#maybe one day we’ll see these two old men reunite and share their stories with one another

[nartothelar]

I'd say sometimes it's okay to cry and dwell in the past. As long as one doesn't get lost in it.

Glad Emmet has little Conductor to "conduct" him out of his sadness whenever he gets lost.

You mention how he still lives in their shared apartment... does Emmet still have their full Team? How well did the Pokemon former belonging to Ingo cope? Like I believe it's hard sometimes but I also believe having them at his side as well would also give comfort in a way. They miss their Trainer just as much and a shared burden is a lighter burden.

love this comic, showing old man Emmet a bit more vulnerable is an interesting change since he feels the happiest and most content Emmet out of all your AUs. There is still a big gaping hole in his life and there are still tears in between the smiles. And having moments where this comes up feels natural. He still deserves the zap and a comforting hug. And to eventually be reunited sometime in the future. (ngl Emmet travelling brings up the chance how both have a lot to share with each other once the time comes. I know this au doesn't focus on that at all but the image is still nice...)

apologies for all this nonsense I just love to ramble about things I love!

Wah thank you for such a thoughtful ask! Emmet still has ingo’s pokemon with him yup! Though he lives in an apartment, it’s a pretty spacious one so it’s not that tight of a fit.

After Ingo’s disappearance, his pokemon missed him just as much as Emmet, if not more I think. Many of them grew up with Ingo as their trainer so his absence was devastating to them...

Emmet knows how much they miss his brother, so rather than keep them away in their balls, he regularly let them out and battles with them, both when he was still running the double and single trains and even now as he travels across the regions! They keep each other company and comforts one another when they need it ;w;

But yeah! The old man emmet au was always meant to be a more uplifting au rather than a sad one, dealing with grief and making the most of life even despite hardships. “Moving forward without moving on” is sort of the theme of this au!

[magicaththedemigod]

an extensive analysis of “the song of achilles” by madeline miller

Or: things I noticed and couldn't keep to myself.

Because I just finished reading it and have many feelings about it, I've decided to compile all of them into a very lengthy Tumblr post.

This will be broken up into three parts:

1. Foreshadowing

2. Dramatic (and regular) Irony

3. Fatal Flaws

1. Foreshadowing

Miller does such a delightful job with foreshadowing. The number of quotes I could be spitting at you right now... but I digress. The main job of foreshadowing, especially in a tragedy like "The Song of Achilles," is to set the characters up for their tragedy.

What I like most about how Miller goes about it in this book is that she doesn't attempt to pull a shocking twist out of nowhere; instead, she takes an approach which allows the reader to fully marinate in their despair.

For example, this quote:

Achilles shook his head, impatiently. "But this was a greater punishment for her. It was not fair of them." "There is no law that gods must be fair, Achilles," Chiron said. "And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Do you think?"

Let's take a moment and unpack some of this. For context, this is a conversation between Patroclus, Achilles, and their mentor Chiron. They're discussing the tale of Heracles, who's driven to madness and ends up killing his own wife and kids.

From reading the book, (SPOILER ALERT) you know that Achilles' own pride and honor end up forcing Patroclus to impersonate him in order to save the Greek army, and in doing so is killed by Hector. The fact that Chiron directs this question, "And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Do you think?" to Achilles, who is left behind after Patroclus' death is such delightful foreshadowing that I almost threw the book across the room when I first read it.

Achilles slumps into such a depression after Patroclus dies (really, after he kills Patroclus with his own fatal flaw), that he even loses the ability to care about his fame or honor anymore. He feels the greater grief, so to speak.

Even after he dies, Patroclus is left behind, unable to rest properly because they never put his name on the tomb. In that sense, Patroclus is then the one left behind, experiencing loneliness and grief.

The book is full of little hints like this, and that's part of why it's almost torture to read as someone who knows how the Iliad goes. As I said before: the foreshadowing in this book is meant to have the reader in pain from the beginning because you know nothing is going to work out in the end.

2. Dramatic (and regular) Irony

Yes, that's right. I'm about to rip into your soul.

Probably one of the biggest parts of classical Greek myths is dramatic irony (the audience knowing something the characters don't). In plays, the ending is almost always announced before the play begins. In fact, the audience most likely already knows the story from previous tellings or just general knowledge. It makes sense that it would be one of the biggest players in "The Song of Achilles."

As usual, let's start with a quote:

His eyes opened. "Name one hero who was happy." I considered. Heracles went mad and killed his family; Theseus lost his bride and father; Jason's children and new wife were murdered by his old; Bellerophon killed the Chimera but was crippled by the fall from Pegasus' back. "You can't." He was sitting up now, leaning forward. "I can't." "I know. They never let you be famous and happy." He lifted an eyebrow. "I'll tell you a secret." "Tell me." I loved it when he was like this. "I'm going to be the first." He took my palm and held it to his. "Swear it." "Why me?" "Because you're the reason. Swear it." "I swear it," I said, lost in the high color of his cheeks, the flame in his eyes. "I swear it," he echoed. We sat like that a moment, hands touching. He grinned. "I feel like I could eat the world raw."

First of all: cute. Second of all: wow, so much pain.

As you know, Achilles is the opposite of happy at the end of the book (well, maybe after they die, but we'll get to that later). Though he swears it here with Patroclus, the two of them make decisions that ultimately lead to their downfall: Achilles decides to abandon the Greeks after they slighted his honor, Patroclus decides to help them even if it means risking his life, and Achilles lets him do it.

So let's talk about dramatic irony. The irony here is that you know, maybe just from this exchange alone, that Achilles isn't going to be the first happy hero. You know there is a war coming, know that Achilles and his famous heel will get himself killed. You might also know at this point that Patroclus will die first and send Achilles spiraling into grief before that happens.

It's painful, truly. Achilles spends his last days in utter agony, wanting to die but unable to kill himself, and Patroclus can only watch on as a ghost (spirit?). Even when Achilles does die and his ashes are put into their urn (seriously, how did any scholar ever think they weren't lovers?), they still have to wait to be reunited.

But there's still more. Consider these lines:

Hector's eyes are wide, but he will run no longer. He says, "Grant me this. Give my body to my family, when you have killed me." Achilles makes a sound like choking. "There are no bargains between lions and men. I will kill you and eat you raw."

Sound familiar? That's right: "I will kill you and eat you raw" sounds an awful lot like "I feel like I could eat the world raw," doesn't it? Another parallel from Miller: one from a time of happiness, the other from a time of extreme grief. However painful it is, I really live for connections like that.

And I've got one more for you:

Achilles shook his head. "Never. He is brave and strong, but that is all. He would break against Hector like water on a rock. So. It is me, or no one." "You will not do it." I tried not to let it sound like begging. "No." He was quiet a moment. "But I can see it. That's the strange thing. Like in a dream. I can see myself throwing the spear, see him fall. I walk up to the body and stand over it." Dread rose in my chest. I took a breath, forced it away. "And then what?" "That's the strangest of all. I look down at his blood and know my death is coming. But in the dream I do not mind. What I feel, most of all, is relief." "Do you think it can be prophecy?" The questions seemed to make him self-conscious. He shook his head. "No. I think it is nothing at all. A daydream." I forced my voice to match his in lightness. "I'm sure you're right. After all, Hector hasn't done anything to you."

See where I'm going with this? I don't think I need to explain this one.

3. Fatal Flaws

That's right, one of the most essential pieces for a tragedy: hamartia. For those who might not know, hamartia is the fatal flaw that ultimately leads to the downfall of a tragic hero or heroine. In every single piece of classical greek writing, if the story is a tragedy, the main character will have a fatal flaw that makes it so.

Take Achilles:

I looked at the stone of his face, and despaired. “If you love me-”

“No!” His face was stiff with tension. “I cannot! If I yield, Agamemnon can dishonor me whenever he wishes. The kings will not respect me, nor the men!” He was breathless, as though he had run far. “Do you think I wish them all to die? But I cannot. I cannot! I will not let them take this from me!”

You probably already know what his fatal flaw is: pride. He needs the fame, needs the glorious memory of his deeds to live on forever, so badly that he is willing to sacrifice his life and what might’ve been a fulfilling and long life with Patroclus out of the limelight. His fatal flaw is what spurs each of his actions in the later half of the book, including the moment where he decides to leave the Greeks to their deaths for slandering him.

Even Patroclus has a fatal flaw: his love for Achilles.

That night I lay in bed beside Achilles. His face is innocent, sleep-smoothed and sweetly boyish. I love to see it. This is his truest self, earnest and guileless, full of mischief but without malice. He is lost in Agamemnon and Odysseus’ wily double meanings, their lies and games of power. They have confounded him, tied him to a stake and baited him. I stroke the soft skin of his forehead. I would untie him if I could. If he would let me.

Though riding into the center of the fighting, especially dressed as Achilles, will make Patroclus the prime target, he decides to do it anyway. And not out of fear for Achilles’s life; he knows how important his pride and reputation is to him, and out of desperation will do anything to keep Achilles from being devastated when it doesn’t work out for him.

(Honestly, this is the part where I start to hate Achilles for doing this to Patroclus... it’s like he doesn’t even consider Patroclus his equal and does everything without consulting him.)

Of course, Agamemnon has a fatal flaw as well. He is like the mirror image of Achilles, so proud and stubborn, righteous and arrogant. However, he is the darker image, the one that revels in taking things by force and, of course, raping women like Briseis. He serves as a poignant foil for Achilles, highlighting all the ways the traits they share can easily become corrupted. It’s part of why this novel works so well.

I hope you all enjoyed this book as much as I did. Truthfully, I did have a few problems with it, but I wanted to trying picking it apart anyway. And if you haven’t read the song of achilles... what are you doing reading these spoilers?? 

[airi-p4]

Miraculous escape - Chapter 2

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |

Thank you @alittleshycat for the header and wanted posters pic! 💙 Thank you @brickercupmasterx3​ for proofreading! 💙

I’ve been into comedy lately for some reason... This chapter has been finished for a while, but I’ve been writing more of this story. It’s fun to write because they’re all stupid XD

A/N: Remember this story is Lukanette + Adrigami endgame.

Chapter summary:

The fugitive and disguised men arrive to Milan and set in their Hotel rooms and Rose holds a girls' pajama party.

AO3

_________________________________

Chapter 2: Arrival to Milan

The train arrived at Milan later than scheduled. Not that it surprised any of them - except probably Adrien who always rode bullet trains instead of cheap ones. Delays were part of the public transportation's everyday life (at least in Southern Europe).

It took them eight hours to reach the Italian city, and Adrien and Luka had mostly spent the time either sleeping (from exhaustion of the day before) or daydreaming about the girls that caught their attention. Juleka glared at them more than a few times too, reminding them to focus on their acting, but they pretended not to notice. She seemed to be having a good time with the short haired blond lady seated next to her, anyway.

During the ride, Madam Mendeleiev also assigned their hotel rooms: two members per room, sharing it with the person beside them during the train ride. That meant Luka and Adrien were assigned the same room, and Juleka and Rose and Marinette and Kagami would share theirs too. The men were relieved with the assignments- at least they could drop their acting during the night.

After arriving at the hotel, and leaving their suitcases at their respective rooms (courtesy of XY, who didn’t miss his chance to flirt again with ‘Lucia’- ew ), the band members reunited again to have dinner. Too bad for them, they didn’t get to share a table with Marientte or Kagami, but shared it with Juleka and Rose.

“Hey!” Rose called for their attention. “Why don’t we have a girls' pajama party here later, when Madam Mendeleiev is asleep?” she suggested.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea-” Luka started, but was blunty cut by Adrien.

“Oh, yes! A party! Yay! Let’s do it! It will be soooo much fun!” Adrien exclaimed happily, amicably joining the palm of his hands with the grinning Rose's.

“Yay! I’m going to tell the others!” Rose said, running to the other areas in little hops.

Juleka and Luka could only facepalm at Adrien’s reaction. It was probably his first ‘pajama party’, of course he would be excited. ‘Just be careful’, Juleka warned them, giving up at Adrien’s puppy eyes.

A few hours later, after assuring Madam Mendeleiev was pleasantly asleep, the boys changed into old fashioned nightgowns and moved to the Hotel’s bar, where almost all the ladies were already chatting and drinking together. Luka was disappointed to see how Marinette wasn’t there, and he soon left the party. On the other hand, Adrien was completely enjoying himself with the ladies. Chatting, laughing, singing, playing cards, fortune reading… The rich boy had never had so much fun in his life. Kagami had left early, but Adrien had made sure to stare at her as much as he could before his eyes couldn't follow her anymore.

Meanwhile, sick of his acting, Luka moved to a closed common room nearby. Dark and cold as it was, he didn't expect to find Marinette sleeping in one of the coaches, next to an incandescent lamp.

“Hey, are you ok?” He asked, shaking her a little. Marinette’s eyes opened all of a sudden, almost giving Luka a heart attack.

“Oh! Sorry!” She apologized. “Where am I?”

“You fell asleep in the common room. Can you walk...?” Luka asked her. She stunk of alcohol- lots of alcohol. Marinette nodded but almost fell down on her knees as soon as her feet hit the floor. Luka sighed. “Where's your room? I'll take you there”

“206” she answered, and Luka lifted her body to carry her in princess style. She was very light and he was probably enjoying her in his arms more than he should.

“Wow! You're so strong for a girl!” she said, in fascination, between hiccups.

Luka froze. *Shit* ‘ She’ll find out I'm actually a man at this rate! Think Luka, think! I need an excuse! ‘“It comes with carrying a guitar everywhere” he answered nervously.

But Marinette wasn’t really thinking. “That's amazing!” A short pause followed. “Wait! Put me down!” she demanded, and Luka obeyed, seating her on the coach again. “Let's have some girl talk before going to sleep!" she grinned.

Marinette's begging eyes were too much for his enamored heart and his body automatically answered. "Okay"

"Yaaay" she said loudly in a celebrating tone, between hiccups.

Luka gulped. She looked absolutely defenseless and beautiful in her pajamas. If he hadn't already fallen for her, he would have again at that moment. His long fingers threatened to betray him any moment, longing to feel her perfect skin under his touch. He bit his tongue trying to suppress his predator instincts and act like the woman Juleka expected him to be.

"Won't Madam Mendeleiev get angry if she finds us?" Luka asked, looking for an excuse to leave.

"She won't!" She assured, pouring more alcohol into her cup and taking a sip. "We'll just turn off the lights and hide, and that would do. Here." She offered him a glass. "Have a drink with me"

"Thank you. I could never say no to a drink" 'Let's hope it distracts me enough from my ‘naughty’  thoughts...'

"You know?" Marinette started, stopped by another hiccup. Luka carefully listened to her dreamy voice. "I thought you were a man at first…"

Luka choked on his drink. 'Oh, no. We've just arrived! Have I been found out so easily? I can't let her find out yet! We need to escape and-'

"Hahaha- really? No way. See? Breasts" he quickly answered, lifting his fake breasts awkwardly.

"I knooow. I'm just joking" she giggled, making Luka sigh in relief. "I haven’t introduced myself, have I? My name is-"

"Ma-Ma-Marinette, right?" Luka giggled, but stopped immediately after noticing her hurt expression. "Sorry, I didn't want to make you feel bad"

"No, it's ok. It's my fault for being so clumsy…" tears had started to form in her eyes and Luka felt his own heart hurt in regret.

"No, no! I should have been more sensitive. Sorry." He sincerely apologized.

"Thank you ugh- sorry. I don't think I caught your name…"

"Lucia" 'God I hate this name'

"Lucia. Pretty name. Are you from Spain? Or Southern France?" Marinette asked, curious.

"Yes, I'm from the Basque region" he lied to add credibility to his act.

"That explains your strength!"

"That's just a stereotype, Marinette… but who knows? Maybe I should try tearing a trunk in half with my bare hands sometime" Luka joked and Marinette laughed.

"You're so funny!" Her laugh sounded like the most beautiful melody in his ears, inspiring him to compose hundreds of songs. "Want more?" She offered him her bottle of alcohol.

"if you insist..."

Marinette opened the bottle to fill Luka's glass, but her trembling hands made her spill the alcohol on Luka's lap, surprising him.

"Oh, sorry! Your sleeping dress…" She lamented.

"It's fine. I'll ask for the hotel’s laundry service to clean it tomorrow and it will be fine" he smiled. 'how could anyone get angry at those beautiful regretful pure eyes? Impossible'

"What are these voices! Is anyone here!?" Madam Mendeleiev shouted from the aisle.

"Oh no! Hit the lights and hide! Here!"

Marinette pulled Luka's body strongly to hide him behind the coach, hugging him. During the minute they spent in that position, Luka forgot how to breathe, in awe of her softness and unexpected precise reflexes.

Madam Mendeleiev later moved toward the room where the girls’ party was taking place, and Luka could only feel sorry for Adrien. ‘ Good luck, my friend’ . But actually, he was more worried about himself, since the chest of the woman he liked was pressed on his face.

"Ufff… she's gone. Sorry!" Marinette stood up, offering her hand to Luka.

"No, it's fine…" he recomposed himself, shaking his head. "We should go back…" 'before the alcohol controls me and I do something stupid'

"Yes…Thank you for keeping me company, Lucia." She smiled.

