Umm yeah.”

You scootch your chair next to his and reach over to grab the thread. Now he knows his heart stopped. You start explaining how to start a simple design but he can’t focus.

He means to focus, he wants to focus, but the smell of your shampoo wafts to his nose and makes his breaths longer. The subtle heat flowing from your skin to his where your arms slightly touch makes him want to close his eyes and lean in further to your touch.

“Are you paying attention?”

His eyes shoot open and heat rises to his cheeks. “Yes!”

One of your eyebrows twitch and amusement twinkles behind your eyes, but you continue where you stopped. He forces himself to listen and not be distracted any longer.

After about an hour of small talk and you helping him, finally the bracelet is long enough to tie off. Everytime your hand brushed his heart would skip a beat.

Now you tie the bracelet onto his wrist and cut the long ends. “There!” You smile at him and he nearly melts into a puddle beneath your feet.

“Thanks doll.” This time he doesn’t miss the way your body slightly stiffens and your eyes widen a tad.

“Umm, yeah.” You clasp your hands before you and open your mouth, but before you can say anything the older ladies call for you that they need your immediate help. You give him an apologetic smile, “Sorry, I have to go, but it was nice to meet you…” trailing off when you realize you don’t know his name.

“Bucky.”

Nodding at him, your smile widens from remorseful to joy. “Bucky, it was nice to meet you.”

He watches as you walk away, laughing and giggling with the old ladies. “You too doll, you too.” Little did you know, but you walked off right with his heart. The once stone cold piece of meat, now fluttering and happily beating beneath your gaze and care. And for the last time that day another flood of curse words plagued his mind.

***

His hands squeeze your own and he takes a deep breath, blue eyes meeting your own. The bright bracelet proudly on display for anyone to see.

“Doll, there were many times I was lost and you found me. There were days which were heavy, and you picked me up and lightened my heart. Through it all, you were always there for me.”

His voice wavers a little and you can’t deny the water pooling at the corners of your eyes.

“And I know that will never change. I promise to love you as you are and to respect our differences while still supporting and encouraging you. Whatever the future holds, know that I will stand by you and love you. Through pain and passion, sorrow and hope. Through death and through life I will love you. Everyday and with whatever we face I promise to love you because I am tied to you.”

You have to drop one of his hands to wipe away your tears as you smile up at him. Then you say your own vows. And finally after the classic I do’s, the officiant says, “You may now kiss your bride.”

The two of you lock eyes before he swoops down and captures your lips within his own. One of his hands wraps around your waist and holds you steady. The crow erupts in shouts and glee for the two of you but neither of you care. He leans back and you both just smile at one another for a while, both holding the widest grins you have ever had in your entire life.

“I love you.” He says.

“I love you too.” You say back.

Later in the night, as the two of you sway, your arms wrapped around his shoulders and head on his chest, the final words in his vow finally make sense. You play with the string bracelet on his wrist.

“Tied to you huh? You were proud of that one, weren’t you?”

He chuckles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Was it obvious?”

“Dork.”

He smiles. “But I’m your dork.”

“Oh my god!” You sigh, “James Buchanan Barnes,” landing a poke to his chest to emphasize your point, “you are the most cheesiest, handsomest, loveable dork out there.” You stand on your tiptoes to catch a kiss from him. “And you're all mine.”

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Yes yes, I know. “Lordy what the heck? Why are you writing for Bucky?” Well this is a birthday gift for my friend who loves Bucky, so yeah. 

Disclaimer!!! I will not write for Bucky normally!!! This was purely a gift!!!

But please, if you liked it, consider reblogging or leaving a comment, I love hearing what you all have to say! (And maybe y’all can convince me to write for him more. Idk, I’m not promising anything.) 

Love, Lordy :) 

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Everything tags: @jedi-jesi​ @along-the-lines-of-space​ @madsvano4 @golfmarshal​

If you want to be added/removed from my taglist- please fill out the form below or just give me a holler! :) 

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[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.1]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.2k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn't help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 2 There’s also a playlist for this story that you can find here and here.

Chapter 01: A High Destiny

A high destiny seemed to bear me on until I fell, never, never again to rise.

[Mary W. Shelley, Frankenstein]

    It starts as it will end: in darkness.

    Black dots dance in front of your eyes, merging into dark shadows clawing at your consciousness. A dull throb pounds in your temple, a steady rhythm that speaks of life but isn’t enough to allow awareness of your surroundings. Memory is a foreign word you can’t explain, and trying to think of the past 24 hours is an unachievable task. Every glimpse slips through your fingers like sand, and the only steady reference point is the solid ground pressing into your hands and back.

    Slowly, you open your eyes. Treetops dance in the wind, towering above you like silent guardians of ancient times. The sun winks at you through thick branchesa and dancing green crowns, indicating it’s long past daybreak—but how do you know? Your memory is still a vast pool with no bottom and no means to dive into, and yet you think there’s a voice calling out to you, a heart-wrenching young, boyish voice—no, those are real voices ringing through the woods, appearing close to you. Alarmingly close.

    “You’re awake,” a woman’s voice starts, moments later followed by a corresponding face. Round, lavender eyes surrounded by thick, white lashes peak from above at you, blinking curiously. It’s an expression far from friendly, but not exactly hostile either, and of all the things you can think of at this moment, it is how strikingly beautiful she is. But before you can say anything, another person joins, leaning too close in for comfort.

    “You got us worried there, stranger,” a young man chimes in, squatting down beside you. His uniform isn’t exactly what you’d call fit for travelling through the woods. A heavy yellow cape falls over his shoulder, more fanciful display than practical use. But something in his posture seems very attentive, his broad shoulders taut like a drawn bowstring that won’t miss its target. “Weird place to take a nap, but hey, I’m not judging.”

    “I wasn’t—” you start, immediately struck by a throbbing pain behind your right eye that reverberates through your skull and wretches a groan from you.

    “Take it easy,” another voice joins, and panic spreads through you because of the amount of people surrounding you. Where the first man is a picture of warm colours—gold and sun kissed skin nourished on warm summer days, the other man observing you with a worried expression is clad in blue and black, blond hair falling into a pale face that carries the most striking blue eyes you’ve ever seen. Or so you think, because surely a colour like this, a blue stolen right out of the sky, wouldn’t be easily forgotten.

    More movement and rustling of fabric, and a chill settles in your bones as you begin to fear that you’ve run into a bunch of ruffians who’ve only kept you alive for so long because they’re hoping for valuable information. More people emerge from the underbrush, carrying large sacks and backpacks with billycans dangling at their sides. Among them, a tall man with a beard, clad in robust mercenary’s gear, steps forward, concealing another young woman with sharp features and unusual greenish blue hair.

    The sight of her strikes you like a bolt. It tastes like familiarity and the relief of being reunited with a long lost friend. But that is impossible. This is the first time you meet her.

    Is it?

    “You brats, I told you not to head off too far,” the older man bellows, crossing logs for arms in front of his broad chest. The first three take one big, polite step away from you, but don’t look apologetic at all.

    “I’m sorry for our hastiness, Captain Jeralt,” the girl says, her eyes darting from you still sitting on the ground to him towering in his full height above them. “But it seems we would have otherwise not found this person.”

    “This person who wasn’t really much conscious a couple of minutes ago,” the boy in yellow adds with a crooked grin. “How bad would it have been if someone else would have beaten us to it?”

    “No need to make me look like the bad guy,” Captain Jeralt interrupts with a raised hand before the boy in blue can join his friends' justifications. Instead, he turns to you and regards you with a scrutinising look.

    “What are you doing out here?” he demands. “Where’s your family? Friends?”

    “Uhm, they’re—” you start, but nothing comes to your mind. Not only that. You don’t know why you’re out here, where you are exactly … and basically anything that should come to you about your own person remains shrouded in darkness. “I don’t know.”

    Jeralt nods like that explains the very reason you’re still sitting on the ground like a misplaced cargo of cabbage. He kneads the nape of his neck, his face softening the tiniest bit. “And what’s your name?”

    Unable to hold his piercing eyes, you drop your gaze to the ground, curling your trembling fingers into the fabric of your wool jacket. “I, uh… don’t know.”

    If you thought you didn’t have their attention before, now their eyes are glued on your face in different levels of shock and disbelief.

    “A case of amnesia?” the blond male says, not quite managing to achieve the right balance between blatant curiosity and polite worry. “Does this mean you have nowhere to go? Don’tknow where to go?”

    “Goddess help you, Dimitri,” the other boy groans, running a hand through his short, brown hair. “Be any more tactless, will ya?”

    “He isn’t wrong,” the girl says, observing you like you’re a fascinating new specimen in her collection of strange things. “You need a place to stay. And help until your memories return.”

    If they return, you don’t dare to say because despite all things, hope still clings to you in the deepest corner of your heart, not allowing you to follow that train of thought and what it will mean for your future.

    “Then by all means, if you want to join,” Jeralt says, waving a dismissive hand in your direction. “I don’t think you kids accept a No, so I’m going to save my breath.” He turns around with a grunt. “Get them your horse, Byleth. We’re late as it is, and another night of Alois talking my ears off will make me do something I’ll regret.”

    The woman called Byleth keeps staring at you even as Jeralt walks past her and gives her shoulder a solid clap. You can’t say if she’s mute or just speechless because she’s filled with the same strange overflowing sensation like you: like a basin filling with water but unable to drain off. It appears you’re the same age, a couple of years older than the other three but still much younger than Jeralt, and yet the moment your eyes lock, it feels like there is something far older than any of you together passing between you. Something ancient.

    “Well, first off, on your feet, little one.” Strong hands curl around your elbows, hoisting you up in one swift movement. A wave of dizziness hits you like an unavoidable spell, and the pounding from before settles back behind your right eye.

    “Amazing, Claude,” the girl hisses, and quickly steps forward to steady you, pressing one hand against the small of your back where her strong fingers curl against the curve of your spine. Her other hand gently holds yours as she helps you regain your balance. “Excuse his manners. I promise not everyone from the Officers Academy behaves like a brute.”

    “The what now?” you ask, hit by another wave of dizziness that might originate more from the girl’s soft lavender fragrance rather than the world spinning around you.

    “The Officers Academy at Garreg Mach Monastery,” Dimitri provides this time. His posture is straight like an arrow, the stance of a soldier speaking to his officer. “That is where we attend as students and hence are going right now.”

    “And you want me to come with you?” you ask like you have the option to refuse and go somewhere else. Strangely, the thought of joining a group of armed knights and mercenaries doesn’t fill you with fear or anxiety. You’re about to tread into foreign waters, and yet your heart is calm like a still compass guiding you in the right direction.

    Claude clasps his hands behind his head like he’s got nothing to do with you feeling unwell at the moment. “Unless you have another place to be?”

    Luckily, your head does come clear and breathing becomes a little easier. You nod to the girl and she holds you a second longer before she nods back and lets go. “I guess not,” you mumble, looking at each one of them. Byleth still hasn’t moved. By now you can’t really tell if she’s looking at you or through you. Surely, she would have said something by now if she thought you were familiar, right?

    “Then it’s settled.” The girl nods solemnly, throwing her silky, white hair over her shoulder. “We welcome you in our company. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, heir to the Adrestian Empire.” Edelgard gives you a tight-lipped smile that quickly thins into a white line when the other two introduce themselves as Claude von Riegan, grandson of the Sovereign Duke of the Leicester Alliance and Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, future king to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. None of these names ring a bell to you, but you nod, pretending to know exactly what they're talking about.

    “Okay, we need a name for you as well,” Claude proposes, tapping a slender finger against his chin. He has a strikingly sharp jaw that looks fit to cut stone. “Can’t have everyone call you stranger or little one now, can we?”

    “No,” you say. “Especially since we’re about the same height.”

    Claude laughs like you just told him the best joke he’s heard in years. “Soo, since we found you here … how about Glade? Or Woody?”

    “How about no,” you say with furrowed eyebrows.

    “Apologies.” Edeglard sighs and shakes her head, her expression a mix between disappointment and annoyance. “Claude isn’t much accustomed to the notion of consideration.”

    Claude rolls his eyes. “Then you come up with something, princess. Or is it impossible because you can’t take out the stick up your—”

    “Claude,” Dimitri half shrieks, his pale cheeks splotched with red dots. As he stumbles over his own words trying to apologise for Claude’s behaviour, Edelgard simply deadpans, “Bold words for someone in stabbing range.”

    The fourth in this round of strange people considers you with a blank expression, her steady gaze like a solid touch on your skin. Before a greater argument can break free between the students, Byleth says a name with a surety like she’s never said anything else in her life, and hearing it, this barely whispered word immediately lost to the wind, you just know it’s your name.

    “Yes, much better than what Claude proposed.” Dimitri nods, regaining his composure even though he’s still staring daggers at Claude. “It sounds more civilised as well.”

    “You didn’t even suggest anything,” Claude remarks, but the huff of annoyance quickly dissipates from his voice when he jerks a thumb towards Byleth. “That’s Byleth, by the way. Funny story is, we met her just a couple of hours ago as well.”

    “Fate must have brought us together here today,” Dimitri agrees with a solemn nod. “I swear on my honour as a noble knight from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus that I will see you safe to the Monastery. Lady Rhea will surely be able to help you there.”

    “Okay. Thank you,” you manage, unable to connect a face to this name in your head that feels like it’s about to burst any second anyway. The only course of action lies within those strangers who are so willingly offering help that you can’t stop worrying it’s a ruse. But without anything to offer them except your life, there’s little coming to your mind that they can anticipate in taking you with them. Tthe fact that Byleth knew your name doesn’t sit right with you as well. There’s something waiting to be grasped at the tips of your fingers, and yet you lack the strength to embrace it.

    Following the little group of soldiers and students through the woods, you remain silent on the journey, only answering questions with approving or denying hums. How did you end up in this particular forest? According to Jeralt, you’re currently moving away from a village called Remire and towards the mountains to the northeast where the monastery lies tucked away between two mountains. Judging from the clothes you’re wearing, you’re a commoner, and when Edelgard pushed a slim dagger in your hand, nothing rung in intuitive knowledge about how to handle a weapon. Your mind remained silent, like an untouched chord.

    There’s little you can say about the first impression those people left on you. There seems to be a unanimous dispute between the three students, hanging palpable in the air whenever an argument starts that’s pregnant with implied insults or passive-aggressive comments. From that you gather there’s tension between the governing fractions in Fódlan, something else you’ve learnt from listening to them squabbling.

    Byleth and Jeralt acknowledge their bickering as if it was flies buzzing around their heads. They keep more to themselves and their mercenary comrades, indicating they’re really as much of strangers to the students as you. Their conversations are a lot quieter as well, their heads leaning close together for the illusion of privacy. More than once you notice Byleth sneaking glances in your direction, and every time you lock eyes, there’s something close to comprehension when she looks at you. The further you march through the woods, the less you try to meet her gaze. Reaching the monastery is the first step to regain who you are, or so you hope, because the opposite would mean you’ll continue stumbling through the darkness with no lead to your past or why you’re in this particular part of Fódlan, and you can only hope that this Rhea person really will be able to help you.

    A sound from the underbrush cuts through your thoughts.

    Thinking it might be an animal, you don’t let it bother you too much. No one else seems to have heard it, so maybe it was just your imagination. But your brain refuses to let it rest, and fails to push it away from your mind because something about the sound doesn’t seem to be right. The more you try to focus on it though, the blurrier it gets; the less you understand its origin.

    Then, you hear a voice from within the woods. It sounds like a slurred whisper.

    “What was that?” You stop in the middle of the road, looking around the thick trees. Claude barely manages to avoid walking into you. “What was what?”

    “There’s something here.” Unable to explain further, you wave your hand around for emphasis. He looks at your hand, incomprehension written all over his face. “And that something is what exactly?” he asks.

    “I don’t know.” You wave your hand wilder. “But I don’t have a good feeling venturing further.”

    “You may be still tired,” Edelgard offers, not hiding her irritation that the journey stopped. “It won’t be long until we reach Garreg Mach. You can rest however long you need inside the monastery’s infirmary.”

    “I’m not tired,” you hiss, hand falling back to your side where it clenches into a fist. “I just really don’t think we should go further for now.”

    “And why is that?” Dimitri inquirers. He raises a hand and the soldiers following them come to a halt, a murmur of unrest breathing through their lines, and it’s just enough that you question if it would be better to play if off and admit your mind is playing tricks on you due to exhaustion.

    But whenever you blink, a red veil falls over your right eye, blurring your surroundings. Little red dots move slowly in the distance through the forest. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it’s some sort of life form far away, slowly advancing on your position. “Because someone is coming,” you finally manage, scratching the thin skin below your irritated eye that’s started twitching slightly. “Someone is coming towards us from southwest. And I can’t say if they’re friendly or not.”

    Three pairs of eyes consider you like you’ve grown a second head. Only Byleth stares into the woods like she might find the strangers you’re talking about waiting behind the trees if she just looks hard enough.

    “Little one, are you sure this isn’t just an aftereffect from you hitting your head?” Claude offers, squinting into the woods. You’re pretty sure he’s staring directly at the moving dots but for whatever reason can’t see them.

    “Unless amnesia is suddenly another term for going crazy, I don’t think so,” you snap, unable to hold back the irritation raising to the surface.

    A whistle echoes through the tree crowns. Byleth snaps her head in the direction of the sound, growing all tense. She raises her hand into a tight fist, and all movement stills behind you. When you turn around, you see the mercenaries waiting in the underbrush like a flock of crows ready to swipe down on their prey. Jeralt breaks away from them and approaches Byleth, a frown cutting a deep wrinkle into his forehead.

    “Bandits,” he says, and quickly signs a hand gesture to the nearest bowman. He nods and disappears between trees. “Another mile away. If we stay on this road, we’ll walk right into them.”

    “Seven hundred feet, actually,” you blurt. Jeralt looks at you like you’re a cockroach under his boot. Another whistle cuts through the woods, one long followed quickly by two short. Byleth exhales audibly, and only now you notice she’s moved to stand beside you. “Seven hundred feet,” she mutters, her eyes fixed on you.

    Jeralt tenses. “How do you know, kid?”

    “I don’t know,” you mumble towards your boots. “I just see.”

    There’s an uncomfortable silence falling around you, and you’re too afraid to look up and read distrust in their eyes.

    “Does it matter?” Claude finally breaks the silence, sliding his bow from his shoulder. “They won’t be a problem with the knights and mercenaries on our side.” He jerks his chin towards Byleth, already plugging an arrow from his quiver. “You should really see her fight.”

    “Wait,” you say, reflexively reaching for the hem of his cape. “Don’t engage them yet.”

    Claude stops, one eyebrow arched up in a curve. “Beg your pardon?”

    “They come from the woods. Which means this is their hunting ground and they have the advantage. They have dozens of archers. I think they’re waiting until you reach a glade. And then open fire.”

    “Which means we’ll end up as skewers.” Claude scratches his chin and twirls the arrow between his slender fingers. “I can think of better ways to shuffle off this mortal coil.”

    Dimitri perks up. “You’ve read the Tale of Hamelot I gave you?”

    “I’ll give it a six out of ten. His soliloquies were awful.”

    “Boys.” Edelgard snaps her fingers impatiently as Dimitri opens his mouth to protest. “Not the time.” She takes your wrist and pulls it away from Claude’s cape, her hard gaze like a sharp knife. “Are we simply ignoring the fact that we have someone in our midst knowing the enemies’ movement and deployment?” she cuts in harshly. “Is this a plan to lure us into an ambush?”

    “You think someone would give away their comrades’ position just like that?” Claude eyes her wearily. “Don’t be so suspicious of everyone.”

    She glares at him. “I rather be suspicious than dead.”

    Which is a valid point and a trait you willingly admit to share with her, but that doesn’t really solve the problem at hand. Luckily, Dimitri seems to think the same. He doesn’t unfasten the spear on his back yet, but his fingers dance swiftly over the handle, immediately resting on where he can easily pull it from the straps if needed to strike down an enemy. “Fact is enemies are approaching,” he concludes, looking at his fellow students in search for a consensual ceasefire. “We must put an end to them before they target defenceless travellers on their way out of the forest.”

    “Spoken like a true crowd-pleaser,” Claude says, either unable or not caring to hide the mock in his voice. “We can resolve our new friend’s condition after we take down the enemy.”

    “I don’t agree with this,” Edelgard declares, but nonetheless unclasps the double-bit axe from her back and swings it on her shoulder like it weighs nothing. “But I accept that this is a more pressing issue.” The easiness in the movement robs your lungs of air, and even though there are more important matters to focus on, you wonder how her muscles play under her black uniform swinging around a thing like that. Your admiration comes to a quick end when Jeralt and Byleth close the circle. Her hand rests on the hilt of a short blade as she scans the underbrush, her body rigid with battle anticipation.

    “Let them come to us,” Jeralt announces. “Let them think they have the advantage.”

    “Your knigths over there move slow through the woods,” you say, gesturing at the waiting man clad in heavy armour and armed with shields. “But their amour can resist some stray arrows coming down on us. It’s the rearguard that will take them by surprise from another direction and—”

    “And charge their flank or rear to finish them off,” Jeralt ends with a crude nod. “Indirect approach. I thought of that as well.”

    Your mouth goes dry. The idea plopped seemingly out of nowhere in your mind, but yes, now that you think about it, that is the indirect approach tactic, first recorded after the Battle of Nicaea in … Faerghus? Or was it Adrestia? The picture in your mind is still blurry, but now you can make out definite lines of objects: Books with drawn pictures of pointing arrows and coloured lines, each lettered with a name or an approach in a neat handwriting that isn’t yours. The picture triggers another wave of dizziness, disappearing as fast as it appeared.

    “They’re going to faint in three, two, one…” Claude’s voice rips you back to the present. You glare at him and raise a fist to show how close to fainting you really are. He only laughs at the tiny fist in front of his face.

    “Enough brats, get into position,” Jeralt bellows, and the students scatter with a bouncing step in all their strides as they take the lead of a small unit.

    You’re about to retreat to the furthest point away from battle when Jeralt blocks the way. “Not you. You’re going with Byleth.”

    “I’m what?”

    “Byleth,” Jeralt nods to the young woman ahead of you, “will be the commanding unit and you’ll help her.”

    The world tilts a little as panic takes hold of you. “I can’t. I don’t know how to fight.”

    “You seem to know enough to plan a counterattack.”

    “That doesn’t mean anything.” Your voice sounds horribly piercing even to your own ears. “It was just a lucky guess.”

    “I don’t know what’s the deal with you,” Jeralt says with a finality to his voice that doesn’t allow objection, and this time you clearly see the head of a mercenary guild, one that gives commands with every breath. “But that wasn’t a lucky guess. You see what it needs to win a battle. So you guide them.”

    He turns around sharply and leaves, not bothering to check if you plan to abandon them. It’s madness. You should abandon these people, should flee from the fight that will demand blood and death. One, two, three … six steps and you’re standing beside Byleth, taking deep breaths. It doesn’t help. She eyes you sideways with a raised brow, and you flinch at the metallic rasping sound as she draws her sword.

    “I shouldn’t be here,” you mumble, staring into the woods. The red dots are approaching faster, forming into more recognisable features of humans. “I’m going to die. Without knowing who I am or why I’m here. This is the worst day of my life. I think. I don’t know. It has to be.”

    Byleth hums beside you. You can’t tell if it’s a thoughtful or an affirmative hum. “This might sound crazy, but I do trust you.”

    “Maybe you shouldn’t,” you say, struck by a sudden fear that this all is a fever dream and you're about to lead them into ruin. It’s enough that you don’t even notice this is the first time you two are talking to each other since your meeting.

    Byleth studies you out of the corner of her eyes, then says, “A very persistent voice inside me tells me I shouldn’t.”

    “That’s your survival instinct. Listen to it.”

    “Yeah,” Byleth says, and there’s something like a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. You blink and it's gone. “I might do that.”

    You don’t really understand what’s there to smile about, but the moment quickly disappears as silence settles, only occasionally disturbed by a bird sitting in the trees above you.

    “So what exactly do you see?” Byleth whispers after a moment, barely shifting in her crouching position. You on the other hand really want to move your legs before they go numb.

    “I don’t know why you guys even believe me,” you mumble, and pinch the bridge of your nose with your fingers, trying to stave off another rush of dizziness. “And I don’t understand it myself. It’s the opponent, in a way. I see their strengths and weaknesses, their amour and weapons. It’s like … it’s like the flow of battle is displayed in front of me.”

    Byleth hesitates a moment, then nods like everything is pretty much self-explanatory. You wonder if to her it really does sound plausible, as she is someone who is practically born in battle, a daughter to a mercenary who breathes battle and fighting. Before you can explain anything further, she ducks more into the bushes and silences you with a sharp hush, her body tensed. The first bandits approach the glade, their bows and arrows ready to strike as the Academy’s knights engage them. Swords and axes clash against each other, battle cries ring through the woods. Byleth gestures you to follow her, and out of the corner of your eyes you see the students do the same, moving around the bandits. From the distance, you notice Claude gesturing wildly. It’s a mix between pointing at himself and then at the space a couple of feet away from his unit, and though you’re unable to fully comprehend it, you shake your head. He gives a thumbs up and slows down until he halts inside the thick cover of ferns.

    Just when you reach the right angle, Byleth looks back at you, waiting for your approval, and after briefly hesitating, you signal with a short nod to attack. Edelgard is the first to emerge from the underbrush. She has a dancer’s grace and a seemingly unerring instinct for what her opponent will do next. Her axe cuts through the first bandits who are too surprised to regroup in time. Dimitri and Claude are quickly to follow her. The crown prince of Faerghus wields his weapon of choice like he’s never done anything else in his entire life. The spear is the instrument to a deadly song they know by heart, and whoever stands in the way of their melody is cut down swiftly. Claude doesn’t disappoint with his steady aim either, his eyes sharper than an eagle’s. He nocks his bow, draws and impales a bandit that’s been running toward a mercenary with a crooked nose and eye patch. The mercenary gives him an offhand salute and goes back to fighting a thug twice his size.

    And then there’s Byleth. At first you don’t see her as the battle’s chaos swallows her and she disappears between moving bodies. But once your eyes catch up to her again, it’s hard to look away. Byleth moves through the enemies’ lines like an avenging angel on a mission. Her sword arm causes havoc as it conducts the tact of death’s complicated choreography and one by one the bandits fall to her deadly dance. Strangely, what describes it the best, you think, is divine.

    The battle is almost over. The last bandits fall or flee back into the woods as they abandon their comrades who lay down their weapons and yield. A miserable sound of relief escapes you when you see the end nearing with little casualties on your side, thanking whoever watches over you and guides your weapons in victory.

    That is until you see something, and at first you aren’t really sure you see it. Veiled by a red haze, a gruesome scene unfolds before you: As Byleth is focused on helping a soldier back up on his feet, a bandit strikes her from behind, wedging a dagger through her spine and into her heart. When you blink, the scene is gone and with it the red veil covering your surroundings.

    You don’t think twice. Jumping out of your hiding spot, you quickly recognise what will be Byleth’s murderer. Only he never gets the chance to approach her. With everything you’ve got, you charge into him and send him flying on the ground, you on top of him. The bandit groans, groggily turning on his back to see what struck him, and before you can start to fear for your own dear life, Byleth is beside you and rams her sword into his throat, silencing him forever.

    She looks down at you and you feel like she knows what just happened. Why you jumped in. It’s in those keen, piercing eyes that speak of a unimaginable wisdom. She reaches a hand out to help you up, and when you stand, the last bandits have been secured and the chaos finally settles. That is when the throbbing pain in your right eye doubles you ever, the pain akin to a pinprick of ice hammering into your skull. The pain makes you sick as stars explode behind your closed eyes, and the more they dance in feverish circles, the harder you press your hands against your eyelids, trying to smother the pain by pressure. It doesn’t work.

    Unable to breathe properly, your stumble, and when you move your hands, your fingers smear something warm and wet across your cheeks.

    Someone takes in a sharp breath. “Your eye,” Byleth breathes, a hand raised but remaining hanging in the air like she’s unsure if it’s okay to touch you. In the background you hear someone calling out you’re bleeding, and it takes a few seconds to understand where you’re bleeding from. Your right eye cries blood when the pain finally knocks you out, darkness falling onto everything.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

FTWD 6x12 - In Dreams

Wow! This episode was Amazing! As I told my fellow theorists, this is one of those episodes, much like TWD 10x18, Find Me, that’s kinda gonna be a holy grail of TD symbolism. So buckle up! There’s a lot here to unpack. 

***As always, spoilers for FTWD 6x12 abound below. Don’t read until you’ve watched!***

This episode really was amazing, but also super-sad. While obviously it’s extremely tragic the baby didn’t make it, I will say that I’m glad Grace isn’t leaving the show just yet. It was amazing for the symbolism but also for the masterful storytelling. I got to a point at the end where I was trying to decide which ending they were going for (whether Grace would live or die) but the truth was actually a third outcome I totally didn’t see coming. I write fiction myself and so it’s really hard to take me by surprise, but this episode did it. 

First and foremost, this episode is really great evidence that Leah is a hallucination and/or dream. I know I’ve posted about how we think the bright and somewhat fuzzy colors show that. But let me illustrate. Here’s is a pic from 10x17 of Daryl and Maggie in the woods. Just take note of the greens and browns. This is the filter they generally use in TWD and it’s not hugely saturated with color. That’s on purpose because it’s a post-apocalyptic world and they want it to feel bleak.

Compare that pic to the one below it from Find Me. See the difference?

Well, same thing in this episode about Grace. Here, they tell us flat out and pretty early that it’s not real. So they aren’t trying to trick us like they did in 10x18. So, this is evidence (if not proof in my book) because if the colors look like this and it’s a dream/hallucination for Grace, then it must be for Daryl, too, right?

Okay, but let’s get to specifics. First off, Roy Orbison. We’ve seen/heard references to him SO often, and usually in conjunction with Beth symbolism. Pretty much this entire episode centers around his song, In Dreams.

Not only is there the saturation of the colors, but there is tons of PINK. (Pink Theory).

So Grace wakes up in the middle of the woods, and already, things feel ethereal.

I didn’t even realize it at first, but she’s lying on her back and sees birds flying in circles above her. Just like Beth and Daryl in Inmates. 

A walker attacks her, and both it’s arms end up breaking. We saw that very recently in the Aaron/Father Gabriel episode (10x19). We’re not entirely sure what it means yet, but forearms symbolism has been a thing, in different iterations, for a while. So, that’s one we’re working on understanding.

She meets a young woman named Athena (who we’ve looked into before for various reasons; for one thing, the owl a symbol of Athena, and that’s definitely been a TD symbol in the past).

Athena asks her if she can remember her name, and Grace can’t. This is reminiscent of Dawn asking Beth at Grady if she can remember her name.

When Grace stands up, she pulls her sweater up over her shoulder. Even though this isn’t a romantic situation, it reminded me SO much of when Beth did it in 4x01 after hugging Daryl. And given the bright yellowness of the sweater? Yeah, she’s definitely a Beth proxy. 

In the opening credits, we see Grace, but just for a moment, there’s an overlay of Athena over top of her. We see her walking stick clearly, but then she disappears. I noticed that when I first watched it, and rewound, trying to understand what it was, but of course I didn’t until I watched the episode.

Speaking of Athena’s stick, @wdway did some research because she thought it looked similar to sticks the blind use to guide them. Check this out. 

So, clearly Athena isn’t using it that way, but the theme of being blind is there. I’ll talk more about this later, but we see several walkers get stabbed through one eye, which both suggests blindness and is part of the Sirius/one eye symbolism. The “blind” walking stick is just another way to show this same theme.

Athena takes her back to Morgan’s community, and we quickly learn that it’s been 16 years since the last episode, and Athena is actually Grace’s unborn child. So clearly, this is a dream or vision of some kind.

She had to convince Morgan of who she is, which she eventually does.

So, here’s the thing. I, for one, am very focused on what foreshadows Beth, right? And there is TONS of dialogue in this episode that could potentially be applied to her.

For example, in this scene, Morgan says, “You can’t be here.” Grace: “Why?” And then it just shows her grave stone. Morgan says, “I buried you myself.”

Now, we don’t think Daryl actually buried Beth, but he tried at a white church. (X). However, the idea of Daryl saying something like this, (You can’t be here. You’re dead.) works very well.

Later in the same scene, Grace says, “people don’t get what they wish for.” To which Morgan replies, “Sometimes things happen that you just can’t explain.” It reminded me of something Dwight said back in S4/S5 when he was still looking for Sherry. He says, “impossible shit happens.” He was referring to him finding Sherry again, which he did. This was referring to Morgan seeing Grace again after he thought she’d died. Which he also did (even if it was just in her dream). Although, it definitely gave the impression that maybe she did die for a few minutes in the barn before he resuscitated her. So, you could argue that that aspect of her dream came true.

I had to chuckle when June showed up to check her out. She literally checks her eyes and says she sees no sign of brain injury. Um, yeah. Brain injury CAN show up in the eyes, but just because it doesn’t, doesn’t mean she doesn’t have one. Clearly, they didn’t want to use screen time to show June do an entire, thorough check of Grace, but there was a little bit of medical unreality here. Of course, you could argue that this is Grace’s dream and she’s not a doctor, so she wouldn’t have known better.

But more to the point, they mention a concussion (which Edwards said Beth had), traumatic brain injury (which Beth sustained in Coda) and then combine it with Grace not remembering her name at the beginning, and the unrealities of Carol’s recovery at Grady in S5, and I’d say this is a very on-the-nose replay of Grady. 

We see a really sweet future where Strand and Daniel are friends and Sherry and Dwight are not only back together, but have two kids. A baby girl named Tina (Sherry’s sister who died in TWD S6 and, might I add, was a Beth proxy) and a little boy named John after John Dorie. Very sweet.

But I was thinking while watching it that chances are, none of that will actually happen. And I was thinking about it from an outside-the-story aspect. They’re already talking about people from Fear crossing back over to main TWD. And I don’t necessarily think we’ll see it in S11, but probably in the spinoff. So, I feel like this community Morgan is building will go down at some point.

And that doesn’t mean Dwight and Sherry won’t get back together. I actually think they will. I’m just saying it won’t happen exactly as Grace saw it in her dream. Compare it to Carl’s dream of the future during S8, before he died. Certain aspects of that have or will come true, but he won’t live to see it. So not all of it will. See what I mean?

And then the showrunner kind of confirmed this during the “inside the episode.” He said what Grace saw was just a dream and none of it was actually going to come to pass. ☹

Grace then asks Morgan how he managed to build the community and bring everyone together. He answers that it was Athena. Because they lost Grace, everyone rallied around her child and that’s what kept everyone together.

I actually think we saw this theme somewhat in 5b. After they lost Beth (and Tyreese) everyone sort of rallied around Judith, who was still a baby. I had an idea while watching the beginning of the episode that Grace = Beth and Athena = Judith. Now, Athena doesn’t survive, so I’m not sure how far I can push that. But it’s still interesting to think about.

This walker is an interesting one. We could really go down a rabbit hole iwth it. First off, there’s the shirt that says, “don’t mess with Texas.” As I’ve been talking about Eugene lately, I’m sure you’ll recognize the Texas/New Mexico/western theme.

The missing eye is sirius symbolism. But the glasses make me think of two specific walkers we saw in the past. The woman in the food bank that father Gabriel had a relationship with, 

and also this one that Glenn and Nicholas saw. You know, right before Glenn’s death fake out. 

I won’t go into what they both mean in detail. I’m sure it’s enough to say that both walkers, in both situations, are Beth proxies of one sort or another. 

And I’m sure we should be reading into the fact that it comes on a loop. They see/kill it over and over again as Grace becomes “awake” in her dream.

Of course, Athena has a Walkman and listens to music all the time. I’m sure I don’t have to explain that one. But what really caught my ear was the part where Morgan turned it off in the real world and in the dream, Athena said, “You broke it.” Very similar to the music box being broken in 5x10.

And then Grace says she didn’t break it. Morgan just turned it off. I’m seeing that as a hint that Beth was never dead. Just sleeping. When she finally starts connecting all the dots, Grace has lots of interesting lines that could apply to Beth, or could also apply to the Daryl/Leah situation.

“I’m unconscious.” (Beth)

“It’s just fragments of different memories. Things I’ve thought about. My brain is trying to make sense of it all.” (Daryl/Leah).

At one point, Grace tells Athena she is strong (Beth’s “I am strong,”) and that she’ll bring everyone together. Bring everyone hope.

Seriously, EVERY line of dialogue in this episode jumped out at me in some way.

Let me back up a minute. When we see the car with the “end is the beginning” graffiti on it, the trunk is open, which is significant.

Grace also talks about how she was on the highway with Morgan, and they saw this car, and there was an explosion.

Now, we’ve never talked much about anything like this with Beth because we don’t have tons of evidence for it. But I do remember that spoilers (the same ones that reported seeing her at the white cabin during S5 filming) mentioned a car chase near Terminus, and we never saw that, either. So, I think it’s possible something like this might happen during the missing 17 days. Just speculation on my part, though.

Also a major “wake up” theme here. I mentioned this about a week ago HERE when I did a bunch of mini rewatches. The symbolism of what’s real vs what’s a dream has actually been very prevalent throughout the entire series. I just don’t think TD homed in on it until the Leah episode just recently.

We heard it clear back in ep 1 with Rick. We saw it with Denise just before she died. And we saw Beth’s eyes flutter open at Grady when she “woke up,” so it’s safe to say this can be applied to Beth.

Morgan says repeatedly to Grace that she needs to wake up. Once she realizes she’s unconscious, she repeats it many times as well. “I need to wake up.”

In terms of how this might speak to Leah being a hallucination for Daryl, consider this. Grace is inside her hallucination, and she says things like this:

“I’m unconscious.” “This isn’t real.” “It’s in my head. Fragments of different memories…” Yeah, that’s what we’ve been saying about 10x18 for weeks.

Grace’s hallucination represents the future she hopes will come to pass, but what she actually sees is an amalgamation of people she knows and memories she has. Her brain just fills in the blanks.

By the same token, Leah represents something Daryl wants (not to be alone anymore) but she’s an amalgamation of past experiences and people he knows in real life. (Rick, Carol, and especially Beth.)

Then we have the white horse symbol. This is something we’ve known for a long time. It’s the black/white theme, but we saw a white horse and a “you’re still alive” sign near Morgan in 6x16. Rick also rode a white horse in 9x05, just before he didn’t actually die. So the white horse represents someone living.

Interestingly, the first time she sees the white horse, it’s a picture hanging in the air, apparently from nothing. But it reminds me a lot of the plate glass windows we see hanging from the trees during S8/AOW. 

Grace and Athena rode one to the barn where Grace lived and sort of reunited with Morgan. And yes, it’s a little bit sneaky, because both Athena and Grace were on the horse, and Athena didn’t make it. It was hard to tell which one it would apply to. But that’s exactly how the writers keep us guessing. It’s why we don’t usually know things for sure until we can see them in hind sight.

But in this case, we could have guessed Grace would live because of that horse. More on that in minute.

When Riley shows up in the hallucination, Grace kills him and realizes Athena represents her real baby and can feel the contractions too. She has an interesting line. “I was wrong. You are real. It’s the only thing that makes sense. We’re connected.”

This is the kind of line that jumps out at me as a foreshadow of Beth. For years, we’ve wondered if Daryl will see Beth and think he’s hallucinating. In the wake of the Leah episode, I suspect this more than ever. Especially if at some point, he realizes Leah isn’t real, when he sees Beth, he won’t trust his own eyes and his own mind. So this line could apply to some future storyline.

Of course Grace says things like, “I need to wake up so you can be born.” “I need to wake up so you’re all right.” I was writing so fast, my hand was cramping, lol.

While riding the white horse, they cross a small bridge, which is clearly symbolic. But I also noticed that Grace passed the truck we saw her driving around last season. In the cab is a walker in a radiation suit and a radiation detector (I’m sure there’s a more official name for that, lol).

It gave me a new perspective on the cars. While I’m sure they represent many things, they represent things that have happened in the characters’ pasts. And that works well for everything we’ve always said, because it means when Daryl sees a blond walker in a car, it’s all about his past. And Beth.

There’s a moment when Grace actually seems to die. She stops breathing and appears to be dead, even in the dream.

Couple of things here. 1) I’ve said for years that Beth may have truly, medically died for a short time period. As in, her heart stopped before restarting. That would be a sneaky way to fulfill all the “death” symbolism around her but have her still live/resurrect. This may be evidence of that. 2) Did you see everything run backward? It’s at this part when Grace stops breathing, we see everything run in backward motion for about 30 seconds. Almost as though they need to rewind or reset to get the story back on the right track.

The key. I guess we should talk about the key. Very interesting stuff. As per this episode, the key represents the cost of peace. And they talked about it being the future.

Remember back in S8, there was an episode called “The Key to the Future.” So this is a repeated theme. But we’ve seen keys around Beth for a long time, especially at Grady. It kept showing keys being used to open doors in order to get Rick and Daryl in to do the prisoner exchange.

So, here’s what I’m thinking for this. I think the cost of peace was Beth being shot. We’ve thought for a long time that Beth will save TF in some way. Probably during the CRM war or maybe in some way that has nothing to do with war (i.e. famine or lack of water).

We don’t know how that will play out, yet. But if key = cost of peace, then seeing keys at Grady probably shows that the cost of saving TF down the road is Beth getting shot. It went the way it had to. The way it was always going to. So she could save them.

@frangipanilove likes to say that Fear functions as our key (like the kind you find on a map) to understanding TD symbolism. And this is a good example. They told us what the key symbol stands for and it makes other things we’ve seen and theorized make sense.

In a more literal, plot-related sense, Riley also said, “That key is going to change everything.”

And, I don’t actually think it’s a good thing that they gave it away. I think Grace’s logic in the moment was absolutely sound. The baby was going to be the Savior. And the baby’s strength would supplant whatever advantage that key gave whoever has it.

But the baby, tragically, died. So…they probably need to get that key back.

Also interesting to note that back in S8, the book “A Key to a Future” was about building windmills and water aqueducts. Major water symbols, and once again, water = Beth. 

Speaking of the baby as savior, that’s definitely a theme, as I described above. The people rallied around her in Grace’s dream and she kind of saved everyone just by living.

@wdway pointed out that Grace giving birth in a barn on top of hay gives it a manger feel, which is probably what they were going for.

So, Athena, in the dream, is also something of a proxy for Beth.

When they enter the barn, we see something super interesting. There’s a walker point up at a cage with a dove in it. The walker doesn’t even try to get them when they enter, but that’s because it’s Grace’s dream. But this is SUCH a potent TD symbol. A bird in a cage = imprisonment. And there was an empty bird cage in Beth’s cell in 4x01, as well as near Connie just before she disappeared. 

We also think it was probably a dove (you can hear it cooing). So with the manger motif as she gives birth, from a biblical symbolism standpoint, a dove makes sense. The dove generally represents the Holy Spirit branchy of the Trinity. 

Just a super interesting symbol and, to me, it shows that this is all tied up in Beth symbolism, and that the person they’re foreshadowing here is the person who’s been imprisoned for a long time. The person who had the bird cage in her cell. 

I also think we need to appreciate that Grace had a dream that made her believe one thing was true (that she would die and the baby would live). But in reality, the opposite was true. We’ve come up with considerable evidence that Beth lived. But Daryl believes that she died. And the exact opposite will end up being true. They also tried really hard to convince us in this episode that Grace would die. We saw her accepting it and acting accordingly. Similarly, they’ve tried really hard to convince us that Beth really died. We’ve seen all the characters accept it and act accordingly. 

So, I said above that we saw several walkers get it in the eye, right? One of the sequences I noticed the second or third time through that I watched it, was when, in the dream, Walker Riley has Athena pinned against the wall. He was the first one to say, “I know you thought this would be different, but that was just a dream.” 

So, what I noticed is that he said this, at the exact same time that Grace stopped breathing or “died” and then suddenly revived. And directly after Riley said this, he got a stake through the eye when Morgan showed up. 

So we have this “dream” symbolism, Grace dying and then resurrecting and the eye/Sirius symbolism all within a few seconds of each other. It’s a very compelling and powerful scene. Maybe my favorite of the episode. I’ve watched it like a thousand times, lol. 

And of course there’s that heartbreaking, repeated line, “I [know you] thought this would end differently. But that was just a dream.” First, walker-Riley (super cool walker effect, btw) said it to Athena in the Grace’s dream. Then she said it while holding her deceased baby.

More lines that jumped out at me near the end, and could possibly apply to Beth and Daryl:

“You found us.” (Athena says this to Morgan when he shows up to kill Riley in the dream.)

“He’s here for me.” Grace says this when Morgan shows up and takes her hand.

Grace: “I don’t want to say goodbye, but I have to.” Beth hating goodbyes and not wanting to say them.

When Morgan is trying to revive Grace, he says, “Stay with me. Come back.” (Geez, if Daryl says anything like this during those missing 17 days, it’s gonna be freaking heartbreaking.)

When she wakes up, he says, “Good morning. You’re awake. You’re awake.” So there’s that awake/wake up theme again. But the “good morning” is interesting, too. It may be morning time as this scene is playing out, but we didn’t actually see them go from night to morning. 

We’ve said for years that the sunrise represents Beth and a new beginning, so that “good morning” line is highly symbolic of a new era in which Beth lives.

He also says, “I thought I lost you.” *coughs Daryl*

Grace replies, “I had to come back so Athena could be born.” And again, I really don’t think Beth will be pregnant when she shows up, but baby Athena represents the way in which she’ll save TF. Because Athena was supposed to be the Savior here.

“We don’t have much time,” is repeated two or three times. So that’s a time mention, but also probably foreshadows a future storyline where they’re up against a countdown clock in some way. 

“I had to come back.” Tell me you aren’t thinking of Beth when listening to that line. 

“The key is not the future. She is.” Okay, my fellow theorists and I have discussed that the child who will save the future may well be Judith. In that sense, Judith may be Athena, but that still leaves Grace = Beth. And hearing this line, I just can’t help but replace “she” with Beth. 

When Morgan asks Riley what the key opens, Riley says, “it doesn’t matter.” Also a Beth theme from Grady. 

And finally, after Riley takes it, he says, “Good luck.” Luck Theory. 

Phew. Quite a few of those, right? 

Side note: one of the reasons I really didn’t know if Grace would live or die, as I mentioned above, is that they were really trying to convince us she would, but a lot of what was said could be seen as dialogue foreshadow. 

That could be a problem for some of our theories. But here’s the thing. Going back through it again, the writers were super-sneaky. Most of it could be quantified differently than it came across. For example, Grace says to Morgan, “I don’t THINK I’m going to survive this.” Not that she absolutely won’t. See what they did there? I’m just pointing out.

Finally, I want to mention a few more things the show runner said in his interview at the end. 

First, in talking about Athena, he said they wanted to make her a very strong, together girl, so it was obvious she came from Grace and was trained and raised by Morgan. It just reminded me a lot of what they said about Beth after Still. The whole, “raised by Hershel, trained by Daryl, meet the new Beth Greene.” Athena gave off that vibe for sure, but the showrunner used almost the exact same words to describe her. Definitely side-eyeing that. 

He also talked about how they purposely crafted the “dream” so that it wasn’t only a dream that Grace was a passive participant in. Parts of it had to be real and have real world implications so she was driven by a ticking time bomb. For her, in this episode, it was because her baby was coming and she needed to wake up to give birth.

I just mention it because I can’t help but wonder what implications this will have for the Daryl/Leah situation. 

I think that’s what I have for this episode. But man, what a crazy, tragic, epic, awesome episode! Loved it. (And hey, they owed us a big one after killing off John a few weeks ago. ;D)

[skinks]

mr wentworth yes i help my son with his goofy voices yes i am a dilf tozier has the salt n pepper hair of god (oscar isaac) and the sexy librarian glasses to match

god I had never even considered that... the range of this...

Went starts going gray at 32 when Richie is 5 and it’s all the church women’s group can talk about... indirectly, of course. Oh, but he’s so young. Oh, he’ll be balding next. Oh I don’t know, doesn’t he look... distinguished? Mrs Nash from just down their street sees him doing rock-paper-scissors with his son Richard in the grocery store to determine whether or not Richard is allowed ice cream, and Dr Tozier is laughing because he’s winning, and he’s winning because Richard doesn’t know his father can see his little hidden hand reflected in the freezer cabinet, tucked behind his back. Richard’s laughing too, even though he’s losing, and bleats, “Again! Dad again,” eyes shining big as planets with coke-bottle rings.

“Don’t you know what best two out of three means? That was four draws ago.”

“No! No, I’ll win!” The boy shakes his head so hard his whole body rocks from side to side, then clings up at Dr Tozier’s middle with sticky hands. His very... trim middle. Helen’s own Rory, God love him, he enjoys a sudsy six-pack too much these days to keep a middle like that. “Two outta three! Three ice creams please Dad please please Dad please watch I can count to a hundred—”

“Well, we’re not playing hide-and-go-seek right now, Rich. And I beat you, didnt I?”

“Yeah!”

“Right. So why don’t you go get Dad six apples instead, alright? If you can do a hundred, six’ll be pie.” Dr Tozier claps his big hands gentle to the boy’s round cheeks, until they goldfish.

“Easy as,” they chant together. Helen props herself up with the handles of her own cart, the can of little hotdogs going slack in her hand.

“Six apples, then come right back. You got that, doc? You pick the color.”

Richard nods like he’s trying to detach his own head. Dr Tozier puts one hand just briefly on Richard’s dark mophead hair, like he’s giving the boy a blessing for his apple adventure. His hand is really quite broad, thinks Helen, popped out square at the thumb-joint. Matches that jawline of his, something whispers darkly in her stomach. Then the boy’s off, tearing down the aisle on a squeaking chariot of scuffed-gray sneakers and babbling what sounds like a Bugs Bunny impression, repeated on a loop. What’s up doc what’s up doc what’s up doc, fading around the corner to the fruit. Peculiar. Helen once saw the Tozier boy eat a worm at the park while pushing her youngest on the swings, after another solemn-eyed little boy with a faceful of freckles had carefully presented it to him in the sand box. Most peculiar.

Dr Tozier watches him go, then turns back to the freezer cabinet, and sticks two cartons of ice cream into his shopping cart—the very sugary kind. And the man is a dentist!

Helen puts her hand on her chest to calm the trilling schoolgirl rush of her heart, and then stops herself at the sight of her own wedding ring. Get a hold of yourself, Mrs Nash! For Pete’s sake! She trundles her cart over for some chit-chat. Afternoon, Doctor, she says, lovely weather. A perfect neighbourly opener. It is lovely; bright and warm and clear and golden, like honey outside. She’s quietly smug about her new blowout. Dr Tozier is wearing a crisp shirt with buttons like neat soldiers and short sleeves, exposing lean forearms. Yes, a lovely day. Helen swallows.

“Yes, good for the lawn,” replies Dr Tozier.

“We missed Margaret at book club this week,” Helen hedges.

“Oh, that’s right,” says Dr Tozier, and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes when he grins are even more distracting without the facemask he’s usually wearing, when Helen drops in for her check-ups. He pushes his spectacles up the strong slope of his nose. They’re wiry like him, steely gray to match his eyes. “She meant for me to tell you, or Diana. Maggie’s been in Skowhegan for the week at her mother’s. My mother-in-law is a woman of... nervous disposition, shall we say. Maggie didn’t think she’d cope with two Tozier men at once, now that Richie’s started losing his teeth.”

“Ohhh,” Helen coos. That must explain the ice cream. She puts her hand near to Dr Tozier’s arm, then away, then near, then away again for good. A neighbourly distance. Margaret is a lovely, lucky woman, even if she does wear flared pants. Hippie to yuppie pipeline’s alive ‘n’ flowin’, Rory always grunts whenever the Toziers come up in conversation. Helen imagines a picket fence between their bodies, and calms. “My Wendy was the same, I’m sure you remember.”

“Yes,” says Dr Tozier mildly. “You brought her in six times as I recall it, Mrs Nash.”

Mrs Nash. Honestly, like she’s his schoolteacher. It’s a little rude. Admittedly he does look quite, quite young with his faintly curling weekend-hair, if not for the new gray blazing a trail back from his temples like virgin snow. Helen is undeterred, even if something quivers inside at the thought of the word virgin in conversation with Dr Tozier. Music tinkles tinny through the ceiling speakers, and it puts Helen in mind of potted plants, or elevators. This is a lovely chat. “Well, you hate to see them suffer, don’t you? I’m sure Richard’s the same, lots of tears—”

“No, actually, Richie keeps on finding things to hit himself in the face with and knock out more teeth,” Dr Tozier interjects. He raises his eyebrows and speaks hushed, as if this is a secret for Helen’s ears alone. The thought makes her dizzy. “It’s my fault, I made the mistake of giving him a quarter for the first one. That’s why he’s not invited to Grandma’s. Lot of antiques.”

“Oh,” says Helen, taken aback. She has three girls; little boy behavior is as yet mystifying. “Well.”

“I’m joking, Helen,” Dr Tozier says cheerfully.

“Oh. I—I see. What a relief.”

He opens a freezer chest to examine a bag of frozen peas. “Maggie’s mom is deaf as white cat, she’d never notice.”

Helen tries to wipe her clammy hands on her dress without being obvious. Her face is hot, but she hopes her cardigan conceals the effect that the chill of the freezer aisle is having under her bra. She also hopes that it doesn’t.

He really does have such a slender, pleasant face, always with an air of casual, amused expectancy hanging around him. Haloing him, like that bright yellow light above the chair in his practice, blocked out when he leans over and slips his fingers inside. Helen supposes that’s what graduating medical school must do to a man, what marrying and fathering young and having one’s own practice by the end of such a turbulent decade as the nineteen-seventies must elicit. The ability to put people at ease, to—to say open wide and know the people of Derry trust him enough to comply. To open themselves. Helen’s breathing catches. Dr Tozier idly checks his sensible watch, still smiling the unhurried smile of a man who very rarely does his own grocery shopping anymore. Everyone knows you pick up the ice-cream last.

Helen gathers herself. This is the longest conversation she has entertained with Dr Tozier without children or the squeaking of latex gloves between them, and she’s gripped by the terribly silly need to be interesting. “Speaking of white cats, I couldn’t help noticing your hair, Wentworth—”

“DADDY!”

Dr Tozier blanches, whipping around to scan the end of the aisle. He is a long line of tense instinct tuned to thrum into action at one specific frequency, knuckles white on the cart handle. His cart bumps into Helen’s. It is thrilling.

“Fuck,” Dr Tozier mutters, and that’s thrilling too, he swore, oh, the boy’s probably fine Wentworth, don’t go, why don’t we just stay right here with the frozen goods and—

Then Richard comes barrelling back down the aisle like a colt on new legs covered in old Band-aids, with his arms full. The fluorescent strip-lights gleam white on Dr Tozier’s broad shoulders and he sags, like snow dropping from a branch, with relief.

“Hey, lunkhead,” he says, sounding shaky, but Richard is only five and would never know it. He’s babbling again. Seems to Helen like the boy’s as a hydrant overflowing on a hot day; entertaining and welcomed at first, until it becomes a nuisance when you begin to understand it won’t shut off, and have to call the firemen.

“Nyyeeeeeah,” Richard greets his father, tousled and bug-eyed with clear adoration, breathing hard from his Supermarket Sweep. Then he makes the carrot-noise. Looks like Bugs, Helen thinks of the boy’s new adult front teeth, the beaverish jut of them exacerbated by his missing canines on either side. Then she feels abruptly un-neighbourlike for being jealous of a child for his father’s attention, good grief.

Dr Tozier regards his son for a long moment. Then says, “What’s up, doc?” in a spot-on Mel Blanc whine. Richard giggles so hard his too-big glasses start slipping. “How many apples is that?”

“Gotta apples and I was gonna put ‘em in a bag but I forgot and Dad, Daddy look, s’a dinosaur on the box for my dinner when Mommy’s at Grandma’s—”

Dr Tozier sighs, putting one hand on his hip and dragging the other over his clean-shaven mouth, watching Richard drop his armfuls everywhere, scattering the linoleum. He has two apples, four boxes of brightly colored cereal, a handful of pencils topped with cartoon-character erasers, and a kiwi fruit. For a moment, Helen sees the shining enamel of Dr Tozier’s everything-will-work-out-with-another-cup-of-coffee amusement slip, wear away to worry underneath.

“Rich,” he says, interrupting Richard’s blabbermouth, firm and patient. Helen’s thighs burn suddenly under her skirts at the tone of his voice, and she looks down, rearranging her own groceries. She should leave them to get on. She could offer to help. Margaret’s out of town, poor things, they probably haven’t eaten a cooked meal all week!

“Richie,” Dr Tozier says again. “Listen and pay attention when Mom or me ask you to do something, remember? How many apples did I ask you to get?”

Richard has to crane his neck to meet his father’s eyes. Dr Tozier is one of the tallest fathers in the Derry Elementary catchment zone, Helen has checked. “Six!”

“And how many’ve you got, Elmer Fudd?”

“Um.” Richard’s pale little face creases in thought, then brightens. When he speaks again his voice is strange, accented. “Twooo.”

“Some apple hunter you are, huh.”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

“That’s fine.” Dr Tozier stoops to gather Richard’s detritus, and Helen knows she has something to contribute, watching the boy stick one of the pencils up his nose.

“You know, apples are very good for you,” she says. Richard turns to her, slack-jawed, as if seeing her for the first time. “You should listen to your Daddy, Richard, an apple a day keeps the doctor away.”

Richard stares for another few seconds. Then he bites down on his boogery pencil so that it threads through the gaps in his teeth, and hollers, “MY FRIEND BILL SAID THAT’S A PILE OF BULLSHIT.”

“No shouting indoors, Rich,” says Dr Tozier, still gathering. Helen rocks a step backwards, clinging to her cart like a life-preserver.

“Bill and my’s friend Eddie eats a thousand apples and sees the doctor all the time though Dad, and Miss Spiegel said if we eat apples we don’t have to see the doctors but Eddie eats them and—Bill said—”

“Pile of bullshit, yeah, I liked it. Bill’s an eloquent guy,” says Dr Tozier. This is the second time Helen has ever heard him curse in as many minutes. It comes out easy and amused as everything else does in his pleasant tenor. His legs and his jaw are so lean and angular that Helen can see the suggestion, the shadow of the shape of his perfect, swearing teeth through his cheek as he grins helplessly at his son, the fruit of his loins and someone else’s loins who isn’t Helen, and all of a sudden she feels a slick pulse of wet heat, up between her thighs.

She squeaks. Flutters her hand to her face without knowing why, perhaps to catch the noise before Dr Tozier notices, just another quivering Derry leaf tossed along by his breezy manner. He looks up anyway, with a frown.

“Everything alright, Helen?”

“Just—fine, yes,” she manages. Dr Tozier is still down on one knee, kindly face level with her skirts. She can see right down under his starched collar from this angle, a slivering glimpse of smooth, dark hair. No undershirt. Helen has lain naked against Rory’s nakedness before without feeling this alive, in every part of her body. She feels like a heart, beating.

“Oh, hang on.” Dr Tozier says, eyes widening, and turns Richard by the shoulders to face her. One pencil for each nostril, now. “Apologize to Mrs Nash for cussing, Richie.”

“Sorry!” Richard shouts, sounding less like he’s apologizing and more like he’s just deemed Helen it during a game of tag.

Helen is still floating in a dazed state of mild panic. Like a prey-mouse, bewitched into slack compliance by her own body’s snaking desires. “That’s alright, dear.”

F-word, Dr Tozier had said. Maybe cussing could be quite neighbourly when applied in the right context, thinks Helen.

“You mentioned my hair, earlier,” says Dr Tozier, straightening back up with a knowing sort of arch to his eyebrow as he smiles genially at Helen. He tilts his head down at Richard. “There’s the reason. Every last one, sprinkled onto my head at the tender age of thirty-two by the great salt-and-pepper shaker of fatherhood. Especially this week, with Maggie on sabbatical. Had to bring you to work with me, didn’t I, buckaroo?”

Richard bites and swings and tugs on his father’s long arm, a tearaway kitten with a much obliging scratching post. Dr Tozier hardly seems to notice. “Yeah! Daddy’s got fishes at work!”

Dr Tozier grimaces slightly at Helen, but also as if he’s seeing right through her to some past unnamable horror. “I liked those fish. Calmed down the nervy patients.” He sighs again.

Helen wonders briefly whether or not the residents of Dr Tozier’s waiting-room fish tank suffered the same fate as that worm in the park, and decides she’d rather not know.

“Well, you needn’t worry about it,” she says, gamely. She watches her hand reach towards Dr Tozier’s silver-black brindle, then snatches it back from his bland expression to brush the tips of her own feathered-out hair. “The gray, I mean.”

Dr Tozier blinks.

“It’s very—that is to say, you look, it makes you look, I mean, I think it’s—”

Dr Tozier’s left eyebrow joins his right, raised up high.

A tidy little jet of hysteria shoots up from Helen’s knotting stomach to spin like a top in her chest. She hears herself stutter out the word, “Dashing,” and immediately wishes to flee the store, leaving her cart abandoned like so much collateral damage.

But Dr Tozier only barks a laugh, a short, smooth hah like everything else he says. Entirely unperturbed. “Well, thank you.”

Too unperturbed. Helen is struck by a sudden bolt of terror, at the thought of the things Dr Tozier must surely hear every day, when people are lulled by the hypnotically intimate environment of a dentist’s chair and a touch of the laughing gas. Oh, this is terrible. Her face is on fire.

“But they—they make products for men now,” she says, and why, oh why can’t she stop talking? “Hair dyes, I mean, if it really does bother you? I’ve seen them in Keene’s.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” says Dr Tozier, looking down at Richard then with a soft edge, at his bouncing noise and scabbed knees and gently curling hair like a black spaniel’s. Like his father’s. “I find I’m rather grateful for it, truth be told.”

“Plus,” he continues, as if Helen wasn’t already melting harder than the Tozier’s ice-cream, as if Johnny Kitchener the shop-boy isn’t going to have to come along with a mop and bucket to clean up on aisle seven, “Maggie’d kill me if I got rid of it.”

Then Dr Tozier winks.

Oh Lord, oh Lord, Helen’s whole ribcage is so tight she can’t squeeze out a reply, because who could blame dear, pretty, annoyingly friendly, lucky, lucky, lucky Margaret for that when Dr Wentworth Tozier DMD is so—

So f—

So fffffff—

So fiddlesticksing handsome!

“Well, we’d best not keep you, Helen. This one is in dire need of a bath before his mother sees him, and hands me a divorce on the spot,” Dr Tozier says, when another few moments have passed and all Helen can do is try to desperately smooth the creases from her breathing. He’s humming mild interest at something Richard is saying, knelt back down to the linoleum to tie the boy’s loose-worm laces presumably before he gives himself any more skinned knees, and they’re leaving. Dr Tozier is leaving, and Helen hasn’t done anything but act like a ninny this entire time. She doesn’t want him to think her a ninny, a simpleton. She wants him to leave this bright, liminal church of bold colors and jazzy waiting-room music and return to his lemon-yellow two-storey house thinking my, what a lovely chat I had with Helen Nash.

She wants to linger, as he lingers. Like an amiable spirit hanging over the women’s group at church, waiting to be summoned at a moment’s eager notice. I bumped into Dr Tozier at Palmer’s on Saturday, she’ll say to the other jealous ladies, with triumph, and we had such a nice talk. He called me Helen.

“And when—when does Margaret get home?” she blurts. A very secret part of Helen wants Dr Tozier to leave this conversation with Helen and his wife both, entwined by association in his mind. She tries very hard not to think about the Toziers divorcing, because that is un-neighbourly, and feels least neighbourly of all when a dopey, dreamy look crosses Dr Tozier’s face like a brief sunbeam at her question.

“Ah. Tonight. Not too late, hopefully.” He jerks one of his knuckley thumbs at his shopping cart, licking the other to wipe something unidentifiable from Richard’s grubby face. “That’s why we’re here, stocking up for her miraculous return. Like a couple of noble emperor penguins in Antarctica, eh Rich?”

“Penguins like from Batman! Ka-pow.”

Helen takes a peek into their cart, curiosity getting the better of her now that permission is granted. Dr Tozier might not know it, but looking into another person’s cart is bad grocery etiquette, especially in a town like Derry, where gossip grows like a fungus in every sweaty and close little huddle of people. Not that Helen would know about that. Anyway, there isn’t much to gossip about besides the unfortunately liquefied ice-cream, the severe lack of crunchy vegetables characteristic of a young man in 1981 trying to provide for a tooth-shedding son, and—

A little cardboard box. Tossed unashamedly between the Wonderbread and a magazine about sports. Prophylactics. Rubbers.