“My pleasure" he smiled back. "I’ll go get Ad- Noirette first. Will you be fine on your own?”

“I guess so?” she answered, dizzily.

While Luka helped Marinette stand up, Kagami called for her friend, running towards them. “Marinette! I’ve been looking for you! Don’t tell me you’ve been drinking again? Are you ok?” she said, passing her arm under Marinette’s to help her steadiness.

“I’m perrrrffffect!” she said in a hiccup. “Thanks to Lucia! She’s soooo strong, you knowwww?”

Kagami’s eyes narrowed at Luka, giving him chills. But soon she apologized for her friend’s behavior, bowing her head at him. She also informed him she would take her to their room and thanked him for having looked after her friend. Luka excused himself to go look for ‘Noirette’. Kagami’s eyebrows frowned at his comment and started walking with Marinette.

“See you tomorrowwww, Luciaaa. Goood niiiiiighttttt”. With an exaggerated waving salute, Marinette almost fell straight to the floor in front of the elevator. Thankfully, Kagami made it in time to prevent the accident.

"Good night, Marinette. See you tomorrow" Luka waved back, blushing at her clumsiness.

'This is bad' Luka thought. His heart beat faster than ever. ‘ This girl is too damn cute. I’m going to fall in love for real if this continues... ’ Luka shook his head to snap out of his thoughts. Time to get Adrien back.

Back at the elevator, Kagami kept looking at ‘Lucia’ with judging eyes.

_____________________________________________

When Luka arrived at the party room he could see the girls (and Adrien) being scolded by Madam Mendeleiev. Not daring to show himself, he waited until they all returned to their respective rooms to meet with Adrien.

“Adrien! Are you ok? I saw that witch scolding you. Did you have fun at least?” Luka patted his back.

“Luka! Where were you? It was so fun until that old woman arrived… I’ve never had so much fun before! We drank, sang and played games… I love this band already. Do we really have to leave…?” Adrien mumbled, looking like he was about to cry. Luka could sympathize with his feelings.

“Sorry, Adrien. You know what will happen if your father ever finds us… I’m happy you had fun, though”

“Thanks. Where were you, by the way? I’ve been asking for you, but nothing”

“You won’t believe it! I got to spend some time with Marinette! Man, I thought I would pass out due to her cuteness. She’s too much for my heart…” Luka answered, grinning like a lovestruck fool.

“At least it went well in your case… I couldn’t even exchange a word with Kagami before she left, and she avoided my eye contact…”

“Tomorrow is going to be another day, don’t worry. It will go better next time, you'll see. Remember we have rehearsal all day tomorrow. We should sleep” Luka said, removing his wig. Adrien mimicked his action, nodding in agreement.

Suddenly, the door opened and the two men froze. ‘Oh no’

“It’s not what it looks like!” Luka screamed, followed by Adrien’s “What he just said!”

Juleka rolled her eyes from the door, going inside the room. The clueless musicians sighed in relief.

“Are you stupid? Why didn’t you lock the door before removing your wigs? Do you want to be found out when the escape just started?” she scolded them, who made apologizing puppy eyes at her. “I’m here to discuss your escape plans”

“Oh” they both responded, making Juleka sigh at their dumbness.

“It seems no one has figured out your true identity yet. The police are still looking for you in Paris and France, so you should be fine- at least for now” she informed them.

“Good thing there’s no internet or mobile phones in this story! That would make things very easy for them to spot us when we play with the band” Adrien said, more to himself or someone not present in the room than to his interlocutors.

“Ad, man, what are you talking about? What the heck is intern- whatever you said” Luka asked, confused.

“I don’t know. I had the feeling I had to mention it. Nevermind- I don’t know it either. Go on, Juleka” Adrien shrugged and let Juleka continue with her explanation.

“See? This is the band's schedule. We’re spending this week in Milan, then Verona, and then the band is going to perform in Venice. I contacted mom with my radio and she’s going to get us a motorboat ready to escape. I’ll have a radar prepared with the coordinates so we can meet in the sea with the Liberty- mom’s ship” she clarified for Adrien. ”That’s your escape plan. Make it to Venice, and it will be your win. Don’t screw it up! Understood?”

“Yes M’am!” they said in unison, doing a salute pose.

“Good. I’ll be here early in the morning for your make-up. Good night” she said, reaching for the door. “And lock the door next time” she warned before closing it.

Luka immediately hurried to lock the door and let his body finally relax and fall to the bed. “Let’s go to sleep… It’s been a long day…”

Adrien agreed, and just like that, the men fell asleep under dreams of beauties and the feeling of being chased by the demon himself.

[flyingupward]

Venice the Musical Sentence Starters

all sentences taken from the lyrics to the musical venice. feel free to change pronouns, etc.

Act I

“All I hear is ‘left, right, left, right, left, right’.”

“I am your lifeline, your forward and hindsight.”

“To tell this story is a means of resistance.”

“Many no long living for not keeping themselves hidden.”

“This story needs a voice so I will oblige.”

“Once had freedom then we lost it.”

“What’s the price of living this life?”

“Darkness fell, our freedom taken.”

“We were taught to be proud to be from here.”

“The government dissolved and a corporation crept.”

“Twenty years of occupation has taught us better.”

“Left for dead, stuck here while the wealthy fled.”

“Bombs exploded round our heads. Get some rest.”

“If we don’t demand more from our lives, how can we expect our kids to thrive?”

“Separate, we are powerless, but together, we can rise.”

“After all of these years writing to you, I’ll finally be home by your side.”

“Is this the day that we can say you paved the way?”

“Today is the day that we find out our fate.”

“Home at last, our children reunite.”

“A divided nation torn in two demands reunion.”

“I hope you let us tell you a little story exploding onto the present.”

“I am alone, my own resistance.”

“Damned if I live this life waiting on the sidelines.”

“One time fool me and it’s shame on you. Two times fool me and it’s shame on me. Three times? There’s never three times.”

“I’ll be the last man standing when the world collapses.”

“Got them thinking my heart is gold.”

“I’ll never show what I’ll do to take the last stand.”

“She’s an illusion he’s choosing.”

“Peaceful revolution is always bound to be polluted.”

“Watch me stay focused, forever unnoticed.”

“The always obedient dog by your side’s got the worst bite.”

“The dream was better than the letters that we wrote would allow.”

“Could you believe those words could make us unite?”

“Is this our shared prayer to the morning light?

“Children write and hearts explode and dreams invite us to places we’d never go.”

“Someone so convicted in her beliefs, it can be hard to see.”

“The world was at war but this country doesn’t have to be.”

“We could be decent and generous. Don’t let hate better us.”

“Two worlds collide and fill his soul with wisdom we will never know.”

“This is the ballad of mismatched brothers.”

“I feel the void I left behind.”

“Am I strong enough to hold the weight of all their souls?

“From what I know this road is golden and I know I believe in you.”

“And so we sleep, hoping that the bombs don’t drop on our streets.”

“What you don’t see is the bomb that’s ticking.”

“I am hardly in step with your emotional dance.”

“Uninvited, unfound, in this hell of a home, opportunity knocks and it’s time to go.”

“There are many different weapons in this game called war.”

“The people who couldn’t leave, they were forced to accept whatever devil knocks at your door.”

“This is no fear of death if you never get old.”

“She was dropped on the city like a renegade, never with the promise of these better days.”

“Have you ever seen something like me?”

“You best believe I’ll haunt your dreams.”

“I can see the sunrise when I close my eyes.”

“As a kid you have a dream and it seems like nothing can come between what you dream and what you’re stuck in.”

“But when the moment’s there, will you rise up with your eyes up?”

“They look at me like I looked at her.”

“My blood trembles with desire to set the world on fire.”

“I feel the dark ahead of the dawn.”

“A spark of what I used to know stands before me all aglow.”

“Seen enough I’m not that blind.”

“They say she’ll bring us hope.”

“And are we all just children playing in our parents’ clothes?”

“And when the lights come on will we find out that we’re grown?”

“I would have done anything that you asked me to.”

“Where did I misstep? Where did I lose?”

“I wanna love and be loved.”

“I have all this money for nothing ‘cause what it buys is a disguise if you never loved me.”

“I’ve been waiting on that second chance.”

“It’s the lie of romance that over time it never stands.”

“Seen enough to make me blind.”

“I’m leaning on the brink of blazing a new path.”

“I know the dawn is coming.”

“We congregate freely, free from the evil.”

“Tonight we fucking party for a brand new tomorrow.”

“I know it’s been a long and brutal road.”

“Let me propose a toast and welcome in people who for years have been suffering.”

“Holding the weight of being held down, hell bound, lifted from the ashes, we naturally yell out.”

“I’ll give it one hundred and I’ll make you proud.”

“Imma be the remedy. Nah, I’m the elegy.”

“For all the pain, never again.”

“So the city is finally our own.”

“I’ll be free in my home.”

Act II

“People are frozen, pictures of panic painted onto their poses.”

“I am beholden for this mess.”

“All the people, they are screaming. I can hear my name.”

“Time slows and I know I don’t feel the same.”

“I’m running for a reason that I can’t explain.”

“Come and disappear with no fear.”

“My brain fails to explain the pictures I’m seeing.”

“Morning sky looking dreary like a painting painted by a guy whose demise was waiting.”

“Is _______________ lying dead when I should have been next to him?”

“I wish somebody else was lying there instead of him.”

“Vanish into air, come and stare into the light.”

“You never wish war on a people.”

“The seconds of your life just slow down.”

“My stomach eats itself. I see my own face.”

“Has something already determined my fate?”

“Time gives way. Am I too late?”

“I am death personified.”

“Your mind has been chosen. The lines have been drawn.”

“Take two steps, take one breath. Just accept your own death.”

“We will never forget and we’ll see you again.”

“Where’ve you gone, old friend, lately?”

“Have you left me here waiting to grow up on my own on this road all alone?”

“I am a desert of unfulfilled memories.”

“Death calls unspoken unseen.”

“If only we hadn’t listened to ambitions that were far beyond our reach.”

“If only there was a way to take back yesterday, you’d still be here with me.”

“If only you were a second late dreaming about yesterday.”

“If only you never came for me.”

“This morning I could feel the changes: Shadows on the wall laughing as we fall.”

“All of my moments are fractured behind me.”

“The toy of a girl has shattered inside of me.”

“Why does the silence emulate violence?”

“The cold and the quiet screams in defiance.”

“If only I had listened to the voices telling me to take it slow.”

“If only I had never wanted for better.”

“If only I didn’t stay up at night and miss you.”

“If only I didn’t feel like I feel when I’m with you.”

“If only I was never lonely.”

“If only I never came.”

“If only I never fell in love with you.”

“The air is scarily silent with the feeling any moment could explode into riots.”

“PTSD of twenty years of grief flooding heavy on the minds of those who never sleep.”

“Revenge is on the minds of the masses.”

“Ashes to ashes devolves into madness.”

“Have we reached the beginning of the end of peace?”

“Have we seen the end of out collective dreams?”

“There’s nothing that lasts forever. So we’ve discovered together.”

“What was white and black is now shades of gray.”

“They sit in the eye of the storm, looking at the city as it silently swarms.”

“Tell the people we are coming, declare a revolution.”

“Now it’s time somebody bled.”

“Is this the day that we can say you paved the way?”

“Alone, awake, her mind would race into her dreams.”

“Unsure of what the balance held, the girl grew up into herself.”

“When the man had got his way, he disappeared without a trace.”

“I dreamed a dream and so it seems that little girls have fantasies.”

“We are all the play things of men in this town.”

“What you’ll find, what you’ll see is that men could care less about your fantasy.”

“With flowers in their hands but pockets full of dust, ain’t no trust in a man.”

“Why am I stuck in this lie? I should’ve known better than to trust his eyes.”

“Should’ve read the signs ‘cause all my life I’ve been left behind.”

“See I had him, no denying that this love’s worth dying.”

“I’m as foolish as I ever was.”

“I came here because I believed in his love.”

“I thought the world had changed. It’s the same as it ever was.”

“How can I explain these mistakes I’ve made.”

“I wanted to love and be loved, but instead I’ve come undone.”

“How do I tell her that she has been deceived by me?”

“Our enemies showed us no mercy and we will show none in return.”

“When we needed you most, I watched you suburb.”

“Where’s all that wisdom that we saw in you, made us fall for you.”

“Is the world so fucked you’ve already given in?”

“Crumbled are the steps of the dream I stood upon.”

“As I stand dismayed by the mess that I’ve made, let me be.”

“Here you are stuck between us and them.”

“Maybe there’s a way, maybe there’s still hope,  but I don’t recognize you.”

“Don’t understand how the same damn man who gave hope to the land can stand before us and command that we’re going back.”

“This monster is growing with every breath.”

“Here I stand, a shade of a man with peace in his hand.”

“Now that they’ve tasted your dream, they can’t go back to where we were.”

“Right in this moment, you’ll find me dreaming about yesterday.”

“The soul lingers long after you pass. That’s why we feel like we’re surrounded by our past.”

“The air drenched in a bath of memories, a constant reminder of our deathly legacy.”

“I never took a risk and I’m scared to admit that this is how I lived my life.”

“‘That’s __________________,’ they told me, ‘a princess in disguise.’”

“I wanna be great for one instant.”

“I’m gonna take a risk and maybe I can save her life.”

“I have waited all these years for your face to reappear.”

“I have waited all these years for you to see me here.”

“I don’t need an icon that’s bygone.”

“When I was little, you convinced me that I belonged, but you were wrong!”

“Inside, I feel rage, and you died in vain.”

“I’m only half your babe, the other half: disgraced.”

“You took their lives in your hands and it was wrong.”

“You led those people in their very own death song.”

“You gave up being my mother - for what?”

“I can use force like you never could.”

“From what I know, this road’s still golden and I’ll always believe in you.”

“What we’ve been through, we can’t undo.”

“I have always loved and believed in you.”

“She has never loved or believed in you.”

“I done with you and the war you provoke.”

“You would push it till it burned with no concern.”

“With you, I believed in love, but you never loved me. You only used me.”

“So why should I be stuck in this lie?”

“She certainly loved you from far away.”

“Little children, they ran away a ways away where they could be safe.”

“She believed that you could be something great, someone great.”

“We need to grow up now.”

“Stop praying for, wanting more, playing war.”

“We’re not children anymore.”

“Look at what we’ve lost, what love we’ve lost.”

“We haven’t begun to see the sun. We need to set it right.”

“Let’s start anew. It’s what she died for.”

“Now this tale of love has ended, our has just begun.”

“If we Shades have thee offended, then go out and see the sun.”

“The world in here is just a shadow. We hide in these imaginary lights.”

“The world out there is a shadow of everything that might be right.”

“Rise up, shake hands, resume our days. Because this is all a play.”

“Just make believe that makes belief.”

“Give us just one moment to shine.”

[mecharlie-fox]

Summoner OC/Quotes

If my summoners were units..... I swear I'll update this once I have every drawing available. Might even put them on layout.

Left to right

(Warning - this is gonna be long)

"The Lady in the Dream, Iris"

Summoned

"Hello there, call me Iris. I am what we call... one of the senior members within the Summoner ranks. Perhaps we have met once in your dreams, do you remember?"

Home

"Time became non-existent for me. I was mostly in slumber, looking after Summoners such as yourself through dreams."

"Oh I'm a non-combatant Summoner. Alfonse never really allows me in the front lines. It's too dangerous, even for me."

"It is strange being summoned here by another Summoner. Why am I consider a Hero in this world?"

"You have a role to play, Summoner. We are all bound by duty."

"Are you busy? Mind if you help me make some refreshments in the kitchen?"

"My name is Iris. I was sent by Friend to give this to you. Hm? I look familiar to you? Perhaps we've already met, once upon a dream." (Greeting from friend)

"Believe it or not, I'm supposed to be dead. My Askr is no more, you see. Not a single soul walks in that world and I still blame myself for it. I had the power to stop it, but I was so consumed by fear that I failed them... Anna, Sharena... Even Alfonse. I'm only alive because fate wants me alive. And I'm bound to you now, my friend. My commander. My Summoner. I will follow you until the end."" (Upon reaching level 40)

Info Screen

"Now, now... Every Summoner must know when to rest."

"You're different from the other Summoners, tell me, are you also a non-combatant?"

"When I first met Alfonse, he was already older than... Well, your Alfonse."

"I'd rather be a lost soul without a purpose than to be Hel's slave."

"Careful now, we don't want to get lost out here, now do we?"

"Oh Alfonse, why did you do it?"

"Valen, please. Learn how to rest. Sigh, this child..."

Map

"Come on."

"Lead and I'll follow."

"Hmmm."

Level Up

"I haven't felt this power in a long time." (5-6 stats up)

"Thank you for the blessing." (3-4 stats up)

"Close enough, I'll do better next time." (1-2 stats up)

"I will use your gift wisely, my friend." (New skill learned)

Critical/Skill

"Fight me!"

"Never underestimate me!"

"You face a child of Frey!"

"So be it."

Defeat

"Alfonse... Please..."

"Hel's Executioner, Ragnar"

Summoned

"Great, not again... Let's get this over with, I'm Ragnar, Hel's Grand General."

Home

"Me? A Summoner? Ah, you've been talking to Iris. Don't listen to that old woman, she's full of nonsense."

"Yes, this is Sharena's lance... I could tell by your eyes you already know what happened to her in my world."

"Just say the word and I'll do it."

"You're no Valen, but you've earned my respect. Maybe one day you and I can fight together in the front lines. You do know how to fight, right?"

"Lìf is nice, he'll get around eventually. You have my word."

"I'm Friend's Grand General, just take the gift so I can go already." (Greeting from friend)

"I'm old enough to know that a longer life isn't a better one. Believe it or not, my Askr was at peace with Embla. I had the chance to go home but I stayed, met a wonderful woman and promises that we will spend the rest of our lives together... But the other thing happened. I miss her, yes. I still love her. But if I dedicate my life on bringing her back, it'll be nothing more than a goose chase. I accepted the fact that she's gone. And we shouldn't tamper with the dead. We lose love ones, that's part of life. Sharena would want me to live, Summoner. Not waste my life on impossible dreams. I fight for her memory, that's all I could do. And maybe one day, we'll be reunited in death." (Upon reaching level 40)

Info Screen

"You're slacking around? Want me to join you?"

"This Askr mirrors my own. Will you believe me if I say that I was also a non-combatant?"

"Yes, yes, I was a Summoner. Happy?"

"It was Zacharias who taught me how to wield a lance, actually. With a little help from Sharena, of course."

"I was a singer before becoming a Summoner. Though... I've been out of practice for centuries."

"Other weapons? Yeah, the Commander made me pick up an Axe once. Broke the wall with it and Alfonse got furious."

"I have my own opinions on other Summoners. But we all have one goal, peace. Hopefully, you share the same feelings."

Map

"Let's go."

"Bring it."

"I'm following."

Level Up

"Never thought I'd learn something new, thank you." (5-6 stats up)

"This makes me feel alive again." (3-4 stats up)

"Really? Zacharias must me laughing in his grave by now." (1-2 stats up)

"I'll do my best to meet your expectations." (New skill learned)

Critical/Skill

"So uncivilized."

"GAAAH!"

"There's more to that!"

"I'm not a boy anymore!"

Defeat

"My time... Has come..."

"The Undaunted Queen, Valen"

Summoned

"I am Valen, daughter of Aric. Have the tides of destiny wash me here with you, Summoner?"

Home

"My role was to serve and support, until my brother disappeared, I suddenly found myself in center stage. It is strange, what destiny has offered me."

"When I was young, my father thought me divine and my mother thought me weak. Which am I, Summoner? Weak or divine?

"You are my general, I will follow you no matter what."

"I was once a Summoner of Askr myself. Until duty demanded my return to Vanaheim. Perhaps the tides of destiny brought me here for a purpose."

"I didn't know you were such a slacker, Summoner."

"I am Valen, daughter of Aric. I bring blessings from Friend." (Greeting from friend)

"I believed that my destiny was to simply lead soldiers into a battlefield as a general, and a general alone. I never dreamed of carrying the burden of the crown until the awful reality that... My brother will never come home finally made me realize, that destiny can be cruel. My father died bravely on the battlefield, maybe I will share the same fate as him. They're waiting for me, you know... My family. I will see them again, but not yet. Not until this war is over, and when when enough men have died, perhaps I will finally have peace upon my soul. My life is yours Summoner, from this day until my last day." (Upon reaching level 40)

Info Screen

"I am Valen... To the people of Vanir, I was named the Undaunted Queen."

"Haha! Your Alfonse mirrors my own, and yet they're two very different people. Strange isn't it? The endless possibilities of different realities."

"I always make sure that the Order's funds are sufficient for a whole year supply, even if that means tricking the commander into seeing a different number than what was actually left for the month. Don't tell her I said that."

"Oh! Summoner! You surprised me there. Say, aren't you scheduled to do your rounds? Mind if I join you?"

"Alfonse is my other half. I will do anything to make sure he's safe."

"Oh, my Sharena? She's my shopping buddy, or at least that's what she calls herself."

"What kind of a Summoner are you? I'm rather curious."

Map

"Forward."

"Yes."

"I'll take your command."

Level Up

"For Vanir." (5-6 stats up)

"Strength and honor!" (3-4 stats up)

"I'll do better next time, I promise." (1-2 stats up)

"I will not waste this knowledge you bestowed upon me." (New skill learned)

Critical/Skill

"Surrender now, or die!"

"Fool!"

"Shield up!"

"Violence it is."

Defeat

"I curse you..."

"The Worthy Prince, Ingmar."

Summoned

"I am Ingmar, Prince of Vanir. I will fight for you no matter what."

Home

"I was called Summoner Isaiah. I didn't want them to know my real name at the time. The library is a frightening place, and I did not wish anyone to know my future... Or even my past."

"As crown prince it was my duty to make sure that I was prepared to succeed my father, until I found myself summoned in Askr... Twice. Or maybe this is the third?"

"Valen was once a curious child, always smiling. Now she's well... Always frowning."

"Haha! I feel fine, Summoner, not to worry. I just always feel sleepy for some reason."

"You're curious about my clothes? Oh! Is it because it's Nifl clothing? Haha! Funny story, well not really..."

"I'm Ingmar! I bring greetings from Friend! Say, you haven't seen my sister, have you?" (Greeting from friend)

"It's odd that the next time I saw my sister she was... well, all grown up. She was nothing more than a child when I last saw her, barely even ten. I worry for her safety, but I know she could handle it. I'm also worried for you. Being a Summoner takes a lot of effort, and because of me wanting to go home, I never thought of the consequences... What would happen if I went home. I wanted to see my family again, I didn't know how it would affect Alfonse or Zacharias. But I promise you one thing, I will never leave you." (Upon reaching level 40)

Info Screen

"Don't tell the commander that my finance report is fake, the real one is with Alfonse. Don't worry! We'll survive through the month."

"Give Valen your paperwork and she'll finish it within three hours."

"I have a special talent for linguistics."

"The people chose Valen to be Queen, that alone is enough proof that Vanir is in good hands."

"You want to learn how to hold a sword? Sure! I'd be happy to help you!"

"The Commander? She's convinced that I'm an idiot... Well, my commander Anna anyway."

"I don't have the same sense of tactics as my sister. I'm more of a front liner."

Map

"Yes."

"Try me."

"Forward!"

Level Up

"All in a day's work." (5-6 stats up)

"Hey, your training helped!" (3-4 stats up)

"Father would have been disappointed." (1-2 stats up)

"I'll use it well but, are you sure it's alright?" (New skill learned)

Critical/Skill

"In the name of Vanir!"

"I dare you!"

"Challenge me!"

"Move it!"

Defeat

"No, please no!"

"The Silent Maid, Largertha"

Summoned

"... I am Largertha. Once a Summoner for Embla."

Home

"I... Have nothing to offer you."

"My eyes? Oh... Before I tell you, I hope you didn't eat anything heavy..."

"Magic helps me move around. Though, Ragnar always made sure I was accompanied by him when I'm up and about."

"Embla... was my home. And Hel took it from me."

"Oh! I'm sorry, Summoner. I thought you were Ragnar."

"I am Largertha. I come with a message from Friend." (Greeting from friend)

"My death went without apology. I hated myself for allowing it to happen, I wanted Veronica back, I wanted Bruno back. But Ragnar was with me and reminded me that they wouldn't want me to suffer so much over their deaths. Hel was my enemy and she forced me into her service. Now I serve you. I will use all of my power to make sure you don't suffer as we did." (Upon reaching level 40)

Info Screen

"My eyes? No need to worry, I am fine."

"Ragnar was useless in the battlefield. He didn't even know how to do strategy."

"Bruno always treated me with kindness. And I cherish every moment I had with him."

"Since the day I became Hel's Grand General, I refused to speak to the witch. Ragnar did most of the communicating."

"All I want is freedom. Not eternity. You cannot find peace in eternity."

"Lìf and Thrasir... This poor unfortunate souls..."

"You remind me a lot of... Ragnar."

Map

"No worries."

"I'm moving."

"Expect nothing less."

Level Up

"Bless your soul." (5-6 stats up)

"Thank you for the opportunity." (3-4 stats up)

"I'm sorry it wasn't enough." (1-2 stats up)

"I'll show you my worth. You won't regret it. (New skill learned)

Critical/Skill

"Submit!"

"I am your living nightmare."

"What is it you fear?"

"I welcome you to death!"

Defeat

"Finally..."

[wistfulcynic]

Their Way By Moonlight: A Day in the Life, Part 2 (Chapter 15)

For @thisonesatellite​​ and @ohmightydevviepuu​​, and I hope you are not too drunk (and) or jet lagged to enjoy it ❤️❤️❤️

In which efforts to break the curse continue. Henry has an important meeting and reunites some old friends, Captain Book begins, and we learn more about the subtle knife. 

SUMMARY: A new curse has fallen on Storybrooke and this time Emma is trapped inside it, deliberately separated from Henry and anyone else who might  help her break it. But what no one knows –including her own cursed self– is that she and Killian have the ability to share their dreams, and are working together in secret to find a way to break the curse and free everyone from a new and dangerous foe.

Rating: M

AO3

-

A Day in the Life, Part Two:

Henry’s third stop on his busy Saturday was the pawn shop. It was just as he remembered it, or at least as much as anything in this Bizarro World version of Storybrooke could be as he remembered. The sign above the door still read ‘Mr Gold’, and inside the shop itself was still cluttered with wondrous and mysterious things. It had been dusty and dank and somewhat grim when Henry first returned to it three weeks earlier but now was much cleaner and better organised, brighter, and welcoming in a way that it certainly had never been before. 

The front door was unlocked and Henry went right in. “Hi Mr Cassidy!” he called out as he closed it behind him. 

“Hey, Henry,” came his father’s voice from the back. “Be right there.” 

“Okay!” Henry looked around as he waited, peering curiously into the display cases and trying not to think too hard about where everything in them had come from. Despite all the improvements, the fact that the pawn shop was stocked with stolen things was still pretty creepy in his opinion. He hoped that after the curse broke Neal would give them back to their rightful owners and not hoard them for his own gain the way Mr Gold had. 

Henry hoped for a lot of things from Neal after the curse broke.

It worried him a bit, if he was honest, wondering what was going to happen to them—to all of them, really—after the curse. He and Neal had spent so little actual time together that Henry wasn’t sure how much of his image of his father was real and how much was wishful thinking. Killian had told him loads of stories of “Bae” as a boy, and Emma, once they got their memories back in New York, had finally told him the truth about the watches and giving birth to him in jail. But they seemed like such different people, Killian’s Bae and Emma’s Neal, and both were so different from Henry’s impressions of the man he’d met that he felt more confused than ever. At this point he wasn’t even quite sure what he wanted from the man or even what kind of man he hoped Neal would turn out to be. He only knew that he couldn’t turn his back on his own father, not even when that father had abandoned his mother and by extension him. 

(“That’s not entirely fair, lad,” Killian had said a few weeks earlier when they were having lunch together, just the two of them. “He didn’t know you existed. Perhaps if he had, he’d have made a different choice.” 

“Maybe,” Henry replied. “But he still left my mom in jail.” 

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “So he did, and I also find that difficult to forgive. I’m certain he regrets it, though.” 

Henry thought for a moment. “I’m not sure it matters that he regrets it,” he said. “Not if he doesn’t admit it was wrong and try to make up for it. Mom says he never even told her he was sorry.” He looked up at Killian. “Do you think he ever will?” 

Killian took his time answering. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I don’t know if he will ever understand just how deeply he hurt your mother. Truthfully, I feel I know the man far less than I did the boy. I’d like to believe that Bae is still in there somewhere, but Neal unfortunately seems to be a bit too much like his father.”

“Yeah,” said Henry. “But even Rumplestiltskin did the right thing in the end. He sacrificed himself to save us from Pan. Maybe my father will do the right thing too.” 

“Who’s to say but that he will,” replied Killian. 

Henry thought a bit more, then said firmly, “I’m gonna give him the chance to try.” 

Killian smiled at him, the proud smile that always made Henry feel warm inside. “I think that’s the right decision,” he said. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”)

The curtain separating the front of the shop from the back shifted, and Neal appeared. He smiled at Henry. “Hey, kid, what’s up?” 

“Nothing special. I was just wondering how things are going here?” 

“Good, yeah, good.” Neal smile turned a bit awkward and he ran a hand through his hair. “It’s a learning curve, not gonna lie. But I’m getting the hang of it. Think I’ll be able to open next week.” 

“That’s great!” 

“Yeah. Hope so. Your dad’s been a lot of help, showing me the ropes of how to run a business. Tell him thanks from me, will you?” 

“Sure. Or you could come to dinner with us tonight and do it yourself.” 

“Dinner? What, like, at your house?” 

“Yep! My dad said it was okay if I asked you. He’s making burgers and he always makes too many, and we just thought you might like some company.” 

“Oh.” Neal blinked in confusion, a look Henry had come to realise meant he was thinking about something that would never have occurred to his cursed self on its own. “Um… sure, okay. Thanks.” 

“Cool! It’s above the bookstore. You know where that is, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“So just ring the bell and we’ll come downstairs to get you. About seven?” 

Neal grinned. “I’ll be there. Thanks, Henry.” He shook his head and his grin shifted into an odd little smile, wistful and slightly sad. 

“What’s wrong?” asked Henry. 

“Oh, nothing, nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking. About how much has changed these last few weeks.” He leaned back against the register, crossing his arms over his chest. “I mean, it’s weird, right, the way those old records just showed up one day in the mayor’s office?”

“Yeah. Very weird.” Henry struggled to keep his face blank.

“I didn’t even know my father owned a pawn shop.” Neal frowned. “I don’t remember much about my father, actually.”  

“That’s probably why you didn’t know,” said Henry. 

“Yeah, probably. Anyway, it’s changed my life, you know. I never wanted to be a janitor, but—” he shrugged “—there wasn’t really anything else I could do. Now I can do this. Some kind of luck, huh?” 

“Oh yeah,” said Henry. “Luck.” And his mom’s magical forgery skills that were second to none. “I’m really glad, Mr Cassidy. I hope you’ll like working here.” 

“Yeah, thanks. I really think I will,” said Neal.

~

“You came to inquire about the subtle knife.” Oisín smiled, leaning back in his chair. “May I see it?” 

Emma huffed in annoyance, reminding herself that he was their best chance to find answers despite his supercilious nature and the supremely irritating way he always knew about things before they happened. She opened Killian’s satchel and took the knife from it.   

Oisín’s face was calm as she carefully removed the knife from the plastic evidence bag where she had kept it wrapped since she’d taken it from the loft, but there was a glint in his eyes that Emma recognised, having seen it in Killian’s on more than one occasion. It was the look of a man about to get his hands on a treasure he never imagined he’d have the chance to touch. She held the knife out to him and he took it almost reverently. 

“It’s extraordinary,” he breathed, letting his fingertips trail along the blade, and Emma couldn’t suppress an eye roll. What was it with men and weapons, she thought. Even the supposedly wise immortal ones were hard for them. 

“What can you tell me about it?” she asked. 

The look he gave her was nearly as sharp as the knife itself. “What do you already know?” 

“Not much. There’s mention of it in a book Henry found, but that was the only reference any of us could uncover. The book said that it was the sharpest blade in existence, and could cut through the fabric of reality, whatever that means.” 

“That is correct,” said Oisín. “The blade of Æsahættr is two-sided, as you can see.” He held the knife up to the the shop’s dusty window, catching the faint light with its two-toned blade. “It was forged of two different metals. This side—” he indicated the shiny edge “—can cut through any substance in any realm, while this one... can cut through the barriers between the realms themselves.” 

“So you’re saying that someone could use this knife to—to cut a portal between two realms?” asked Regina.

“Indeed.” 

Regina and Emma exchanged a look. “So that’s how she did it.” Regina sounded almost awestruck. “That’s how she made the portals.” She shook her head. “That’s—well, it’s terrifying magic.” 

“Terrifying indeed,” said Oisín. “And also extraordinarily dangerous. The energy that divides the realms is dangerously unstable, as well as being very powerful and difficult to breach. Cutting permanent portals into it brings vastly unpleasant consequences. I’d advise you not to attempt it, if there is any other method of realm travel at your disposal.” 

“We don’t need realm travel,” said Emma, just as Regina exclaimed “Permanent portals?”

“Yes, permanent,” Oisín replied. “It is possible to close them but doing so requires a delicacy of touch and a close relationship with the subtle knife, neither of which I believe your sister is capable.”

“That’s probably true,” said Regina, just as Emma exclaimed “A relationship with the knife?”

“Oh yes,” said Oisín, returning his attention to Emma, mirth twinkling in his emerald eyes. “The subtle knife always has a bearer, and though I cannot See who that bearer is, I am certain it is not Zelena.”

“She probably stole it,” said Regina. 

“That seems likely to be the case. And also likely that she forced the bearer to cut the portals.” 

Emma was frowning hard. “So how would someone go about becoming a—a bearer of this knife?” she asked. 

Oisín smiled, the smile of a man who has lived long and seen much, most of it unpleasant. “In the time-honoured way of passing a magical weapon from one hand to another,” he said. “By killing the previous bearer.” 

“Hmmm.” Emma’s frown deepened. “And is there any way of identifying the bearer?” 