36-pack. XL

Helen knows her jaw is hanging open and strains to close it, the back of her neck and her shoulders feeling hot and tight and shuddery. She kneads a fist into her skirts. Crosses her legs at the ankles as demurely as she knows how, because the very last thing she needs is for frank, sensible Dr Tozier to see right through her with that easy doctor-patient-confidentiality smile, and know she’s soaking through her underwear at the sight of his Saturday grocery run, and all it implies.

Dr Tozier is laughing, nudging Richard in the direction of the register, or perhaps the apples. “Ka-pow is right. I’ll make sure to use that on Mom, thanks. Say hello to Rory for us, Helen. Have a nice day,” he says from over his shoulder, startling her. Holds up one long hand in a wave with a grin, and is gone, shadowing the boy’s haphazard attempts to push the cart despite not being able to see where he’s going.

Helen stands amongst the humming freezers, trembling. “You too,” she rasps, but Dr Tozier has rounded the corner, and is evidently going to have a nice day and a much nicer night, regardless of whether Helen wishes it for him or not.

All the bright little branded characters are watching her from their shelves, a silent jury. Helen Nash opens a freezer cabinet with a weak arm, and stands there for a while, staring at a leg of ham and thinking cooling, neighbourly thoughts.

[gongju-juice]

4. Once Upon a Southern Night

Someone I used to Know

Warnings: None, except trigger warnings for slavery and the Confederacy 

“Preston,” Jasper hissed, pushing you behind him with nearly bruising force. He was an entirely different persona, his cool, collected poise was replaced with this steely, merciless character you swore you’d never witnessed before.

“How long has it been exactly? 157 years? 160? I can’t remember, time passes so slowly now. When we were humans, it seemed to fly by so fast.”

He approached the two of you slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. Jasper gripped your arm so harshly, and held you so close to him so you could hardly get a good luck of his face.

But from what you could tell, the man was gorgeous. His skin was pale as the moon, features perfectly proportioned and striking. He seemed to ignore you for now, turning all his attention to a seething Jasper.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” he warned, “but I left that lifestyle a long time ago. If you want Maria, she’s probably still in Mexico City.”

“I don’t desire to dismantle Maria any longer,” the man said. “In fact, she and I are on good terms actually. When Nettie and Lucy kicked the bucket, and you left the coven, we shared several more battles and skirmishes. But now we can call each other friends with similar goals.”

Jasper growled lowly and spoke in an authoritative voice that was not his. “What the hell does that mean?”

The man finally glanced down at your shivering form. “That girl you’re holding down is mine. Her name is Camille Lafayette, and she belongs to me.”

Jasper narrowed his eyes. “Camille? What are you talking about, Captain?”

“Captain?” you whispered fearfully, shifting your eyes to his. “Jas, what is he talking about? How do you know him so well?”

Preston unfurled his hands. “Jasper and I fought in the Confederate army. He was my Major and I was his Captain. His brother used to work on my father’s plantation in Louisiana, and that’s how we know each other. We were both created by the same woman, Maria, and we both aided her during the bulk of the latter 19th century Southern Vampire Wars.”

Your eyes widened. “V-vampires? You mean—”

Preston’s whole demeanor changed. “You mean you haven’t told her? I thought she was supposed to be your mate? What, are you trying to make her die of old age?”

Jasper glowered at him. “What do you want, Preston?”

“I want what you’ve been keeping from me. I want my gift, the one thing my father bought me before he died, Major. I want my Camille.”

“She’s a human, how could she have possibly survived so long and so young?”

The Captain shook his head. “That’s my business, not yours. And if you don’t hand her over peaceably, I’ll take things into my own hands.”

Jasper shifted his weight, pulling you on his back in one move so quick you hardly noticed the change in elevation. “You know you can’t beat me in a fight, Lafayette. You tried to kill me before, and that didn’t work out too well, did it?”

“No, it didn’t. Not when we had hungry newborns fighting all around us. But I promise, when I get my hands on, you will experience the worst pain imaginable when I rip your head from your body.” He stepped forward.

“Y/N, I’m going to need you to trust me, okay?” he said. When you didn’t answer, he yelled out your name.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to get you out of here, but first, I’m going to have to deal with him.”

“Oh, we won’t be fighting today,” Preston promised. “I have other things to attend to before I deal with you. And as for that family up north, if they decide to intervene, I’ll send my armies to slaughter them too. And this time, my old pal, it won’t be just newborns.”

He walked away into the night from whence he came, the moon shining on his glistening black hair, and the warm light of the barn melding into the shadows. When he was gone, Jasper finally set you down.

“I have to get you back home,” he said, more to himself than to you. He grabbed you tightly by your arm and led you to the house where the rental car waited.

“Can you please tell me what’s going on? I’m so scared, baby. He kept talking about vampires—is it true? And, if that’s the case—why am I still alive? Was I—did he used to own me?”

“Y/N,” he barked. “Please calm down. I will tell you everything in a minute.”

You climbed in the passenger side, and immediately, his phone rang.

“What’s wrong? Why are you coming back so early?” Alice frantically asked. You didn’t know how she knew so quickly, for neither of you had even contacted them. After all, the events quite literally just transpired.

“I met an old friend of mine—more like an enemy now. Captain Preston Lafayette II. He served under me in Galveston. For some reason, he claims Y/N was around back in the sixties, and that his family owned her.”

This time, it was Carlisle’s voice. “How is that even possible? Did he say?”

“Nope. Wouldn’t even give me the how or why. He’s even threatening her with Maria. Y/N. . .I think she’s gone into shock.”

“Y/N, honey, are you okay? Can you hear me?” It was your mother.

“I. . .I don’t—I don’t. . .what’s going on. . .going on?”

“Honey, you need to calm down. Take deep breaths for me, okay? Listen to my voice, alright? You’re going to be just fine.”

But instead of doing that, your eyes struggled to focus. The last thing you remember was Jasper touching the side of your cheek before you slipped into unconsciousness.

When you woke up, you were in the hotel room. Jasper had packed and gathered all of your things, and he was sitting by your side on the bed. His eyes trained forward on the city lights of Mobile before he noticed your awakening form.

“How do you feel?”

Something told you he already knew the answer before you answered it. You sat up and rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand, the sheets falling down around your waist. But instead of wearing your bright yellow sundress, you were wearing the pajama set Esme made you for Christmas.

He’d changed your clothes.

“I. . .I had the strangest dream,” you said, squinting at the light. “We were at the wedding and this weird dude in a tacky three-piece suit told me that y’all were vampires.”

“It wasn’t a dream. It’s all true. Yes, even the part about me being a vampire. It was what I wanted to tell you anyway, it’s why our family is so weird.”

You grimaced as you ran your fingers over the purple hand shaped mark blooming on your wrist.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, staring at his hands with disgust. “To put you in danger. To have the background I do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whispered.

The pained look only continued before it was quickly replaced with a neutral, ambivalent one. He pulled you onto your feet. “Get changed. We’re leaving for the airport in an hour.”

When you finally arrived home, you felt like your whole body was numb. There was not a trace of the sweet gentleman you fell in love with not too long ago. Instead, there was this cold, unfeeling Major who ordered you around and yelled if you moved one inch from his side.

Your mom scooped you into your arms and held your sobbing form. You longed for food and a warm bed, and you didn’t want to face anyone either. Yet now, it all made sense. The pieces all fell together.

Why they were so cold. Why they didn’t eat or drink. Or why they didn’t like being in the sunshine any longer than they had too. Why every time you woke up, they were always downstairs and awake like they’d never even slept in the first place.

“Y/N, I know you’re probably very confused. But there’s an explanation for all of this—most of it, anyway. But I need you to be open-minded and believe in the possible.”

Carlisle began to tell you the story of his family. And he began with his.

“Our father was a very strict man. He was an Anglican pastor during the 17th century, a time of political upheaval and chaos. He took up harsh raids in killing accused vampires, most of which were humans. When he got in his fifties—too old to keep up the mantle—he passed the torch on to me. It was horrifying, and I hated every moment of it. But I felt indebted to my father. I could not be an unfilial son. Fortunately—or Unfortunately, I’d actually managed to stumble across a coven of vampires in the sewers. The hunt ended brutally, and no one survived. But I was left bleeding in the street. . .transforming.”

“And while Carlisle was missing, I was tending the home. Mama died giving birth to Carlisle, so I was pretty much the matron of the household. I knew what he had found was potentially dangerous—that he’d either succeed and end up scarred for life or die trying. It turned out to be later. I tried to find out as much information as I could about the hunt, but everyone was dead or missing. About three years, when I finally turned twenty-seven—an age almost impossible to reach in those times—I found my answer. 

There was this newborn vampire named Alexander Clements who just happened to wander into the church by mistake. I demanded he tell me everything he knew—the poor kid was so uneducated and drunk on blood that he had no clue that an iron cross couldn’t hurt him at all. He told me that Carlisle was still alive somewhere, but he didn’t know anything specifically. That was when he realized that my cover was a fake, and well, I’m changed to tell the tale. Halfway through it, he ran away when some of his old coven mates he’d abandoned caught his scent.”

“I spent a lot of my time studying medicine with the Volturi,” Carlisle explained. “The Volturi is a very complex group that serves as an authoritative force for our kind, that keeps messy vampires from exposing our secrets. After that, I swam to America and eventually turned Edward, Esme, Rosalie, and Emmett. Alice and Jasper came a little later.”

“And I kept traveling the countryside. I knew Carlisle was out there, but I had no clue where to look or who to trust. Back then, any vampire was competition, and they were especially excited to wipe out newborns. So for a century or so, I made loops around Europe, aimlessly. I shifted back and forth from human blood to animal blood, but I never really could stay one way or another for too long before slipping back into my old habits.

In 1770, I finally met your dad, Samuel Robynson—the man you can’t remember. He was turned a very long time ago, centuries before the Cullen family was even thought of. And he’d developed self-control that even rivals mine and Carlisle’s today. He accepted me as his friend, and we even grew to love each other. 

For a long time, it was very peaceful. We spent time all over the world—from Ireland, his homeland, to Japan and South Africa. Life was happy—sad at times for the moments and milestones we’d never reach as vampires—but still, happy. I heard reports of a vegetarian doctor in America by some local covens, but I never went to see for myself. I guess I didn’t want to get my hopes up—or that we’d be too different after so many years apart.

Then, in (----), we decided we were tired of living the same way year after year. The Volturi has a rule that keeps humans from knowing the secret of vampires, and we were not going to go against that. But we wanted a family, someone other than another vampire who we’d have to deal with like a ticking time bomb.

So we looked into adoption agencies and chose a tiny little place in Louisiana. You were so frail and adorable, and Sam was so proud to have a daughter of his own. We decided we would move back home to the countryside where he grew up—but that plan was ruined when we encountered a coven of rogue vampires.

They wanted to visit us but didn’t know we had you around. Your father fought as hard as he could, but he didn’t survive the attacks. In the end, they burnt his body and our little cottage, and I had to deal with them on my own.

Too overwhelmed with the emotions of Ireland, I moved us to Mobile where I raised you all by myself. Nobody ever questioned my aging, and no other vampires ever challenged me—or even knew where we were. I wanted to tell you the secret but knew I had to turn you afterwards. So I waited until you were sixteen before we moved to see my brother. I was for sure it was him at that point.”

Tears streamed down your face as they told their stories. There were still so many more to go, but no time to give them justice. One day, you decided, you would learn what it was like for your cousins.

“And that’s why it doesn’t make sense about Preston,” Jasper growled. “You were clearly born in the (--)th century. How could you be a slave in the 1860s?”

Just then, Emmett walked back into the house carrying a bright red slip of paper.

“Uh, Y/N, you have a letter. . .”

You picked up the paper and it was warm—radiating heat, in fact. You read the words aloud which were scrawled in golden ink as your mother and boyfriend glanced over your shoulder.

“If you want to know the truth and keep her alive, find me at 1700 Pearl Avenue, New Orleans, Louisiana.”

Your mother gasped, bringing a pale hand to her face.

“Oh Y/N! How could it be! How could they have known?!”

“What is it, sister?” Carlisle asked, touching her shoulder.

“It’s the place. The hospital where I adopted her.”

And before you say it, Jasper’s not a racist. People change, and it was never outright stated that he was a racist in the first place. He was most likely bigoted and held racist views during those days, but by the first Twilight book, he’s long put aside his past and actively tries to be a better person. Besides, what does it matter? To Jasper, humans are all the same. They all have blood, and they all are tempting. He doesn’t give a flip about whether or not they’re black or white. 

Part Two   Part Three

[alice-beaumont-ravenclaw]

A Wonderful Surprise

A/N #1: This is fic #2 of the Brazil series. It was inpired by the ! prompt of the 30 days OTP alphabet challenge as well as Prompt #2 of Fictober 2020 by @hphm-fictober​ . You can find Alice’s outfit HERE, and the suggested music HERE. (Here are Part 1 & Part 2 of the first fic of the series.)

“Alanza told me she would join us here.”

Alice and her friends were standing near the bronze statue of Floriano Peixoto, the second Brazilian president, in the neighbourhood known as Cinelândia. They were surrounded by buildings built in the Beaux-Arts architectural style, which gave the area a certain European cachet with their columns, symmetry, and highly decorative façades. 

“Are you sure about the time?” asked Diego.

“Noon seems like an odd time to meet up,” said Penny, who was wearing a large sunhat.

“That’s what she told me. She said she knew of this place where we could eat lunch close to here, and that it would be simpler to visit the area after,” explained Alice, fanning herself with her map of Rio.

“Olá!” they heard from behind them.

“Alanza!” they exclaimed, running to her.

“How are you? I hope you didn’t wait too long,” she said beaming.

“No, not at all,” said Barnaby, blushing.

“Long enough for us to overheat,” mumbled Tonks and Tulip.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! Come, come. Let���s go and eat. I know this boteco that’s been around since 1921.”

“What kind of food do they serve?” asked Alice.

“Various stuff. You can get pizza, fish, churrasco, feijoada…”

“What are the last two things?” asked Penny.

“Well, churrasco is basically meat barbecued on skewers, while feijoada has black beans, some pork or beef product, and at least two types of smoked sausage and jerked beef,” explained Alanza.

“Black beans, you say?” said Alice. “Well, as I do not want to spend the afternoon passing wind, and that I don’t want to eat something too heavy, I think I’ll stick to pizza.”

“The meat on skewers sounds great,” said Barnaby as they sat at a table under the yellow awning. 

After a hearty meal, they headed to the Theatro Municipal, a theatre that borrowed from the Parisian Opéra Garnier’s architectural style. The roof was a vibrant shade of turquoise, and the central dome was adorned with a majestic golden eagle.

“Can we go inside?” asked Andre, using his hand to shade his eyes from the sun.

“Unfortunately, no. We can only go in to see a performance or if we are part of a tour, which were all full when I checked,” replied Alanza.

“Too bad. It looks really nice from the outside, would have loved to see the inside,” said Alice.

“Oh, I doubt it compares to the Paris Opera,” said Alanza. 

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been inside the Opéra Garnier.”

“What? But don’t you have family in Paris?” asked Tulip.

“I do, but it’s not like the law mandates us to go inside the Opera every time we’re in town. I walked past it when I’ve been to the Galeries as a kid, but until last summer, I hadn’t been to Paris after Jacob’s disappearance.”

“I wonder if this one has a ghost, like the one in Paris,” said Penny.

“A ghost?” asked Barnaby and Charlie as they started to walk past the theatre.

“A phantom, actually. This French author wrote a story at the beginning of the century about a Phantom haunting the Opéra. It turns out that the Phantom is a deformed man named Erik. An excellent musical was made based on this story. I honestly could listen to the soundtrack over and over again,” said Alice, softly sighing.

“So, where are we heading next?” asked Tonks as they strolled through Largo da Carioca.

“Igreja São Francisco de Penitência. It’s a church. The interior is really impressive,” said Alanza.

“Where is it?” asked Diego.

“Right there,” replied Alanza, pointing to a building up a small hill.

“Doesn’t look super impressive from the outside,” said Andre.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, Andre,” said Alice, nudging her friend on the shoulder.

“Oh, sweetheart, everyone judges books by their cover. Why do you think I put so much importance in my outfits, as well as yours?”

“Believe me, the exterior doesn’t do justice to the interior,” said their Carioca friend as they made their way up the stairs to reach the church.

When they finally made it inside the church, they were greeted by exquisite gilded carvings on the walls and altars, as well as magnificent paintings on the ceiling depicting the glorification of Saint Francis in a Baroque illusionist style.

“Wow,” simply said Andre, his mouth ajar.

“So much gold,” said Tulip.

“Good thing we didn’t bring Jae. He’d be salivating,” said Tonks.

“He’d probably try to take something to sell it,” said Penny as she removed her hat.

“Come on. He’s not that bad,” said Alice as she looked at the ceiling.

“Are you so sure of that?” asked Charlie, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at Alice.

“Well… Ok, maybe not, but he mostly deals in magical contraband, so I don’t think he would see anything here worth selling,” admitted Alice.

“I wouldn’t put it past him to still try and make a quick buck from something here,” whispered Diego.

“Is it common for Muggle churches to be covered in gold?” asked Barnaby.

“Can’t say I’ve ever seen a Catholic church with so much gold. Russian Orthodox churches have their fair share, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen this amount of gold in a church,” said Alice, looking around. 

“How do you know so much about churches?” asked Diego.

“I’ve seen some when I travelled with my parents when I was a kid. Even if you aren’t religious, churches can be of cultural interest, as artists were often commissioned to paint and decorate them to show how grand and powerful the Church was,” explained Alice.

“And if you didn’t already know, Alice is in Ravenclaw,” said Tonks, Alice sticking out her tongue at her.

“Hey, where did Charlie go?” asked Andre.

“He’s right…” started saying Alice as she looked beside her, only to see no one was standing there. She turned on herself trying to spot her boyfriend, to no avail.

“Hum, I think he went outside,” said Diego. “He found it stuffy in here.”

“Why didn’t he tell me? I should go with him,” said Alice. 

Before she could turn around, Diego wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her further inside the church. “Come on; I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to miss all the art in here.”

Alice gave Diego a suspicious look, furrowing her brows, before glancing behind her. She figured that if Charlie had wanted her to be with him, he would have told her. She shook Diego’s arms off of her shoulders and joined the girls at the altar, where Tulip was busy imagining Dennis getting married to the love of his life. Once they were done visiting the church, they went back outside, where Charlie was waiting for them in the shade.

“Are you ok?” asked Alice as she ran up to him.

“What do you mean?”

“Diego told us you went out because you felt it was stuffy in the church…”

“Oh! Yeah, I just needed some air, but I’m perfectly fine now.”

“Glad to hear you’re feeling better, mate,” said Andre as they made their way down the stairs.

“Ok, next up is a sweet treat: pastéis de nata. And it will give us the chance to relax a bit and step away from the heat,” said Alanza.

“Hum, actually, you guys can go ahead. We’ll join you later. There’s something I want to show Alice,” said Charlie, taking Alice’s hand.

She looked up at him, her cheeks turning pink.

“Ok, you two have fun!” said Diego as he guided the rest of the group away from the couple.

“We’ll be at the Confeitaria Colombo!” shouted Alanza as Alice and Charlie walked away.

They left the street they were on, taking a narrow road to lead them to the larger Rua Sete de Setembro.

“Where are you taking me?” asked Alice as she let Charlie lead the way.

“You’ll see,” simply replied Charlie.

“Is it what you and Diego were talking about yesterday?” asked Alice.

Charlie stopped in his tracks and looked at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Diego was looking for you yesterday before lunch, and he went straight to talk to you when I told him where you were. Also, you two looked like you were cooking up some plan last night at dinner,” said Alice as they started walking again.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” replied Charlie, avoiding Alice’s gaze.

“Ah! I knew it! You were planning something with Diego!” said Alice as they turned into a small deserted street next to an old theatre. “Seriously, where are you taking me?” she said, looking worriedly around.

They crossed a plaza and stopped in front of a building built in limestone that looked like a church. Four statues were on the façade: one on each side of the building, and the other two were on each side of the door. Before she had time to read what was written at the top of the building, Charlie took both of her hands and made her look at him. 

“Close your eyes,” he said, smiling.

Alice looked at him, skeptically.

“Please,” he pleaded.

She furrowed her brows, smiling lightly as she closed her eyes after removing her sunglasses. He waved a hand in front of her closed eyes to make sure she wasn’t looking. He gently took her hand and guided her inside the building.

“You can open your eyes now,” said Charlie as he stood behind her.

Alice opened her eyes and what she saw rendered her speechless. Three floors of walls covered in books. A magnificent chandelier dangled from the ceiling, which also had a skylight in iron structure. The intricate details of the wooden frame of the library’s galleries were sublime. Alice felt like she was in a dream. Sure, Hogwarts’ library was big, but it was dark, a little gloomy, and unwelcoming; Madam Pince having a lot to do with that last impression. This library was luminous. The blue walls contrasting with the wood’s darkness and the touches of gold on the wood contributed to Alice’s warm feeling as she stood in this great library.

“Oh, Charlie,” whispered Alice, turning around, the skirt of her dress twirling as she did so. 

“You like it?” asked Charlie as Alice wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Like it? I love it!” she said before kissing him on the lips, her straw hat falling backward.

Charlie placed his hands on her waist, closing his eyes as he leaned into the kiss until he realized something. He opened his eyes and cleared his throat.

“What?” asked Alice as she took a step back.

“Hum… there are people around…” whispered Charlie, looking around the room.

Alice turned her head, noticing some people looking at them as her face grew hot.

“Sorry,” she mouthed before looking back at Charlie. “Let’s take a look around,” she whispered as she grabbed her hat from the floor.

They walked around the bookcases on the ground floor, looking at all the old books’ spines. They didn’t dare touch any, as they felt the gaze of the librarian on their back.

“I guess every library comes with a Madam Pince,” whispered Alice.

“I guess kissing in a library won’t get you on the librarian’s good books,” said Charlie, looking behind him. “Anyway, it’s not like we can read anything here. Everything seems to be in Portuguese. We should go back to the others… Alice! What are you doing?”

Alice held a book in her hand while holding her wand over a page with the other. “Shhh, be quiet. It’s just this book had ‘Contos de fadas brasileiros’ written on it.”

“But it’s in Portuguese! And your wand…”

“I need it to use a translation spell Rowan taught me.”

“Taught you? When?”

“Well, she didn’t actually teach it to me in person. I just found it on a note in a book she read,” explained Alice as she read the page her wand was hovering over.

“Quick,” said Charlie, as he looked behind them, “the librarian is coming.”

Alice closed the book and promptly replaced it on the shelf as she surreptitiously slid her wand back into her crossbody handbag. “Obrigada,” said Alice, turning to face the librarian with a sweet smile, her angelic face seemingly calming any worries the librarian had as the couple swiftly left the library.

“That was a close call,” said Charlie once they were outside. “Anyway, what did you say to the librarian?”

“I simply said ‘thank you.’”

“Why?”

“Because it’s polite and one of the few things I can say in Portuguese,” explained Alice as they made their way back to the Rua Sete de Setembro. “Figured something polite, and my sweet face would get her off our backs.”

They leisurely made their way to the Confeitaria Colombo, holding hands and talking about their vacation so far. As they approached it, they saw their friends leaving the restaurant.

“Here are the two lovebirds!” exclaimed Tulip.

“We got some custard tarts to go when we figured you wouldn’t be back in time,” said Penny, holding up a small plastic bag.

“They were delicious!” said Barnaby, rubbing his stomach as he smiled.

“Mate, you have some coloured lip balm on your lips,” pointed out Andre, smirking.

“So I guess Alice liked her surprise,” said Diego, grinning.

Charlie used the back of his hand to wipe off the lip balm as he and Alice blushed.

“Wait, did you two abandon us just to make out somewhere?” asked Tonks.

“What? No! We visited a library!” exclaimed Alice.

“A library? Why would you visit a library instead of eating custard tarts? Are you trying to cover up for the fact that you did spend all that time making out?” asked Tulip, her face inches from Alice’s as she looked at her suspiciously.

“No, they did go to a library: The Real Gabinete Português de Leitura, or Royal Portuguese Reading Room,” explained Diego, making Alanza wince at his Portuguese pronunciation. “The two Argentinian girls I spoke to yesterday said it was a really nice place to see, so I told Charlie he should take Alice there.”

“Wait, when you left the church…” started saying Alanza.

“I went to locate the library, make sure I had the right directions,” completed Charlie.

“Aw, all that for Alice… Makes me sick,” said Tonks, sticking out her tongue in fake disgust.

“Jealous,” said Alice, lightly nudging her friend.

“You wish,” replied Tonks, linking her arm with her friend’s. “Now, come on. We’re supposed to go see a royal palace.”

“Actually, it is the Imperial Palace,” explained Alanza as they made their way down the street. “It became the prince regent of Portugal’s residence when he moved here with his family to escape Napoleon’s invasion of Portugal. It is at that time that Rio became the royal seat of power.”

“Bloody French,” said Tonks, smirking as she glanced at Alice. 

“He wasn’t French, he was Corsican, and his ancestors were Italian,” said Alice.

“But he was the emperor of France, no?”

“For, like, ten years.”

“His army was French?”

“Yes…”

“Therefore, I reiterate what I said: Bloody French,” said Tonks, sticking out her tongue.

“Stop bickering, you two,” said Andre. “As long as I get to see a palace, I’m happy.”

“We are not bickering. We are having a friendly conversation,” said Tonks and Alice in unison, making Alanza raise her eyebrows and look around in confusion.

“Don’t ask. That’s how they are,” explained Penny to Alanza, rolling her eyes.

When they finally arrived at the Imperial Palace, what stood in front of them was a white three-storey building in a simple baroque style with a tiled roof. 

“That’s it?” asked Tulip.

“Well, it has its charms,” said Alice.

“There are some details around the windows,” said Penny.

“It is not what Europeans think of when they hear ‘Imperial Palace,’” pointed out Alanza.

“Thank Merlin, you see it too! I mean, it’s lovely, sure, but it’s no Versaille or Buckingham. Please tell me it’s like that golden church, and the interior is grand,” said Andre with pleading eyes.

“Unfortunately, no. It was stripped at the end of the 19th century and became a central mail office. It mostly serves as a cultural center nowadays, with temporary art exhibitions.”

“Then why is it called the Imperial Palace?” asked Barnaby.

“Because when Brasil became independent, it became the Império do Brasil, or Empire of Brasil,” explained Alanza. “When it was the Portuguese royal family’s residence, it was known as the Royal Palace. Before that, it was the house of the Governor.”

“How come you know so much?” asked Tulip.

“She’s from around here,” said Diego.

“Alice, you live in London. Do you know who first lived in Buckingham Palace?”

“Hum, no?”

“See! I live in London as well, and I don’t know the history of any buildings, except the Tower of London because executions,” pointed out Tulip. 

“Alright, when Alice told me you wanted to visit the historic part of Centro, I may have studied up on my Trouxa history. The map I have with me is full of my notes,” she said, showing the scribbles on her map.

“Trouxa?” asked Barnaby.

“People who can’t do magic.”

“Ah! We call them Muggles,” said Charlie.

“So, as much as standing in the sun learning about cultural differences is fun, what is next?” asked Penny.

“Well, that’s pretty much it. Next up for you is to head back to the hotel to relax, so you are ready for tomorrow’s hike,” said Alanza.

“Hike?!” said Alice and Penny.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have any outfits that are intended for nature,” said Andre.

“I was actually planning to go to the National History Museum tomorrow, since it’s free on Sundays,” said Alice.

“Says the rich girl,” said Tonks.

“Rich people are notoriously cheap,” replied Alice.

“But I don’t want to go to a stuffy museum,” complained Tulip.

“We can separate for the day. You guys can go hike in nature, while Penny, Andre, and I go to the museum.”

“Will there be dragons on that hike?” asked Charlie.

“Charlie. Always asking the important questions,” said Diego.

“Hum, no, sorry,” replied Alanza.

“Meh, then I’ll go to the museum with Alice.”

“Are you sure? There won’t be any dragons in the museum either,” said Alice.

“No, but you’ll be there,” replied Charlie, making Alice blush.

“Ok! I think this is our cue to head back to the hotel before those two start snogging in front of the palace,” said Tulip as she ran towards the street to hail two cabs.

“Well, see you tomorrow then! Tchau!” said Alanza waiving to the group as they joined Tulip.

A/N #2: Hope you enjoyed it! Next up: the museum, where I will describe every single exhibit they see... Joking. Anyway, just wanted to let you know something regarding the Imperial Palace. So, in the fic, Alanza said they interior is rather ordinary, it’s mostly based on pictures of the interior. According to Culture Trip, “in 1980 it was restored to its former glory with the interior replicated to how it was in the 19th century.” Unfortunately couldn’t find any information regarding the current state of the interior.

[nikkzwrites]

Yesterday Once More | Dark Fix-It Fic Series | Chapter 16

A/N: This fic is one that I started with my OC because honestly, I personally didn’t like how season 3 ended. So I am rewriting all of Dark with my OC Annalise Dahlheim. I hope you all like it. Some things will be expanded more on just for more depth to Dark that season 3 kinda skipped over so…. yeah. (Important to this chapter! Here is the song referenced. I’d recommend listening to this at the last paragraph. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqwXY8h9c5I)

CW: Canon Typical Triggers: Smoking, Sex, Language, Drugs, Drinking, Death, Violence, Suicide Mentions, Cutting, Violence.

Word Count:  8.9k

[First Chapter] [Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

Where did it all begin? Where did things begin? In the past? In the future? Who can say where it began? Will we ever be capable of knowing the origin of all things? Or is there still an origin before that? And before that? And before that? Do beginning and end even exist? Or is it all connected in an endless loop and are “beginning” and “end” just different words for one and the same moment?

The day was June 20th, 2019. Jonas woke up to music blaring. He slowly allowed himself time to actually get out of bed while he listened to the radio.

Somehow, sometime 

The future starts somewhere

I won’t wait much longer now

Love is created through bravery

So don’t think about it twice

We ride on fiery wheels 

Towards the future through the night.

Jonas turned off the radio and got dressed. He jogged his way downstairs to grab himself some breakfast. He turned around to go to the table after pouring his cereal.

“Boo,” Michael smiled, greeting his son. He had just come in from getting the paper so he decided it might be fun to pull a small prank on Jonas.

They both laughed and Jonas smiled. “Good morning,” He walked around the man to go sit at the table. 

Michael turned and told the boy, “Good morning sleepyhead.” He threw the newspaper on the table and walked to sit with his son, “So? What are your plans?”

“I’m off to the lake with the others,” Jonas explained to his father.

Michael hummed, “It’s supposed to storm later, you know?”

Hannah walked down the stairs and kissed her husband’s head. Michael hummed as she pressed her cheek against his then walked into the kitchen to make herself food. She told Jonas, “Don’t forget about Ulrich and Katharina’s party tonight. Don’t be late so again, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jonas said nonchalantly.

Michael looked up and stared. Today was the day, wasn’t it. He zoned out as his wife took down a bowl for herself. Hannah asked him, “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

Michael took a second to process what she said. He nodded and said, “She’s almost done.” He smiled and elbowed Jonas, “Want to see her?”

Jonas rubbed his side, “Sure Dad.”

Michael hurried up the stairs and grabbed the painting he made of his first love. He smiled gently seeing her again. Tomorrow was the first day he would actually meet her since she had declined going to the party tonight. He brought the portrait downstairs to show his son. “Lookie here,” He chuckled and asked, “Pretty, ain’t she?”

Jonas smiled at his father’s pride in the project. He barely glanced at it before saying, “Yeah Dad.” He turned to check the time and whispered, “Fuck.” He hurried to put his things away. He walked over to his things and grabbed his bag. He thought for a second and grabbed his raincoat as well. He walked over to bid a farewell to his parents, “Right. I’ve got to go.” Seeing the yellow jacket in Jonas’s hand made Michael drop the painting. He quickly then bent down to pick up his last piece of her he was ever going to have. Jonas reached towards his father, “Are you okay, Dad?”

He looked up and said, “Yeah. I’m good.” He looked around defensively, “Everything’s alright.” Michael studied the painting. Luckily nothing was damaged on her. “I…” Michael admitted, “I just had deja vu…” He picked up the painting fully and placed it down on the shelf under the clock.

Jonas stayed there for a moment studying his father before just nodding, “Okay. See you later.”

When Hannah heard Jonas completely out the door, she slowly approached her husband. Feeling her light touch, Mikkel jumped in surprise but quickly melted into her contact. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and pressed her face into his back. Hannah whispered, “Don’t you think it'd be good if you got out?” Mikkel looked down at her hand. He mentally wasn’t there with Hannah. Michael was far away thinking of Annalise and wondering where she was. Hannah asked him, “At least think about it?” She kissed the man’s back and held herself close to him trying to make him feel her love and closeness, “For me.”

“I still have to finish her,” He grumbled to Hannah. 

Hannah let him go and went back to making her coffee.

Dressed in matching Hawaiian shirts, Magnus zoomed past his sister to catch up to Bartosz. They laughed as the let go of the handle just enough to give each other a fist bump. Martha turned her head to smile and blush at Jonas as they all rode to the lake. Jonas smiled blissfully unaware for a moment before an unexplainable sinking feeling hit him.

The church bells tolled on the hour and our Jonas stumbled out of it on his mission to correct the course of history.

Ulrich kissed Katharina as he tried to convince her to make love with him. They giggled with each other kissing until they heard the door open. At first, Ulrich snapped but when he turned to see his youngest splotched up and red his heart sank.

“I think I’m sick,” complained Mikkel, “I’m covered in red spots. Maybe I have dengue fever?”

Katharina sat up and motioned to him, “Come here.” She checked her son and cursed. “You’ve got rubella.” She shook her head and asked, “You had to pick today of all days for this?” She playfully growled at her son then pet his head, “Let’s get you to the doctor.” She got out of bed to go and walk with Mikkel to get him ready leaving Ulrich alone in bed.

Aleksander drank his morning coffee as he read the newspaper. His eyes were grabbed by the headline, ‘Murder in Marburg Unsolved 33 Years Later. Search for Two Fugitives Perps Still on.’

“Will you come by later,” his wife’s voice pulled him away from the paper. Regina walked over to him and placed a concerned hand on his back, “This afternoon, to the hotel for lunch.”

Aleksander quickly closed the newspaper and said, “Yes! Of course.” He wrapped his arm around her to try and desway her worries.

Regina squinted at him, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” He quickly replied.

Regina knew the look on his face. She could see that he was clearly lying to her so she wanted to give him another chance to open up, “Are you sure?” When he nodded and hummed holding firm that he was okay, she reached over him to grab her phone. She left a small kiss on her cheek as she parted with him and said, “See you later.”

Freida smiled at her daughter, “Come on darling, you can’t just stay stuffed up in this room the entire time we’re here. What’s the use in coming if you don’t at least try it out? Is it too much to ask you to talk to a single person other than me here?”

“I perfectly can stay cooped up in one place for one week without issues,” Annalise said, scrolling through her phone looking at pictures and videos of her father and her, “It’s not like you didn’t send me off to do just that for how many months? Plus, I talked to that nice lady just yesterday… Mrs. Tiedemann?”

Freida sighed and walked to her daughter, “I know. I know dear.” She kissed the girl’s head. She watched the video of her late husband filming with his selfie stick jogging ahead of his daughter taunting her for losing stamina so fast on their vacation up to Yellowstone. Even on vacation, their training for track never let up. The small little family felt empty without his light and playfulness all around them. He and Annalise were inseparable. You’d never find one without the other. Lukas loved his near spitting image so much. Freida kissed her daughter’s head again and asked, “Could you please at least try to see if you will be able to adjust well here? I hear that Ulrich jogs every morning.”

“Who’s Ulrich,” Annalise asked, without looking up. She started up another video of her dad. This time Lukas was speaking to the video without Annalise around.

Lukas smiled in the video while wearing his firefighter uniform, 

“Hey there Anna! I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it to this tournament.

I promise I am still with you okay?

No matter where I am, remember our song we agreed on.

‘I'll be the soles of your shoes on the ground

Running with you 'til you're safe and you're sound’

I love you. You are going to do great.” 

Freida rolled her eyes and sighed at her daughter, “Nielsen? As in the host family and the husband to the principal?”

Annalise nodded, “Yeah, about that.” She put her phone away, “You think I could possibly go to a smaller host family or something? I don’t know if I am a right fit with a family that already has two kids my age.”

“They have a younger one too you know, Mikkel,” Freida helped her daughter up and opened the curtains in the room, “You used to love helping out at the summer camps and volunteering with kids. Plus the hospital said you always liked hanging out with the kids there. So I’m sure that will be fun.”

Annalise nodded, “Okay… I can at least try to meet them.” She mumbled her voice slowly going more inaudible as she continued, “Well the kids were more fun anyway. They would actually play Uno and stuff with me. Plus they had the better snacks.”

“Perfect,” Freida smiled, “There’s a party at their house later tonight.”

Annalise screamed, “What?!” She quieted herself again and rushed through her words, “Mom. I- I’m not ready for something like that. I can barely see my own friends? How am I supposed to meet all of theirs?” She started to hyperventilate. What if someone mentioned or asked about her dad? What if someone asked about her scars and she would have to tell the entire room? What if because of that they all thought she was a freak? She pulled at the short sleeves of her shirt.

Freida held her daughter, “Okay.” She thought for a second, “Okay then! I’ll just go! How does that sound? Maybe I can see if we can arrange to meet them before the party and we can have Magnus walk with you back or something?”

Annalise nodded, “Please?” She clung to her mother and closed her eyes before they opened again with a furrowed brow, “Wait… Who’s Magnus again?”

Charlotte sat at home and looked up at her husband who just came home. He smiled and placed his bags down. Peter greeted her, “Hey!” He walked further inside and asked, “Where are the kids?” Charlotte just stared silently at him causing him to try and explain, “I was at the nursing home.” His wife just continued to stare at him. He sighed exasperated, “Shall we just go on like this? That you won’t believe anything I say?” Charlotte looked down as if she were contemplating. “Say something,” Peter begged. She looked up at him and stayed silent. Peter turned away and angrily swat at the air, “Maybe this is why all this happened.” He turned towards her and said, “Because I get nothing from you. Nothing. It’s as if you’re dead inside.”

Charlotte sighed, “About tonight… I think it’s best if I go to the Nielsens’ alone.”

Peter smacked his lips but nodded walking out of the room.

“Did you know about the lady who drowned here,” Batosz teased Martha.

The girl splashed at him, “Stop it!”

He just smiled and continued, “When the water is clear, you can see her dress down there. And sometimes you feel her hands on your feet while swimming.” He shook his head and said, “But that’s not the worst thing. The worst is when she’s hungry.” That was Magnus’s cue to slyly swim beneath the surface to help scare his sister. Bartosz chuckled, “Then she drags people down to her.”

Magnus quickly pulled Martha down causing the girl to yelp out in fear. He quickly let go and both rose up to the surface. Bartosz and Magnus laughed as Martha tried to readjust herself. “Asshole,” She yelled, splashing Bartosz. She rolled her eyes, “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

Jonas sat at the edge of the lake on the sandy beach watching his friends swim and laugh. He smiled to himself as Martha strolled out of the pond and dried herself off.

Martha tossed her towel down next to him and laid down on it. She leaned closer to the boy and asked, “You coming tonight?”

“I think so,” He turned his head to talk to her.

There was silence between them. Martha sat up as Jonas’s eyes darted from her eyes down to her lips and back. This moment didn’t last long before Martha spoke again.

“I sometimes wonder if my parents are really happy together,” sighed the girl, “Or if people just make do with what they have?” Jonas turned away and thought for a moment causing Martha to ask, “Are your parents happy?”

Jonas blinked and looked down. He shook his head, “No idea.”

“Bad news kiddo,” Freida told her daughter, “Looks like all of them are busy. They are taking Mikkel to the doctor since he has rubella and Magnus and Martha are out at the lake with some friends.”

Annalise nodded, “Okay. Well, we tried right?”

Freida smiled, “We tried.” She collapsed on the bed next to her daughter then turned to look at her.

Annalise shook her head, “What is that look for? Why are you staring at me like that?”

“I’m just proud that you’re trying,” Freida smiled. She played with the hem of her daughter’s shorts that she was mandated to wear for at least another few months. The hospital wanted to make sure that she wasn’t going to actively try to harm herself without notice so they mandated a dress code for her.

Annalise turned her head. She sighed and got up, “I guess I’ll head that way then. You know… The lake?” She scratched at one of her scars as she got ready to leave, “It might be nice to get some sun and meet the people I’m going to have to be around.”

Our Jonas stood on the side of the street debating his next move. He had to insure some things before leaving this time. He needed to close the chapter with Martha and then find his dad to convince him not to kill himself. Jonas tried to think back to what his father was doing that day when a car drove up.

“Hey Jonas,” Katharina called from inside the car, “Weren’t you going to the lake? Martha and Magnus left a long time ago.”

Jonas walked around the car trying not to speak in fear of giving himself away. Mikkel smiled and stuck his fist out of the car window, “Ultimate fist bump?”

Katharina laughed, “Don’t touch the pestilent boy. He has rubella.” At that Mikkel huffed and withdrew his offer bringing his hand back into the car. Katharina looked at the boy and asked, “Where’s your bike? Should we give you a ride?” Jonas shook his head prompting Katharina to nod, “See you tonight then.”

Ulrich chuckled and leaned over his wife, “I know one person who’d be really glad if you came, and it’s not Magnus.” He laughed.

Katharina pushed her husband back to the other side of the car, “Ulrich.”

“Why,” Mikkel chuckled, “It’s no secret Martha’s nuts about him.”

“Stop it,” Katharina tried to defend her daughter. She turned to Jonas, “Come on, get in. We’ll drop you off at the lake.”

Jonas shook his head, “No, it’s okay. Really.”

“Good,” Ulrich laughed, “Then see you later, Romeo.” He winked at the boy and they drove off.

Magnus had walked away from the group to take a piss. While there though, He spied a girl naked laying face down in the water. He placed himself back into his trunks and ran to help her.

Franziska stood hearing the wild splashing hear her. She looked up to see the tall blond boy in front of her. “Magnus,” she asked him confused.

Bewildered, Magnus was at a loss of words. He shook his head and tried not to stare at her breasts. He stuttered as he tried to explain himself, “You weren’t moving and I… I thought you were dead. He said there was a dead body there.”

Franziska looked around for a second to see if anyone else was there to witness her skinny dipping. When she saw no one else, she looked back at the boy. The red head shook her head and said, “Still plenty alive.”

“Cool,” Magnus stated before wading out of the water, taking a few times to stare back at her again.

Franziska smiled as she watched the boy leave. She was entertained by him. This was her first time actually gaining interest in him and was he now an interest.

Martha laid on the beach trying to memorize her play. She looked up at Jonas sitting next to her and smiled.

“Something up,” Jonas asked laughing.

Martha shook her head, “I…” She giggled, “I was just thinking…” She laughed at herself and asked, “Wouldn’t you sometimes like to know what happens next?”

Jonas thought for a moment and leaned back, “You mean in the future?”

Martha sat up once more and leaned a bit towards him, “Yes or… maybe just in the next 5 minutes. I… sometimes get this feeling that something is about to happen. You know?” She stared deep into his eyes.

Jonas’s heart raced. His brain was running faster than it ever ran before but there were still no cognitive thoughts there.

“Attack,” Magnus yelled, interrupting the moment. He jogged past them but then turned and stopped, “Hey! Mom said that chick was going to head over to meet us.”

“What girl,” Jonas asked before checking the time. When he looked at it, he realized he was going to be late. He scrambled up while whispering under his breath, “Fuck.”

Martha shook her head and asked, “What’s up?”

Jonas quickly got his pants on and explained, “I’ve got to go. We gave Grandma Ines a tablet for her birthday. I promised my grandmother I was going to show her how it works.” He threw on his backpack.

“Okay,” Martha said sadly.

“I’ll see you later,” asked Jonas.

Martha nodded but then called him back, “Jonas! Why do you have a raincoat?”

Our Jonas watched his younger self through the trees explain, “Because it’s supposed to rain later.” 2019 Jonas chuckled, “Well...then…” He was struggling to leave, but eventually turned.

After a little bit of waiting, 2020 Jonas zipped up his coat past his scars and pulled his hood so that it hid his longer hair. He slowly approached Martha and sat next to her. He was frowning as he slowly tried to figure out how he wanted to close this part of his life. He turned and looked at her, “I thought I still had time.” He furrowed his brow, “Why do people say that anyway? ‘To have time.’ How can you have time when it clearly has you?”

Martha sighed and tried to figure him out, “Has something happened?” When he was silent, she commented, “You’re different somehow.”

“I wanted to tell you something,” Jonas concluded looking at her, “I’ve wanted to for a long time.” He stared at her and said, “I think… I think we were meant to meet. Never think anything else.” He closed his eyes as Martha slowly closed the gap to kiss him. He reached around to hold her there in that moment before letting go. Something felt strange about this. As if his heart were empty while doing this, an empty gesture. Jonas whispered to her, “I’ve got to go now.” He stood up and pulled himself away from his old happiness walking towards where he needed to go.

The Nielsens’ pulled up to the Kahnwald house. Hannah greeted them and Ulrich asked, “Did Captain Nielsen make you work too?”

Hannah laughed, “All the best on your wedding anniversary.”

Ulrich commented, “Crazy, isn’t it? It’s been 25 years.”

“Thank you for the glasses, Hannah,” Katharina told the woman.

Michael watched them out the window. They were just packing up the car, but it was so familiar to him. Like a foggy dream. Then he saw himself get out of the car.

Mikkel complained, “I need to pee.”

“Go on the tree over there,” Ulrich told him.

Hannah stared at the boy. He was so familiar. Something ate at her. She didn’t even hear at first that Katharina was asking her a question. Once Hannah snapped out of it she said, “Yeah, of course he can come use our bathroom. It’s just across from the front door.” Mikkel nodded and walked to the house. Hannah turned to the parents and said, “I just had deja vu or something. Mikkel’s gotten big.”

Katharina nodded in agreement, “He eats like an ogre.”

“He got that from his mother,” Ulrich teased.

Katharina pinched her husband’s gut playfully, “Hey, you stop that!”

Hannah smiled and forced out a laugh.

Mikkel walked inside the house. Something felt weird about it today. He walked into the bathroom.

Michael climbed down the stairs and listened to himself using the bathroom then hid. When his younger self saw him, he was terrified and ran out. Michael hit his head against the wall and started to pant trying to suppress his tears.

Annalise walked the street set to her on google maps. She had gotten the coordinates from supposedly Magnus earlier. She sighed and placed the phone back in her pocket. She placed her headphones in and listened to her music as she walked.

As Jonas walked his way towards his childhood home, he zoned out. He walked down the street only to find a very strange sight. There in front of him was a girl. She had shorter hair, seemed sad, but he knew her instantly. There walking along the road was Annalise. He swallowed, what was she doing here? She wasn’t supposed to be here yet. The girl must have seen him staring at her because she stopped.

Annalise tilted her head, “Hello?” The girl took out her earpods. She tried to pull the boy out of his trance, “Is there...uh” The girl still had an issue speaking German. She was stuttering over her words and trying to pantomime before just switching to English, “Am I doing something wrong? Is this the way to the beach?”

Jonas shook his head. His lips trembled. He smiled and said, “Yes… But No! You just look like a girl I know.” He pantomimed as well to help her understand what he was saying. This must have been why Bartosz had said she was so bad at German.

The girl smiled gently and tried to ask, “May I...uh…” She motioned to her chest out towards him. When she could see he didn’t quite understand, she pressed her fingers to her lips gently then pointed to him.

Jonas blushed. He swallowed hard then walked closer to her. Seeing her like this made him forget the world around him. He was just a boy with a girl standing on the side of the road walking opposite directions.

“No,” Annalise said loudly, throwing her hands up in front of her to stop him, “I...uh...want to...speak…” Her eyes shifted down to the ground then back up at him. She wanted to see how bad her conversational skills were before meeting the Nielsen kids. Supposedly they were at the lake. Luckily she had the excuse that she wasn’t dressed for it to get into the water, but she couldn’t lie to her mother about having met them if her mom was just going to meet them later that night and mention her.

Jonas’s eyes widened in understanding then he nodded with a smile, “Oh! Practice German with me.” He motioned. He laughed at himself for just resuming their relationship right off the bat despite her never meeting him by that point. He felt so stupid thinking that a complete stranger was just going to ask for him to kiss her.

“Yeah,” She nodded. Her eyes glowed having someone understand her, “I am from America. My Zayde is from here. It is nice to meet you.” She held out her hand. She seemed very confident saying those few sentences in German. The girl had practiced those frequently so they came out the most fluid out of all of her speech. If Annalise were honest, she liked having to only interact with one person. She was much better with that as of late.

The boy chuckled and took her hand in his. He noticed something across her forearm he had never noticed before. There were scars there. His eyes traced them then went back to her face. His face had dropped. He turned her hands over to see scarring on her knuckles as well.

Annalise gently pulled her hand away from him, “I was in...an accident.” She nervously tried in vain to cover them up. Her heart leapt into her throat. Her eyes started to water from anxiousness. She recoiled ready for the insults.

Jonas unzipped his jacket to reveal his scabs from being hung. He nodded in understanding and said, “So was I.”

The girl walked towards him and motioned if she could touch. She seemed almost hypnotized by his scars. He could recognize that pained look on her face. Jonas nodded. Her touch was just as he remembered. She was gentle, soft, doting, earnest. Jonas’s eyes closed. His breathing steadied to match hers. Time stood still as the two teenagers just tried to process their life leading up to this moment. Being together alone with practically a stranger that was somehow closer than any other person in the world right at that moment. Jonas knew so much about her, yet nothing of her. She knew absolutely nothing about him, yet she still treated him as if she would treat someone she held dearly. He finally understood it that moment in his room. Why their hearts beat as one. He wanted nothing more than to put his forehead against hers. To tell her that he finally understood and that he lo- 

“I just got out of the hospital,” Annalise confessed. Her voice took him out of his thoughts. She started to walk with him, “They say the scars should fade in another few months to be barely noticeable. I’m sure yours will be very much the same.” 

Jonas nodded. She was so close to him. His hand dangled waiting for her hand to sneak into it as it normally did only for it to be left alone. He gulped and asked, “Oh?”

Annalise nodded, “My dad… We drove off a bridge to avoid a collision after a meet. He saved me from drowning. He unbuckled me, and pushed me through the broken glass.” The girl motioned to her scars then continued, “I was in the middle of the Hudson for a while screaming looking for him. He never made it out though.” She walked next to him, sniffled back tears, and said, “So my mom signed me up for the foreign exchange program here to help me adjust again before going back to school at home. She didn’t want the pressure the team would put me through. We know they would mean well, but…” Annalise shrugged and sighed, “I’m not ready...And you know… People don’t like messy.” She needed to switch back and forth from English at points but Jonas got the picture.

“Team?” Jonas asked, “Want to tell me about it?”

Annalise nodded, “I ran track and cross country before…”

Jonas smiled, “I’m sure you will get back to it someday. You still seem like a fast runner.” He thought back to the night she ran from him and how much it surprised him to see her able to pull that off, but now it made much more sense. 

“Yeah,” Annalise sighed wistfully, then her face dropped, “I just can’t stop thinking about my dad though. That was kinda, our thing. You know?”

Jonas nodded, “Yeah. I know how that feels actually.” He looked up and said, “It’s so hard to go back from your old life when a person you loved more than the world is gone and almost everyone else has moved on, without you.” He smiled and gently put his hand into hers to comfort her. She seemed to melt at his touch. As if she was starved for any type of human connection. He tried to change the topic just to see her smile without laced sadness once more, “You know, I think longer hair would suit you too. You have such a wonderful face for it.”

Annalise giggled as she reached up to touch the ends of it, “Well thank you. They had to cut it at the hospital. A kid put gum in it during group.” She leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked. 

“That is such a shame,” He laughed with her. Jonas let his head rest on hers as they walked. He sighed content with their togetherness.

She smiled and asked, “can you follow me for a second?”

“Want some,” Magnus asked Bartosz as they biked through the fields.

The boy shook his head, “Nah, thanks.”

“See you later then,” Magnus wished his friend goodbye before biking off.

Bartosz smiled, “Till tomorrow.” When he saw Martha about to follow her brother he stopped her, “Martha…” He mumbled and stumbled over his words, “Sorry I can’t come over later, but… we’ve got a party, for my mom and the hotel...I just couldn’t get out of it.” He sighed, “I just wanted to tell you that.”

Martha blinked. She tried to figure out why he would just volunteer this to her and not Magnus. She didn’t want to be rude though so she smiled and told the boy, “No biggie.”

“And I…” Bartosz stopped her, “I really like…” He got too nervous to fully say it and said, “your hair that way.” He shook his head, “I mean… You look good. With that hair.”

Martha smiled, finally understanding a little bit.

Bartosz laughed at himself and his confession, “Shit. You know what I mean.”

Martha giggled. Her heart fluttered when he said that, but as soon as she was about to say something, Jonas appeared in her mind. She looked at the boy, “Well… See you later.” 

2020 Jonas nodded and followed her out into the woods. He found themselves back at the rock that he found her sitting at when she sang to him and played with his hair. His heart raced thinking about that moment now. The tenderness they shared. The way the air felt as though this place was just for the two of them. How she always came back right to this spot. His face glowed a light pink. He watched her stand on top of the rock. She smiled and pulled him up with her. Their faces only centimeters from each other for a second  before she turned away from him with her full body. Their closeness felt like an eternity, yet not enough time for him to actually do anything about it.

Annalise screamed then started to laugh. She turned to him and smiled, “Scream with me.” She was so beautiful in the afternoon light. The light from above cast a darling halo on her hair. It almost seemed as if she was glowing. 

Jonas laughed, “What?”

“Scream with me,” The girl repeated, “It seems like you need it.” She laughed again.

Jonas shook his head for a second then let out a yell. It was small and pathetic compared to hers. He thought for a second afterwards. It did help. He screamed again. This time allowing all of the anger and sadness out with her. He could hear her voice join his as they roared at the world together. Both of their voices echoed through the forest, the trees, the rocks, the caves. They screamed until their throats burned from their residual frustration. Their chests empty and yet so heavy. When he finally turned, he saw her tears dripping down her face. He reached up and felt his own raining down upon the stone below them. They looked up at each other once more and laughed. Both of them realized they were yelling for the exact same thing, their fathers. Their smiles infected each other. The boy reached over and wiped her tears away, having the girl mirror the same thing with him. Jonas hopped off the rock first and held his hand out to help her jump down as well. They walked hand in hand back down to the road so that they could continue on their way.

2019 Jonas walked into the party with his mother. As soon as he came in he was greeted by Martha. She smiled at him and said, “Hey. I’m glad you made it.”

“Yeah me too.”

She looked around and asked, “Can I get you a drink?”

“Yeah,” Jonas said over the music following the girl.

When Katharina spotted Hannah, she squealed and ran over to the other woman, “Hey!”

Hannah laughed, “Hey.” She kissed Katharina’s cheeks as they greeted each other.

“It was meant to be a garden party, but this is much cozier,” Katharina explained. She turned and saw Freida, “Hey!” She called the other woman over. Katharina put her arm around the American and smiled at Hannah, “Hannah, Freida. Freida, Hannah. Hannah has been a very close friend since we were in high school. Hannah, Freida’s daughter is actually going to be staying with us soon.” Then the old classic Belinda Carlisle song came on. The blonde smiled and said to Freida, “Please mingle and excuse me. This is my favorite song. I have to dance.”

Freida smiled and watched as the woman danced away. She blushed and turned towards Hannah, “Hello.”

“Hello,” Hannah said. She held up her dish and asked, “Do you know where this goes?”

Freida nodded, “Yeah, It’s right over here.” She led the other woman through the other room where Magnus talked to his grandparents about getting a driver’s license. Freida laughed as she watched Katharina’s antics.

“Come on Charlotte,” She tried to drag the other woman up, “Dance with me.”

Charlotte shook her head as she allowed herself to get dragged up, “Please no. Katharina no.”

Hannah placed her dish down and walked back to Freida and led her over to Charlotte, “Hello Charlotte.”

Charlotte smiled, “Hello Hannah. Hello again Freida.”

Hannah turned to Charlotte and asked, “Where’s Peter?”

“Summer cold,” Charlotte lied then asked, “Michael?”

Hannah nodded, “Something similar.” The two women turned to Freida who was already downing another glass that Ulrich had poured her as he was passing by. Hannah asked, “How about you Freida?”

“Oh, my husband died,” admitted Freida. She raised her hands up, “But he would have loved this party. He was such a socialite. More than me.” She smiled gently.

Charlotte apologized, “I’m so sorry.”

“I-I didn’t know,” Hannah explained.

Freida looked up surprised, “Oh no! I’m just glad that I still have my daughter. They were both in the car when it went into the bay. Annalise is just like her father too. So it’s almost as if he’s still here,” She smiled brightly and asked, “So I heard both of you have children right?”

Charlotte nodded, “Two. Franziska and Elisabeth.”

“Jonas,” Hannah said, “Just Jonas.”

Annalise and Jonas continued chatting and getting to know each other more thoroughly. He was very surprised about how much he was able to learn about her and how alike they truly were, yet so different. Why had it taken him this long to actually try to get to know her? He guessed it was because the both of them were so focused on himself that she kind of fell to the wayside that she just instinctively knew was for her. Like she was helping lead him through this journey to find each other and themselves again through all the chaos and devastation. Like how he was this safe place for her now, she was the safe place for him both in his past and future. 

When they got back to Regina’s hotel, she pulled away from their walking embrace and said, “Well, this is my stop. Thank you so much. I- … Do you live and go to school here?”

Jonas nodded, “Yeah. I do actually.” He beamed, forgetting that he was actually there to prevent his existence.

“Awesome,” Annalise beamed. A pink glow brushed her cheeks. She bit her lip.

His heart started to race. His eyes darted from her lips back up to her eyes, then back again. He could tell she was doing the same. He smiled and he pressed his fingers to his lips gently then pointed to her. She giggled and nodded stepping a bit closer to him. Jonas wrapped one arm around the small of her back and used his other hand to cup her face. He tenderly placed his lips against hers. Her lips were so warm and soft. His eyes closed. He could feel her arms wrap themselves around his neck. He smiled within the kiss. He finally had the kiss with her where neither one of them was crying. 

Annalise kissed the boy. He was so passionate and romantic. She slowly deepened the kiss. She couldn’t believe her odds of having her first kiss be one of those movie kisses. It was just like how she always imagined she wanted her first kiss to be. There was this deep connection there. Slowly, she realized she was breathless, but she didn’t want to pull away. He felt as if he knew more than he let on and she wanted to be a part of that. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair not wanting this boy to disappear from her. He brought her into a strange new world that she wanted to know everything about. This stranger was the closest thing to a living dream she had ever felt. She truly felt alive again, for the first time in a very very long time.

Jonas slowly pulled away from her. He took in a deep breath. Was he holding his breath the entire time? He smiled and chuckled seeing the look on her face matching his. He placed a quick peck against her lips, “I guess I will see you soon.”

Annalise nodded quickly. She watched as he slowly walked away, “Wait! What’s your name!?”

“Jon-” Jonas thought for a second realizing that it was probably a bad idea to give her his real name, “My name is Adam.” 

Annalise smiled and promised, “I’ll be looking out for you then Adam!” She waved him off with the beautiful smile he had grown to love. That gorgeous smile that was the light in all of his dreams. 

Jonas nodded. He looked towards his house then back at her. He rushed back to her and placed his forehead against hers. His hands cupping her cheeks to hold her with him. He took in a deep breath, taking in the moment. “You’ll always be with me,” Jonas kissed her head, “We were meant to be. This was meant to happen. I would be so lost if I hadn’t met you. Please never let me go.”

Annalise nodded. She placed her hands over his, “I think you were about to leave though. If you really need to leave, I’d hate to be the thing holding you back from what you needed to do. It won’t be too long. I’ll be back in a month. I promise.” She pulled his hand away to kiss his fingertips. 

Jonas smiled. He had a hard time leaving her and this moment. He chuckled as his fingers combed through her hair. This was the happiest he had been in a long time. He wanted to hold onto it for as long as possible. To surrender himself to the love between them, but she was right. He had to fix this and with any luck, they would find each other again, in the next life.

Freida smiled as she and Katharina walked around the party once more. She giggled and commented, “Your family really does seem like it would help Annalise back on her feet. Ever since losing Lukas, it’s felt as if I lost both of them that night.”

Katharina wrapped her arm around Freida’s, “Of course! I promise I will treat her as one of my own.” They walked together and spotted Jonas and Martha. Katharina leaned over to the woman and giggled, “You see, over there is Jonas, Hannah’s son. You’ve already met Martha earlier. They all hang out together with another boy Bartosz. So I can guarantee she will never be lonely. Plus from what you described. Mikkel is going to adore her. You said she’s gotten her shots and is going to be fine if exposed to rubella?”

Freida nodded, “Yeah. We have vaccines for it. So she can actually come over and meet all of you tomorrow. I’m actually a bit shocked. Annalise said she was going to meet up with your kids, but now she’s texting me about meeting some boy and accidentally losing time? I have no idea what she’s thinking.”

Michael stood in his studio and smiled. There smiling back at him was a painted Annalise. It was one of his only ones with actual colors in it. The pinks, burnt oranges, blues, and purples seemed to fit her perfectly. He stood back to admire his work. He started to bring it down with him to get a better look at it in the light when he heard the door open and close. 

2020 Jonas walked into his family home as the storm brewed. The floor creaked beneath his feet. He walked into his room to see everything the same from what it was that day. 

“Jonas,” Michael asked, walking into the boy’s room. The man laughed and said, “I thought I heard someone. How come you’re not at the Nielsens’?” When Jonas turned to him, Michael could recognize that pained look on his son’s face, “Did something happen?”

Jonas limped over to his father and wrapped his arms around him. He started to sob into the man. The boy was just so thankful to be there with his father. He missed him so much.

“Hey,” Michael soothed, rocking them side to side. He wrapped his arms around his son and asked, “Everything okay?” He ran his hand down his hair. He played with it for a second before asking, “What’s with your hair?”

Jonas lifted his head away but left his hands resting on his father’s neck for a second. As he stared at him, Jonas slowly started to be reminded of why he was there. Behind his father, Jonas also noticed something. The painting he had paid no attention to before. He knew what, or rather, who it was now. He pulled away completely and commented, “I know.”

Michael chuckled and shook his head, “What do you know?”

“I know everything,” Jonas commented.

Michael started to become even more confused, “What?”

Tears filled Jonas’s eyes as he held out his fist towards his father and asked, “Ultimate fist bump?”

Michael’s heart started to race. He looked down at his son’s fist then back into Jonas’s eyes. A small whisper passed his lips, “What?” He started to back away. He stammered out, “Why did you just say that?”

“Because I know, Dad,” Jonas cried, “I know everything.” He nodded towards the painting left outside his bedroom door, “I know that’s Annalise.” Jonas looked up at his father and said, “ and I know your real name is Mikkel Nielsen.” He shook his head as his voice started to shake, “It’s okay.” He started to limp towards him.

Michael started to cry, “Please forgive me.” He leaned into his son’s embrace.

Mikkel walked down the stairs to his mother’s party as Ulrich was giving a slide show. He walked right past Jonas and told Katharina, “I can’t sleep.”

Katharina put a hand on her son’s head and said, “You’re burning up.” She looked to Freida who nodded. Katharina whispered, “Thank you” to the woman as she watched Freida whisper to Ulrich what was going on. She then watched her walk out of the house to go and check on her own daughter and to meet the Tiedemanns. Katharina sighed as she picked up her son and walked with him back up the stairs with him. She gently placed him down on the bed, “There you go.” She tucked him in and kissed his forehead, “Sleep well. If you go to sleep, you’ll get to your surprise tomorrow faster. Night night.”

“Can you stay here till I fall asleep,” Mikkel asked his mother.

Katharina let out a small sigh. She tilted her head and told him, “Slide over.”

Mikkel smiled and slid over so that he and Katharina could hold each other.