“Perhaps, though it is difficult to be certain. The lore of Æsahættr is vague at best; in most realms it is entirely unknown and in others spoken of only in hushed whispers. Even I had believed it a myth, until I perceived its presence in this land. All I can tell you is that in some of the whispers there is mention of the bearer suffering injury to his left hand in the process of obtaining the knife. The loss of fingers, I believe.”

“Hmmm,” said Emma again. “Okay. Just one more question. You said that this side—” she pointed at the shiny edge”—can cut through any substance in any realm?” 

“Yes.” 

“What about magic?” 

“Oisín’s eyes glinted again. “In theory, yes. But I rather suspect you knew this already.”

Emma nodded, slowly. “I saw it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I wasn’t sure I could believe what I saw. I was fighting Zelena, I had her trapped within a containment spell… and Henry just—he just—cut the spell open. He sliced right through my magic.” 

Regina drew in her breath sharply. “He did?” 

“Yes didn’t you—oh, I suppose you couldn’t see the light magic?” 

“Not as clearly as you, no. But could Henry?”

“I imagine that young Henry perceived the magic more than strictly saw it,” remarked Oisín. “Perception, not sight, is what guides the subtle knife; the barriers between worlds are invisible to all eyes. That which one can perceive, however, one can cut.” 

~

Henry’s fourth stop of the day was Granny’s, just in time for lunch. The diner was busy as always, bustling with people and noise, and when the crowd parted and Henry caught a glimpse of his grandparents tucked away in a corner booth staring at each other with the same dopey looks on their faces that he saw all the time on his mom and dad, he couldn’t hold back a gleeful grin. 

“Hey, Archie,” he said, sliding onto a stool next to the erstwhile psychiatrist, who looked tired and hopeless and and very wrong dressed as a miner, with grime beneath his fingernails and settled deeply into the lines on his face. His wire-rimmed glasses had been replaced by safety goggles and his hair looked thinner. Nevertheless he greeted Henry with a warm smile. 

“Hello, Henry,” he said. “How are you?” 

“Good! Can I ask you something? 

“Of course.” 

“Have you ever considered getting a dog?” 

When Henry first began his quest to return love to the people of Storybrooke he had opted for little suggestions, gentle hints designed to nudge them in the right direction. It hadn’t taken him long to realise that with this curse subtlety was futile, and that they responded to nothing but what his dad called “sledgehammer tactics.” Hey, Belle, have this book. Here, Neal, take this pawnshop. So, Archie, how’d you like a dog? The direct approach was the only one that worked. 

“A dog?” Archie replied. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

“Really? Because I think you’d be great as a dog dad.” 

“A dog dad…” Archie’s voice trailed off and a dreamy look settled in his eyes. “I’ve never thought of getting a dog.” He frowned in confusion. “That is, I don’t think I have. But actually… yes. A dog. Yes. That might be just the thing.” 

“Uh huh,” said Henry, who was keen to waste no time. “I saw one today I think you would love. A Dalmatian.” 

“Really?” 

“Yep. At the animal shelter. He just got there today.”

“A Dalmatian,” said Archie. “That’s the black and white spotted ones, right?” 

“Yep. I petted him, he’s really friendly. And he really needs a home.” 

Archie looked uncertain. “I don’t know if I could take care of a dog, Henry. I work long hours, you know.”

Yeah but you won’t for much longer, Henry thought. Not if I have anything to say about it.

“Just go meet him,” he wheedled. “I’ll come with you if you like.” 

Archie warred with himself for another moment then nodded. “All right. I’ll meet him.” 

~

It was barely a quarter past two when Belle arrived at the bookshop. Killian was busy helping customers and didn’t see her right away. It still surprised him how much business the shop drew in, considering the place only existed to give him a respectable and non-suspicion-raising occupation and a reason to move to Storybrooke, and also as a means of getting books of magic to a place where Emma could have access to them, both to help her rediscover her own magic and to give them all the information they would need to take on Zelena. It had certainly fulfilled all those roles, admirably, but now that the curse was near to breaking Killian had begun to think ahead. He would need something to occupy his days, and what with his ship and his crew most likely stranded in Neverland with Blackbeard as their captain, a return to piracy or even a more respectable ship-based occupation was firmly off the table. His only real option was to keep the bookshop.

The more that he thought about it the more appealing the idea grew. He truly loved his little shop, the light and airy space all his own that he had organised and furnished to suit his tastes. He loved his books, the way they smelled and how they looked lined up neatly on his shelves. He loved matching those books to the people who sought them, loved both the pleased looks on his customers’ faces and the satisfaction of closing a sale. He loved the mental exercise of keeping his accounts and tracking his inventory, of looking through catalogs and choosing new books to purchase. Books that of course he would need to read himself in order to make recommendations to his customers. That prospect in particular he loved. Killian still found this realm frustrating and baffling in many ways but one thing that could be chalked up firmly in its favour was that it possessed a true wealth of reading material. He calculated he would need to live at least another three hundred years just to get through it all.

He began to think about expansion, about new genres he could introduce, popular titles that would attract new customers. Soon plans and ideas that started small had grown and grown until they were lodged firmly in his mind, refusing to be ignored or brushed aside. He wanted to do this, he realised, wanted it quite intensely, and for the first time in his very long life he had the luxury of choosing to do precisely what he wanted. Which was a surprisingly terrifying prospect but also a very welcome one. 

Killian completed his sale then turned to greet the new customer with a smile that froze on his face when he recognised Belle. Though Henry had texted him to expect her visit he instinctively braced himself for her anger, her disgust, before he recalled that she was cursed and didn’t remember him. 

“Hello,” he said, forcing himself to relax. “Is there anything I can help you with?” 

“Are you Killian Jones?” 

“Aye.” 

“My—my name is Belle. Belle French. I, uh, know your son.” 

“Ah, yes. I believe he mentioned you. He recommended a book to you?” 

“Yes.” Belle’s face lit up. “A wonderful one. And he said, um, that you might be looking for an assistant? Here?”

Bloody Henry, thought Killian, with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. You drop one mention that you’re thinking of expanding and he runs with it. Still, he couldn’t deny that the quickest way to nurture Belle’s love of books would be to surround her with them. The lad was undeniably clever. 

“I’m thinking about it,” he said. “Are you interested in the job?” 

“Y—” Belle took a deep breath. “Yes. I am.” 

“Well, why don’t you sit down and we’ll have a chat about it,” said Killian, gesturing to the sofa at the back of the shop. “Would you like a drink? Coffee? Tea?” 

“Tea would be lovely.” 

What the hell, thought Killian, as he went to make the tea, why not? When the curse broke she would doubtless be angry and scared of him again—and who could blame her?—but then he knew he’d be dealing with rather a lot of that once Storybrooke regained its memories. He might as well take what steps he could towards demonstrating how he had changed and hope that would be enough to convince people to give him a second chance. 

~

“Perception,” echoed Emma. “Right. Okay. I think that’s all we needed to ask.” She turned to Regina. “Unless you have any other questions?” 

“No.” Regina shook her head. “This has been very informative.” 

Emma held out her hand for the knife and Oisín, after one last long look and a subtle caress, relinquished it. Carefully, Emma replaced it in the reinforced evidence bag and tucked it back into the satchel. She leaned the satchel against the leg of her chair and turned back to Oisín with an expression both resigned and expectant. 

“What?” he asked. 

“We’ve learned what I came here to learn,” she replied. “So we’ll be going now. We need to get back to Storybrooke before it gets too late.” 

“Indeed. It was lovely seeing you, even for a short time.” 

Emma frowned. “Is that it?” 

“Were you expecting more?”

“Well, I mean, aren’t you going to give me some cryptically wise parting words?” asked Emma. “You usually do.” 

“Not today,” said Oisín, amusement dancing in his eyes again. “I believe you know everything you need, and also that you understand the import of what you know.” 

“Well that makes a change.” 

He laughed, a light, musical sound that rang out far more loudly than it ought to in the small space of the shop. “You know, Emma, I’m very proud of you,” he said. “You were hardly the easiest pupil I have ever taught, but you are by far the most accomplished. And I don’t just mean your power, that you were born with. I mean your attitude and your approach to your magic. How you have let go of your fear and resentment of it. How you’ve embraced it. I believe that had you not, even Hook’s most determined efforts to restore it to you could not have been successful.” 

Emma flushed, still not wholly comfortable with praise, and gave a little shrug. “It’s all down to him anyway,” she said. “He always says that magic is a part of me and that he—” she grew pinker and glanced at Regina out of the corner of her eye “—he loves every part of me.” 

Regina did not sneer. Instead she flushed slightly herself and smiled a small smile, as if remembering. 

Oisín nodded in satisfaction. “It’s as I hoped then.” He leaned back in his chair again, his expression soft and almost wistful. “I used to weep at the waste of that man,” he said. “You must never tell him that I told you this. I wept in mourning for the loss of what he could have been, for the good man so deeply buried beneath anger and vengeance that I feared he would never be seen in more than glimpses. That he would destroy himself without ever knowing who he truly was, or could be. Until you, Emma, gave him a reason to know it. You saved him.” 

“He saved me too,” said Emma, thinking of how closed off she had been before she met Killian. How lonely. How lost. “We saved each other.”

“Yes,” Oisín agreed. “That was the first part of your story. A part I believe is now approaching its end. There are far more parts to come. Enjoy them all, together.” 

He stood and waited as Emma and Regina followed suit, then held out his hand. When Emma took it as if to shake, he grasped hers between both of his and held it tightly. 

“What will you do now?” Emma asked him. “I—I don’t think Killian and I will be coming back here. Once we break the curse... well, all my family is in Storybrooke and he really loves that bookstore. I’m pretty sure we’ll be staying there. Are you going to stay here?” 

“No,” Oisín replied, “I’m no longer needed in this place. I shall return to my home, and my Niamh. But you know how to find me, should you ever have need of me again. Or simply wish to say hello.” 

“We might actually do that,” said Emma, smiling. “Thank you.” 

Oisín returned the smile, squeezing Emma’s hand. “It’s been an honour, Emma Swan, now Jones,” he said. “Give my regards to your husband and son. And to the rest of your family—” his eyes flitted to her belly, so briefly she nearly missed it. “—when they arrive.” 

~

Belle left the bookstore an hour later with a new job and a bag full of books, most from Killian’s own personal collection. 

“I’m working on diversifying the inventory,” he’d explained. “And your input on the best ways to do that would be greatly appreciated. At the moment we don’t stock very much light, entertaining reading material. However I believe I have one or two things of my own you would enjoy.” He piled book after book into one of the cloth bags printed with the Jolly Roger Books logo and handed it to Belle with a grin. “I look forward to hearing what you think of them.” 

She felt happier than she could remember feeling, all but dancing along the sidewalk in her eagerness to get home and start reading, absolutely ecstatic at the prospect of quitting her job at the market and going every day to that beautiful shop full of books and light and Killian’s friendly smile and interesting conversation. Even the odd hints of regret that she could see lurking behind his eyes felt relatable, and though she’d only spent an hour in his company she felt almost like he was a friend already. 

Books and a friend, thought Belle, with a flash of insight and a sudden clarity that swept away the apathy and confusion that had clouded her mind for as long as she could remember. She stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk as a feeling of revelation washed over her. That’s what had been missing in her life, the cause of the emptiness she constantly felt but never could quite manage to explain. All this time she’d thought something was broken in her, when really she’d just needed books. And a friend.   

~

Henry met Archie outside the animal shelter late that afternoon. Archie smiled his familiar, warm smile but Henry could see he was nervous. 

“Henry, I know I agreed to this but I’m not so sure it’s really—” he began. 

“Just meet the dog,” Henry interrupted. “It won’t hurt to meet him.” 

He pushed open the door and held it, looking back expectantly. “Come on,” he encouraged, and slowly Archie followed.  

“Back again, Henry?” David smiled at them. “Yep! Mr Nolan, this is Archie,” said Henry. “He’s the one I told you about, who might adopt the new dog.” “Might,” emphasised Archie with a nervous smile. 

“No problem,” said David. “We only allow adoptions when we think it’s a good match, for the animal and the human.” Archie nodded, and the tension in his shoulders relaxed. “Henry, why don’t you take him back to meet the dog?” David asked. 

Henry had to force himself not to run. He hurried to Pongo’s cage where the dog seemed to be waiting, wagging his tail. “Here he is,” said Henry eagerly. “Isn’t he great?” 

Archie approached the cage slowly, his eyes going wide behind his safety goggles. “He’s—he’s gorgeous,” he whispered.  

“At the sound of Archie’s voice Pongo gave a small bark and his tail picked up speed, moving so fast it was a blur. He poked his nose through the bars of the cage and whined at Archie. 

“Look!” cried Henry. “He likes you already.” 

“Ohhh,” said Archie, moving towards the cage, hand extended. “Hello, boy.” 

Pongo licked his hand, and when Archie knelt down, his face, covering it in sloppy, loving kisses. Archie laughed, his face lit up with joy. 

“Well he certainly seems to have chosen you,” said David’s voice from behind them. 

“He definitely has,” Henry agreed. “You’ve got to adopt him, Archie.” 

“I don’t—I’m not—I can’t—” Archie looked helplessly at Pongo’s pleading eyes and sighed. “I will,” he said. He looked up at David. “If it’s okay—” 

“Of course,” said David. “There’s some paperwork to do, but after seeing you together I’m more than happy to sign off on the adoption. Congratulations.”

Archie nodded, still looking a bit shell-shocked. 

“I’ll go get everything prepared, you come to the front when you’re ready,” said David, He took out a key and unlocked Pongo’s cage. The minute the door opened, the dog leapt on Archie, squirming delightedly. 

“What are you going to name him?” asked Henry. 

“You know, I have no idea,” said Archie. “I never actually expected this to happen. Have you got any suggestions?” 

“How about Pongo?” Henry suggested. 

“Pongo,” Archie repeated, and the dog barked happily. Archie smiled. “Is your name Pongo?” 

“Woof!” said Pongo. 

“Well, that seems definitive.” Archie laughed. “Pongo it is, then.”

He stood, his hand still on Pongo’s head. “Thank you, Henry,” he said. “I had no idea I needed a dog, but I think...” he frowned and shook his head, blinking rapidly. “Somehow, I think he’s just what I was missing.”  

“No problem,” said Henry, mentally ticking another name off his list. “I knew you guys would love each other.”

~

Emma poofed herself and Regina straight from Queens to Killian’s apartment. Transporting the both of them over such a distance and then back again had exhausted a great deal of her magic, and if she went to the station first she doubted she’d have enough left to poof from there to home. And as she and Killian were still cautious about being seen together in public, she didn’t want to walk to his place or drive. It wasn’t worth the risk of anyone observing her going into the bookstore after it was closed, or spotting her bug parked in front of it. 

Henry and Killian were already there when the white smoke swirled up from the ground and they appeared. Emma went straight to her husband, knowing he would be worried about her, and allowed him to run his hands over her and look probingly into her eyes, assuring himself that she was okay in both mind and body. Regina gave a hug to Henry and a nod to Killian, then left to get ready for her date. 

“Regina and Robin Hood,” said Emma, snuggling into Killian’s side and relaxing against him. “I still can’t quite believe it.” 

“It’s so cool,” said Henry. 

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Emma smiled, thinking about the new softness she’d witnessed in Regina that afternoon. “So how was your day, kid?” 

“Good!” Henry’s face lit up. “I did so much! I found Pongo and got Archie to adopt him, and Dad’s gonna give Belle a job, and I invited my father for dinner.” 

“Your fa—Neal? For dinner?” Henry nodded. “What, here?”

“Aye,” said Killian, running his hand soothingly up and down her arm. “It was Henry’s idea but I agreed. We thought it might be nice to include him in a family meal, even if he doesn’t know that’s what it is.” 

“He’s really lonely, Mom,” Henry chimed in. “Everyone in town is, but him especially. I think the love he needs might have to come from us.” 

“But… then why did we give him the pawn shop?” 

“To get the pawn shop open again, mostly,” said Killian. “And to give us an excuse to meet him. But we didn’t really expect him to discover any love there. Remember, Swan, that Bae was abandoned by his mother and ran away from his father. He found a home briefly with the Darling children but that was taken from him, and I’m sad to say that during his time in Neverland he didn’t really become close to any of the Lost Boys. Henry thinks and I agree, that what Neal really needs, what perhaps he’s always needed, is a family.” 

Emma nodded. “I can see that, I guess. But how are you going to explain me being here with you guys? Won’t he think that’s weird?” 

“So we just don’t explain it,” said Henry. “The curse has kept him really isolated. I don’t think he knows you’re supposed to be married to Walsh. He doesn’t seem to know very much about what’s been going on in town, and almost nothing about his father.”

“Huh,” said Emma. “I guess that makes sense. It was the same with Regina. She was really isolated working for my parents.” 

“Aye. Allow people to interact and you risk them forming attachments,” Killian agreed. “I imagine that any kind of genuine connection between people would have threatened the integrity of the curse.” 

“Well, okay,” said Emma. “That sounds like a solid plan, and I’m on board. But I need a serious nap before I deal with Neal or anyone else. I’ve used so much magic today. When’s he supposed to get here?” 