“So you’re from the future then,” Michael asked his scarred son. He shook his head and let out a single laugh. He messed with his hands and asked, “And why are you here now?”

Jonas looked at him and said, “Because I need to ask you for something.”

Michael asked, “What?”

“Not to do it,” Jonas asked him. 

Michael shook his head, “Not to do what?”

Jonas looked at his father confused, “It’s Ulrich and Katharina’s anniversary. You didn’t go along, like always. You stayed here. But something was different.” Jonas shook his head at himself, “I should’ve noticed something was up.”

“Jonas,” Michael told him, “I have no idea what…”

“Don’t lie to me,” Jonas yelled at him, “I know! God fucking damn it!” He started to cry again, “I know you’ll hang yourself in the studio. Have you already written the letter?”

Michael stared at his son as if he had no clue what the boy was going on about. He shook his head, “What letter?”

“You write a letter to me,” Jonas shook his head, “Not to me, but to the younger me.” He took it out and slammed it on the table, “The one marked: ‘Do not open before November 4, 10:13 p.m.’ The very minute you vanish.” Michael took the letter and started to skim it. As he did, Jonas said, “I’m here so you don’t do it.” His face was red from how much he was crying. Jonas just shook his head again, “It’s all intertwined. Like an endless loop. But you… you killing yourself, that’s the start.” Michael closed the letter and slowly slid it to Jonas. Jonas put it into his pocket and put his hands over his father’s, “Please promise me you won’t do it. Dad, you have to promise me. Please. Promise.”

Martha walked into her room leading the younger Jonas. She closed the door behind them and locked the door. She giggled and held out his towel to him, “You forgot this at the lake.”

Jonas took it, “Oh, thanks.”

Martha stood just inches away picking at her fingers, “I thought about what you said at the lake.” Her lips trembled.

“About grandmas? And the internet?” Jonas asked confused about what she was trying to talk about.

Martha laughed and paused for a moment. She whispered to him as she leaned forward, “I think you were right.” She slowly let her lips approach his for a kiss. They pulled each other closer excited for each other.

Thunder rolled as Jonas asked his father, “The day you disappeared, you were there and then suddenly gone. Did you go back to the cave? How did you find the passage there?”

Michael shook his head, “I didn’t find it. Someone showed it to me.”

“Who,” asked Jonas.

Michael looked at him, “You.”

Jonas shook his head, “What do you mean?”

“We were by the caves,” Michael started to recount his memories, “There was a strange noise. We were all sure someone was there. We ran. Then I lost you. I turned around and you were gone. But suddenly you were back again. You said there was something there, in the forest. Something evil. And that we had to return to the cave. You brought me all the way to the door and through the tunnel. I was so afraid. But you held my hand. And then you said, ‘We have to stay here, all night, but when the morning comes everything will be alright.’ And when I woke up, you were gone. All these years I’ve tried to understand why you did that. But then, at some point it all just faded away. It became more unreal, like a dream.”

Jonas’s lips trembled as he spoke, “But that’s impossible. I never did that.”

Michael sighed and said, “I saw myself today. Mikkel. It’s all returning. The coat, you. As if it’s all falling into place. Maybe you’re not here to stop me at all.” Jonas started to hyperventilate. His panic rose through him as Michael told the boy, “But rather to show me what it is I have to do. Maybe you only showed me the letter, so I know what’s in it, so I go and you live.”

Jonas started to cry. His head violently shook, “No, that can’t be. That can’t be. He told me I could stop the origin. If you don’t kill yourself, none of the rest will happen.”

Michael nodded, “But if none of the rest happens, you won’t be born. And maybe your role in all this is much greater than you think. And perhaps, I’m just a small part of a huge cancer that is much greater than any of us can imagine.”

Jonas’s breath shook out of him as he confessed, “Someone has said that to me before.”

Michael looked at his son, “Who?”

“Me,” Jonas whispered.

Michael grabbed onto the boy and placed his forehead against his son’s. He whispered, “God doesn’t err. He has a plan. For each of us.” He pet the boy’s head.

Claudia walked into the house and told the boy in the yellow raincoat, “I’ve waited a long time for the moment we’d meet again.”

“Who are you,” Jonas asked, “Are you with Adam?”

Claudia explained, “There are two sides out there. He is darkness. I don’t follow him, I follow the light. He lied to you. He brought you here to trigger everything so that it happens as it always has.”

Jonas shook his head, “No that can’t be. Adam wants this too!”

“No he doesn’t,” She told him, “He doesn’t want to fix things. He wants to destroy them forever.” Jonas looked at Michael as she told the boy, “Your role in all of this is much greater than you believe. Only you alone can put an end to all this.”

Jonas asked, “What does that mean?”

Claudia told him, “We’re at war and you have to wage it against yourself. Against Adam.”

“But if I don’t exist,” Jonas tried to explain, “if I’m not born, then Adam won’t exist either.”

Claudia shook her head, “I’ve seen a world without you. Believe me, it isn’t what you’re expecting. There are times in your life when you must see that the decisions you make affect more than your own destiny. This isn't about you and Mikkel. This is about everyone. Your mother. Your friends. Annalise. You alone can save them.”

He shook his head. He didn’t see her graves with the rest of them, “What does that mean?”

“We all make sacrifices,” Claudia explained, “Your father must make sacrifices too.”

Michael looked at Jonas and tried to comfort him, “It’s okay.”

The storm raged on. Annalise stared out the window of her hotel room. She looked down at her phone and dialed a number. Her father’s picture popped up as she called him. Lukas’s voice rang through the room.

“Hey! This is Lukas Dahlheim. If you are getting this, I’m either at work or with my two beautiful girls both of which are very important. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you… Oh and my darlings, if this is you, please know that I always love you and I miss you.”

Annalise started to cry, “Hey Dad. I miss you so much.” She sobbed and watched as her tears hit the ground, “I just called to let you know I had my first kiss today.” She laughed as tears continued to flow out from her eyes, “I wish you could have met him Dad. His name is Adam and he reminds me so much of you and mom. You would love him just as much as I’ve fallen for him.” She took in a breath and sobbed again, “Well, anyway. I love you Dad. I’ll see you later okay? Bye.” She hung up and let her hand that held the phone drop as it played the Krewella song Lukas told her to play when she missed him.

[okageshadowkingfannovel]

Book 2: Chapter 3

“Finally! I feel as if we’ve been putting this off for weeks!”

This is the farthest Ari’s ever been on the path leading out of Tenel village. The villager that’s usually on guard duty is suspiciously absent. Ari stands on that spot, staring at the path that snakes its way through the forest, meets the bridge crossing the river, and then dissolves into the open fields. He swallows hard, trying to steel himself.

“Wouldn’t you agree, slave?” King Stan prattles on, “I mean, it really feels like we’ve had two or three weeks of solid stalling. So. Much. Wasted. Time.”

Ari rolls his eyes, distracted just for a moment from the yawning unknown laid out before him in the daylight. Placing a hand on the sharpened fruit knife on his belt, he takes a deep breath and begins to walk.

It’s going to be ok, he tells himself, it’s going to be ok. It’s going to be ok. I just have to walk really, really fast. Is that a ticking sound?

Ari pauses and looks around along the ground.

“Just one second, Stan,” says Ari before the evil king can roar at him with impatient rage, “found it!”

The ticking leads him to a small patch of grass where a tiny gear waits. It looks just like the one found behind the Nameless Dwelling and just like that one, it stops ticking the moment Ari touches it.

He hears Stan growling.

“Burning …”

“Alright! Alright! I’m going!” Ari protests as he slips the gear into a pocket where it can join its brother.

The boy can’t help but notice that he’s developing a strange new hobby - gear collecting.

I guess it suits an uncool weirdo like me …

Eventually, Ari finds himself at the bridge. It crosses a small ravine that cuts the border of the field. The river tracing down the middle of it flows with a peaceful ease, not at all reflecting the dangers that lay beyond. The bridge itself seems sturdy and safe. It’s made of thick slabs of pale wood. Nothing about the bridge or the ravine or the river gives Ari the slightest hint of worry.

It’s the grassy expanse on the other side, dotted with trees and bushes and bunches of wild grass and suspicious looking patches of bluish fog, that make his heart race and his skin go grossly clammy.

It’s going to be ok. It’s going to be ok. You have Sta- … you have a fruit knife. That’s something.

In preparation, Ari pulls free the fruit knife and holds it ready. He begins to carefully cross the bridge. The farther he goes and the more things don’t happen, the better he begins to feel. The calming sounds of the water below and birds singing from far off in their trees start to soothe the pounding of his heart. Once he gets to the bridge’s midpoint, he might even dare to call himself relaxed.

See? It’s fine. So far, so good …

As soon as the thought passes through his head, a little white cloud fades into view at the far end of the bridge. It possesses wide, yellow eyes and bobs up and down in that all too familiar, ghostly way.

Of course.

Ari stops and Stanley pops up behind him.

“Oh, here is some low class evil being like the one in the church that I smashed for you.”

“It seems so, Evil King Stan.”

“But slave, you should improve your skills.”

“Improve my … what now?”

“Now, slave, destroy the one there. A true servant of mine should be able to do this easily. Now, go!”

Stan suddenly sinks back down, leaving Ari awkwardly and pathetically alone with nothing but a fruit knife.

Ok … ok … ok ok ok. It’s just one ghost, right? I have the fruit knife and … and maybe I can figure out the whole overdrive thing.

“O-o-verdri-”

Before Ari can say the word, a bone-chilling ‘boo’ pipes up from behind him. He turns to see a red ghost coming up from behind, growling and eying him up like a particularly easy and delicious snack.

Stupidly, Ari brandishes the fruit knife, whipping back and forth between the two ghosts. Even he thinks he looks pathetic as the knife shakes violently in his fear plagued fingers.

“St-Stanley? K-k-k-k-king Stanley … uh …”

Nothing happens. The ghosts continue to approach, forcing Ari into the middle of the most unfortunate sandwich of his life.

“Uh … ok … um, h-hello, guys … girls … um, whatever you are.”

The ghosts say nothing - not even a ‘boo.’

“I’m really sorry. I-I just got a little lost. This is your bridge, isn’t it? It’s a nice bridge. Very sturdy. I’ll just … leave your nice bridge alone so I don’t … um, sully it.”

Unfortunately, neither ghost seems inclined to move aside to let him pass.

Whelp, I guess this is it … not even 5 seconds into the wild and I’m about to be eaten.

He feels the stinky, icy breath of peckish ghost death bearing down upon him, caressing his face and slipping down the back of his neck.

“Wait a minute!”

An angel?

The thought is cliché, but being seconds away from being ghost-food, Ari isn’t expecting to hear female voices from anything on the earthly plane. Quickly following it, there come the heavy sounds of running boots hitting wooden planks. The whole event passes in a blur. A series of swish-swish sounds whirlwind around him and a fast passing body knocks him to the ground.

Dizzily, Ari looks up to find the first ghost fading away into nothing. Looking over his shoulder, he finds a similar fate befalling the second.

“Phew! Recently, there have been so many cruddy ghosts floating around. Are you ok?”

Ari gets up slowly, shaking his head to clear the dizziness. He turns and where there was once a ghost, there now stands a beautiful woman.

He shakes his head a bit more and rubs at his eyes for good measure.

She’s still standing there in a very un-hallucination-like manner, staring at him with increasing concern.

The mysterious woman seems to be in her early twenties. She has a slender, but subtly muscular build. It reminds Ari of a dancer, but cooler. She wears a long military style coat with blue trim, shiny gold fasteners, and epaulets. Heavy, calf high boots explain the footsteps Ari heard earlier. And the thin, wickedly sharp sword in her right hand explains the fate of the ghosts.

“Um … are you ok?”

Her face is gorgeous. She has large yellow brown eyes and a firmly set, heroic countenance. A headband that looks suspiciously like a buckled belt keeps back shoulder length locks of golden honey colored hair. In her non-sword holding hand, she carries a delicate pink parasol, keeping her in a patch of cool looking shade.

“Hello?” she says as she smoothly sheaths her sword.

“Oh! Um … y-yeah. I-I’m ok … thanks to you. That was so coo-”

“Don’t walk around so vulnerable like that! You don’t even have a weapon!”

As if in his own defense, Ari holds up the fruit knife. It takes him just a fraction of a millisecond to realize how stupid the defense is.

“What an optimistic attitude! I can’t believe it! Hold on a sec.”

Before Ari can recover his first impression, she passes by him and crosses the bridge to recover a ridiculously large bag that had been thrown to the grass in her haste. Without dropping the parasol or losing a hint of coolness, she rummages around among the bag’s contents.

“Here we are,” she says, slipping out a sheathed sword.

The mysterious woman runs back up to Ari on the bridge.

“Here, take this!” shes says, shoving the sword into Ari’s hand. “You’ll have much better luck fighting ghosts with this.”

“Um, th-thank you. Are you su-”

“It’s a cheapie, but it’s better than that,” she says, nodding towards the fruit knife. “You know how to use a sword, right?”

“Uh, stab it until it dies?”

Her face looks grim, but still cool. “Good enough, I guess. Just … you know, don’t be a sissy. Got it? Ghosts can smell an easy, fearful meal from a mile away. They’ll be all over you if you don’t toughen up a bit.”

“Right! Thank you! … um, can I have your na-”

“Oh no! It’s already that late! I have to go or he’ll … I gotta go!”

The mysterious woman suddenly takes off running, back from whence she came.

“Good luck, kid!” she calls over her shoulder.

Ari watches until she disappears into the fog and wild grass and trees.

“Damn!”

Ari jumps.

“I didn’t have time to appear! Who was that anyway?!”

“Probably the coolest person I’ve ever met …” he replies wistfully as he looks down at the leftover sword.

Ari returns the fruit knife to its clip and sets to work strapping the sword sheath to his belt.

“You are a pathetic thing, slave. Two lowly beings show up and you cower like a troll!”

“Well, it’s not like I have any powers that will cause things to be consumed by black flames of infinite evil … like somebody I know.”

“On top of that, you were saved by some passing hag!”

“Hag? Are you nuts? She was so cool! Plus, she gave me this!”

With a clumsy flourish, Ari whips out the sword. It’s light enough to be shakily lifted by one arm. The edges seem comfortingly sharp, glinting in the sunlight.

King Stan sighs angrily. “Oh well. Be grateful that my evil hand is merciful to my servants. Seeing how pathetic you are in battle, maybe I’ll render you aid from time to time.”

“Well, that’s good of you … nice knowing my life means so much to you that you may help out.”

“But you must still become stronger! Discipline yourself by making your way to Madril and giving any lower being that crosses your path a good thrashing! We’re going to have issues if you can’t protect yourself. Don’t forget that your shadow houses the great Evil King Stan!”

With that, the great Evil King Stan disappears and Ari’s left alone with nothing but a sword and a ghost infested open field.

Somehow, despite such a disastrous start, Ari doesn’t feel as doomed as he did before. He’s pretty sure it has something to do with the sword clutched in his right hand. Thinking of how cool the mysterious woman was, he slashes the air, enjoying the wind cutting swish noise it makes.

Ok … let’s try this setting out thing one more time.

NOTE: Okage Shadow King is owned by Sony Computer Entertainment and Zener Works. This novelization is purely a fan-work and the writer claims no ownership over the characters, general plot line(s), etc.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 38

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @ocfairygodmother​

“How much do you think Kyle knows?” Esme asks, several hours later as she stands at the end of their bed with Addie in her arms. Her body sways from side to side; the movement solely to calm her shaky nerves baby, the baby already fast asleep. Her voice is low; eager to keep any eavesdroppers -especially little ones- from hearing their conversation.

“Might not know anything,” Tyler replies, as he slips into a pair of cargo pants, tending to the zipper and button.

“What’s the chances of that?  Considering all the time he’s been spending over there, getting to know her. In the biblical sense.”

“How long were you able to hide what you did for a living from your family?”

“That’s a valid point. But I didn’t live under the same roof as them. And Kyle’s been over there every day for a week and a half; we barely see him. Can you be with someone THAT much and still be totally oblivious?”

“Maybe she’s really good at her job and knows how to keep things on the down low. She fooled us, didn’t she?”

“I’d just like to take this opportunity to swallow my pride and admit that you were right all along. You didn’t trust her from day one. “

“You called me paranoid and overprotective,” he reminds her.

“Usually that’s all it is,” she reasons. “You can be VERY paranoid and overprotective. I thought you didn’t want some strange all up in your personal space. You don’t like people disturbing your happy place.”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t think there was something...off...about her.”

Esme shrugs. “I thought maybe she was just eccentric and outgoing. Friendly.”

“Overly friendly. Like she was trying too hard.”

“Well you ARE a tough nut to crack. I guess it is sort of strange that  she seemed so hell bent on being friends with you; you’re not exactly the warmest and most welcoming person. And the whole thing wanting to touch you all the time,” she frowns. “I mean, I can’t exactly blame her for wanting to. I’d want to feel you up too. But she was so...I don’t know...insistent.”

“And you encouraged it. That night she had dinner here.”

“I was joking around and you were a really good sport about it. I just thought she was being goofy and totally harmless. And I was right there. It’s not like she was being sneaky about it.”

“Like when she came over here and I was alone and she started making comments about my dick?”

“It’s a very nice dick,” she playfully comments. “Guess she just knows a good thing when she sees it.”

“It was weird. Normally I don’t  mind being checked out, but that was fucked up.”

“Maybe she wanted to bang you and see if you lived up to your man whore reputation,” Esme teases, and he gives a small laugh and snags a belt from the closet; slipping it through the loops on his pants. “I don’t blame her for being thirsty. I’ve been thirsty for seven years and I feel no shame for that.”

“Yeah, but I like when it comes from you. Other people? Not as much. And she’s a little…”

“Overbearing?”

“That works.”

“I don’t understand how he didn’t hear or say anything,” she muses, watching her husband as he finishes dressing. Shrugging into a short sleeved button down; olive green and fitting ‘just right’ across that broad chest and shoulders and snug around the biceps.  

He’s changed a lot in seven years; physically speaking. Heavier and wider, stronger and more powerful, a touch more gray scattered throughout his hair and in his beard. More tattoos and scars that are still healing; injuries he’d sustained at Michael McMann’s home in Ireland. But the most drastic difference -despite the horrors and struggles with PTSD and everything that comes with it- are with his personality. The edge is still there. The grittiness and the toughness that comes with years of serving in the military and then as a ‘gun for hire’; the often haunted look in his eyes, caused by the things he’s seen and heard and had been forced to do to stay alive. It had taken years for all those walls to come tumbling down; a full time job even after they’d gotten married and having Millie AND the twins.

It had been a struggle for him; opening up to someone, trusting them, allowing himself to have those softer and vulnerable moments. He’d grown up with an abusive father and went straight into the SASR after graduating high school; had a wife that cheated on him regularly, had a child diagnosed with a terminal illness, then made the unfortunate -and entirely selfish- decision to abandon him while he was dying.  But little by little the cracks in that hardened exterior began to spread and grow wider.  He began laughing and smiling more easily; genuine smiles that would light up his face and crinkle the corners of his eyes. Letting go of the constant need to be the strong and stoic one; afraid that too much emotion and showing -and receiving- too much affection made him ‘soft’. Weak.

Slowly he’d come around; his children managing to strip away at the last of the layers that he found it so hard to get rid of. They’d  always been there. The empathy.  The compassion. A heart ten times bigger than his body. Just needing to be reminding that it was okay to expose those sides of himself; to allow himself to feel.

To be human.

“It would be hard don’t you think?” she continues, as she places Addie in her bassinet.  “Keeping that kind of secret when you’re under the same roof?”

We’ve kept a lot of secret things from each other,” Tyler points out.

“That’s different. We have a past and a lot of bad things happened in it. Anything we’ve held back from one another, has been done with good intentions. She’s just over there doing her thing and spying on us and having her colleagues over. She’s probably just been using him to get close to us. Or to find things out about us. Kyle isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer and he wouldn’t twice about it if she started asking him things. If she’s that sneaky…”

“Maybe what’s going on between them is legit. Maybe the dick’s that good.”

Esme grimaces. “Ewww. That is my brother. Let’s not talk about that. He probably could have given you a run for your money during your days as a whore.”

“I was not THAT bad.”

“Bullshit you weren’t! I bet half those scars on your back aren’t even from the job. I bet they’re left behind from some stripper with those tacky long nails that are like daggers.”

He grins, then leans it to press a chaste kiss to her lips. “She was a Sunday school teacher, actually.”

“Yeah, and I bet now she can’t even walk into a church without bursting into flames because of how badly you corrupted her with your filthy ways. I was an innocent, good girl until I met you. And now look.”

“You may have only been with two other guys before me, but there was nothing innocent about you.  What went on those days? Even just that first day? Good girl, my ass.”

“I can’t help it that the voice and the accent brought out the nympho in me,” she says, and directs a swat to his ass before he heads around to his side of the bed. Watching as he removes the Glock remover and its holster from the lock box in the nightstand; slipping the latter onto his right hip before covering it with the bottom of his shirt.

“Better to be safe than sorry,” Tyler reasons, when he catches her observing with wide eyes.

“And if all else fails, she probably has a garden rake you can borrow and kill someone with.”

He smirks.  “It’s not too far-fetched to think maybe things between your brother and Salena are the real deal. What would she have to gain by banging him just to get to us?”

“Orgasms? Hopefully.”

“It makes no sense that she’d do that.  Hook up with him to get to us. That’s way too much work.”

“None of this makes any sense,” she grumbles, and then sheds her housecoat in favour of pulling on  a simple white and yellow striped Maxi dress over her bra and panties.

Tyler doesn’t argue with that.

“Okay, so we’ve established that it is possible Kyle knows nothing. But explain this to me: why would Mahajan give us Ovi if his intention all along was to come after you? Wouldn’t that just put Ovi in harm's way all over again? And why would he wait this long for revenge? The kid’s been with us for six years now.”

“I dunno, babe. He’s got his reasons I guess.”

“It’s been seven years since Dhaka. If he held a grudge against anyone, it would have been Saju. For not taking you out.”

“But he’s dead and I’m still here. So…”

“That line of thinking makes no sense,” she argues. “Why would he wait all this time to exact revenge?”

“Probably to catch me off guard.”

“Hmm...I guess…”

“Or maybe he was waiting until I had a lot to lose. So it would make a bigger impact.”

“That’s just fucked,” Esme declares. “And if that’s the way he thinks, he’s an even bigger monster than I thought. Waiting until a man has a family?”

“More lives destroyed that way,” Tyler reasons.

“That’s messed up.”

“You what kind of people these are. You’ve worked closer with them than I have. You were the one that would go in and make nice with them and get them to trust so you could get the info guys like me needed. You can’t tell me you didn’t hear and some fucked up shit.”

“Of course I did.  But this is different. This is personal. We aren’t talking about random strangers we’ve been hired to help. We’re talking about OUR family. You’re not just some guy off the street that I barely know. You’re my husband. And those are my kids downstairs and…”

“Nothing’s going to happen to the kids. Or you.”

She scowls. “I noticed you didn’t put yourself in there.”

“I gotta do what I gotta do, yeah? Keep you and the kids safe. That’s all that matters to me.”

“Well it matters to me if you’re still breathing at the end of it. And can we not think all doom and gloom? If Salena is telling the truth...if she is who she says she is and she’s working for Neysa and her ‘people’ are keeping an eye on things...maybe things won’t escalate. Maybe it will just be all idle threats and nothing will come of them.”

“You really want to just sit back and hope nothing happens?”

“What else can do?”

He takes a seat at the end of the bed, grimacing at the pain in his knee and the small of his back. “I can eliminate the threat.”

“You said yourself that you can’t just walk into the prison and shoot him in the head. And it’s the people he has doing his bidding  that we have to worry about.”

“So I stop them before they can cause issues.”

Esme frowns. “You’re talking about tracking them down  first? Before they can even get this far?”

“Take them right out of the game before it even starts.”

“That’s a little risky don’t you think? How would you even know who  these people are? I doubt Mahajan is going to willingly give you their names.”

“There’s ways of finding out.”

“How?” she asks, and leans back against the dresser across from her.

Tyler stares at her pointedly.

“Oh hell no!” Esme objects. “I am not getting involved in this.”

“You already ARE involved in this.”

“I am NOT  going to Mumbai to talk to Mahajan.  There is no way I’d be able to get information out of him. Why the hell would he tell me anything? If he really IS after you, he’s going to tell your wife who’s working for him.”

“I wouldn’t let you go there anyway. But you know people. You still have contacts in the game. Probably some that are in India right now.”

“People that I haven’t talked to in years,” she reminds him. “I can’t just call them up and ask them for help. It isn’t the same kind of relationship you have with your contacts. They’re glad to hear from you’; they’re happy you’re even still alive. Mine are hoping I’m dead. That’s a lot of burnt bridges, Tyler. And some of them? Going to them for help would only make things worse.”

“So you give me their names and numbers. I’ll talk to them.”

“And that would be better, how? I lied to them years ago and now I turn around and give their info to a mercenary? You can see why that would be problematic, right?”

“Then just give me their names and I’ll find their numbers another way. I don’t even need to bring you into it. They don’t need to know how I found them.”

“They’d figure it out.”

“Well we need to figure out who these people are. The ones working for Mahajan. Before shit does hit the fan.”

“WE don’t need to do anything,” she informs him. “Let Salena and her people take care of it. It’s what they’ve been doing, right? Keeping an eye on things?”

“I’m not going to trust complete strangers with your life. Or our kids’ lives. I’m just not.”

“So you’re just going to find out who these people are and hunt them down one by one?”

“If I have to.”

“Tyler...no...just no. How is that even an option?”

“It’s the ONLY option.”

“The hell it is! Salena and her people are already on this!”

“And I already said I don’t trust them. Not with you, not with my kids. I trust myself. And a couple other people. That’s it. And I’m not going to just sit back and and wait for things to go to shit. I need to stop it before it happens.”

“You don’t know that anything is going to happen.”

“I’d rather not take the chance that it will.”

Sighing heavily, she crosses her arms over her chest.

“You trust me?” Tyler asks.

“Of course I trust you. You're the only person I do trust. But I also love you and I don’t want to just send you out there to  get killed. These are bad people. Extremely bad people.”

“I’m not some rookie going in blind,” he reminds her. “This is what I do. It’s who I am.”

“No. It’s part of who you are. There’s a difference.”

“And right now, I need to be that ‘part’. I need to be the old Tyler. And I need you to be okay with that. I’m not doing this because I want to. I’m doing it because I have to. You’re my wife. Those are my kids. And without any of you, I’m nothing. Which is why I need you to let me do this.”

Another sigh. Heavier this time. Resigned. “Can we at least give it two weeks? For the kids? Because we’re going away next week and then it’s Millie’s birthday shortly after. And we can not take that away from her. She’s a little girl. And she’s so happy and so excited and it’s going to break her heart enough when you leave and I’d rather her not find out until AFTER her party. Can you do that at least?”

He nods. “But if anything happens…”

“If anything happens then you go and take care of it. But for now can we just act like nothing’s going on? For them? Because they're kids and they don’t need to worry and stress over adult things. Can we just pretend around them that everything’s fine? Because it’s going to be hard enough when you leave without the anticipation of it hanging over their heads. Please? Can we do that?”

“Of course baby.”

He reaches out and takes hold of one of her hands, gently tugging her into him, placing her between his legs. And he presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist and then wraps both arms around her waist; pulling her tight against him, forehead resting against her chest. Eyes closing as he feels her hands on him. First in his hair. Fingers combing through it before her nails lightly scratch against the nape of his neck, then the tips running softly over the outer edges of his ears.  And when her palms come to rest against his cheeks, he looks up at her, attempting a reassuring smile when he finds those huge dark eyes filled with tears.

She’s silent as he watches her. Fingertips travelling over the older scars that mar his face; the one across the bridge of his nose, then the left side of his forehead, followed by the one alongside his left. Then she moves to the one that he’d sustained during the incident at Michael McMann’s house. Starting at the top of his right eyebrow;  spreading up onto his forehead and disappearing -for several inches-  into his scalp.

She kisses him. So soft and sweet sweet...the tenderness and the love so evident...that it takes his breath away and nearly brings tears to his eyes.

“I can’t lose you,” her voice is just above a whisper. “I just can’t.”

“You won’t,” he says. “I promise.”

She manages a small smile and places a kiss on his brow. And he tightens his hold on her; falling backwards onto the bed and tucking her securely into his chest; one hand on the back of her head, the other on the small of her back. Feeling her body trembling against him and the tears that dampen the front of his shirt.

****

She plays the part of a perfect hostess; bringing out carafes of coffee and tea and a jug of ice water, along with plates of various small desserts and finger foods.  Tyler had noticed the drastic change in her the moment she’d answered the door. Her usual flowing and brightly colored sundresses or tropical themed shorts and band t-shirts replaced with well tailored dress slacks and a crisp white blouse; her usual bare footed approach abandoned in favour of a pair of black heels. But her personality change is the most baffling.  No longer loud and boisterous and bordering on obnoxious, instead both soft AND well spoken. Now that  the truth is out -or at least part of it - she no longer has put on the front of the affable, annoying, and overly friendly new neighbour. Now she’s professional and courteous. Polite. And almost too apologetic. A continuous string of “I’m sorry” and “I wish things hadn’t come out this way”  as she led them out onto the back deck. Telling them help themselves to food and drink before disappearing back into the house.

“Is it just me or did things just go from weird to really fucking weird?” Esme whispers to him as they sit side by side; their knees touching and his hand on the small of her back.

It’s comforting. The simple brush of his body against hers and his familiar scent; filling her with a sense of security and effectively calming her nerves.  He won’t leave her side now, making sure she’s always close enough to touch, never out ear shot and certainly not out of eyesight. His protective nature kicked in high gear.  And for good reason.

“It’s not just you.”

“It’s like we’re living in the Twilight Zone,” she mutters, and then issues a long, shaky sigh.

“It’s okay,” he assures her, as he rubs the small of her back. “Everything’s going to be fine. The worst could have happened already. If she was working for the other side, she would have had guys here to ambush us the second we walked in.”

“How do you know they’re not hiding inside for the perfect moment?”

“Not a rookie, remember? You have to trust me,” he  presses a kiss to the side of her head. . “Just trust me.”

She manages a small smile and leans into him. A hand resting on his thigh   and his lips lingering against her temple; hand slipping off her hip and up onto her side, rubbing comfortingly. Selfishly he enjoys having this role in her life: the fierce and loyal protector. It’s an ego boost knowing that she has that much faith and trust in him.  And he knows he’s more than capable of living up to her expectations; confident in his strength, skills, and abilities.

“I promise none of it has been tampered with,” Salena comments upon her return, noticing that their cups remain empty and the food hasn’t been disturbed.  “As I said earlier, I’m not here to hurt either of you. Or your children.”

“So why are you here?” Esme asks, her hand slipping from Tyler’s thigh as he moves beside her; pouring himself a coffee and her a tea. “And why the big production? Why show up out of the blue and act as if you wanted to be friends? You could have  just been honest right off the hop. You think it would have bothered either of us? This isn’t the first time someone has threatened us in the past seven years.”

“I know it isn’t. I know everything there is to know about the two of you. About everything that went down in Dhaka; start to finish. And I know about your little return there. About Mumbai and Ireland and New Zealand. Information is easy to get when you know the right people.”

“And when you’re willing to pay big for it,” Tyler adds. “Something tells me Nik Khan helped you out quite a bit.”

“Nik and I have a very good working relationship, “ Salena admits, and Esme gives a derisive snort. “I don’t approve of her transgressions. Or attempts at them. But as far as business goes, she’s one the best there is. And we trust her completely.”

“Who is we?” Tyler inquires. “And who are you? Why don’t we just cut the shit and get down to it. You wanted us here to talk, so talk.”

“My name...my REAL name...is Allison Rav.”

“Rav?” Esme arches an eyebrow. “You’re related to Saju? How?”

“Related by marriage only. My husband...ex husband, I should say...is Saju’s youngest brother. Former special services as well. We parted on good terms and have remained friends. And business partners. After Saju died...correction, after he was murdered...Anil left the military and started things up; in Saju’s memory. A way of both honoring him and avenging him. This…” she lifts up one of the plates of food and removes a file folder -one of many- from underneath. “...is everything there is to know about it. About us. About who we are and what we do.”

She offers the file to Tyler and he accepts it; dropping it into the empty chair beside him.

“Are you a mercenary?” Esme asks, her body and nerves starting to relax; comforted by the mention of Saju’s name and the woman’s connection to him.

“Far from it,” Allison gives a dry laugh. “None of our people are. We strictly provide security. We’re trained to assess potential threats and stop them before they happen. But we do seek out mercenaries; when things because too volatile and need...permanent...results.”

“When you want guys like me to go in and put our asses on the line and get blood on our hands.” Tyler smirks.

“Our area of expertise and concern is providing support to those being harassed and threatened by the Mahajans and the Amir Asifs of the world. And there’s a lot of them. So when Neysa contacted us and said that she was receiving threats of bodily harm and death against her and her son, we didn’t hesitate to help. We have her and Aarav in hiding. A safe house just outside of Mumbai.”

“You really think that’s smart?” he asks. “Being that close to Mahajan and his people? Doesn’t leave much room for error. Why not move them somewhere further away? Other side of the world if you had to. Doesn’t make sense for them to be that close.”

“It’s what she requested; to be close to home. We move them when...and if...we have to. We ended up here..I ended up here...when Neysa ‘disappeared’ and Mahajan’s people lost track of her. That’s when he changed his game plan, so to speak. His first thought was that she came here. What better place to hide them with someone who could protect her and Aarav if need be? The person who worked with Saju to get Ovi out of Dhaka alive. What a turn of events THAT was. He was supposed to eliminate you and in the end you worked together. Not what Mahajan expected.”

Tyler gives a tense smile. “How about we NOT talk about Dhaka.”

“Fair enough,” Allison agrees, and pours herself a cup of coffee. “When he thought she’d come here, we were ready. We already had eyes and ears on the situation. He hadn’t sent anyone here or sent out any official threats, but we knew it was going to happen. So we acted first and got here as soon as we could. But things ARE picking up. He is escalating things. This is a man hell bent on revenge and will stop at nothing to get it.  You both know what these kinds of people are like. They don’t care if there’s a woman and children involved. They’ll be their first targets to get to who they really want.”

Esme issues a heavy, shaky sigh and Tyler gives her a small, reassuring smile; arm wrapping around her, palm softly and comfortingly rubbing her shoulder.  “It’s been seven years,” she says. “Why now? Why wait all this time? And why Tyler? Mahajan gave us his son. So Ovi could be safe and have a normal life. A real family. Why would he let us have him if this was his plan all along?”

“There’s two reasons,” Allison replies. “The first is that Saju failed his mission. Yes, he helped get Ovi out of Dhaka. But he didn’t eliminate everyone standing in his way. He wasn’t supposed to leave anyone alive. You two survived. And I understand why he didn’t kill you; he would never harm a woman in that way. I’m sure he looked at you and thought of Neysa and realized he couldn’t go through with it. But you…” she looks at Tyler. “...you put up one hell of a fight. He didn’t expect that.”

“What’s the second thing?” Tyler asks.

“Did Ovi tell either of you that his father has been in contact with him? On a regular basis?”

Tyler frowns. “What?”

“Even behind bars, Mahajan still holds a lot of influence and power in the drug world. He has a lot of money stashed away in several offshore accounts. Enormous amounts of money. He needs someone to run the business now that it’s booming again. And what better person to be his successor than his only son? But that kid is tough. Resilient. He isn’t giving in. He wants nothing to do with that kind of life and isn’t afraid to tell his father that. Which naturally has enraged Mahajan. He’s taken it as a sign of disrespect. Dishonour. And he’s not going to let that slide. He feels the only thing standing in Ovi’s way...preventing him from doing it...is the two of you. But especially you.” she nods in Tyler’s direction.  “He thinks Ovi is completely under your influence and is only saying no because of you.”

“I’m starting to finally see why he wants into the game so badly.” Tyler says to Esme. “It isn’t about the actual job or the money. It’s about being able to protect himself. And us if he has to.”

“That’s why he didn’t want to tell us,” she laments. “Or why he gave us such bullshit excuses. Because he knew he’d have to tell us that he’s been speaking to his father.”

Tyler nods.

“Mahajan wants the obstacle removed,” Allison continues. “He really just wants Tyler out of the picture; he’s the biggest hurdle and true threat. And it would be a way of righting Saju’s wrongs. That’s why we’re here. To prevent any of that from happening. We’re here to protect you. Not hurt you.”

“I’m more than capable of protecting my own family,” Tyler informs her. “I don’t trust just anyone with this. And I’m especially not going to trust you. You could have just told us all of this right from the beginning. Not put on some big, ridiculous show.”

“Neysa asked us to keep this quiet. She didn’t  want to scare either of you. Or your kids. And now that you’re getting back into the mercenary business, there’s an even bigger target on your back. Mahajan sees that as a direct threat.”

“He can take it whatever fucking way he wants. I don’t care if you and your people stay on the sidelines or keep in the background. But I’ll protect my own family. I’m more than capable of doing it and I know my wife and my kids trust me. They know I’ll keep them safe. Better than any of your people can.”

“He’s right,” Esme speaks up. “There’s no else I trust with my life. With my kids’ lives. And we’ve got people working for us that can always lend a hand if they need to. We don’t need perfect strangers fucking things up.”

“We’re highly trained,” Allison argues. “We’re more than capable of...”

“Tyler can do it. And that’s who I WANT doing it. I don’t care how highly trained you or your people are. No one can protect us the way he can. No one. And if that pisses you off and you pull your people out of here…”

“We’re not going anywhere. Neysa wants us here and this is where we’re saying.”

“I want to talk to your ex husband,” Tyler says. “There’s information I need. About who is working for Mahajan. Who these people are he has after us.”

“Anil expected you’d want to speak to him. That you would  have a lot of questions for him. All his contact information is in the first folder I gave you. There…” she pulls the other files from under the plate of food. “...are your files. Everything we have on the two of you. There’s also  a file about Dhaka and everything that went down there. And one with copies of all the threats that have been made so far. To Neysa and to you. I trust this information will be in good hands?”

Tyler nods and accepts the folders, placing them with the initial one she’d given him.

“We kept this secret because  that’s what Neysa wanted,” Allison explains. “She didn’t want to alarm anyone. So I HAD to put on a good show. I had to get myself into your life. I had to get close to all of you and get you to open up to me and tell me things. And I know that you know what that’s like, Esme. Having to lie to people; fool them. Having to trick them into giving you what you want.”

“And my brother?” she asks. “What about him? You used him to get to us? He broke up his engagement for you. And all along you were just using him? Why did you have to stoop THAT low?”

“We do what we have to to get what we want. Kyle has no clue about any of this. I’d like to keep it that way. Because he’s a good guy and there’s feelings...legitimate feelings...involved now. On both sides. It started out as part of the job, but it’s become more. So much more.”

“Yeah…” Esme smirks. “...sure it has. Can we go now?” she addresses Tyler. “I really want to go. I’ve heard enough and I just want to get the hell out of here.  I just want to go home.”

“We can go,” he confirms, and then gathers the folders off the chair and stands up. “I don’t want any of your people near my house,” he informs Allison. “I don’t want them watching me or my wife or my kids. Especially my kids. You tell them to back off. That I’m more than capable of protecting my own. Because if they get in the way and totally fuck things up? If that happens? You’ll end up a few employees short because I won’t hesitate taking them out too.”

Allison nods in confirmation, then stands as well. “We’ll continue to keep an eye on things. Just as Neysa asked. And if you need our help…”

A smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he lays a protective hand on the small of his wife’s back. “I won’t.”

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Dying on PLA (Pure Love Alliance)

This post was written by a former BC who questioned an authority figure on PLA and experience life-threatening consequences.

I’ll start with this: the moment I was dying was when I felt my soul sinking into the ground during the PLA 2000 tour, in a lavish town house owned by The Unification Church in Kensington, one of the most expensive neighborhoods in London, UK. I was 16 when this all happened. For some reason, my soul wasn’t rising as you might imagine when people die, probably because it was too tired, instead, it sank. I was in a sleeping bag and surrounded by 300 other kids all in sleeping bags, lined up like goods in the grocery store with little room to walk. Asleep, I slowly realized that I was sinking through my sleeping bag, past my body, into the oriental rug and through hardwood floor, deep into the ground, creeping further and further below the foundation of the building. So I knew I was dying—but I didn’t feel the least bit sad or upset. In fact I was relieved—even ecstatic. It meant that the torment from my supposed fellow BCs would be over, that this pain from the infection raging through my body that left my neck, arms, wrists wrapped in puss filled bandages, and my body so fatigued (so. fatigued.) would be over. The ground felt cool, and was getting colder, and it was really actually quite refreshing.

How great would that be to not have to wake up? Who cares if these people found a dead girl in her sleeping bag in the morning. Good for them. They might be surprised but they’d get to spin some fantastic story about my soul paying indemnity for the crimes that my Japanese ancestors committed against the Koreans; that’s apparently how they were explaining my mysterious illness to friends— an illness that had my upper body oozing a relentless and embarrassing flow of thick yellow puss, that had me changing my bandages every hour if I had the energy and a clean bandage on me. I found out that this story was making the rounds through the 300 or so BCs who were also on that tour. Before that, someone who I went to summer camp with for years, actually asked nonplussed, if I was currently struggling with Satan. Another story that others hinted to was that I was fallen. Writer’s note: At that point in time, like many of you, I had not so much as held a boy’s hand, let alone kissed anyone, made out and definitely never lost my virginity. I was precocious, spirited, ballsy—like any teenager trying to find humor in strange places. Most things I did was for the sake of a good laugh. But I was in my heart a total straight arrow, and I believed in the church, seriously, like the best or worst of them.

On this trip, there were also elders who took me aside from the group dinners and recounted the amazing stories about my dad and what a great guy he was at the religious seminary, the New Yorker Hotel, Belvedere, etc. And then they would say; Why would you disappoint him so horribly?

I wouldn’t know exactly how much I was disappointing him because I was never allowed to call him or my mom, or make any phone calls for that matter. I was being guarded 24/7, my passport was locked up, I wasn’t allowed to sleep much (I would be kept up later and woken up earlier than the others), nor take showers, which caused, what I would later find to be a trio of life-threatening infections coursing through my body. I had a very different experience from other BCs who were free to eat, shower, and sleep.

When I felt like my soul must have been half a mile below ground. I stopped, because this was it. Then I felt something big—bigger than me, bigger than everything and everyone around me, pulling me up with the utmost urgency, and I knew that this big thing gave a damn— even if I didn’t. I snapped back to my body with a whiplash that woke me up, panting, freaking out. Even if I didn’t care to live (and I really didn’t), even if these 300 other people around me, even if my religion didn’t care, God, the universe, this force, without a doubt, cared violently. This is when I realized that God did not move exclusively through organized religion, he/it moves and vibrates in anything, in everything. So my direct relationship with this force was felt for the first time under those floorboards, separate from and despite the machinations of my religion.

I immediately woke up and saw in the reflection of this gigantic ornate gold mirror on the wall opposite me, what looked like at least 20-30 white, blue glowing shadows, all very tall, standing around me and the dozens of sleeping BCs around me. Who they were, I’m not sure, I was delirious, and more importantly I was terrified that I had almost died, and so willingly. I couldn’t go back to sleep. But now I had a fire in my stomach, to get through this alive and a rabid indignity against those who’d put me in this position, including myself. I would do right by the universe, by God, by surviving this.

I got here by making the mistake of questioning the director of the PLA on the modus operandi of the Pure Love Alliance, on Day 1 of the tour. My fellow BCs didn’t make the mistake of vocalizing the inconsistencies in the logic of posing as a non-denominational group when we were 99% BCs, they didn’t stand up for the not even 1 percent non-BC kids who didn’t have a choice but to read the Divine Principle and join our prayers. If you are too precocious with too many rhetorical questions for elders, you’ll see just how nasty and how quickly the machine will mobilize against you.

Why. During the previous PLA tour of 1999 I remember lying about our religious association when being interviewed by the local news in Birmingham, AL. We were vetted and instructed to withhold our association with the Unification Church so when a reporter asked me what I was, I responded “Lutheran"— my father’s previous religion before joining the church.

I hate lying about something as grand and dumb as my religion. I didn’t think that we needed to constantly lie, it frustrated me always having to hide the church from my school friends and I wanted to do away with the smoke and mirrors and live openly about this. So at the beginning of the 2000 tour that would be marching through the US in July and then marching through Europe in August, I went up to the director and I asked him: why can’t we be forthright about who we are, if we’re truly non-denominational?

I didn’t immediately realize what a total coward he was, I just thought he was an adult, he must have some good answers. But he pandered with half answers, trotted me around the ring with half baked logic all while getting increasingly upset and dismissive: you just don’t understand; this is much too complicated for you to understand (more upset); this is God’s will; do you want to go against God’s will? And I responded with: I think it’s pretty simple, God doesn’t need us to lie. We should be honest to the press and other churches about being associated with the UC. Otherwise we should stop calling ourselves non-denominational, right? The conversation went nowhere and I eventually walked away.

I was probably earmarked as being a troublemaker but it wasn’t that bad. At least in the beginning, I hung out with my BC friends, some of whom I’d been growing up with and all was well during the tour through the US.

It was when I noticed that there were 3 or 4 non-BC kids on the tour—how they were roped in to hang out with us nutjobs for two weeks, I’m not sure, but I know everyone looked at them with a special wonder. They were special to us because we were showing them that there was this great camaraderie and communal life that we had together amongst ourselves and we really believed that we were letting them in on something special.

I noticed that while we were reading the Divine Principle and praying in circles, they were expected to do the same with us, without any opportunity to decide for themselves whether or not they wanted to in the first place. This would be a small but important gesture to extend for any organization that called itself non-denominational to the outside world; to accept and respect people of other faiths; to let them have the opportunity to pray in their own way if they needed to. It really bothered me because it seemed wildly disrespectful and a bit dishonest. If I were traveling with a Christian youth group, wouldn’t I want the right to read the DP and pray my way at 5 am in the morning on Sundays?

It became a breaking point when late one night on a tour bus in Europe, I brought up the issue again during a bus reading of the DP, and I got pissed. I openly pointed out to the bus leaders the hypocrisy of a so-called non-denominational youth group posing as such to the press, all while not respecting the faiths of others on the tour.They said that this is how it’s done, that everyone does the same thing so that they can stick to the strict schedule to get through the tour. This is the will and mission of the PLA, this is God’s will, and we need to see it through. Then I said: If they aren’t allowed to choose, than I refuse to read the DP and refuse to join prayers until they do have the choice.

I’m not really sure why I cared so much but it was because I could see my bus leaders acknowledging my logic, I could see behind their eyes that they did. But they towed the line and refused to acknowledge that there was any right. But my refusal to pray or read DP, they took very, very seriously—yet in my mind, I wasn’t doing anything drastic, I wasn’t leaving the church. That would be crazy! I was just taking a stand.

These non-BC kids were, at least outwardly, complacent. But let’s be honest we were all 14, 15, 16 years old and expected to do everything en masse, but why shouldn’t they/we have the choice to read the DP or not? What was faith if it wasn’t a deliberate, and educated choice? Shouldn’t anyone be allowed the right to question things, if only to return with stronger answers?

As soon as I had this fight on the bus, that was when the horrible things really began. I was always being shaken awake on long rides when everyone else was allowed to fall asleep, even if only for an hour or two. Lack of sleep breaks you quickly. I wasn’t allowed to sleep with my friends, instead I always had sometimes two unnis sleeping and walking with me. I could mingle with others, but I was always being watched by them close by. I was escorted to bathrooms but never allowed to take a shower, they said I could take one later, but later never came until it was too late, after my infections had become so severe they couldn’t exactly ignore it.

It was 3 in the morning when the buses filled with BC teenagers and our wranglers parked on the curve of the fucking German autobahn to let us out. We were released into the cold night by our demented but well-meaning leaders, searching along the curve of the freeway in the wet grass and mud trying to find our suitcases. Let me repeat, 3 am, 300+ teenagers trudging in the dark along a sharp curve of the German autobahn before entering what, in my mind, was the Black Forest.

I don’t even remember who was in charge of me at that point but it seemed to be predetermined that one sister became my handler in Germany. She came out of the blue, barking at me to move out, and personally marched me into that forest, literally behind me nipping at my heels, always on the assumption that I would flee sideways, off the trail, deeper into the forest, to what, I don’t know. I had no desire to leave, I was just hungry and exhausted. When we reached the top it was a huge building that wasn’t even fully constructed with insulation hanging out and utility lights haphazardly nailed and dangling from the ceilings. It was in a huge large barn like space where we convened in a long line to finally get some split pea soup as dinner, and by the time I finally got some, someone knocked it out of my hand, on purpose? Who the fuck knows. I would have cried but I was too tired and I don’t need sympathy. Some other BCs said that was too bad, but my handler wouldn’t let me go back in line to get more. Instead, we had to pitch our tents in the mud incline below the barn, my tent mate was of course my ever-watchful unni/handler.

I’m not exactly sure how the tent stood up, it was lopsided because of the mud and the wet grass, and the incline, but once that was done I went to go brush my teeth, and saw behind the barn, a bunch of white statues staggered in a terrifying symmetry along the hill; literally, I don’t think I’d ever seen anything as frightening as those statues in the moonlight. They were the true family, ghostly white and with their arms outstretched like they were dancing, I went up to them unsure as to what they were. They were smooth and so white but when I touched them, they weren’t marble, just hollow and plastic—creepy, empty lawn furniture. And for the first time in my life I saw them as this insidious, careless force who either had no idea, or simply had no compassion for the ramifications of their will and franchise. That was the night when my perspective on everything started to shift.

I wasn’t allowed to shower the next day even though I could see my other friends lining up with their towels. And I was always ferried away from communal meals, to have a one on one with some important elder who would shame me for an hour. And it worked. I remember one guy telling me with beady eyes, rather emphatically, how disappointing this will be for my father, who’s such a good guy, everyone loves him, I don’t know him, but everyone loves him— when he finds out how I’ve been working against the mission. I really tried hard to imagine if my dad would be proud or disappointed in me for taking a stand but my thoughts fizzled into a murky question mark while I stared at the white statues now in daylight. I didn’t know the answer and I was so tired, exhausted and hungry, and I was beginning to slowly not care as much.

But I also began to resent these elders for believing that I was working against them, I wasn’t! I was only asking good questions! I was on their side, and I believed I was still a good person.

Instead of not really being able to hang out with my friends, I sensed they were also avoiding me. I remember incredulous looks. It got super lonely fast.

It was when one elder oppa along with a whole slew of younger oppas in training crowded around me in a circle in front of everyone after one march to give me a talk. "Stop setting a bad example to the other sisters, this is your last warning.” Their vague warning was made abundantly clear. Even if it wasn’t true, my generation believed that I was fallen and that’s why I was acting out…

At that point I didn’t even consider the sheer stupidity in this non-linear logic, clearly, I ruined my chances of a good match! That was the end for me. No one would want to be blessed to me and that was when I began to really lose it because it never occurred to me that I wouldn’t have an arranged marriage, that my trajectory would be anything less than what was expected of me, or any different from anyone else. Even when I was asking these people seemingly simple rhetorical questions, it didn’t mean that I wanted to leave. But I was beginning to realize that it would be impossible to have a happily ever after ending in the church.

I don’t remember France, France was a blur, I just felt sluggish and horrible, light sensitive the entire time, still wasn’t allowed to sleep much and was barred from the showers. I was hiding a nasty rash that was breaking out all over my skin by wearing a cardigan, the only cardigan that I had brought on the trip.

My illness was getting bad when we arrived in the posh neighborhood of Kensington, London. The buses unloaded this shocking fire hazard number of teenagers into one townhouse that strangely appeared to have a bullet proof vestibule and a security camera at the entrance which only added to my feeling that I was being held captive. Meanwhile, nobody else seemed to care about this detail, the fact that we were in a fucking compound. You wouldn’t know it from the unassuming white exterior that blended in with the row of townhouses exactly like all the others in the neighborhood.

I remember after marching through Leicester Square, my subgroup broke off to Trafalgar Square where we shouted our testimonies at one of the fountains and anyone else who would care to stop, but no one did. My leader wasn’t really convinced by my conviction to Pure Love. It was a bit hard, being exhausted, with a fever, to be shouting about Pure Love all while being slut shamed by my generation for no good reason at all. I didn’t really feel like shouting, I just wanted rest and to be alone.

My illness was getting from bad to worse quickly, I had a fever, felt hot, then clammy cold, sweating bullets, in addition to huge open sores spreading on my neck and arms, but whenever I asked to see a Dr. they wouldn’t allow it, I later realized it wasn’t because of money, even after I offered to pay myself, it was because they were afraid that I would talk about everything happening on the tour. It hadn’t even occurred to me to go public with any of this. With what? I didn’t know that there was a story, how bad it really was until afterward.

I did finally get to take a shower in London, I think because that was more reasonable than covering up a dead girl, probably. But the shower didn’t help at that point. Whatever was happening with the sores, it was also in my blood, I felt exhausted, jumpy, crazy, sensitive to light, miserable. When they wouldn’t let me see a doctor, when the pus was spilling out of my bandages and running down my neck, running down my arms, like in some horror film, I begged them to at least let me go to a pharmacy to buy bandages, Neosporin and hydrogen peroxide. They agreed so long as a brother escorted me, a tall one who could easily outrun me if it came to it.

Maybe it was because they were making such a huge deal to keep me on watch that I began to fantasize about getting away. Not to tell on anyone or anything, with no agenda in mind, I just wanted to go home. I asked if I could get my passport and my ticket to try and go home early but that was not possible. I just wanted to get away and so on our way to one rally, I had this brilliant idea and I jumped out of a subway train and onto the platform, I only ran 5 steps before I was yanked back into the train by my unni. After that everyone thought I was totally nuts and definitely pure evil. I had no idea where I was planning to go, I think I was just going to ask directions to a hospital— at that point my sores on my upper body were just getting bigger and were oozing, no amount of soaking the sores in hydrogen peroxide or neosporin would help. It was embarrassing because it was pus and blood soaking through my bandages and into my shirts that I could only rotate so many times. People on the subway and in public were furtively staring at me, they probably smelled the disease on me, but I couldn’t ask for their help.

In my mind today, my older self rewrites the history of that trip. In my older self’s version: I’m unstoppable even though I’m sick. In a fit of manic strength, I jump out of the train, out run my guard, and I don’t stop running until I get to a doctor or to a police station, whichever happens first — then I seek protection at the US embassy despite not having a passport or money on me, and then I get to all major news outlets and I expose this youth group for their psychological and physical abuse, and for misleading the public on the PLA. By doing so, I set a chain of events on an international scale that would bring to light all of the questionable things we’ve had to quietly endure. I put a small chink in the church’s armor and it all comes crashing down. I save my fellow BCs from a life without an educated choice to believe or not, from the waste of time spent fundraising for a thankless institution while their families struggle to get by, in questionable matchings, in a sad, vicious cycle.

In actuality, after nearly dying in a sleeping bag, I’m too tired but crazy alert and a day and a half later I’m somehow on my way to Heathrow airport via the subway. On the way there I fall asleep hugging my backpack, only to wake up to find that other passengers are just looking at me horrified; my bandages had soaked through again, I was pouring pus onto my backpack. I’m so embarrassed for alarming these strangers but there’s nothing I can do, I had changed my bandages only an hour before hand, right before leaving the townhouse. All I can do is zip up my anorak and hope I can rinse these out later.

Finally at Heathrow, I’m handed my plane ticket and finally, my passport and it turns out that the tour is over. I can’t even believe it but the elders, including my handler, are walking away to catch their own planes. I curb my hysteria and get to a pay phone where I finally call my parents in Seattle on a collect call, and I’m freaking out, I’m worried that someone will come out from nowhere and cut the line, capture me, throw me in a white van, what with my luck.

My parents are so happy to hear from me! How are you kiddo? I have to fight to keep from sobbing, I’m shattering and yelling, focusing on just one thing: that they have to get me to a doctor as soon as I land, I keep repeating this until my dad promises and repeats this to me. I’m scared I just might drop dead right then and there. Once I’m appeased, I take deep breaths to cool down and I ask my mom if anyone in her family did anything to the Koreans during the occupation. She doesn’t understand the question until I explain to her the theory behind one of these rumors.

The line went quiet.

My dad doesn’t know what to say, but my mom blew her top, she was furious.

In my mother’s adorable, hot headed Japanese mom fashion, she emphatically starts yelling into the phone about how my ancestors did nothing. No one in my family served, and in fact, my family was socially ostracized for years for accepting a Korean family who were on hard times into their farming community in Shizuoka prefecture.  (see Footnote)

She was furious and I think stormed away from the phone but I was happy to know, without a doubt, that this dark age posturing was completely ridiculous. My sense of what was reality and what wasn’t was a bit diminished in my daze the past few days, I was glad to have my intellect reinforced.

My parents collect me at the airport and are stunned by the shape I’m in. The doctor explains that I have several severe infections, a staph (staphylococcal) infection and impetigo— a highly contagious bacterial infection on my skin, but it was progressing as an infection in my blood—septicemia, which would have killed me in 48 hours without medical attention. I’m given a heavy flow of an antibiotic cocktail and I’m closely monitored. When I do get home, I can hardly move, and if I’m not sleeping or sitting in a mineral bath, I’m taking antibiotics and trying to heal my skin in time for the new school that I’m transferring to. But in every waking moment, I’m trying to make sense of the previous two weeks. I tell my parents that I’m no longer in the church and they don’t even put up a fight. We don’t talk about it but they can hardly believe what happened to me.

From that point on, I’ve kept my distance from every BC. I partially hold it against them for being complacent, for not chiming in with me, for not seeing the fatal flaws that were so obvious to me. I hold it against them for not standing up for me when they saw the quiet abuse that I went through. For not speaking up for me when people were effectively spreading lies about me. But I realize they didn’t really know me enough, or really even know what was going on all around us at the time, or themselves for that matter. And if I were them instead of me, would I do it any differently?

I hold it against the church for breeding ignorance and stupidity in its members and families; encouraging them to have upwards 10 kids before they can even think about what it means to really take care of them, giving them a real, true education and a fulfilling life; for grinding these families into poverty, a life partially lived on food stamps, for what exactly, I’m still not sure; for collectively instilling this insidious belief that it’s women who are always at fault/responsible in all situations and who carry the onus of Eve’s imprint on the Fall; that men are never to blame/never responsible and therefore unaccountable creatures save for their purpose of begetting a blessed family; that if you’re about to be raped, it’s your duty to kill yourself—not defend yourself and your right to live—before it gets to that; that you are anything less in God’s eyes if you are raped; that our sexuality is a fixed binary without room to account for a full spectrum within ourselves that acknowledges and respects humanity in its entirety—homosexuality and all. I hold the Church responsible for the deaths of BCs I knew, but that’s a longer, separate story.

When and where it all went bad for the Unification Church, I don’t know. I know it was a beautiful thing when my parents joined, I truly believe that they were meant to be together. It was something that I believed in with my whole heart when I was little. I do in fact believe that I’m a blessed child— I have no doubt that there’s a divinity in me, but I know there’s a divinity in everyone, BC or not. Our lives should be lived acknowledging and honoring that little spark, that bit of magic in each of us. It’s that simple.

My only regret in leaving the church at 16 was leaving behind my fellow BCs, especially the younger ones who have no one to advocate for their choice to question. I know they’re struggling or have struggled against parents and elders who are even more forceful and too scared to ask the same questions themselves. I know their questions are harder because they haven’t seen what I have in such crazy, sharp relief. It was made almost too clear to me but for them their experience is slower, blurred and more broken. I have dreams where I’m fighting for them, but I have to leave them behind to fight my own battles. I can hardly think about the church for very long without feeling the most violent, extreme emotions, mostly on behalf of my fellow BCs. It’s part of the reason why I’ve kept away for as long as I have, I’ve forgotten names and faces, and while I’ve forgiven the church for what it’s done to me, I will never forgive what it’s done to the thousands of individuals and families raised in almost poverty because of it. In my heart, it’s not hate, it’s justice, it’s right and wrong, clean. In my heart, I am a fucking vigilante, and part of what propels me is to vindicate them. I fantasize about doing well enough in life, to have enough money so that I can buy up each of the church’s properties so that I can burn them all down to the ground, in the name of all my fellow BCs. If there is one thing that I can thank the church, it’s for making me a fiercely passionate person. To this day, I don’t think anyone can hold a candle to the flames that burn in our hearts.

Life outside of the church is hard, reprogramming the way you consider everything never ends. Dating still feels impossible even after 10 years at it. But it’s so beautiful, it’s so varied and complex and breathtaking— the multitudes, the possibilities that I’ve experienced and are still at my feet. It’s always up to me, every mistake, triumph, difficulty and opportunity is up to me, and I’m so grateful that my conclusions are my conclusions even if it’s a process. As stupid or sad as this story is, I’m grateful for it because now I have a tenacity that rivals most anything. Now, almost 14 years later, I am a fucking panther and I don’t let anyone or anything take me down. Nothing fools me, no situation happens without my consent, and I live life fully, authentically, deliberately and always on my terms. And I want that for every single BC, in the church or not.

__________________________

Silra said: This makes me so sad. I’m an ex British moonie and the PLA was a last straw for me. I was 12 during that time and remember rumours being rife amongst all the BCs. I had to say my testimony at Leicester Square where my dad was super proud. Little did he know I wasn’t happy and the rumour mill was ripe with bullshit about me. I’m sorry you had to go through that.

__________________________

Footnote

The Unification Church heavily guilt tripped the Japanese members about the Japanese occupation of Korea (1910-1945), and about the Korean ‘Comfort Women’. To understand the psychology of this manipulation used during recruitment, see:

Japanese woman recruited by the Unification Church and sold to an older Korean farmer in an ‘apology marriage’

To understand more about the Korean ‘Comfort Women’ issue see:

The Comfort Women controversy

This ‘Comfort Women’ research is very important for all Japanese members. For some perspective, here is an extract from a piece from the New York Times. There were more Korean ‘Comfort Women’ serving the US military from 1950 than ever served the Japanese military during the colonial period.

New York Times:

Ex-Prostitutes Say South Korea and U.S. Enabled Sex Trade Near Bases By Choe Sang-Hun  January 7, 2009

SEOUL, South Korea. South Korea has railed for years against the Japanese government’s waffling over how much responsibility it bears for one of the ugliest chapters in its wartime history: the enslavement of women from Korea and elsewhere to work in brothels serving Japan’s imperial army.


Now, a group of former prostitutes in South Korea have accused some of their country’s former leaders of a different kind of abuse: encouraging them to have sex with the American soldiers who protected South Korea from North Korea. They also accuse past South Korean governments, and the United States military, of taking a direct hand in the sex trade from the 1960s through the 1980s, working together to build a testing and treatment system to ensure that prostitutes were disease-free for American troops.


While the women have made no claims that they were coerced into prostitution by South Korean or American officials during those years, they accuse successive Korean governments of hypocrisy in calling for reparations from Japan while refusing to take a hard look at South Korea’s own history.


“Our government was one big pimp for the U.S. military,” one of the women, Kim Ae-ran, 58, said in a recent interview.


Scholars on the issue say that the South Korean government was motivated in part by fears that the American military would leave, and that it wanted to do whatever it could to prevent that.


But the women suggest that the government also viewed them as commodities to be used to shore up the country’s struggling economy in the decades after the Korean War. They say the government not only sponsored classes for them in basic English and etiquette meant to help them sell themselves more effectively but also sent bureaucrats to praise them for earning dollars when South Korea was desperate for foreign currency.


“They urged us to sell as much as possible to the G.I.’s, praising us as ‘dollar-earning patriots,’ ” Ms. Kim said. ...

The Comfort Women controversy

[myrainydayloves]

Wedding Bells

(You Already Know What It Is)

Pardon me is everybody because if everybody’s here, I’d like to thank you all for coming

Annaka had never felt more fear than when she woke up May 8th. She was stirred by her alarm, moving her hand through the group of girls piled around each other. But the alarm stopped without her touch and she snuggled back into the warmth of the cuddle pile. 

“Nuh-Uh! Up you go! Shower and then breakfast!” Scolded her maid of honor trying to pull her from the snuggle group. 

“Five more minutes, Mom,” Annaka mumbled, trying to crawl back under Anita’s blanket. 

“Annaka!” 