“Not for a few hours yet,” said Killian, kissing her hair. “Go have your nap, love. We’ll be sure to wake you in time.” 

Henry watched as his parents cuddled for a moment then shared a soft kiss, watched his mom head off to their bedroom and watched his dad watching her go. He thought about his grandparents making doey eyes at each other that afternoon at Granny’s, and about Archie and Pongo’s joyful reunion. He thought about his mom so excited about her date with Robin, and about Belle discovering books and his father coming to have dinner with them. He smiled to himself. A day like this one was just about worth getting up early for. 

-

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[huntertales]

Part Four: There’s No Turning Back Now. (Clip Show S08E22)

Episode Summary: Sam, Dean and the reader share a bitter reunion with Castiel after finding the angel beaten and bloody in the middle of the road. While digging through the Men of Letters’ files, they stumble upon an undiscovered film which could be the key to completing the third trial. Meanwhile, Crowley digs into the reader and boys’ past, putting people they saved in mortal danger. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Warning: Slight Angst. Word Count: 5,861.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

“So a demon named Crowley is going to kill me in...sixteen minutes." 

The words that came out of Sarah’s mouth was something she wasn’t expecting to say this evening. Along with seeing a few faces she met under strange circumstances like this almost eight years ago. You and Sam were welcomed into her motel room after she realized who you were. You had to skip the formal greetings and jumped straight to the reason why you were here in the first place. You didn't bump into her on the street, you came to her motel room for a reason. Hearing the reason come out her mouth made a sense of guilt come over you for putting her in danger like this. She faced the supernatural before because of you. And again, her life was in danger for the same reason why.

You were becoming overwhelmed with frustration and anger from how things were turning out tonight. You already lost two people because of that bastard without warning. You'd be damned if you were going to let him go for number three without a fighting chance. Sam reassured Sarah that it wasn't going to happen, not as long as you were here to protect here. You figured you had a wild guess as how Crowley picked out Tommy and Sarah for his little game. Because of those stupid "Supernatural" books that didn't just exploit your personal life, but the people you saved as well. You guessed Crowley threw Sarah into the mix because of the shared feelings between her and the younger Winchester. All though it was short, it was also sweet. Something Crowley would surely love to destroy for the sake of being a dick.

A knock on the motel room door caused you to jump slightly from the unexpected noise, Sarah sharing the same reaction as well. Hearing that your life was in danger by something more powerful and evil than a spirit of a child put her on edge. You slowly pushed yourself up to your feet as Sam put a hand up for the both of you to stay where you were so he could see who it was. He slowly turned the door handle and opened up the door just the slightest to see who it was. When he realized it was just his brother with some supplies, he opened it wider to let Dean inside. The older Winchester stepped into the room with everything you would need to take on whatever Crowley was about to throw your way in fourteen minutes. 

"Sarah. Long time." Dean greeted the woman he hadn't seen in eight years. She managed to give the man a smile from the older man's friendly greeting, considering all that was unfolding at once. He set the belongings down on the ground near where she stood. "What are you doing in Indy?" 

"I..." Sarah stumbled slightly over her words, trying to get herself to concentrate on the conversation to answer the man's question. She was a little taken aback from his calm demeanor to the situation that was unfolding. "I was scouting an estate sale for my dad." 

"Look, we're gonna put up devil's traps everywhere—the windows, the door. We've got holy water, an exorcism ready to play on a loop, and anything that comes through that door—it’s meat.” Sam reassured Sarah that she was in good hands from whatever kind of trick Crowley was going to pull. You grabbed a loaded shotgun from Dean before Sam grabbed his own, cocking it once for the first shot he might need to take. “Look, I know this is insane, but insane is kind of what we do. We’ll keep you safe.” 

Sarah had only minutes to process this before the real danger was about to begin. You wouldn't put it past her if she was a little bit scared. However Sarah had been through this before, and she came out perfectly fine. "Okay." 

“Okay? That’s it?” You asked her with a slightly skeptical look, wondering if she was just putting on a brave face for the sake of it. “It’s totally normal if you want to freak.”

“You’ve done it before.” Sarah said. 

You gave her a small smile at the confidence she had in you to protect her life. You and the boys got to work on marking up every window and door like promised. Crowley could try all he wanted to take Sarah down. But you weren't going to let anything happen to her. While Dean spray painted the last window with a symbol to keep the demons out, Sarah occupied her time by sitting on a chair, subconsciously playing with a set of rings on her left hand. You noticed one of them was a diamond ring on her finger right next to her pinkie. It seemed she had gotten lost in the habit to for her to notice you were staring at the piece of jewelry. 

“That’s new.” You said, pointing to the ring as a conversation starter.

“Yeah, I…” Sarah forgot for a moment she was playing with it. She looked down at her ring for a second before glancing back up,making eye contact with the younger Winchester when she saw him approaching the both of you. “His name is Ian. He works search and rescue. Guess I have a type. 

“Yeah. My belly’s kind of getting hard to hide these days, isn’t it? Sammy here is going to be an uncle.” You patted your rounding stomach as you told her the news that you never got tired of saying. You glanced over at the younger Winchester to give him a smile when he took a seat on the next next to Sarah. “Dean and I are expecting our first child. Still got three months to go.” 

“Congratulations. By the end you’ll be wanting to crawl out of your own skin. And you’ll probably won’t get a decent night’s sleep for months once they get here, but it’ll all be worth it in the end, trust me.” Sarah said. You raised your brow slightly in curiosity from her own experience. “I have one, too. Our daughter, Bess—she'll be one in a month."

You couldn't help yourself but smile at hearing how her life turned out after you left, from settling down and having a daughter. Thanks to you she was given the opportunity. All though you always wondered about how things would end up differently if Sarah and Sam pursued each other and acted on their feelings. You always felt as if there was something between them. You looked over at the younger man to see what his reaction was at hearing the news. Sam kept his expression neutral for the most part. You slowly backed away from them when you got the feeling that this was their chance at having a private conversation. 

“Have you ever met someone that makes you question everything you stand for? That makes you wonder if this lifestyle is worth the risk of dying?”

It was the question you asked Dean after wrapping up the case you took eight years ago. You found yourself curious to see if he ever had a situation like his brother had. Was there a woman out there that made him want to quit hunting for good and settle down? Sort of like how Sam tried to do with Jess. He answered you with a simple “Once.” 

Once upon a time Dean crossed paths with someone who gave him an influx of emotions he hadn’t felt before. They made him feel happy by just being themselves. They were funny and yet had a caring touch to them. He wanted to see her next to him when he woke up. Spend a boring life with her until they croaked due to old age. Someone broke down his walls just enough to take a peek at the man for who he truly was, not who he was pretending to be. And they weren’t scared at what they saw. 

After a few years of harassing the man and trying to figure out who this mystery woman was, Dean told you the truth when he landed himself the girl. It was you this entire time. Dean found himself falling in love with you when the both of you met when you were teenagers. You were still clueless about the supernatural world, and for a small while Dean was able to be a teenager. He spent a month getting to know you and feeling things he only heard in songs and witnessed in movies. You were his mystery girl that made him, even for the slightest second in his life, that made him want to forget all about the things he grew up to want. Until all of it was taken away and you were thrown into this.

Dean felt stupid for thinking that it was possible for someone to love him and get away from this lifestyle. But you made it work. You broke all of his fears. Because that’s what you did—you defied people’s expectations. Dean slowly fell in love with the strong headed, sarcastic and smart woman who cared a little too much for strangers. Laughed at horrible attempts at flirting and let him be himself. Your love story wasn’t a classic one. It was messy and flawed. Screwed up at times. But it was yours. He might not sure where it all started, all he knew how it was going to end. With a wedding ring on your finger and a baby. Sort of like how Sam wanted all of this time...and Sarah got. 

You couldn’t help yourself but feel the slightest twinge of sadness for how things worked out for Sam when it came to romance. Every woman he’s ever loved slipped away from him. It started off with Jess and ended with him having to cut out Amelia from his life to keep his family from breaking apart. Every chance he thought he was going to be lucky at having a normal life away from hunting, hell, getting a girlfriend—life always liked to take them away. Sarah was the only one who he never thought about taking a chance with her. You wondered if he decided to visit her again, go on that second date things could've ended up differently. 

Maybe it could have been Sam who slipped the ring on Sarah’s finger and the both of them had a daughter who was turning one next month. They could’ve been reunited shortly after meeting because you pushed him into seeing her. Instead they were together because of circumstances due to a demon who liked to toy with your lives. Sarah settled down someone that wasn’t him and had a child. You and Dean never planned on starting your own family, but here you were, just a few months shy of bringing a new life into this world and occasionally talking about wedding bells when all of this was over. And all Sam could do was sit on the sidelines and watch everyone achieve what he secretly wanted. 

The man wasn't envious of how things always turned out for him. He wouldn't deny that she was still beautiful as he remembered. Seeing her brought up the same feelings he had for her when he first met her. But she was okay. Sarah was happy, she had a normal life because of him. And that’s what really mattered to him. Because knowing she was safe was the best feeling of all. 

“And what about you?” Sarah asked the man, 

“Me?” Sam chuckled at her question. He thought about it for a moment, wondering if things had changed in the past eight years. He shrugged his shoulders. “Pretty much the same, I guess.” 

“No, you’re not. You’re not the same.” Sarah said. Sam gave her a slightly confused expression at what she saw that he couldn’t about himself. Sometimes it takes an old friend to see things about yourself that don’t seem like progress to you. “Look, it’s been years, and I can’t even imagine the things you’ve been through. But I don’t know. You just seem...more focused, confident. Like...like you know what you want.” It was the truth. Twenty-two year old Sam was still teetering on the edge of what he wanted his life to be. Quit hunting for good or stick with the only thing he knew. It took a while, but he figured it out. "You grew up, Sam. I do miss the old haircut, though." 

Both shared a laugh from the memory of Sam's short and shaggy hair, different compared to what it was now. While the moment was sweet, it was short lived by the sound of the motel phone ringing. Everyone's attention was drawn over to it when it began. You tightened your grip around the shotgun as Sam and Sarah jumped up from the bed. Sarah seemed to have learned from her past experience with the supernatural when she pulled a gun from the waistband of her jeans. You looked at the clock to see it was 11:59, you were seconds away from Crowley’s little game that he wanted to play with you. Dean did the honors of answering. 

“Five...four…” The demon counted down the time. You cocked back the shot gun and took your stance, ready to take on whatever he was about to throw at you. Dean quickly reached for his own weapon as the time dwindled down to zero. "Trios...Zwei...Uno." 

You watched as the neon green numbers on the clock turned into midnight. You were ready for whatever Crowley wanted to throw your way. Demons. Hellhounds. All of it you faced before in your time. But all of it was so predictable. You would never thought Crowley would throw a wild card into the game and hit with a twist you weren’t prepared for. Devil traps and shotguns filled with salt weren’t helpful for someone who was choking on air. 

It took you only a second to realize what was going on when you heard a thump to the floor. You quickly looked away from the window and onto the floor to discover Sarah was on the ground. Her hands were wrapped around her throat as she struggled for air. Something was causing her to choke. Crowley wasn't fighting with bodies. The bastard was fighting with magic. Sam quickly went to the woman's aide, trying his hardest to get her to focus on him so he could figure out what was happening to her. But all Sam knew for sure that this wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Sarah! Hey!” Sam called out the woman’s name as he got her on her back, trying to steady her as she struggled to breathe. “Can you hear me? Sarah!” 

“She’s dying, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Crowley taunted you over the line. 

“You son of a bitch!” Dean growled at the demon form what he was doing. 

"Son of a witch, actually.” Crowley corrected the hunter. “My mommy taught me a few tricks.”

“It’s a spell.” You realized. “Find the hex bag!” 

You and the boys wasted not a second longer in searching for that little bag you saw a few times in your days of hunting. Crowley must’ve had to have one of his goons hide it here somewhere in the room before Sarah checked in. A drawer, underneath the mattress. “I thought of sending in a few of my bruisers, really letting them go to town. But then, well, trial one was kill a hellhound. Trial two was rescue a soul from the pit. So, from here on, I’m gonna keep everything hell-related—demons, et cetera—away from you. I’m baby proofing so you don’t get your hands on something that can hurt you, Y/N.”

You tried to block out Crowley’s voice as he kept on speaking through the call. You went through everything you could get your hands on. You searched through Sarah's purse, her bags. Dean threw off every cushion in hopes it was jammed into a small space. Sam checked through the seats. But you weren't finding anything. "Plus, I just thought it seemed fitting. From what I understand, Sammy took that bird’s breath away.”

The bathroom had nothing in it far as you could tell, you checked underneath the sink and even behind the toilet. Sarah still remained on the floor as she started to grow blue from the lack of oxygen she was getting. “What’s the line? Saving people, hunting things—the family business. Well, I think the people you save, they’re how you justify your pathetic little lives. The alcoholism, the collateral damage, the pain you’ve caused—the one thing that allows you to sleep at night, the one thing is knowing that these folks out there, still out there happy and healthy because of you, you great, big, bloody heroes.” 

Crowley was hitting you in ways that nobody had before. You were always so used to taking the hits. Having your own life be put in danger. He got tired of the routine. Because you were getting comfortable with it, you knew what to expect. Because it was starting to get old. So he decided to spice it up a bit, hit it where it would hurt a hunter the most—the people you saved before. The stories of a happy ending where the victims get to live happily ever after. Crowley decided he was going to rewrite the ending to something more fitting. Something more realistic. 

You knew there was no way Sarah was going to survive unless you found that hex bag. You knew Crowley had you cornered exactly where he wanted. Defenseless and watching as your legacy died right at your feet. Sam quickly rushed back to Sarah’s side, trying to get her to hold on just a little longer until you figured out a way to save her. Time was running out. 

“They’re your life’s work, and I’m going to rip it apart piece by piece. Because I can, because you can’t stop me, and because, when they’re all gone, what will you have left?” Crowley asked an important question he thought you should be thinking about while you stared at the person who you were adamant on saving. Who was lying on the ground, lifeless. Dead. Sam tried his hardest to somehow see if there was any chance at winning this, but it was too late. “The three of you want to those people alive. Most of all, Kitten wants to have her happy ending. The one she thinks she deserves. Where she can walk into the sunset with her beau and be better than the mother who raised her to the thing growing inside of her. You honestly think you’re going to escape this? That you’re going to get to be like Sarah? Take a look at what you did to her.”

You wanted nothing more than to tell Crowley to shut his mouth. To go screw himself. But you were afraid if you opened your mouth all that would come out was a defeated sob. Because you knew in the back of your mind that he was right. "She was a mother. A wife. She was everything you want to be. Everything you think you get to have because you saved a few lives along the way. Let me tell you something—you can take away those pretty black eyes, you can pretend you’re human like the rest of the people in this world. But you know deep down you’ll always be a mutt whose capable of nothing more than killing everything you love. You destroyed my plans darling, and now I’m going to destroy yours. You can’t run anymore from your punishment.”

You forced yourself to shut your eyes and inhale a deep breath before you gave him the satisfaction of hearing you being pushed to your breaking point. Crowley was getting back at you for the messes you caused. Killing your demon side that he worked so hard to get free from the cage. Killing his hound. Freeing Bobby from hell. Dragging him into the apocalypse by accident. All of it was your fault. You kept poking at the beast. It was only a matter of time until he got his revenge. “There’s only one way out of this. I want complete and utter surrender. The tablet, the trials—you’ll give them up, or we’ll keep doing this dance. Your choice, my darlings.”

Crowley ended the call after giving you his terms for how this was going to end. You heard the dial tone linger in the tense air for a few seconds as you stood over Sarah’s dead body, Sam not too far as he kept staring at her. Crushed at what had become of her. The one who got away. Only to end up like the rest. Dean couldn’t take it. He found himself grabbing the phone, and out of anger, he threw it against the wall. The impact caused it to explode in tiny pieces of plastic and wires. Along with something you spent Sarah’s last few minutes on earth trying to find. The one thing you needed to save her life. 

You took a few steps forward and looked down at the little hex bag. Crowley had been calling you throughout this entire journey he was putting you through. He kept what you were looking for right under your nose. You sank down into the seat Sarah had occupied just a little while ago, staring at that stupid hex bag. For the first time in a long time, you felt your stomach grow heavy and your shoulders sank down in defeat. You were backed into a corner with no way out. You felt helpless, defeated with guilt at the three people you let down. But worst of all...you felt hopeless.

There was no amount of lying or persuasion that could fix this situation from how it ended. You couldn't bring Sarah back from the dead. You let Abbadon slip away. You had no chance at completing the last trial without a demon. You didn’t save anyone’s lives tonight. Instead, you made the world a little worse than it was before. 

You were stupid to think this was going to end up in a victory. It always end up the same for the people you try to help. All you do is leave collateral damage. Let the people you try to help down. And, most importantly, everyone you've ever cared for has died because of your actions. You honestly thought things were going to turn out differently for you. But it never does. Your family history was like a broken record, repeating the same formula over and over again. It happened to your parents. It happened to you And now it was going to happen to your child. 

Bess was going to grow up without a mother. Ian lost his wife. Because you couldn't do your damn job and fix a hex bag. Crowley was right. You were the reason why this stuff happens. Why everyone in your life pays the price with their life. You were a bad person through and through. And nothing in this world, not even God Himself, could change that. 

+ + +

The drive back home to the bunker was silent for the most part. You were too tired to say much of anything, Sam was too guilt ridden and upset to participate after what happened. Dean tried to ease the silence with the radio, and every so often asking if either one of you needed anything  Maybe stay at a motel for the night to get some sleep. Get something to eat if you were hungry. You shook your head at every offer. The exhaustion of the past few days was starting to catch up to you. All you wanted to do was go home. And think about the only option you had left on the table. 

Three months of hard work was gone, just like that. Risking your life and going to hell. You would say for nothing. But that felt wrong. If you tried to keep this going the people you saved would pay the price. And yet if you didn’t shut the gates of hell this would keep happening. Crowley would always mess with you. You were stuck. But the right choice was clear. 

Sam got out of the Impala and into the bunker without saying much of anything. You thought you heard him mumble something about wanting some alone time. You respected his wishes and made your way into the building you left almost twenty four hours ago, the tape player and files still spread everywhere, a subtle jab at the hopeful you that left with confidence you’d be coming back to finish this once and for all. Only you arrived back feeling worse than you had in a long time. 

You weren’t sure what you wanted to do. The idea of having a long shower seemed like a good idea. Slipping into bed was a comforting choice as well. You just wanted to be alone. But you had a shadow behind you that was curious about your well being. Dean meant well, and you loved him, but you really didn’t want to tell him how you felt right now. 

“You okay?” 

You took a few steps towards the table, letting Dean's question go unanswered for a few seconds. Your fingertips grazed along the edge, tempted for a moment to grab everything your father had worked so hard on and rip it to shreds. Sort of like how you did with your mother’s journal when you found out what she did to have you. All these years you thought he was victim to your mother’s selfishness. Turned out he was part of the reason why you were screwed up as you were. Your parents loved messing with demons so much they made a monster. 

You dropped your hand back down to your side and let out a sigh, turning around to face Dean after avoiding his gaze for the entire ride back. You showed him the defeated look on your face that you were able to hide during the car ride. "What do you think?"

“Look, I know it’s bad right now, okay, but we stick to the plan.” Dean was upset for how things turned out. He didn’t want Sarah to die the way she did, at the hands of Crowley after promising her that she would be okay. But he was focusing on the bigger picture, wanting to make sure no one else fell to the same fate. “We shut down hell.”

“How, exactly?” You questioned him. 

Dean always was the one who came up with the plans and executed how to save the day. You wanted to know how he could find a loophole in Crowley’s ironclad promise. He thought it was simple as snatching a demon when they weren’t expecting it. “We get a demon—”

“You heard Crowley. He’s not gonna let one near us,” You cut him off with his plan that looked perfect on paper. And it sounded nice when he said it out loud. But it wasn’t logical. There was only one way out of this. You were just too naive to think it would come to this. “and without a demon all we can do is sit back and watch people we know, people we saved, die like Sarah.” 

“So what are you saying?” Dean asked you. 

“I’m saying…” You hated the words that were about to come out of your mouth. You spent months fighting with him to let you do this while you were in this condition. Pregnant with his kid, adamant you were going to be okay at the end of it all. Maybe somehow you could figure it out to make it right. But you couldn't have the blood of the people you saved on your hands for the sake of your child's life to have a better one. It wasn't who you were. "Maybe this isn't one we can win. Maybe we should just take the deal." 

You couldn't lie to Dean about what you thought the right thing to do was. You knew Crowley didn't pick Sarah just because she had meant something to Sam once upon a time. Her death hit close to home for you as well. She was a mother and a wife. Things that you were hoping to accomplish once this hell business was over with. You wanted so desperately to get out. Why was it fair for you to have your happy ending, and not her? And if you tried...the possibilities were endless at what could happen. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest and stared at Dean with complete vulnerability for how you felt right now. All this time you had comforted him through this process, that it was going to be okay. Now that you weren't sure if it was a possibility, you felt like part of you failed him. 

“We’ll figure this out. We will.” Dean reassured you that it was going to be okay. But you had a hard time believing his words when every part of you was telling you it was a lie. You’ve never faced something like this before. Not only were you closing one part of your life, you were adding another. Something you haven’t really mentally prepared yourself for. “Sweetheart, we’ll get it done. We’ll kick it in the ass like we always do. Now, are you with me?”

"I don't know." 

Ever since you started the trials you were sure that this was the right thing to do...that it was you who was supposed to do it. You wanted to change Dean's mind when he confessed that all he saw was a bloody and bitter end to his life. But it didn’t mean the years he had left needed to be that way. You wanted to give him something that he never had. Happiness. Normalcy. A chance at being a father when the attempts failed him in the past. You thought for so long that what you were doing was okay. But you were starting to wonder if you were lying to yourself to justify your actions. Everything you witnessed in the church…

"What do you mean you don't know?" Dean asked you, but from the tone of his voice, it was more demanding. And even a little bit scared for how you were suddenly acting.

"I mean...I don't know if I can do this. All of this." You gestured with your arms to the open air, as if you were trying to point out what was bothering you the most. Dean gave you a confused look at what you weren’t telling him. You let out a long, drawn out sigh. "I'm tired, Dean. I've been putting on this face for the past six months that I'm capable of closing the gates of hell. Being a mother. And I thought I was. But...we're having a kid, Dean." 

“I know, Y/N.” Dean said. He had the past three months to come to the conclusion that your life was about to change forever. The both of you were starting a family. Yet his words didn’t make it seem like he viewed the situation from where you were standing. 

“You don’t understand what I’m trying to say. We're having a baby, Dean. Someone who is going to depend on us for everything. Change its diapers. Feed it. Care for it. Calm them down when they start crying. Try to figure out how to make sure they’re happy. In three months we're going to be responsible for raising a human being that needs someone to make sure they’re loved. Happy...most importantly, safe.” You told him everything he had realized a long time ago. But the way you were talking made it seem like you weren’t prepared for it. Like it was suddenly hitting you all at once that this was happening. It was real. “They’re not even born yet and I feel like I’m already failing—”

You felt your anxieties linger on the tip of your tongue when you felt yourself momentarily distracted by something strange. You furrowed your brow slightly when you felt it again slightly harder than before, which denied the idea of what you might have thought have been. You placed a hand on the lower part of your belly to try and see if you could get it to happen again. You stared at a spot on the floor as your expression began to change. Suddenly you were full of concentration as you pressed on your pregnant stomach, as if you were trying to feel for something. Dean found himself starting to grow concerned at how you were acting.

"Y/N, what's—" Dean was about to ask you what was wrong, however he stopped when you reached for his hand and placed it on part of your stomach where it had been just moments ago. The both of you remained there for a moment with your hand on top of his...until Dean felt something ever so lightly hit his palm. Dean looked up at you with slight astonishment at the sensation he hadn't quite felt before, not sure if it was just a quickening the doctor had told you about. Unless it was something more. "Did they do what I just think they did?"

"They're moving." You found yourself whispering the words to him, your lips stretching into a faint smile. You let Dean's hand remain on your stomach, the three of you together, making you realize the reality of your situation. "This is really happening...We're having a baby." 

“We’re having a baby, sweetheart.” Dean repeated back the words that were starting to settle in your mind. You were still upset about the things that happened, but in the moment, you just wanted to see the light at the end of the tunnel. "Screw what that bastard said. All right? Because you told me yourself that it's not about us anymore. It's about this kid. We're going to give them the best life they deserve. What we deserve. And nobody can stop us from doing that. But I need you with me. Are you?” 

You slowly nodded your head, reassuring him that you were on board with this. While you were still upset about how things turned out and the people you couldn’t save. You remembered that stupid line Crowley mocked you with as Sarah laid dying. Saving people, hunting things. The family business. You hunted monsters for the past eight years, saved the world from the apocalypse and faced up against some nasty creatures. You even been a monster for most of the journey. But you were ready to retire. 

You had gone this far in the trials, there was no turning back now. You were closing the gates of hell. And nothing was going to get in your way. 

Rewrite Taglist:

@deansquirreljerkwinchester // @everything-i-tried-was-taken // @starswirlblitz // @albot-e // @supernaturalismydrug // @we-are-band-sexuals // @angiewinchestercas // @kaylinfayezink  // @owhatshername1 // @kgbrenner  // @cleo-is-my-doggy // @eeyore1988 // @dakota-dream // @lilylovelyxo // @timetravelingginger // @holahellohialoha //   @quicksilver123456 // @natashacamillas //@lexi-anastasia //@kaylinfayezink //  @deanwnchstr @albot-eh // @rashinyx2002 // @shellybeans //  @icantfindacreativeurl //  @becs-bunker // @oreosatmidnight // @bands-and-shietz // @fabulousmustachesonapolarbear // @clarewinchester // @releasethekracko // @alex-zeppelin // @mega-mrs-dean-winchester // @theskytraveler // @notmoose94 //@assassinofmasyaf // @caswinchester2000 // @savannah-m-99 // @sunlight-dean // @strayrosesbloom // @that-slytherin-over-there // @1000roughdrafts // @its-medeanwinchester // @simplyhemmings

Message me if you would like to be added!

[ladyanatui]

Ultimate Daiken Playlist, Pt. 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

This is the abridged version of my Spotify playlist for all things Daiken, organized from the start of 02 to...eventually.

Part 2 specifically covers from Ken finding Wormmon’s Digi-Tama to just after XV-mon and Stingmon Jogress-evolve into Paildramon.

TRIGGER WARNING: This post discusses depression, suicide, emotional abuse, and PTSD quite a lot. Take care of yourselves, folks!

Spotify Playlist

Click the song titles for YouTube links (apparently you can’t have more than five videos in a post), and otherwise, enjoy me rambling about Daiken.

One final note: Within the lyrics, I’ve emphasized meaningful words, such as night/nightmare, dark/darkness, miracle(s), kind/kindness, courage/bravery, friend/friendship, sun/star/light, fire/burn/ignite, angel(s), and words related to water/drowning.

“What If This Is All the Love You Ever Get?” by Snow Patrol

What if it hurts like hell? Then it'll hurt like hell Come on over, come on over here I'm in the ruins too I know the wreckage so well Come on over, come on over here What if this is all the love you ever get?

If “Tell Me Why” by Three Days Grace focuses on Wormmon’s death, this song focuses on Ken’s trip to the Village of Beginnings, where he finds Wormmon’s egg and brings him back. Because Ken is absolutely scared that he won’t be able to find Wormmon because, as far as he believes, he doesn’t deserve to have him back. Obviously, that’s not true, and the pair is reunited and Wormmon even evolves to Stingmon between episodes (unfortunately).

“Aftermath” by Adam Lambert

Wanna scream out, no more hiding Don't be afraid of what's inside Gonna tell ya you'll be alright In the aftermath

Alright, this song is probably pretty obvious. Ken has to deal with the aftermath of what happened to him/what he did, and so do the rest of the Chosen Children. The others are cleaning up the Digital World while he’s learning to be an eleven-year-old boy again and allowing his parents to get to know him for the first time, even while he still tries to figure out who he is.

“Demons” by The All-American Rejects

Am I even here? Is it still even me? Am I some of the man that I still claim to be? It's like losing a fight, I'm alone in the ring You come to fix me? Would you believe, could you believe you need me?

Obviously, it’s not that easy, though. And when we experience trauma the way Ken does, having his choices and very personality taken from him, there’s a long road of recovery.

“Sinking Man” by Of Monsters and Men

Cold, dark sea Wrapping its arms around me Pulling me down to the deep All eyes on me

I pushed you away Although I wished you could stay So many words left unsaid But I'm all out of breath

I associate this song especially with the scene Ken and Daisuke share by the canal, where Daisuke asks Ken to apologize and join the team. The moment apologizing is mentioned, Ken agrees--which, of course, has Daisuke over the moon--but then he asks if Daisuke thinks the others would forgive him, if a mere apology would make up for everything he did.

Although he’s certainly right about them not accepting an apology without action and follow-through to back it up, he’s also (surprise, surprise) self-sabotaging. And that’s even more apparent the moment Daisuke calls him their “partner.” Ken flips out and runs off pretty quickly.

“The Real You” by Three Days Grace

And it seems like I've known you forever I'll keep you safe for one more night Need you to know that it's all right I see the real you Even if you don't I do I do

And this is the other side of the coin. Daisuke’s perspective of that same scene/situation. Because Daisuke looked into the Digimental of Miracles and he knows that Ken is good. He knows it with all his freaking beautiful heart, and he’s willing to completely ignore the other Chosen Children when they outright tell him they don’t want Ken on the team. He doesn’t care what they say because he knows how wrong they are, and he knows how wrong Ken is about himself.

It’s pretty safe to say that Daisuke is the only person in all of 02 who sees Ken for who he really is, and he’s willing to put everything on the line, including the team morale and dynamics, to support Ken.

“Numb” by Linkin Park

Can't you see that you're smothering me? Holding too tightly, afraid to lose control 'Cause everything that you thought I would be Has fallen apart right in front of you Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow Every step that I take is another mistake to you Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow And every second I waste is more than I can take

What playlist about a character with depression would be complete without this? “Numb” is an iconic depression song, made even more so by Chester Bennington’s death, though Linkin Park has so many songs related to depression and mental health.

**Okay, it’s pretty safe to say the next six songs have to do with the two-part episode (episodes 26 & 27) revolving around Daisuke and Ken’s initial Jogress evolution. It’s kind of a big deal, so it’s a big deal in the playlist as well. The event functions as 02′s midpoint and centerpiece, so it’s one of the most emotionally charged and important scenes in the whole season. It really can’t be summed up in a song or two.**

“This Is How I Disappear” by My Chemical Romance

Can you hear me cry out to you? Words I thought I'd choke on figure out I'm really not so with you anymore I'm just a ghost So I can't hurt you anymore

This song in particular is about Ken’s suicidal ideation, the technical term for suicidal thoughts. Ken is what is sometimes called “gray suicidal” (since people often think of suicide in black and white terms, which isn’t accurate) because he has no specific plan to kill him, he’s never attempted suicide, and he doesn’t want to actually die.

And yet, he thinks about death a lot and that he deserves to die and that his death would help fix things because he can’t hurt anyone if he’s dead. He wants to punish himself, and he wants to carry all of the burden because he thinks he deserves it. (Obviously, this isn’t true, as Ken’s story arc is more about overcoming trauma than about redeeming himself--but you’d have a hard time convincing Ken of that fact.)

“Friend, Please” by Twenty One Pilots

Would you let me know your plans tonight 'Cause I just won't let go till we both see the light And I have nothing else left to say But I will listen to you all day, yes, I will

So basically, these next couple songs sum up the argument Daisuke and Ken have before their digivices light up for the Jogress evolution. First, Daisuke tries to convince Ken to let them help, that they’ll work together, but...

“Save Yourself” by My Darkest Days

I’m the devil’s son straight out of hell And you’re an angel with a haunted heart If you’re smart you’d run and protect yourself From the demon living in the dark There’s nothing to be gained cause I can never change And you can never understand my sickness

Oh, look, Ken is being stubborn and frustrating and self-sabotaging yet again. He legitimately thinks the others will be better off if they leave him alone, and he means that both because if he’s the only one inside the base when it explodes, they’ll survive and because if they keep their distance from him in regards to friendship, he can’t hurt them emotionally. And worst of all, he’s roped Wormmon/Stingmon in on this suicidal atonement thing. *smh*

Ken: I won’t let people suffer anymore because of what I did...no more. ... I want to restore the Digital World with my own hands, but things just keep getting worse. I can’t stand it! Stingmon (to XV-mon): If there’s any way I can atone for the sins I’ve committed... Ken: It doesn’t matter what happens to me! Right now, I have to stop this reactor.

Bonus points for references to angels and hearts, though since this is from Ken’s perspective, Daisuke would be the “angel with a haunted heart.” Not sure that imagery works well, but the rest of it does.

“Die for You” by Starset

Some day when galaxies collide We'll be lost on different skies I will send my rocket ship to find you Because I know you're lost when you run away Into the same black holes and black mistakes Taking all my will just to run alone Until I bring you home

And what’s Daisuke’s reaction to Ken being stubborn and stupid? Bitch-slap him! He fucking needs it. (That’s everyone’s solution in this show, I swear.) And Daisuke isn’t going to let him get away with that shit. He yells and shouts and berates Ken until he finally looks at it from someone else’s perspective:

Daisuke: You idiot! *slap* How can you say that? Daisuke: Think of who would be sad if you were gone. If I let you go now and you never come back, I’ll regret it forever. So I won’t let you go! Daisuke: You may be okay with it, but I’m not. Ken: Motomiya... Daisuke: Live! Daisuke: If you die now, you won’t be able to accomplish anything. I don’t want that. Ken: I don’t want that either. There are still many things I must do. Ken: Besides, I don’t want to make my family sad anymore...

Note: I cut out XV-mon’s lines to Stingmon here because Daisuke’s words are the important part of this conversation, but I separated Daisuke’s lines where XV-mon spoke for clarity.

“Divide” by Bastille

Why would we divide when we could come together? Just bodies that collide, lost and found each other So don't, don't leave me alone Don't leave me alone, don't leave me alone Why would we divide when we could come together?