“Maryyyyy,” she moaned, finally beginning to untangle herself from the other women. “I don’t wanna get married today. Tell Cross we can do it tomorrow,” she joked. 

Mary did not find this as amusing, having spent hundreds of hours with Annaka planning the event. Capri echoed this statement by verbally telling Annaka to shut the fuck up and get ready. 

By the time Annaka had exited the shower, Mary had roused the rest of the women in the sleepover and sent them to the various bathrooms to wash up. A truly outstanding show of abilities in her opinion. There was a light breakfast of sliced fruit and toast waiting them and coffee brewing. 

She dragged her hands over the table that had been her place of residence within the home for the last decade and felt it was foreign under her touch.  Even the kitchen where Annaka spent hours preparing meals, where she’d shared so many tender morning moments with him, was new to her. 

Maybe because it was going to be hers now. Theirs, technically. But going from stranger to guest to owner was as weird for the house as it was her. 

She ate toast, drank from a mug her son had made her back when he was only twelve, and looked through the grimy kitchen window that housed a plant Cross couldn’t keep alive. The window about the sink was his responsibility, Annaka was adamant about and so far if had only seen soap five times in the ten years she’d been here. 

“Lazy bastard,” Annaka whispered into the mug like it was the sweetest nickname. 

Yen clapped her on the shoulder. “Glad to see you’re still in love. I was worried you’d get cold feet.”

“Now is your last chance to back out,” Anita teased. “If you little boy Lavi was here he’d give you the total debt but I reckon it’s around-“

“Lavi’s not little anymore,” Annaka interrupted. “He’s in college for god’s sakes.”

“He’s still your little boy though, isn’t he?” Capri teased.

“They’re both still my little boys,” she whispered into the mug. “It’s just now my name’s going on the adoption papers too.”

So after breakfast, Mary was rushing them into the various cars to the chapel. Annaka rode with Mary to go over any last minute changes. As the sun started to rise over their home, Annaka was leaving it to return as a wife. 

The little boys in question met the bridal party outside the church. All dressed up uncomfortably in their suits, smiling like church boys who’d stolen extra communion wine. The venue itself was a church, grand and tall, one of the most beautiful in the entire city. It was covered in stained glass windows and arches that were once white turned yellow by age. And today it would serve its purpose as a house of love instead of the usual house of confession. 

“Babies,” Annaka whispered to them, climbing out of the car to kiss their cheeks. “I hope you don’t have any objections today.”

“Oh I have a whole list,” Lavi teased. “Starting with the time you didn’t get me a mouse shaped pretzel at Disneyland. Can’t let a woman like that marry Cross.”

Allen gave her a sweet smile, like all the ones he’d given her as a little boy and hugged her tightly. Whatever fear or anxiety she’d been holding poured out of her as she returned the hug, pulling him close. She leaned back, brushed the hair out of his eyes, and hugged him again. 

“So,” Allen started. “How am I gonna tell you that instead of peonies they sent tulips and they’re white not pink?”

“They did what?!” Mary cried. “I specifically asked for peonies! It took me two hours to find a shop with peonies in the spring!”

Yen rubbed Mary’s shoulder with a teasing smirk. “There there, let’s get you all dressed up.”

“I’m serious!” Mary cried, reaching for her phone as the women walked into the church. 

The dress still fit, so that was good, she thought. She twisted and turned in the mirror, struggling to see whatever Cross was marrying her for before giving up. The flowers were here, though they were white and not pink, but that was fine. It was fine. 

A soft knock at the door. 

“Are you ready? Because they’re ready for you,” an attendant whispered. 

“Uh yes,” she mumbled. 

As her shoes met threadbare carpet, she thought about running one last time. But her feet grew roots and planted themselves in front of the grand doors. 

The worst part of all this, she thought as they began to open was that Cross had been right. 

The church was the best idea for the venue. Light poured down from the windows, birds that lived in the bell tower chirped, and the acoustics were amazing. It was like stepping into a painting or perhaps becoming a part of it. 

Only when the doors finally opened fully and the organ started to play did she dare look into the church. Her heart jumped when she saw him there. Regal and fine and waiting patiently, he looked like he would stand there for hours waiting for her to arrive. 

And she couldn’t figure out why. 

Annaka suddenly felt like she was drowning again. Like the waves of fate had finally pulled her under. Then he turned, caught her eye, and looked stunned. There were no tears or smirk, just genuine disbelief this was really happening. 

And then he started to smile. 

There are no words to explain how it feels to see your life validated. To see your work and your past spread out for you like a quilt. To realize that it was time to tie everything in a tidy bow and give up trying to make it bigger. 

So she moved. Step by step she moved towards him, afraid that the longer she stayed on a different side of the ocean of fabric, she would lose him. And then she wasn’t walking down the alley. 

Annaka was running. 

Home was in sight and it welcomed her with a stupid smirk and open arms. In the second he touched her arm, she was safe again, reminded and comfortable under the blanket. 

“Wow, you look….” Cross laughed a bit. “Well I was going to tease you and say you looked a bit desperate running towards me like that but...you look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, knees shaking in a way they never did. 

“Relax. If anyone should be scared here, it’s me. Allen threatened to kill me if I got a single word wrong in my vows.”

“Oh shit, knew I was forgetting something” Annaka teased. 

As they settled into a comfortable standing position, the priest read out lines and palms. And then it was time. 

Cross looked up. “Did you wanna go first? I have something in my eyes.”

“Tears?”

“No, I think a storm of dust-of course it’s tears!” He snapped, looking down at her. She pressed a hand to his cheek and smiled. 

“Compose yourself, My Love. I’ll go first though I can’t promise you won’t be bawling by the end.”

“Show off.”

“Cross-“

“Oh god, wait just-“ He pulled her hand back to his cheek, letting her hand lovingly cup his cheek and nodded, tears silently flowing down his cheeks. 

“There are a lot of things I wanted to say here. Honestly I could have us here for hours. But I will keep it brief,” she took a breath. “For ten years, we raised two children together. And not once, in those ten years, did I ever feel anything but grateful to Mary for calling me. I never regretted pack up everything in my tiny apartment in Seattle to move here even though it was very scary. Because from the moment I met you: I was in love with you.”

She took a second to wipe away some of the tears beginning to flood his face. “Really. I was. You made my life comfortable, gave me what I always dreamed of: a home and a family and a loving husband. No matter what you may think, you’ve given me so so much. So to repay you, I vow to stay with you. To kiss you in the morning, to let you steal my coffee, to watch you work in the garage. I promise that I will always be in love with your genius, your charm, your charisma. I love you so deeply even your flaws shine brightly to me.”

“I love you. And I swear I always will.”

He leaned in towards her and she helped shield his vulnerability from prying eyes. After a minute of silent sobbing he stood up, dried his tears, then dried his glasses, and started. 

“I have sacrificed so much to get something. I have left some many broken paths and people behind me that if I tried to make amends I wouldn't know where to start. I am such a pain in the ass-“

“Not to me,” she teased. 

“Never to you. I’ve never had someone love me so unconditionally.” Allen couldn’t resist a small cough and Lavi quietly kicked him. With a roll of his eyes, Cross corrected himself. “I’ve never had a woman love me so-“

Anita leaned out to glare at him. 

“For the love of Christ, can I get through my vows?” He snapped. With renewed energy and speed, he said, “I guess I won’t have the chance to wax poetic until later, my love. But you are, without a doubt, one of the most talented people I’ve met. Not just in poetry but in everything. And you do it while looking….so beautiful. Even when you’re asleep at the table, hair falling from your bun, pen marks on your face, I am blown away by you. I love you.”

“So I vow to love you forever,” he finished. Then he leaned in to whisper in her ear, “I’ll give the full speech later when we’re not surrounded by idiots.”

“I heard that,” Allen whispered, also leaning in. 

Mary leaned in next and brandished her bouquet like a sword. “Shut. Up. If we run behind because no one we know understands how to be quiet for more than a minute, I’m going to get very angry.”

“Sorry, Ms. Mary.”

The priest did not chance asking for objections with this couple. Partly because they’d already proven themselves to be a small comedy trope and partly because despite the crying or glaring faces, he felt there was no one in the room that had anything real to say. He gave Cross a nod, who then nodded at Annaka, who giggled and nodded back.

“I, Crоss Marian, take you, Annaka, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honour you all the days of my life.“

“I, Annaka, take you, Crоss Marian, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honour you all the days of my life.”

With a smile he reserved only for weddings, the priest said, “You have declared your consent before the Church. May the Lord in his goodness strengthen your consent and fill you both with his blessings. What God has joined, men must not divide. Amen...sorry. You may now kiss the bride.”

The cheer that erupted from the pews was the loudest the church ever heard, with friends and family all swarming to hug the new united couple at the stand. There were a lot of ‘You did it’-s or ‘Damn, she actually went through with it?’-s and there were a lot of tears.

But despite the chaos and excitement, Cross stared at Annaka and she stared back, lost in each other’s eyes. There was an entire life outside that, to the pair, had always been so cruel, so unkind. But now, with two small bands of gold, the pair felt more than ready to face it.

Together.

[maxineswritingcenter]

Cinderella AU - Dean x fem!reader

There once was a man, a good man. He loved his family very much, his wife and young daughter, (Y/N). Father and daughter were inseperable, they were the best of friends. After a mysterious illness, his wife died and the man remarried. The woman, Druscilla Tremaine, and her daughters, Anastasia and Drizella, moved into their home. And just as before, the man followed his wife to the grave. This left (Y/N) at the hands of three witches who forced her to clean house and run errands for spell ingredients. What the witches didn't know what that the girl had been learning all these years and had found some magic abilities of her own. There was a meeting of the coven soon, a fabulous party for powerful witches.

-------------------------------------------------

In the darkness of my tiny room I practiced. I practiced and practiced. I practiced by candle light to hide what I was doing. Druzilla, my actual evil stepmother, would literally kill me if she found me doing magic. At any opportunity, I would write down spells of little bits of paper and hide them in a notebook I kept under my bed.

It was early, I could be caught at any moment now. But it wasn't fair. The spell that my step mother was going to use required a life, she was going to be using a field mouse from the backyard. The little thing didn't deserve to suffer. From it's tiny cage, I lifted him out with one hand and fed him a tiny piece of cheese. He held it in his little paws and ate away, not a care in the world.

"I'm sorry." I whispered, gently petting the top of its head. From the table next to me, I grabbed a pinch of chamomile and blew it into the mouse's face.

I took a deep breath and sounded out the spell I heard, "bah rah gah doh." The mouse halted and fell limp. My eyes widened and I panicked. Did I kill it? Do I do something wrong? Pronounce something wrong? I held the little mouse close to my ear, hearing its tiny heart beat. My shoulders relaxed and I put the little mouse back in it's little plastic prison.

"There you go... Sleep now." I whispered. Suddenly loud footsteps thundered down the hall. I quickly took my notebook and shoved it under my bed and blew out the candle. My door opened, blinding me with the light from the hallway.

"Ah, you're awake. Decided to sleep in, did you?" Druscilla looked down at me with her pointed eyes.

"I was up late cleaning up... From your ritual." The ritual where she literally drained a person of their blood to keep her young. The victim was a college girl passing through town. The locals would blame an animal, just like they were spelled to do.

"Well that's no excuse, is it?" She said, putting her hands on her hips.

"No." I said, not looking her in the eyes.

"No, what?"

"No, ma'am."

She humpfed, "That's what I thought. Now get ready. I need that mouse. There are hunters in town and I'll be damned if they find me. Especially before the party." She left the room, slamming the door behind her. I winced at the sound, looking back at the little mouse, still sound asleep.

"What I wouldn't do, little mouse, what I wouldn't do." I sighed and got ready for the day. Hair in a messy bun, t-shirt, jeans, socks, shoes, nothing special. My step monster spent my dad's money on clothes and riches for her and her daughters. Anastasia and Drizella. Anastasia wasn't so bad, she mostly followed the crowd. It was Drizella I had to watch out for. Drizella liked to play with fire, I had the scars on my legs to prove that her spells worked. Nothing like having your pants set on fire in the middle of dinner. I made my way down to the main floor of the house, the little cage in hand. I set the cage down on the alter table and took a deep breath.

"Hey!" A shrill voice made me jump, there in the doorway to the living room was Drizella.

"I thought I told you to iron my dress." She held up the dress that I ironed the previous night, "It's all wrinkled!"

"I did iron it." I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

"Not good enough. Need I remind you of what I can do?" She glared. Soon after Anastasia appeared, plate in hand.

"(Y/N), I'm hungry. Why isn't breakfast ready?" She asked.

"Because she's going to reiron my dress." Drizella snapped at her sister.

"No, she's making breakfast first!" Anastasia whined back. They both started yelling at each other back and forth until their mouths snapped shut with a snap of Druscilla's fingers.

"Now, now, girls, what is all this ruckus?" She eyed me, "(Y/N), what have you done now?"

I shook my head, "I didn't do anything-"

"I see. That explains it then. Well do something. Make breakfast, iron her dress, and then run to the apothecary. I need more ashwood." She grabbed my arm, pushing up my sleeve to show the scar on my arm where she placed a hex bag, "If the shop keep gives you any trouble you know what will happen. And you wouldn't want to hurt him, would you?" I shook my head.

"Good." She dropped my arm and with a flick of her wrist, I was sent towards the kitchen.

-

The streets were crowded, it was pretty unusual for this tiny town but with the meeting of the coven the town was buzzing. They were also buzzing because of the idea of hunters. Druscilla said hunters were bad, but I didn't think anyone could be as bad as her. I entered the apothecary, just like I did every week. The little bell chimed and I felt safe for the time being. The shopkeep was understanding of my situation and knew what Druscilla could do. The shopkeep was a friendly man. His smile was warm and welcoming. He was tall and usually wore a grey sweater, probably to hide all of his warding tattoos. His business was a dangerous one. I made my way up to the register and smiled.

"I can't find the ashwood, did you move it?" I asked.

He shook his head, "No, I'm afraid that someone put my stock on reserve, they got a big harvest day ritual coming up."

My heart sunk, "But, She need ashwood. I can't go back without it."

He shrugged, "I'm sorry. The client already paid for all of it."

My arm started to burn and so did my eyes, "Please." I gasped in pain, "There has to be something left."

His eyes widened, "Hey now, I told you I don't have any to give Druscilla and you can go tell her that."

My blood started to boil with rage and my breathing became ragged, "Please." I said through gritted teeth.

"I told you no." He said. My rage took over and I snarled, lunging at him over the counter. I took him to the ground, wrapped my hands around his throat. He grabbed my wrists, looking up at me with bulging eyes.

"Stop!" He managed to say.

"I can't!" I growled, pressing harder. His eyes rolled back and his fighting stopped. I found the will to let go and scrambled away from the man, taking off out of the shop.

I made my way to the hardware store, stopping outside to watch as old black Chevy park in front of the Apothecary.

-

"Tempered ashwood?!" Druscilla screamed and threw the wood planks at me after I presented her with a bag of it from the hardware store. I shielded my head with my arms as they fell down on me.

"You come back here with tempered ashwood?! What am I supposed to do with this?!" She screamed.

"It's all I could find! The apothecary was out!" I shouted back over the sound of her destroying plates that I would have to clean up later.

"Excuses! Always with the excuses, (Y/N)! I have raised you and fed you, kept you off the streets and you give me tempered ashwood?! How ungrateful." She spat. She walked away and went back to her stone alter where Drizella and Anastasia had been watching. She took the little mouse from his cage and shook him a bit with a confused look on his face.

"Why is it sleeping?" She looked down her nose at me.

"I-I don't know." I stuttered.

Druscilla rolled her eyes, "It doesn't matter." She took a sharp knife from the alter and I looked away while she ended the little life in her hand. I looked back after the last of it's blood was drained into a silver bowl. She then, pricked her finger with the knife. Anastasia and Drizella followed, they each let a drop of blood fall into a bowl.

"Cloaking flame, I ignite you. The fire born from blood leaves behind no witch. Now vanish me from the danger's sight. O fire of power and concealment." Druscilla threw some herbs into the bowl and it ignited into a red flame.

"Cloaking flame. That will keep us safe from any hunter that we should come into contact with. As long as this flame burns, they can't see us." Where was that spell when I was hiding from that damn cat, Lucifer.

On cue, the devil cat that I'm sure was spawned from Druscilla appeared. It was a large black cat with unsettling yellow eyes. It strutted past me and towards the alter. Drizella tossed the corpse of the mouse to the cat who caught it in its mouth.

"There's mommy's little helper." Druscilla sighed fondly at him. Lucifer, who didn't meow, but growled back at her.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Druscilla looked at me with a finger pressed to her lips.

"You know what to do." She said. I closed my eyes and stood up. When I opened them I walked towards the door and opened it. On the porch were two tall men, one taller than the other. They were dressed in dress pants and white button downs.

"Is this the Tremaine residence?" The taller one asked.

"Yes." I avoided eye contact, pulling my sleeves down to hide the scar.

"Well, this is Brother Samuel and I'm Brother Dean. We're here from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day saints. May we come in?" The other man with bright green eyes gave me a million dollar smile.

"No." I said.

"Are you sure?" Brother Samuel asked. He had saggy brown hair and hazel eyes that were kind and welcoming, "From what we heard in town the family used to be avid church goers."

"That was before my mother died. My father lost faith. So did I." I quickly looked over my shoulder at the witches then back at the Mormons, "This really isn't a good time." I tried to close the door but the green eyed man stepped forward and held the door open with his foot.

"Ma'am, is everything alright. Are you in some sort of danger?" Brother Dean asked, his eyes scanning over my face like a lazer. I winced when I felt the spell beginning to take it's hold on me.

"Please go." I whimpered, the burning began to take effect in my eyes. Which he seemed to notice because he backed off and smiled.

"Perhaps another time." Brother Samuel said, "Have a nice day." I quickly closed the door, leaning against it and breathing heavily.

"Those must be the hunters." Anastasia said, "They didn't notice us at all."

Drizella smirked, "Mother, may I keep one. The green eyed one got my blood pumping."

"No, no, Drizella. I have a plan for them. Involving..." She looked at me with a smirk, "Our guard dog."

-------------------------------------------------

Tis the beginning of a story based Loosely off of Cinderella, I'm trying my best.

Reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated!

Read part two here!

If you would like to be tagged in this series, send me an ask!

General tag:

@happy-little-winchester

@hobby27

@somebodyto-love

@beanie-beebo

@vicmc624

@ria132love

@lilulo-12

@teenwaywardasgardian

@tloveswriting

@samros95

@calaofnoldor

[elleonmybeloved]

Field Day

Title: Field Day Author: PinkPerfume Fandom: Shall We Date? Obey me! Pairing: Asmodeus/MC Rating: Teen & Up Chapter: 1/? Tags: Demon & Angel Blood AU, Demons are slightly larger than in cannon by about a foot or two each, Secret Crush, Awkward pining, Asmodeus is hoe-rny as usual, Flirting, Leading up to that explicit rating in the second chapter cause you know me Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25145122/chapters/60926767

Summary:

Once a week, the human exchange students, accompanied by the seven demon brothers as well as Lord Diavolo and a few of his subordinates make a trip to a rocky place out in the wilderness of the Devildom to conduct physical testing on the humans’ developing abilities. Mary-Catherine and her fellow once-humans aren't sure why Lord Diavolo injected them with the demon and angel blood that gave them their abilities, but participation in the testing is mandatory. But if you forget the part where they're being tested like lab rats, it feels a lot like a fun school field day! Complete with packed lunches and a friendly sense of competition.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I hope you’re ready to eat my dust this time. I’ve grown two inches since last week.”

“Don’t get a big head. You got dog demon blood, not speed demon. Besides, not being able to spit acid at obstacles in your way is gonna slow you down.”

“I’d really appreciate it if you stopped doing that. Just because you look a lot more like a snake now doesn’t mean you need to act like one.”

“- Demon cobra. Not just a snake.”

“I know you’re proud of that, but honestly, I’m more jealous of the girl who got hawk demon blood. You know she has wings now, right?”

“What?! They shouldn’t let her participate in the race, it’s totally not fair.”

“It’s not actually a race, you guys.”

“Just because they’re testing us doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun with it. Lord Diavolo encouraged us to be competitive.”

Excited chattering and the rumble of the vehicle’s engine made for a charged atmosphere that Mary-Catherine was enjoying listening to, leaning her head against the glass of the window to hide her amused smile at the antics. Choosing to survey the odd shapes of plants and pigmented rock passing by outside as she listened, she angled her head so that the small tightly curled horns at her forehead weren’t scraping against the glass.

Once a week, the human exchange students, accompanied by the seven demon brothers as well as Lord Diavolo and a few of his subordinates made the trip to a rocky place out in the wilderness of the Devildom to conduct physical testing on the humans’ developing abilities.

Piled into some kind of all-terrain vehicle with such ridiculous ground clearance that Mary-Catherine had needed assistance to haul herself up into it, they were shuttled to the testing site. The vehicle was huge and had several rows of seats, so everybody just called it “The Bus.” Before them on the long straight road, the Demon lord’s sleek black limo - driven by Barbatos - led the way down the path.

Turning off on the dirt path, they pulled up to the site. As the passengers - twenty-five strong, counting the brothers - filed out of the vehicle, they cordoned off into groups like a separation of oil and water.

Mary-Catherine confidently placed herself next to the people she knew best. Donte - a young man with horned-toad demon blood who she’d never seen not dressed up in attractive punk outfits that suited his dark brown curls and yellow-green striped horns perfectly. Despite all the purple dust out here, she had yet to see any of it attach itself to his outfit.

Meanwhile, both her thick cargo pants and her usual red tank top already had a few purple smudges.

To his left, Emma, a curvy young woman in all black whose sharp feline teeth glinted against her dark lipstick, and though the pair of furry black ears at the top of head twitched invitingly, you’d have to be stupid to touch them - or any part of her - without her explicit say so. Her claws were just as sharp as her eyeliner and stung quite badly.

Mary-Catherine had never heard her give anyone that say so. Only repeated threats to anybody who would listen about just exactly the kind of dark apocalypse she would continuously rain on Diavolo and the demon brothers & co. until they returned her cat Lucy to her, or vice versa.

Standing aloof with a familiar thoughtful expression to her right, a picture of elegance and maturity that M-C only hoped she’d one day achieve, was Annika. The blonde witch had a silent strength and seemed the least phased about her residency in the devildom of all the humans Mary-Catherine knew. She even stood up to Lucifer on a regular basis.

Mary had to avoid flinching like a startled lamb every time he looked in her mere direction. In her defense, she was part sheep now, and she had no reason to believe demon sheep were any braver than those in the overworld. Though as recent months had attested, they had the same urge for salt and were about 5 times faster than a regular one running at full tilt.

Once given their instructions, and oddly-shaped “evaluators” to attach to their D.D.D.s, the four of them plus a few she was less familiar with made off for the climbing ground. As usual, the groups moved around three areas in a rotation. A rock-littered circuit of road for testing speed, agility, and endurance, a level field of purple grass and several small, dead-looking trees with painted orange Xs on them that served as a combat ground for testing offensive abilities, and a large outcropping of porous green rock to test their ability to scale rough vertical terrain.

Something of a makeshift security team, the demon brothers spread out to stand their usual guard over the three groups. Considering their powers and how each demon towered at least a foot over any regular human even in their “human” forms, on their very first outing Mary-Catherine had foolishly assumed none of the other occupants of this realm would dare try to attack the group.

Grimacing as she tied up her hair and prepared to climb, she tried to blink away the image of the explosion of goop and gore and the charred remains that had been left of the few dissenting demons who’d scarcely touched her human companions before Satan had reduced them to pulp. Though unsure of how Lucifer had torched the ones who’d gone after his group, she was pretty sure she’d never get the image of their blackened skulls out of her mind.

“What’s with the long face? You’re still the reigning champion of this rock, goat-girl.”

Looking up, she recognized the self-proclaimed “cobra” guy from earlier on the bus. Despite his competitive statement, the grin on his face was friendly. His curly black hair and olive skin tone made for a vivid contrast against his vertical pupiled green eyes. She’d seen him a few times at breakfast and wasn’t certain but she thought his name was Kevin?

“Oh nothing. I was just wondering if they were going to make me lick more rocks today. Kind of reminds me of when I used to chaperone church summer camp and all the kids would collect rocks and dare each other to hold it in their mouth for twenty seconds or eat a worm.”

Mary-Catherine paused, “-But my horns alone would’ve been even more scandalous than the time one of the adults caught someone with a Harry Potter book sooo I guess it’s not really that similar!”

“Oh trust me I doubt my mamá would be happy to see what I look like now, but that doesn’t mean I would say no to a chance to become spiderman.”

“Hey, if anybody is becoming spiderman, I think it might be me.” Donte spoke up from behind them, looking incredulously at his hand which was pressed against the wall of rock. “Check this out.”

He then demonstrated how with an odd suction noise, his hands clung to the rock of their own accord. Prying them off and then repeating the motion, he got better at the detachment process with each press.

“Maybe poisonous demon frogs can stick to things?” Mary-Catherine mused. “I watched this discovery channel episode on tree frogs once that explained how their secretion of toe pad mucous-”

“-Mucous?!?” Donte scrutinized his hands in dismay, but after finding no such secretions he breathed a sigh of relief. “The only thing getting on my hands is this rock while I climb it’s ass. See you at the top!”

Pressing the start button on her evaluator, she climbed up after him, hearing Kevin start his descent as well. She’d gotten a bit of experience with this sort of outdoors stuff at previously said church-camp, but that was nowhere near her current condition, as she easily overtook both of her human companions with no regard for the steepness of her path. Back then, she’d needed a hardness and ropes. Now, she sought out each handhold instinctively like the top of the rock was calling her.

“At least I’m not bleating.” She sighed, and from below her Kevin barked out a laugh.

“I imagine it would come out sounding more like a warbled growl.” He said. “I’ve seen the pictures you know.”

“Hey- don’t go looking at a girl’s demon pictures!” A girl lower down on the rock called up to them.

Mary-Catherine blushed and hastily pulled herself up the remaining few feet of the rock and rolled to the side as she clicked stop on her evaluator.

“Not her pictures, the pictures of whatever they injected her with!” Kevin complained, but M-C could hear the mirth in his voice.

Walking over to a smoother patch of rock, she sat down to wait for the rest of them to finish their climb. Gazing at the ground far below her, she noticed Emma and Beelzebub talking next to a couple of camp-chairs.

She had noticed before that as an act of cat-less mutiny, Emma often refused to take part in the tests, but as M-C watched her speaking amicably with the demon beside her, who was eating… something round and dripping a brightly colored liquid she could make out from here, Emma gestured towards the rock several times with a wistful expression.

Rising to get a better look, Mary-Catherine began absent mindedly stretching, catching her ankle and bending her leg with a gentle pull.

It was a bit too far for her to make out exactly what they were saying - though some of her genetically enhanced fellow humans probably could - but M-C imagined that Emma was saying something along the lines of how much she wanted to climb the ‘actual shit outta that rock’ but wouldn’t budge an inch until they gave her back her precious Lucy. Beel seemed to nod sympathetically and despite not halting in his eating process, continue the conversation.

And then he moved to grab another of whatever it was he was eating, revealing the other demon who had come to watch over the climbing group. Having used the absolute swole unit of his demon brother’s body to provide him with shade, the Avatar of Lust reclined elegantly in - well it wasn’t really a camping chair, but it looked like it could be collapsed and relocated - his seat, meticulously painting his nails.

Freezing awkwardly midstretch, both arms clasped high above her head, she was for the hundredth? thousandth? time struck by just how gorgeous of a man Asmodeus was. Not a man, she reminded herself, a demon. Good Lord in Heaven, those arms… he had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows to avoid getting nail polish on his shirt, and it exposed the beautiful lean muscle of his forearms. Burnt amber eyes focused intensely on his handiwork, his pale perfectly shaped lips pursed in concentration… he had an angular face that made him look like both like the dangerous being he was, and a sculpture of an angel at the same time.

As if aware he was being ogled, he paused his preening and turned his head, looking up her way at the top of the rock. Panicking, she hastily looked elsewhere, pretending to continue her stretches as if she hadn’t been meaning to glance in his direction…

Nothing to see here!

Soon the others joined her at the top of the rock, and with the protection of anonymity, Mary-Catherine risked another gaze his way.

Oh good, he’s back to working on his nails.

Getting caught looking at people was so awkward, hopefully he hadn’t thought anything of what he saw of her brief gaze. She was pretty sure she was safe, it was unlikely he was that interested in any measly humans anyways.

“So what was your score?”

Mary-Catherine spooked so hard she jumped, turning to give Kevin a wounded look.

“You’re a jumpy one, huh? Must be those prey instincts. Well, what was it?”

“A minute and forty three seconds.” Mary-Catherine said, wondering what kind of predator hunted sheep demons. Probably had lots of teeth.

“Guess I just need to be a minute and fifteen seconds faster next time.”

“I’m sure you can do it.” She said, giving him an encouraging smile. “If they ever decide to hand out a prize, you’ve got it in the bag.”

“Now there’s an idea.” Donte piped up, moving into step beside them as the group began to descend the smooth sloped side of the rock. “I already know what I want as a prize.”

“What do you want?” She couldn’t really think of anything a demon would have to give as a good present. She’d seen their food. And the mall. They had weird taste.

“Not telling.” Donte said in a cheeky tone that even she could read as being… salacious in nature. Annika gave him one of her disapproving mother looks and it just made him sprout a mischievous little grin.

“I’ve had my eye on a spellbook in Satan’s library I would very much like to have.” Annika said, as if trying to steer the conversation off the downhill path it was otherwise going. It was a good thing Emma wasn’t here or that’d be a moot effort.

“Uhhh, boring!” Kevin crossed his arms. “Come on guys, we’re practically in hell. I want a weapon or something with strong dark magic powers.”

One of the other girls agreed with him, and began a very enthusiastic conversation about swords and axes and other sharp pointy things. Mary-Catherine considered the question herself for a few moments, but the only thing she could think of was for Lucifer to give her her Bible back. He’d taken it away a couple weeks ago after she’d done something he hadn’t approved of and used it as an excuse to confiscate the book. She wasn’t even sure how he’d known she had it, but maybe he’d been under the false impression that she was religious?

Normally she wouldn’t have been upset about such a thing, but even though she was no longer the good devout Catholic girl her parents had raised her to be, her grandmother had given her that Bible. They’d been quite close before she passed away five years ago to lung cancer. She was much too terrified of the fallen angel to even try to get it back though. Regardless, as far as prizes go that was a bit more personal than she was comfortable with sharing.

“I think a week off school would be nice!” She said instead, and was met with a resounding murmur of agreement from the crowd.

“How about a whole month?”

---

Under the protection of Belphegor and Leviathan this time, Mary-Catherine and her group took turns sprinting on the track. Unsurprisingly, Kevin’s dog demon-blooded friend blew all competition out the water. Once that guy got started he was like Usain Bolt on steroids. Though she put in the effort expected of her to avoid getting chided, M-C didn’t bother to run full tilt. She didn’t really like this part anyways. It was the most like a test, grueling and repetitive instead of fun, and reminded her of how she was here against her will.

She was grateful when they broke for lunch, gathering around a few hastily erected plastic tables. Taking the brown bag and two water bottles, she found a somewhat shady spot to sit under a scary looking tree and redid her sagging ponytail, lamenting the state of her side braid. She downed a whole bottle of water before getting into her food.

It was kind of funny, it was the same typical sandwich chips and apple combo she was used to on outdoor events like these, but the meat was purple and the lettuce that poked out at the sides was bright red. The fruit looked like an apple, but tasted like an orange and was the color of a banana.

She’d learned to just trust Lord Diavolo to know what humans could eat, and didn’t ask what everything was anymore. One of the transfer students had been curious at breakfast and as a result she had become aware of the fact that on several occasions she had ingested eggs from a reptilian demon species called an angiphore which looked like a cross between a platypus and one of those monstrous looking fish that lived really deep in the ocean.

The thought made her choke on her mouthful of water and most of it escaped out her lips down her throat to soak into the fabric of her top above her breast.

“Oh, gosh darn it.” Of course she had nothing to dab at it with. Well, at least the cool water felt kind of nice dripping down her neck, as hot as she was after such rigorous exercise.

“Oh my, looks like someone overestimated how much they could swallow~”

Mary-Catherine scarcely had time to process that someone had managed to approach her so silently before, bending elegantly at the waist, Asmodeus himself was already pressing a handkerchief against her neck with a chiding tut.