It’s only after that, after they understand each other on a monumental level, that they are able to Jogress evolve. And boy is that an experience. No other Jogress partners (except maybe Taichi and Yamato) have this intense of an experience with Jogress evolution, none have their bond.

And quite frankly, this song is about as poorly veiled a hint at sex as Jogress evolution is. Just listen to it. You’ll see.

But this song also shows Ken’s hesitation when it comes to Jogress. They work so well together, they’re completely in sync, they understand each other, but he’s definitely not ready to join the team or be Daisuke’s partner.

“Heartlines” by Florence + The Machine

Your heart is the only place that I call home Can I be returned, you can You can, we can

Just keep following The heartlines on your hand

Okay, and last one about the Jogress evolution! This one should be pretty damn obvious too: When Daisuke and Ken have their initial Jogress, one of the most notable things that makes it different from all others’ Jogress experiences is the fact that they can feel/hear each other’s heartbeats.

Soul fucking mates.

“Pieces” by Sum 41

This place is so empty My thoughts are so tempting I don't know how it got so bad Sometimes it's so crazy that nothing can save me But it's the only thing that I have

But when everything is over and Daisuke explains exactly how the experience was for him (“When our Digimon combined, our thoughts and feelings flowed through each of our bodies. Our hearts beating as one…it was an amazing feeling of unity! That’s when I knew we were partners.”), Ken panics and tells him, “I’m qualified to be your partner yet,” and walks away before Daisuke really has the chance to process what happened. Despite Daisuke’s words before they Jogress-evolved, Ken is still determined to redeem himself before allowing himself to join the team.

“Run” by Snow Patrol

Light up, light up As if you have a choice Even if you cannot hear my voice I'll be right beside you, dear

Of course, that would require Daisuke to know how to take no for an answer. Even if Ken isn’t going to listen to him and join the team, he still includes him as much as he can, and he is determined to stick by Ken’s side even if he doesn’t want him there.

And it may look to an outsider like Daisuke isn’t respecting Ken’s wishes, which yeah, that’s technically true. But by this time, Daisuke understands Ken better than anyone, save Wormmon, and while Daisuke may not respect Ken’s wishes, he respects Ken more than Ken respects himself. More than anything, he wants to help Ken, and he will be there for Ken to lean on if he ever needs to.

“Not Today” by Twenty One Pilots

Heard you say, "Not today" Tore the curtains down, windows open now, make a sound Heard your voice, "There's no choice" Tore the curtains down, windows open now, make a noise

I'm, I'm out of my mind, I'm not seeing things right I waste all this time trying to run from you But I'm, I'm out of my mind

To an extent, it is because of Daisuke’s forwardness that Ken keeps running away, as Hikari says on multiple occasions. He keeps trying to run away from Daisuke, from the other Chosen Children, but for some reason (*cough* Daisuke *cough*), it doesn’t seem to stick.

“Arch Drive Goodbye” by Eve 6

Wanna keep you from breakin' Wanna keep you from shakin' Wanna keep you from keepin' You down Wanna keep you from sinkin' Wanna keep you from drinkin' Sometimes Wanna keep you from keepin' You down

Ringing in my head All the things you've said All the things you've done I wish I could compromise But there's only one way to go And I'm going alone I'm going alone

I see this song as a sort of duet. There are sections/lines that would be from Daisuke’s perspective (the first quote, though obviously ignore the line about drinking--they’re eleven) and sections that would be from Ken’s (the second quote). Daisuke wants to help him so badly, but Ken is still so determined not to need help and to go it alone.

“Someone to Save You” by OneRepublic

All right Sit down and spill your heart

Let’s start from the very start 'Cause I can see by your eyes You're wasted Your energy comes and goes You taking your time, you know Nothing can change what happened

Not that Daisuke will listen to that, right? No matter how much Ken insists he can go it alone, Daisuke is always there to be supportive. He’s just as determined to help Ken as Ken is to refuse help. Actually, no, Daisuke is way more determined. He will always, above all else, persevere.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[like-a-bag-of-potatoes]

Hunted - Chapter Two

A/N: This series is a military AU that will feature characters from Marvel and Supernatural. This will be a rollercoaster and I will try to warn accordingly for every chapter. Also, I want to throw out there that feedback is the fastest way to my heart. And last but not least, a shout out to my girl @thorne93​ for betaing all of this (and yelling at me), and to my girl @superapplepie​ for letting me test this story out on her, you guys are the best.  

THIS SERIES WAS PREVIOUSLY POSTED TO @sebs-potato

Flashbacks are italics. 

Warnings: Angst. 

Characters: Julia Smith (OFC), Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark

Wordcount: 3465

Series Summary: 

Julia Smith has spent her entire adult life serving her country, but now she lives her life as an inactive marine in New York city. She’s trying hard to find her footing as a civilian, but she can’t shake the restlessness that has settled in her bones. One day she gets an anonymous note with information about a friend’s suicide, and the chase for information begins.

Her first stop is her old comrade, James Barnes, and together they set out to reunite their old squad, to gather intel, and to solve a mystery. The deeper they dig, the more dangerous it gets, and it does not take long before they understand that they’re being hunted. Now it’s a race against the clock. Can they get to the bottom of this and find out who’s hunting them before they lose anymore men?

The squad is united again for one last mission, and it’s gonna be one hell of a ride.

May 18th 2018, New York City:

Julia had spent the last two days trying to find the mystery person who had left her the letter at her therapists office, and finally she had the name and address in her hand, ready to learn more about her comrades deaths, ready to get this over with.  

The first thing she had done was go back to Dr. Madsen’s office and talked to her secretary, Alyssa. She wasn't much help since she didn't see who had dropped it off. However, another patient had been in the waiting room and had probably gotten a good look at the person, but of course Alyssa couldn't disclose the patients information. Jules was persistent though, so she waited until Alyssa went out to get lunch and then she stole the ledger that she kept on her desk. From there, she got the name and address for the woman and went to pay her a visit. 

Julia rang the doorbell to the big suburban house, taking in the peace and quiet of the cul-de-sac as she waited for someone to open the door. For a second she wondered what an apple pie life would be like. Husband, 9 to 5 job, kids, a dog or two… a minivan. No. This life wasn't meant for people like her. 

Her current daydream was interrupted by the door opening, a brunette woman greeting her with a friendly smile. “May I help you?” 

Julia had done her best to look presentable, nice jeans, sneakers, a simple braid in her hair. She had a plan to get intel from this woman, and she couldn't do that while looking like… herself. “Yes. I know you don't know me, but I saw you the other day in Dr. Madsen’s office and I was hoping you could help me out with something?”

“Uhm… sure.”

Man was this woman gullible. She didn't even ask how Julia got her address or anything. “Yesterday I had an appointment with Maria, and while I was in there this letter was dropped off for me at the front desk,” she started explaining, holding up the envelope for the woman to see. “The receptionist didn't see who dropped it off, but I was hoping that you might have?” 

“I didn't get a good look at her though,” she said. “Long, blonde, wavy hair, average build and height, she was wearing a baseball cap,” the woman listed. 

“Thank you so much.” Julia flashed her a big bright smile before saying goodbye and getting back in the car she had stolen earlier that day. 

From there, she had gone to park the car and made her way back to Dr. Madsens office, to take a look around. Across the street and a few buildings down was a small electronic shop that had cameras pointed out to the street. She had walked in there in a low cut top and batting her eyelashes as she filled the store clerk with a bogus story about her car being stolen and the police refusing to help. It took her about five minutes to get a look at the security tapes from the day before and  she left the store with a registration number. Before the day ended she had another name and address. 

A quick Google search showed Donna Hanscum as an investigative journalist that worked for the New York times. Highly accredited and respected. Julia had no doubt that this woman would have more information for her. 

The woman who opened the door was undoubtedly Donna, but she looked more worn than the pictures online. Her brown eyes surrounded by dark circles, hinting that she hadn't slept properly for a while, her skin had a clear greyish hue to it as well, indicating stress and faulty nourishment. “You can't be here,” she said, her brown eyes wide in fear. “You need to leave.” Donna tried to close the door, but Julia put her foot in the way. 

“Give me five minutes?” she begged. “Five minutes and you'll never hear from me again.”

Donna stared at Julia for a second, mulling her options over in her head before she finally gave in and let go of the door. The apartment was welcoming, photos of family and friends on the walls, a few plants in the windows, a fresh bouquet of flowers on the table in the living room, this apartment was clearly a home, but Julia's attention was drawn to the suitcase on the floor with clothes randomly tossed in. “Going somewhere?” Julia asked as her eyes found the blonde journalist. 

“I'm being followed,” Donna informed simply, but the panic and fear in her voice is poorly masked. 

“Why?”

“Because I'm getting too close,” she said vaguely as she walked out of the room. 

Julia followed her into her bedroom where Donna picked some more clothes out of her closet and threw them in a pile on the bed. “What are you closing in on?” 

“Something big… look. Five days ago I got a case file dropped into my mailbox, no address, no name, no postage. Most of it is blacked out, but your name - along with the rest of your squad - and the name of your last mission is still readable. Unless this was a covert operation, there's no reason for all the secrecy. There was also what looked like a hit list, Wilson and Romanoff’s name crossed off. That's all I know,” she said.

“Can I get a copy of the file?” Julia asked calmly as her mind processed the intel. 

The other woman got a notepad from her nightstand and scribbled something down before tearing it off and handing it over. “Meet me here tomorrow, I'll give you what I have so far. Now please leave so I can get the hell out of here.”

“Thank you,” Julia offered before she backed out of the room and exited the apartment, one destination in mind. 

***

“If you're still in the conspiracy theory mood, you might as well leave,” Bucky said as he opened the door.

“Is that any way greet a guest?” Julia retorted as she pushed past him and into his apartment. “I found the woman that left me the note,” she informed. 

“And?” 

“And she knows some shit. Like the fact that we’re being targeted.” Julia crossed her arms over her chest and locked eyes with the man in front of her. Bucky was her oldest friend, when she enlisted he was the Private that was in charge of showing her the ropes around the base. He had grown to become the most important person in her life, and right now she needed him more than ever, she needed him to believe in what she was saying. 

He ran a large hand down his face. “Fine,” he conceded. 

Camp Lehigh, Virginia. August 4th 2003

“Girl incoming.” Private James Buchanan Barnes nudged his Lance Corporal’s shoulder as he spotted the young woman that walked through the gates of Camp Lehigh. 

“You don't see that everyday,” Private Dean Winchester chimed in from behind the two of them while he kept his emerald green eyes on the young brunette that just walked into their camp. 

“You boys keep your eyes, hands, and filthy minds to yourselves. Are we clear?” Lance Corporal Steven Rogers ordered with a hint of amusement in his voice.  

“Sure thing, Cap,” Bucky said, a cheeky grin spreading on his handsome face, Dean nudging his arm in appreciation of the unwanted nickname they had given him. 

“Don't call me that,” Steve warned with a hint of amusement before he scurried off to get started on his much too long to do list. 

“How long do you think she’ll last?” Dean asked as soon as Rogers was out of earshot, watching as the new girl shook hands with Staff Sergeant Nick Fury. 

“We’ll see tomorrow,” Bucky said knowingly. He had lived on this base for the past five years so he had seen his fair share of people come and go. The marines was a tough branch of the military, Camp Lehigh being considered the toughest of them all, and it was definitely not for everyone. 

“Attention Privates,” Sergeant Fury’s voice sounded as he directed his attention to the two men. Simultaneously, Bucky and Dean straightened up, clapped their heels together, arms hugging the sides of their body, chin high and eyes fixed on some random target in the distance. “Fall out, Private Winchester,” he commanded. 

Dean broke attention, saluted his sergeant and marched away. Quick and efficient. 

“This is Private Julia Smith. I want you to show her around the base, get her a uniform and a bed for the night, and brief her about how things are gonna go down tomorrow.” 

“Sir. Yes, sir,” Bucky chanted. 

“Good. Fall out, Private.” Fury looked over at Julia and gave her a wink before he walked away. Strange behavior? Maybe. But Nick Fury had served with Julia’s father, so she had known him her entire life. He was even the one that showed up on their door when her father fell in battle, he had always been Uncle Fury to her.

Knowing Fury was enough to get her through the gates here, but she would have to prove herself if she wanted to stay, just like everyone else. “Hey-” she extended her hand to the handsome man in front of her- “I'm Julia.” 

“James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky. Why don't we go find you a bed first so you can drop off your stuff?” 

***

“So, Sgt Fury said something about warning me about tomorrow?” Julia asked as the two of them made their way through the camp. The camp felt smaller now than it had when she was a kid and came here to visit her dad one time before he got deployed. As she walked between the many barracks that made up Camp Lehigh, she felt closer to her dad than she had in years, like an internal peace spread through her veins.  

“Yeah. I'm guessing you’re coming straight from bootcamp?” He looked over at her and she gave him a confirming nod. “Tomorrow you’re gonna be tested against other privates here on base. I don't know what you'll be challenged with, but it can be everything from physical to psychological. Only thing I know for sure is that it's gonna be tough.”  

“To weed out the weak?” she asked rhetorically. Bootcamp was hard. It was 13 weeks of mental and physical exhaustion, but she had made it through it, best female, and amongst the top ten recruits regardless of gender, so she was confident in her abilities. She also knew that it was only the best of the best that got a place here at Camp Lehigh, the toughest soldiers, and she desperately wanted to be part of that. 

“Exactly. We get recruits here every year, but it's not every year that we get new members for our squad,” he explained. “Right now, you are the only recruit here, so you will be tested against other Privates instead of other recruits.”

“Wow. That really fills me with confidence,” she joked. “I know what this place is, James. Bring it on.”  

 *

Bucky had seen it in Jules’ eyes the day she showed up at Camp Lehigh that she was serious, the same look he had seen a million times since then, and the look she had in her eyes now, it was all the same. She had her mind and heart set on something and she would get it done, no matter the cost, all he could really do was jump on board and guard her six. 

“So you'll help?” she asked, a glimmer of hope shimmering in her hazel eyes. 

“I'll help,” he confirmed. 

In her excitement she ran over to him and threw her arms  around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, James. You don't know how much this means to me,” she said in a soft voice, her warm breath fanning over his neck. Julia had many ways of addressing Bucky. In everyday conversation she would use Bucky or Buck. During covert missions she used his codename Winter Soldier. When she was angry or hurt she would call him Sgt. Barnes, or she would full on triple name him when she was seriously pissed. But his favorite was James. It happened so rarely, but her voice always became so soft when she said his real name, and everytime it happened, his heart would skip a beat. 

Bucky wrapped both of his arms around her waist, closing his eyes as the coconutty smell of her hair reached his nose. “Anything for you,” he said in a whisper. 

She pulled away from him slightly, resting her hands on his shoulders as she looked into his steel blue eyes. “You know this means we have to go off the grid right?” 

“I didn't come down in the last shower, Doll, I know the drill,” he said, a smug smile on his lips. 

“Alright,” she said, smiling back at him before she punched him in the shoulder. “That's for calling me Doll,” she warned as she turned away from him and took the five steps from the living room to the kitchen. 

“I'll remember that,” he said, the smile still lingering on his lips as he rubbed his shoulder. That was definitely going to leave a mark. 

***

The next morning the two of them jumped onto Bucky’s Dyna and set course towards New Jersey and Donna. 

“I can't believe you talked me on to this death trap,” Julia said as she flung her leg over the Harley and sat down. 

“I can't believe you’re actually scared of a little bike,” Bucky retorted while handing her his spare helmet. “We travel light, and we travel fast. It's the best way,” he pressed. 

“I know. Doesn't mean I'm happy about it,” she said, making a grimace as she fastened the strap on her helmet. 

As soon as he mounted the bike and started it up, her arms snaked around his waist and she hugged herself to his back, holding on for dear life as he maneuvered the bike through the busy New York traffic. Maybe this bike thing wasn't such a bad idea, she thought to herself as she could feel the muscles of his back moving through his tight leather jacket. 

The two hour ride from Queens to New Jersey took only 90 minutes with Bucky navigating his bike in and out of traffic, picking up speed every chance he got. When they reached the storage facility, they drove a few blocks past it and parked the Harley. Julia pulled her gun from her holster and checked it before shoving it down her pants lining in the back, it was easily accessible there, and also easier to hide under her jacket. 

Bucky did the same with his gun, but he also checked that both his knives were in place and loosening the buttons that secured them to the holster. The two of them had no idea what they might be walking in to, so they went in prepared. 

“Ready?” Bucky asked, Julia nodding her confirmation. 

They were about an hour early for the meet, but this gave them a chance to scope out the place before Donna got here, to make sure they weren't walking into a trap, or an ambush or something. They made their way through a small alley, wanting to approach the storage building from the back.

“See the grey sedan parked down the street there?” Julia asked her partner as they rounded a corner. The street was nearly empty. The entire area consisted of old buildings, mostly abandoned it seemed like, three apartment buildings were placed together down where Donna’s car was parked, but those too looked abandoned. In all honesty, this area seemed dead, but the two marines knew that things were rarely what they seemed.  

“Yeah. What about it?” he asked, his eyes scanning every square inch of the street and buildings that surrounded them. 