At her stiff reaction, he smiled, looking very much like the cat that ate the canary. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of sweetie, you’re not the first one to do such a thing.”

Mary-Catherine flushed and searched for a sufficiently indignant reply, realizing he was making fun of her. But before she could come up with something, he moved in closer, dragging the cloth against her bottom lip. It was such a shamelessly demanding motion, silencing her with ease.

“You must’ve been thirsty, poor thing.” He crooned, and M-C decided to swallow her pride and just enjoy the opportunity to get such a close up look at his gorgeous face. At this angle, she could see how long his strawberry-blonde eyelashes were as they brushed the smooth, immaculate skin of his cheeks.

“It’s… pretty hot.” The words were already on her mind, so unfortunately that’s what came out of her mouth instead of denying such an obvious trap.

It was worth it for the delighted, full-teeth grin he made. “I agree.”

His fingers skirted the hem of her tank top, and with a gentle pluck, he lifted the fabric to dab a few times at the wet top of her breast. But instead of lingering, with a simple wink, he retracted the handkerchief and stood up before she could even begin freaking out about it.

“Thanks.” She said when her brain caught up, as he started to leave.

“Any time, honey.~” He replied without turning back, and was soon out of sight.

Mary-Catherine gave a dry swallow and reached for her water bottle.

~~~

The rest of the afternoon proved uneventful. Oviumalum, or the certain species of demon sheep blood she’d been injected with, apparently had the ability to rapidly elongate and thrust out their 4 sets of horns in front of them like some kind of projectile impaler. Their horns were also a key ingredient in a certain type of hallucinogenic drug, when ground to a powder.

The meager set of horns on Mary-Catherine’s forehead was sharp, and made of the same components, but so far showed no signs of developing any projectile abilities. As such, she simply had to hold still while they took a sample of her horns, ears, and tail and then was free to sit on the sidelines for most of the hour.

Lucifer had handed her a textbook about the properties of various demonic plants and encouraged her to study during the downtime.

“Like many here, you would do well to improve your academics. Here.” He’d said in that aloof tone, like she was some filthy human bug under his boot.

“Oh…” She’d said. “Well, actually, that’s-”

“You’re welcome.” He’d cut off her attempt to decline with a glare. “I hope I see an improvement in your grade reports soon.”

Mary-Catherine couldn’t help but shut up after that and bitterly open the book in obedience. His crimson stare, like the blood she was sure he was not hesitant to shed, was just too frightening. But, more interested in watching the increasingly bizarre developing abilities of her fellow humans, she’d just skimmed the pages and pretended to read.

Beside Lord Diavolo’s delight at Donte’s newfound ability, nothing else of note happened. It was amusing to watch Emma claw several inch deep scores into a variety of materials she’d never assume could even be scratched, so that’s what she’d done until they’d blown their whistle to announce that it was time to return to the House of Lamentation.

Now, she was trailing after the gaggle of tired, test-tried students, thinking about whether she was going to bathe, sleep, or eat first when they got home.

“Heeyyy, M-C!”

Looking up from where she’d been zoning out staring at her D.D.D, she glanced around. Had somebody called her name?

“Mary-Catheriiiine!!” A girl was jogging towards her, waving a hand to get her attention. It took her a moment, since it wasn’t someone she was very familiar with, but she connected the face to a name before the girl reached her.

“Yes? - Um, Hoya, right?”

“Yeah.” The girl said, smiling with a - ah. Shark demon blood. - large set of teeth. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course! What is it?”

“I lost my ring up on the rocks.” Hoya said, pointing to the climbing wall. “I can see where it is but I can’t reach it myself. Can you get it for me?”

“Sure!” May-Catherine chirped, but then bit her lip. “Uh, did you tell Lucifer? It’s time to go and I’ll be fast but we’re going to make them wait…”

“Don’t worry, I told him. He said it’s fine as long as I hurry.”

“Oh. Okay!” M-C said, but couldn’t help squinting a little skeptically.

“...He said they’re leaving in ten minutes with or without us.” Hoya admitted. “But it won’t take us that long!”

Mary-Catherine was already moving. “Oh gosh, well I hope you didn’t mention my name…”

Hoya jogged next to her, long smooth grey tail wagging oddly like a dog. “Uh, I did. Sorry!"

Mary-Catherine groaned and high-tailed it to the rock.

[cynicalrainbows]

The Next Best Thing Pt 3

So this is a very long rambley chapter of this Catalina-adopts-babey-Cathy au. I’m not sure if I’m entirely happy with how it turned out- I was trying to do a few things, really: get better at writing from the POV of actual small children (which is incredibly difficult and also quite fun) and also have a go at describing what an absolute headfuck grief is.

Like, I cannot get over how when people die, you’re expected to get around the angry and sadness and confusion...and ALSO just sort of....live your normal life. And it’s especially difficult that those two things then get mixed up: I remember sitting by my dad’s deathbed and watching him die and just feeling sort of....fine? A bit numb but also very concerned with extremely mundane things like did I remember to say thank you to all the nurses and did I remember to wash up the cups we’d made tea in? And then the next morning, I was on the edge of going into the road to throw things at the inconsiderate bastards who were just driving around and going to work like it was a normal day. And then three months later, I was sobbing hysterically while I made paninis at work because of some minor comment my absolute cunt of a boss made. And even now, years later, I had a sudden moment the other week when it suddenly hit me that I was never ever going to be able to say thank you to dad for the lovely things he wrote in my birthday cards. AND a moment of anger that I was never going to be able to have it out with him for lots of stuff I’m still angry with him for.

And then to have to deal with that as a child? Sweet Jesus. I honestly don’t know how children manage.

I was also trying really hard to get across the absolute mindfuck that is just being a 6-9 yr old girl. Like...I only vaguely remember being seven but still. And watching the children at my work? Good god.

SO i hope you all like it. I probably went overboard with making Aragon soft but I refuse to apologise because soft Aragon is the best Aragon.

Enjoy!

****

She used to like school, back before, but that was back when everything was different, when she had a Mum to collect her like everyone else and when she could write about going to the park and the library and the swimming pool in her newsbook just like everyone else.

Catalina has taken her to the park, to the library- but she can’t let herself enjoy it now. She keeps hoping that her parents will bob up from behind a bush or a bookshelf and tell her that everything was just a big misunderstanding- but they don’t. They never do, but she can’t stop herself hoping it, even if doing so feels like prodding a wobbly tooth- just as painful, just as impossible to resist.

Even the idea of school feels wrong now- school belongs back then, toher old normal.

Now, normal is staying at home with Catalina, trips to bookshops (new ones with cafes and shiney displays, old ones where the books are tired and tattered, with yellowing pages that smell of old paper and dust) which she likes, trips to church (which she wishes she liked) and trips to see a therapist (her therapist) which she has decided that she definitely doesn’t like.

 She doesn’t like the stuffy waiting room, she doesn’t like the waiting room toys- the books with pages torn out and scribbles all over the cover, the sad barbies left lying with their legs splayed and half their clothes missing, the jigsaw puzzles where all the pieces are mixed together. 

There are better things in the actual therapy room- paints and a real easel, better craft supplies even than at school- but after the first session, when she’s meant to be fetching her coat, she hears the therapist lady (Doctor Jenny, she is meant to call her) talking to Catalina about her, asking how she’s settling, asking if they’re coping….and she hates the thought of being discussed so much that she decides not to talk there again. Not even for the sake of the easel, and she rips the painting she made in her session into pieces in the backseat of the car on the way home. She wants to throw them out of the window but that would be littering and she has sat through enough school assemblies about littering to know that it is one of the worst, worst things you can do (aside from drawing in library books and pushing people into traffic) so she doesn’t, just holds the balled up painty scraps of paper in her fists until she can drop them into the bin where they belong.

School isn’t her new normal- but now apparently Catalina has to go back to work and she has to go back to school whether they want to or not.

‘Can’t you keep teaching me here? I did all my workbook-’ She quite likes filling out the booklets that the school had sent ‘in the interests of not falling behind’, although it feels funny to fill them out sitting on the sofa and wearing her weekend clothes.

‘I’d like to, querida.’ Catalina looks tired- she’s been frowning and looking at papers, then typing, then frowning again and pressing the back space key very, very hard- but now she swivels her chair around to look at Cathy properly. ‘I really would. But we wouldn’t be allowed.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s the law, you have to be in school...and I have to go back to work…before everything just completely falls apart without me….’ She looks at the papers, drops them back into the pile. ‘You’ll be able to see all your friends again- you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

She shrugs. She would like to see Anne- but she hasn’t seen her properly since before then, only talked to her on the phone and Anne had kept talking about Anna, the new girl, about how she’s sitting with Anne til Cathy is back, about how she brought in a big cornet of sweets to share on her first day, about how there was something called Katjes that was really liquorice…. and even thinking about it makes her chest feel tight and scared because what if Anne doesn’t want to be best friends any more? (What if Anna is more fun?)

Catalina takes both of her hands in her own and kisses them. ‘It will be ok, querida. I promise.’

(Catalina always tells the truth but it’s harder to believe her this time.)

She watches from the doorway that evening as Catalina lays out clothes- stiff suits and high, high heels, skirt and blouse and school jumper- and feels sick.

She sleeps badly, picks at her toast and doesn’t hug Catalina back when she says goodbye. She’s not even allowed to go into the playground before the bell rings- instead, she has to go into the headmistresses office because there are ‘special circumstances’ (although what these are she isn’t quite sure.)

Mrs Jardin says things about grief and loss and settling in. No comment seems to be required from her so she stays quiet until the bell releases her.

Anne walks into the classroom with a girl she hasn’t seen before who she thinks must be Anna. This girl- this new girl- gives Cathy a friendly smile, as if she isn’t stealing her best friend while her back is turned…. and she pretends not to see. 

(She doesn’t know why she should smile at a friend stealer.)

It doesn’t feel right to sit in her old class, as if everything is the same….but then, a new teacher comes in to take the register and she doesn’t like that it’s different either. 

Anne whispers that she’s nice, that she let them make get well soon cards for their usual teacher rather than having to do the usual Friday spelling test, and  she thinks that of course that would make Anne like her.

(Unlike her, Anne does not enjoy the spelling test.)

There’s dinner money to hand in, then a boring assembly about road safety and looking both ways. There’s literacy hour, like usual; numeracy hour, like usual. No gold stars for anyone (although their old teacher always used to have them- this new teacher just does boring ticks in red pen)- and then a change: they’re going to make cards.

For Mothers day.

Which is in a week.

Suddenly, she feels very cold. Mothers day. 

She doesn’t want to think about last year- daffodils picked from the garden, carrying a tray not-to-spill-carefully into the bedroom, being allowed to boil the kettle and make the toast herself, the picture that kept coming out wrong and the poem she wrote herself in place of it. 

She wants Catalina to come- to take her home or even just to BE there… but then she remembers that Catalina has abandoned her, that she’s the one making her have to go to school at all.

(And besides, Catalina is at work now anyway, doing whatever she does at work. She pictures meetings and shouty phone calls and wavy lines in red on graph paper, like when she and Anne play office.) (She wonders what games Anne plays with Anna and decides they’re probably all boring anyway.)

The teacher finished explaining- about spelling and sharing the felt pens and taking turns with the glitter, as if they’re babies, as if they’ve never made cards before when everyone knows that even the Nursery school children make cards at Christmas and Easter….and she turns to her blank sheet of construction paper and wishes she could tear it up.

‘What are you going to do?’

Anne’s whisper catches her by surprise.

‘What do you mean?’

Anne looks uncomfortable. ‘Because- well-’

She understands what Anne means, all at once, and it’s like cold water being poured on her- of course she can’t make a card for mum because mum isn’t there to have it and she knows this, but this realisation still feels new and suddenly she’s thinking of all the other things she won’t ever be able to give mum or dad ever again, birthday presents and Christmas presents and-

Anne is almost quivering next to her, her hand waving high in the air, and Cathy just KNOWS what she’s going to ask- what about if you don’t have a Mum to make a card for? 

She knows that’s what she’s going to ask, and it makes her so angry (angry that Anne is asking, angry that it’s a question that applies to her now, angry that Anne and everyone else get to still have parents, angry that they have to do this stupid project in the first place when everyone knows that it’s meant to be history workbooks after break) that she’s burning hot all over.

The teacher suddenly stops her monologue on the necessity of Putting Lids on Felt Tips, as if she’s heard the question through the waving of Anne’s hand, and she smiles like she’s swallowed a tin of golden syrup. Her voice is syrupy to match.

‘Of course, for anyone who doesn’t have a mother-’ She pauses. ‘What I mean is, if you’d like to make a card for someone else- maybe an auntie….well, that’s fine’. 

She even looks at Cathy as she says it- but she doesn’t want to make a card for Catalina. She isn’t her auntie, she definitely isn’t her mum.

‘Because of course, you don’t have to be a mum to do mum-things!’

 (Her mum wouldn’t have abandoned her at school, she thinks first….and then she wonders if maybe her mum has abandoned her after all- except worse and more forever. It’s not a nice thought to have.)

‘People can be your mum in spirit and that’s fine!’

(Does that mean Catalina has to take the place of her mum now?)

Part of her still wants Catalina to come and make things ok again (although she’s not sure how she would)- but part of her is angry too.

She’s angry with Catalina, for doing all the ‘mum-things’, angry with herself that she’s been letting her. (Can her own mum see her letting Catalina tuck her into bed and run her bath and hear her spellings? Would she be cross if she could?)

She feels more mixed up than ever, and it’s all Anne’s fault, it’s all Anne’s fault (for asking the question, for putting the thought into the stupid teacher’s head, for liking Anna better) and when the teacher turns her back (because someone has somehow broken their gluestick like an idiot), the anger bubbles up and she kicks Anne as hard as she can under the desk. 

She’s not sure what she’s expecting- Anne to kick her back maybe, or to jump up and tell on her and get her into trouble, but instead Anne just bursts into tears.

Part of her wants to say sorry….but part of her thinks it serves Anne right for sitting next to stupid new Anna with her stupid shoes that light up and her stupid purse shaped like a dog. (They’re definitely not cool and she definitely isn’t going to ask for either for her birthday.) 

Within seconds, the teacher is bearing down on them both.

‘What on earth do you think you’re doing, young lady?’ (She thinks spitefully that the teacher has probably forgotten her name already, something that their usual teacher would NEVER do.)

She just scowls back.

‘You’re going to say sorry to- your friend’ (Clearly she’s forgotten Anne’s name too) ‘-and then you’re going to sit and get on with your card nicely where I can see you-’

‘I don’t want to.’

She folds her arms and the teacher huffs.

‘This is NOT the sort of behaviour I expect from children in this year group! Imagine what your mother would-’

She says it and then freezes, her face going bright red- and it’s this freezing that makes it worse, like a big loud reminder that mum CAN’T see her, that she’ll never see her again, that the teacher has made a big mistake by mentioning it…. And there’s a roaring in her head as she picks up her paper, rips it into pieces and throws them into the woman’s face.

When the teacher tries to take her hand and pull her to the front of the room, she pulls away and pushes all her things- her pencils and pens, her rubber that smells like strawberries onto the floor and stamps on them and feels the crack of plastic under her school shoes- until a hand closes around her wrist and she’s dragged away and deposited into the corridor.

(She’s never been put out into the corridor before because that’s something that only the really bad children have happen to them, and she’s never been one of them….except she also never used to be the child without parents, she never used to want to make Anne hurt, so maybe now everything is different, it doesn’t matter what she does because nothing will make it better, and there’s nothing to do but scream and scream and scream.)

**

She’s acting crazy, not like herself at all- and the scary thing is, she can’t seem to stop, though her throat is raw and sore and her head is aching. 

It hurts worse than when she had flu, and had to drink cups of lemon and honey and suck on horrible tasting lozenges (that didn’t taste anything like cherry no matter what the label said)...except when she had flu, she knes she’d get better but can you get better from something like this that isn’t an illness?

 It frightens her that she can’t stop but then perhaps it doesn’t matter because everything is ruined anyhow, her parents are never coming back (she knows this, she knows this), all her pens are broken, everyone in her class saw her tear things up like a really bad kid and Anne will sit next to Anna forever and Catalina will be so angry with her…...she’ll be in so much trouble and what if Catalina doesn’t want her any more, what if she decides that she’s too much trouble because of this-

The thought has her curled up into herself, her face pressed against her drawn-up knees because it’s so scary, scarier than roller coasters and dogs that bark and the dark space under her bed, scarier than the little bit of a horror film that Anne’s sister showed them once when she slept over with the man that had knives for hands, scarier than anything-

The click click click of high heels sound down the hall- and it’s a new sound to hear at school because those aren’t the sort of shoes that the teachers or the dinner ladies wear, they’re not even the sort of shoes the big grown-up girls in Year 6 wear, she only knows one person who wears those sort of shoes-

‘Querida-’

When Catalina crouches down in front of her and puts a hand on her arm, part of her wants to cling onto her and make her promise to not ever leave ever ever- but another part of her tells her that she’s being stupi,d that of course her godmother won;t want her any more, that she’s probably just come into school to tell her that- and so she pushes the hand away roughly and won’t look up.

‘What’s the matter?’

She says nothing.

‘I can’t help if you don’t talk to me, carino.’

She doesn’t want to talk.

‘I need to make sure you are ok, querida. Can you tell me what made you so upset?’

She doesnt sound angry, she sounds like she always does- and it’s all wrong, she shouldn’t even be here, school shouldn’t be calling Catalina . No one else has their godparents called into school….cxcept of course they have to because there’s no one else, there’s no one else at all-

‘I hate you.’

She even means it. Perhaps if Catalina wasn’t around to fill in and do all the mum things, then mum would still be alive (because how could she have died if there was truly no one else?)

‘Why querida?’

‘It’s your fault. You should have died instead of mum.’

She means that too, but as she says it, she hides her face in her arms so she doesn’t have to see if Catalina looks cross or sad or (and this would somehow be worst of all) like she doesn’t even care.

(Not that she cares how Catalina feels. If she hadn’t ruined everything by making her come into school- if she hadn’t ruined everything by existing at all-)

She wonders, in the darkness of her arms, what will happen next- shouting (except Catalina doesn’t shout, apart from at traffic lights that change too quickly or spiders that come out of nowhere) or just the click-click-click of her heels leaving...but there’s nothing.

Nothing at all.

Just quiet.

It’s so quiet for so long that she wonders if perhaps Catalina has actually left after all- it would make sense for her to leave- and the thought gives her a little frisson of fear. 

Despite everything….she doesn’t want to be all by herself. Not really. 

She waits for a long, long time.

Eventually, she risks a glance up- steeling herself for the empty corridor. 

But Catalina is still there, sitting on the wooden floor with her high shoes sitting next to her and the nail polish on her toes showing through her tights. 

She doesn’t look cross, only very sad and tired…. but she makes her face into a smile when she sees she’s being watched and the relief- that she isn’t being shouted at or sent away or hated is enough to make her start to cry all over again.

She knows she’s probably ruined everything already by saying those things- and she can’t escape the feeling that she’s doing something wrong by wanting by wanting her godmother in the same way she used to want her mum (like she’s betraying her, like she’s making her sad in heaven)......but she’s so very tired and lonely, and Catalina looks so warm and safe and comforting that she reaches out to her without meaning to, half wondering if she’ll be pushed away.

She isn’t pushed away.

Warm hands gently draw her close until she’s being held safe in her godmothers arms, one hand stroking her damp tangled hair away from her hot face while she tries to burrow far into Catalina’s smart silk work shirt and stiff black blazer. 

She knows she’s making them both wet and disgusting but she doesn’t care and Catalina doesn’t seem to mind either, just gently rocks her back and forth and murmurs things that must be in spanish but it doesn’t matter that she can’t understand, she just wants Catalina to keep holding her and keep talking because if she’s doing that, she can;t be planning on getting rid of her, at least not now, at least not yet-

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry-’

‘Oh querida. It’s alright. It’s all going to alright.’

She should explain herself- that’s what adults always say ‘explain yourself’, but she doesn’t know if she can and when she tries, it comes out wrong and she starts hiccuping in between sobs.

‘Shhhh, carino. You don’t have to talk yet.’

She whimpers and presses her face back into Catalina’s chest and feels a kiss be pressed into her hairline.

‘It’s alright. We’ll sort this all out, I promise.’

She’d like to say that some things can’t be fixed- but she’s too tired. She actually doesn’t feel very well at all, and now she’s noticing it- not just the way her throat is sore, not just the being tired, she feels sick too, and her head aches and she’s shaking a bit all over like she has the flu except she doesn’t- but Catalina’s arms are warm and safe and so she makes herself just think about that, about that instead.

A long, long time passes before she feels like she can talk again- there’s a heaviness all up her arm and legs and in her head.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.’

‘It’s alright, querida. Do you want to tell me what happened? What made you so upset, hm?’

She doesn’t want to tell her at all but Catalina won’t be able to fix it if she doesn’t so she does her best- the Mother’s day card and Anne trying to ask her stupid question, Anne sitting with Anna instead of her, the daffodils last year, never being able to make another Mother’s day card again, the way the teacher looked at her, the anger and Anne crying at being kicked and all her own pens being broken.

Catalina listens and nods seriously and doesn’t interrupt, even though Cathy knows it’s a bit jumbled and she has to keep stopping every so often to sniffle into the tissues Catalina hands to her from the little packet in her purse.

When she finishes, Catalina nods slowly, like she’s working it all out in her head.

‘That is….quite a lot, querida.’

It actually makes her feel a (tiny) bit better, that Catalina doesn’t laugh or tell her she’s making a fuss about nothing…..but she knows what it also means- it isn’t all going to be fixed right away. Perhaps Catalina can see she’s disappointed because she squeezes her hand.

‘Would you like to hear my thoughts so far?’

She would.

‘I think your parents loved you very, very much. And that if they can see you, they will be thinking how very proud they are that you have been so brave and done so well, even without them there. I think they’d be proud to see how well you’re coping with having to live in a new place and do things differently.’

‘You don’t think they’d….mind? Do you think they’d be upset that I- about today?’

It hurts to ask but she wants to be sure.

Catalina shakes her head.

‘I think that you are having to work through a lot of things that are difficult. Very, very difficult. There is no easy way to lose people. And sometimes it will make you sad, and sometimes it will make you angry….like today-’

There’s a tiny lightening in her stomach at Catalina says that. She doesn’t feel better exactly...but it helps to know that perhaps she isn’t a really bad person after all. That it’s not badness, just grief. That maybe it’s even a bit normal.

‘Does everyone…..feel like this?’

Catalina looks down at her. ‘In one way or another….yes.’

‘Do you?’

‘Sometimes...yes.’

The thought makes her eyes go wide. She tries to imagine Catalina throwing pens on the floor of her smart office and it’s almost enough to make her smile again. Almost.

‘It doesn’t make you bad, it just part of grieving, carino- the hurting’ She pauses. ‘Not that you don’t need to try and make sure you don’t hurt other people too of course. I think perhaps you owe Anne an apology, hm?’

She shrugs and burrows back against the blazer and it feels cold and damp. ‘I don’t think she even wants to be my friend anymore-’

‘I can’t believe that, querida.’

‘It’s true. She has Anna now.’

‘Well’ Catalina changes position, stretching a cramped leg. ‘Why don’t you ask her?’

She isn’t sure what she means- and then Catalina gives her a tiny nudge and she looks up to see Anne’s face peering anxiously through the pane of glass in the classroom door. When she sees Cathy looking back at her, she looks enormously relieved- before she stops herself and makes a silly exaggerated cross face instead and mimes hopping up and down in pain.

Cathy finds she’s laughing in spite of herself- and Anne laughs too and sticks out her tongue, before a summons from inside drags her reluctantly away from the door.

‘Seems like she still wants to be friends to me.’

And she thinks perhaps Catalina is right.

Perhaps things aren’t as broken as she thought.

(Perhaps she can live with Catalina and let her do the mum-things that her own mum isn’t around for, but also keep thinking of mum-as-mum in her head. Perhaps she doesn’t have to feel guilty for doing normal things- perhaps she can feel proud. Perhaps things will work out mostly alright- not as alright as they’d have been if mum and dad were still alive but….close. Close enough.)

(Perhaps she’ll even ask Anna if she wants to play one day.)

(Perhaps.)

[queertazsecretsanta]

A gift for @gravitaz, created by @dork-empress!

~~

“GREETINGS NEWTON FAMILY!” Minerva announced, flinging the door open. 

“Honey!” Duck said, clutching his hat to catch up from where he was running up the driveway, “I told you to KNOCK!”

“I did!” Minerva said, “and the door did not open, and so I decided to help it along!” She smiled at him, outshining the sun. Or so it seemed to Duck anyway. 

“You are welcome to rob us.” A girl said from the stairs, “Start with Duck’s old dolls--oh, sorry ‘’’action figures.’’’’”

Duck rolled his eyes, and pulled the girl, his sister Jane, into a half-hug, which quickly turned into more of a half-nelson. “Missed you too, Gremlin.”

“Augh!!!” she yelled, flailing like they were kids again, “Abuse! Abuse! Child abuse!”

“Oh please,” Duck said, “You’re not a kid anymore, you can’t use that excuse.”

Jane grumbled. “That’s right!” she said in challenge, “I can fight back!” Jane darted her hands out to tickle Duck’s stomach instead, getting him to let go. “Ha! Jane Newton, Still the Undefeated champion!!”

“Most impressive!” Minerva said, still standing in the doorway and somehow not looking awkward, “Wayne Newton is a most formidable warrior.”

Jane raised her eyebrows. “Wayne, huh?”

Duck scowled at his sister, “Let it go Janey.” 

“I also wish to inform you, Jane Newton,” Minerva continued, “That I have no intention of robbing your house, even Wayne Newton’s action figures.” 

Jane smiled, “Oh, I like this one, Ducky.”

“Nope,” Duck said, shaking his head, “we’re not doing that.”

Jane ignored him and held out her hand to Minerva, “Pleased to meet you in person, Minerva.”

Minerva beamed again. “You as well, Jane Newton. I wonder, are you what people call, ‘a hugger?’” 

Duck could see three whole jokes pass through Jane’s head that she swallowed down. “Yes, I most certainly am--”

Minerva swooped Jane up into one of her classic bone-crushing hugs. Jane groaned as the air left her lungs, while Duck snickered at her pain. He’s been there, though he didn’t regret it. “Alright, honey, let her breathe.”

Minerva let Jane down, who staggered back. “Well. Damn,” Jane said, blinking at the hug. 

Minerva paused, “I hope I was not too forceful, Jane Newton. I’ve learned to ask permission first, but I have been told I have trouble holding in my incredible strength.”

Jane whistled. “Oh, I’m fine. Just fine,” she said, biting her lip. 

“Hey,” Duck shooed her into the house, “My girlfriend, you can’t have her. Stop it.”

Jane chuckled, walking into the hallway, and letting Duck and Minerva properly enter. Duck took off his shoes, Minerva mimicking him. “Forgive me for stalling out here. I was just trying to save you, Mom’s on the warpath, and--”

“Wayne?” they heard a call from the kitchen, “Is that you Wayne?” 

Duck sighed, “Hi Mom,” he said, “Minerva’s here too.” 

“Excellent, come in here and set the table!” His mother called. 

Duck sighed, taking Minerva’s hand and leading her to the kitchen. 

His mother was bouncing about from counter to counter, preparing at least 3 dishes at once. On sight of her son, she thrust a stack of napkins into his hands. “Good to see you too, Mom.”

She doubled back to kiss him on the cheek before dropping her phone onto the pile of napkins. “I’ve pulled up a video on how to fold them, follow it as closely as you can. Jane, check on the vegetables while I mind the turkey, and--oh goodness.” She had finally taken in Minerva. “Oh my deary, you’re much taller than you looked on Skype.”

Minerva took it in stride. “Yes, I am very tall in comparison to most hu--women.” she stopped herself from saying humans, and Duck could only hope his mother and sister overlooked it. “Some people have become intimidated, I’ve noticed, but do not fear. I am here only for peace.” 

Mrs. Newton’s face lit up. “Fear? Oh goodness no, deary. You’re perfect. Can you get the platters I’ve put on the top shelf there? I don’t fully trust my step stool, it’s rather old.”

“Certainly!” Minerva said, easily reaching up to grab it.

Duck smiled, taking the napkins into the dining room. He didn’t know why he worried. He should have known his family would take to Minerva just the same as he did.

He was still folding the first napkin by the time Minerva came in with a beautifully plated asparagus, complete with drizzles of sauce. “Are you having trouble, Wayne Newton?” Minerva asked. 

Duck sighed, “Sorry ‘bout my mom,” he said, “She tends to go all out, and goes a bit overboard in my opinion. I mean, this is a bit much for a simple Candlenights.”

“There is no need to apologize,” Minerva said, “I don’t really know much about your human traditions. What is Candlenights, anyway?”

“A trademark of Big Head Productions LLC,” Duck answered easily. Minerva blinked, as she did when she was trying to figure out if something was a joke or not. “Look, back when she left my dad, Mom had this huge falling out with her church, and felt...weird celebrating Christmas. So we celebrate this like, secular version that’s on this podcast she likes and connects a bunch of different holidays together. Hence the menorah,” he said, nodding at the candle that served as a centerpiece, “And the Thanksgiving turkey and New Years Eve poppers….its just a whole grab bag of winter holidays.”

Minerva nodded, “A brave thing to do, to leave a culture behind that had wronged her, and to start something fresh and new.”

Duck smiled, “‘Brave’ is a...nice way of describing mom,” he said, “She’s a character, for sure. Always liked to do things her own way. It’s funny, when I came out---” he stopped himself, reminding himself he hadn’t actually super had this conversation with his girlfriend yet. Most people already knew once they’d known him long enough, but Minerva didn’t know a lot of human culture or societal norms or...anything. 

“Came out of what?” Minerva asked, the only indication of how long he had stopped talking.

Duck took a breath, and summoned her over to his mother’s picture wall. There were two that were further back than a few years ago, the first of him when he was a baby….and the second of him with Jane when she was a baby. Except he had little pigtails and a yellow dress he’d hated wearing even that far back. “So, this is me,” he pointed at the young child holding up baby Jane. “Or...was me.” She frowned at him, not understanding the significance. “Ho boy, where to start. Um, so, when I was born….people thought I was a girl,” he winced, unsure how to explain western gender standards to an alien. Minerva always referred to herself as she, but he was unsure if that was a translation thing, or if her planet had the same gender norms or what.

“Why did they think that?” Minerva asked, innocently.

“I just…” Duck said, “Sometimes...that happens. People use the markers they have available before kids are old enough to really know themselves, and then...if they got it wrong, then those people---me---are called Trans. Like, transitioning. I’m a trans man.” She nodded. “But uh. Anyway. The point is, when they do the telling, it’s called ‘coming out.’ And...some parents don’t react well to it.” He smirked, “Not Mom though. She was ready to go toe-to-toe to anyone who gave me trouble about it. Gave me the name ‘Wayne’ too….that was quite the ordeal.” 

He frowned, but wasn’t seriously annoyed at the memories of Mrs. Newton being fine with helping to change the gender marker on his ID, but refusing to let him legally change his name to ‘Duck.’ in fairness, he was happy with just having Duck be a nickname now. Wayne Newton was something he and his mother bonded over, so it worked out well, a symbol for just the family.

“Then she is an honorable woman,” Minerva said, getting Duck to smile wider, “and a worthy commander, I must go and help with preparing more dishes to be served. Are you sure you don’t need help with the napkins?”

Duck sighed, mood souring as he turned back to the cloth that refused to fold like in the video. “Give me one more chance before I call it forfeit,” he said. She frowned again, trying to figure out if it was a joke. “I’ll be fine,” he told her, quickly jumping to his toes to kiss her on the cheek, “Go help, before she declares you AWOL.”

Minerva smiled, recognizing that one for a joke. She gave a salute, “Yes, sir!” she said, before marching back into the kitchen.

Duck smiled, watching after her. He gave one last look to the photo on the wall, the only one of him pre-social transition his mom kept up. Even that had come with a long discussion, but Duck wasn’t ashamed of being trans, and besides, the first pictures of Baby Jane were important.

As he heard footsteps, though, he turned his attention back to the napkins. How in the hell was he supposed to just make it look like a swan?!