“It's Donna’s.” Julia reached around and pulled out her gun, carefully popping off the safety and holding it at a ready in front of her, barrel pointing to the ground. 

Bucky followed her move with the gun, but he turned her back to her. “Got your six,” he informed. 

“Twenty steps straight and a right turn before we’re clear,” she informed, letting Bucky know that when they turned the corner he could face forward again. They had done this dance so many times over the years that it was instinct now. He knew how she would move and vice versa, cutting verbal communication down to a bare minimum. 

When they turned the corner, Bucky took one last overlook and then turned around. “Left,” he informed and took a sidestep. 

“Something is seriously off here,” Jules whispered as they approached the entrance to the large building. 

Bucky nodded in agreement as he took his position on the left side of the door and put one hand on the knob. Julia took the right side, holding up three fingers to let him know when to open the door. As soon as the door opened, she turned and stepped into the doorway, gun at the ready in front of her, but there wasn’t anyone in the corridor, just a bunch of gates that guarded the storage rooms. When she felt Bucky’s arm on her shoulder she started moving down the long hallway in search of Donna’s unit. The two of them moved stealthily through the corridor, checking the numbers on each unit as they moved past them. It smelled like old books and dust, mixed with mold and dirt in there. This storage facility probably hadn't been operational in months, maybe even years. 

The corridor split four ways so Bucky checked the left one, and Julia the right one. Still empty. “It's down here,” Bucky whispered as he read the two unit numbers he could make out, 300 and 301. Julia placed her hand on his shoulder and they continued moving down the dark corridor in search of unit 320. 

“You smell that?” she whispered as they passed 316 and 317 and the unmistakable copper scent of blood wafted up her nose. 

Bucky nodded as he held up his hand for her to stop outside number 320. The padlock on the blue gate had been cut, and on the bottom of the gate was a blood smear, telling them that the person that closed the gate had blood on their hands. The two of them exchanged a look before they both nodded a confirmation. Julia took a step back and fixed her gun on the blue door as Bucky sidestepped and grabbed a hold of the handlebar, holding up three fingers to let her know how much time she had. 

The loud clanking of the gate was bound to draw attention to them as the sound echoed through the corridors, bouncing off the concrete walls. If nobody saw them come, they would definitely have given away their position now. Bucky put both hands on the gun again as he kept an eye out for any company they might get while Julia stepped into the dark unit. 

When she was sure no one was in there, she looked around for a light switch. Bucky stepped inside when the light flickered on, and they both got their gut feeling confirmed. The room had been searched. Boxes and papers lay scattered across the floor, and in the far right corner they found Donna in a pool of blood. 

“Fuck.” Julia turned to look at her friend who was about to close the gate behind them. 

“I don't think we’re going to find any intel of value in here,” Bucky said when the gate was securely closed again, boxing them in and giving them the freedom to move around. 

Julia crouched down next to Donna’s body and reached out to search for a pulse, even though the amount of blood told them all they needed to know. “Looks like two gunshots to her stomach,” Julia informed as she got back on her feet. “She's icy cold, and the blood has started to dry. This happened yesterday.” 

Bucky was going through the few papers that lay scattered on the floor, but there was nothing of interest or value there. “Whoever killed her took everything. We need to get out of here.” 

“What about her?” Jules asked, motioning to the dead reporter. 

“We’ll call in an anonymous tip when we’re in the clear,” he stated simply. “We have to get word to the others… fast,” he pressed as he got ready to open the gate again. 

“Barton is closest,” she said. “We should get up there.” 

*********

If you want a tag, send me an ASK.

Tags: @capandbuckylvr​  @buchanansebba​

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Saint’s Bones

Genre: adventure-fantasy, original wlw

Words: 6K

Summary: A young woman sets out on a journey when her brother brings home a holy relic from war. He says that the saint’s bone will bring wealth to the village and bless the family.

Sabine isn’t so sure, instead, she sets out to return to the saint’s remains to her resting place and stop any specter’s from haunting them. She encounters a shield maiden bent on helping her and more challenges than she expected

saint’s and pagans collide in the shifting times between ghosts and prayers

PART I ~ PART II ~ PART III

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PART I

It was 3 in the afternoon, the day was marked by drowsy spring heat and feet sloshing through puddles and mud to get to market in the early morning. Sabine was sitting by her half-finished mending and tuning out her mother’s gossip with the village grannies.

They were planning a roast for dinner, meat had been cheap since the roosters came to proper weight. Sabine’s boots were drying by the door and the sound of running children filled the streets outside, calling voices and shouts erupted but Sabine thought nothing of it.

A knock came at the door, it was a soft thing followed by a rough shouldering of the wood. Light flooded into the dim first story as the door creaked and Sabine perked up.

A solid figure stood in the entrance way with the sun to his back, casting a long shadow as he stooped to come in, he was broad and well-built, almost immediately filling the whole space. Sabine flew to her feet along with her mother and her two friends.

She rushed forward, it felt like flying, a young man stood in front of her with the ghost of a beard and close-cropped brown hair. His cheeks were still round with youth, but his posture was deceivingly straight, a thing of cast iron and steel. His eyes were slightly sunken and he had somehow managed to get more stocky even after months on the march.

His eyes swept the room and a haggered smile stretches across his face, a tangible exhale left his body and Sabine threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Luca.” Her voice spilled out her throat, sloppy and watery.

Her mom followed in after and they stood in the door for a long silent moment.

Her brother returned home.

---------------

For as long as Sabine could remember it had been her brother, her mom, her dad, her sister and her. Her sister Gianna had been the first change, as the eldest she was married quickly to a tanner’s son who was luckily around the same age.

The couple moved in with the family after their father dained to take Gianna’s husband on as an apprentice potter- a much better occupation than tanner. The house soon filled again with their two children and the clatter of young feet.

The second shift of Sabine’s young life was the call to arms of all the young men, her father was excluded thanks to a bum knee but their brother was more than happy to heed the call. It was a good way to move above his station- and maybe gain some glory along the way.

That is when little Angelo joined them as well, barely a babe at the time, their house was now more than full.

The village emptied out to heed the holy cause and retake the city of Jade. Three long years passed, Sabine was too busy to court and too plain to attract suitors, there were not enough men for it anyway.

She was 25 by the time her brother arrived home and Sabine could not have been happier, her life order had come back together again: father, mother, sister, brother, and her.

She hadn’t expected to sit and watch her brother’s shifty eyes as they fed him dinner that night. Luca had kissed his mother on both cheeks, greeted the village woman, and joked about Sabine growing almost as broad as him. He then excused himself, asking to be shown to his old room.

It was now shared with the twins, but Luca was asleep before the kids could bother him or Sabine could fetch him any water.

The women sat in the kitchen and glance at each other as he slept, Anna spoke first, “I knew the men were coming back.” She crowed, “felt in my bones.” “The king sent them back to help with harvest this year,” her mother grinned, ever the practical one.

“You are lucky Sara,” the oldest of them, grandma Sofia spoke up, “your son has returned to you in one piece.” Her mother nodded, “Thank the grace of god.” They all did a cross in the air and Sabine followed along.

“Do you think they’ll be called back again?” She wondered out loud.

The women shrugged and got back to their mending and dinner preparations.

-----------------

Luca didn’t make it to dinner that night, but they prepared an extra place setting nonetheless and buzzed around the table.

“Is he really back?” Angelo bounced in place, “Did he bring his sword?” “I’m sure they return the sword,” her father said kindly, but he also looked like an excited kid, a sparkle in his aging blue eyes.

Sabine chewed carefully and wiped at little Laura’s face as they ate.

“Let us give grace,” her sister Gianna gave a pale smile, she was most the devout of the family, especially as her body waned to a slip of a shadow. She sat with her hair limp and a shawl draped across her thin shoulders. “To give thanks for the safe return of our brother.” They held hands, bowed their heads, and Sabine gave a quiet salient prayer: you heard me. Her lips moved as no sound came out, we are not forgotten, I will remember this.

They ate in a racus of questions and bread-passing, trying not to let the dog get underfoot for scraps for at least five minutes. Sabine wrapped some extra bread in her skirts for later and smiles out.

-----------

It wasn’t until late in the night when the embers of the hearth had grown low and charred that footsteps came at the stairs. Sabine was still finishing the mending of Angelo’s jacket, her mind being elsewhere all day.

Steps clunked on wooden stairs and Sabine recognized them instantly, her brother came down and smiled wearily. “Anything left?” She swept to her feet and gestured him over, “mother left a whole plate out.” She called for her mom to fetch the last plate, she insists they all sit together for a moment.

Luca tore into a coolled bread roll, descreting it with his canines as they looked on. He only looked up once.

“I see no one’s fixed the old hinges on the upstairs door,” he gave a lopsided grin, “how long has it been, mom? Surely you didn’t just leave it all for me to do.” Her mother lifted her chin, “barely enough hands around here to fix the leak in the roof,” she tutted and Luca laughed.

“No, no, I’m so glad nothing has changed,” he laughed again. He turned, “speaking of which, how is my doting younger sister?” Sabine sniffed, “perfectly the same.” She nodded curtly, “this dress is surely from three years ago as well.” Luca was still smiling, but he looked her over from head to foot, “it’s been awhile, let me guess your age now, Sabine.” She raised her eyebrows, “we are 9 months apart, have you forgotten your own age as well?” “Perfectly so,” he gave a willowy chuckle, “now I see, 40, perhaps 55! She does well with a handkerchief.” Sabine tugged at her white handkerchief tied around her hair, as plain her brown dress. “An old man returns to an ancient sister then, we’ll have to support our spritely mother together.” Their mother scoffed, in her younger years she might have boxed them both in the ears for that, but it was a late spring night and her children were reuniting.

“You’ve raised an old maid mother,” Luca turned to their mother, “I thought I’d miss my little sister’s wedding by now.” Their mother squared her jaw and passed him another roll to go with his meat, “not enough hands Luca, not enough hands, you think all the men leave and we have time to spare for preparing a dowry?” She snorts, “You’ve become fanciful!”

He sits up straight and toasts the air, “Always!” He cheers and reaches for his mead glass, it was hard for Sabine not to smile as well. “Well, I’ll look for one yet.” He winks and Sabine wags her finger.

“You first brother,” they both laugh and settle into finishing the night, it would be quiet reunion, too long in the coming.

Sabine was finally polishing off her mending when a series of long wet hacking coughs come from upstairs. Her mind’s eye is filled by the visceral vision of sisters bent body as she was racked by air sickness.

Her brother looked grimly at the ceiling as it took several minutes to pass, Sabine and her mother look away politely from the noise as they always did.

Luca is the only one to speak up, “I suppose some things do change.” He says bitterly to the thin air, “How long?” Her mother busies herself sweeping the spotless hearth, it was nothing but embers at this point. “Your sister has always had a weak constitution.” She mutters, “She’ll recover from this one just as well as the ones before.” Sabine leaned in toward her brother, eyes wide, “Since the winter before.” She says quickly, “her weight has dropped by 3 stones each month since then.” Her mother shoots her a sharp betrayed look, Sabine doesn’t meet it, he should know.

Luca wears his smile thinly, “It’s good I’ve returned then.” Sabine’s face softens, “it would always be good for your return.” He hums and looks at the ceiling once more, “don’t think I came back empty handed from the war,” he says cryptically, “There will be something for Gianna and her old maid sister yet.” Sabine stands up, “you can solve all our problems by starting with the leak in the roof.” They always said she was just as practical as her mother. “Then everything else.” He stands up as well, “I’m glad to be back Sabine.” He kisses her on both cheeks again before she heads to bed, “Me too.” She says quietly and retreats, the household utters silent reaching prayers as Gianna begins to cough again.

Hear me one last time, she tries again on her knees, spare my family this as well.

That was the first night their dog barked at nothing and little Laura swore she saw something growing in the shadows.

------------------

The pots started to break.

Her father couldn’t explain it, he hadn’t changed his methods after all these years and the kiln seemed to be working perfectly fine. It started small at first, a single clay pot burst during the cooking, a few cracks and chips in the finished ones.

And then entire shelves fell, crashing in a violent carnage of sharp pieces and fine shattered designs. Their wares were very thin for that market day.

Pots cracked, Sabine tugged on her socks only to find them completely soaked through, mead grew sour before it even touched their lips, the dog barked. And barked.

They bent their heads and prayed soberly in church, Gianna visited twice a day after her daughter tripped in the halls and cried for hours. Laura mumbled about how there was nothing there, her shins hit something hard she couldn’t see and her legs tore up.

Sabine’s skin crawled.

She looked for more excuses to flee the house and wander the market streets or escape to the pastures outside of town. She could forage for dyes there that her father could use for paints, not to mention stare at the fluffy white clouds as they gathered and exhale for a quick second.

Luca fixed the leek in the roof and then the hinges on the doors, he floated in and out of his father’s pottery workshop. Their old father always promised to pull him into the business, he had no choice as the oldest son, but Luca had a way around his commands.

It was different now nonetheless, he did not flirt with the village girls- his tomcat days seemingly behind him, he prayed at church instead of exchanging pokes with Sabine as the sermon droned on. He paced the halls in the night and jumped violently whenever the young children brushed against him.

Francesca the old hound barked at him as well.

The days slipped past with cracked pots and the wails of something unseen. The ebbing fingers of spring started to let go and the summer storms blew in, battering the roof and filling the house with an anxious buzz. The kids were trapped inside, running around and getting underfoot. Sabine listened to the thunder boom outside and she pet the ears of Francesca as she whimpered.

“It’s alright girl,” she said quietly, the thunder gave a rolling boom and Sabine kept her eyes glued on the constant stream of rain. It’s oppressive weight choked the streets, dark violin strings connecting earth to the heavens, tied in thin ropes from sky to ground.

The patter on the roof was deafening, “Sabine,” her father called, voice barely audible, “fetch the others, we’ll have an early supper.” Sabine looks over her shoulder and nods, the eyes of the house were quick and darkened, it was another week of breaking pots and odd noises in the night. Sabine quickly stands and calls for her two small cousins and young Angelo, gathering them up so their grandmother could tell them stories.

Gianna was already at the table and her husband was still busy in the pottery, trying to finish up a few more plates despite the dampness thick in the air.

Sabine climbed to the second story, “Luca.” The halls were dark despite the sun not having set yet, dark and filled with the sound of drenching rain outside. “Stew is ready.” She huffed as she heard nothing in reply, “didn’t you say you were over storms like this?” She muttered, remembering how he used to huddle by the hearth during every storm years ago.

She knocked on the door, rapping her knuckles firmly and tapping her foot. “Luca, I promise getting something warm in you will help, come downstairs.” She opens the door thoughtlessly and only pauses as she sees someone huddling under the blankets, face stricken. “Luca?” He was cradling something in his hands and muttering aloud, Sabine recognized the words from church, a glottal gibberish of latin.

She strides toward him, his eyes are wide and unseeing, he clutches something bleached white and perfectly smooth to his chest. “Are you alright?” She asks tentatively and goes to rub his shoulders, “Luca, it’s only a storm, we’re safe here.” Luca snaps back into focus from her barest touch, gaze wild and red hot, he bolts upright and grabs Sabine’s wrist in an iron grip.

He looks confused for a moment, “Sabine?” Sabine doesn’t flinch and her eyes travel down instead, “What is that in your hand?” She makes out the end of a lumpy rod, her stomach turned as she recognized it.

“Nothing,” Luca swung out of bed, “What were you saying?”

Her eyes hollow out as she stares at the white bone, Luca pulls his blankets up and the thing disappears, he gives her a hard look. Sabine rights herself. “Supper,” she says clippedly, “we’re having stew.” Luca just nods and hurries her out of the room, face still pale as lightning bolts. He joked about building the next great arc in all this. Sabine floats out of the room alongside him, but her eyes drag back to his bed.

What are you hiding?

------------

Sabine takes two more days to confront him. Three more pots had broken and meal worms had gotten into their grain. Angelo complained of a dream where the shadows came alive and chased him toward the well and down into the dark waters.

Gianna’s lips were tight and eyes hard as she listened to the young boy, “such dreams are normal.” She said faintly and gave a shallow smile, “We’ve all been having dreams I’m sure. It’s just the heavy rains.” Sabine’s swallowed thickly and looked back up at the ceiling, it took her another day to form the right words.

The storms had finally let up by then and she offered to walk with her brother to a nearby farm that gave them extra milk if they smiled well enough. Sabine waited until they it to the edge of town to glance over at her brother and catch his eye.

“Luca,” she started off slowly, “I had something I wanted to… say.” She knew she sounded overly careful, suspicious even, but it was hard to ignore the red of his eyes or shadow of an unkempt beard.

Luca smiled less after these long days, he paced more.

He took a moment to hold her gaze, “I don’t suppose you’d liked to discuss Andrea?” He grinned, “We served together. He’s been asking about you.” Sabine took a deep breath, “I doubt that.” She said curtly. “And I don’t have time.”

“Time? No time like the present! Looks fade little sister,” he clucked, “you might especially be careful.” Sabine rolled her eyes, she had never been considered beautiful, even she knew that and her brother’s teasing didn’t help. “There’s not much to fade.” She said with a finger wag.

She knew she had thick arms and a lumpy form, her jaw was too square and her walk too graceless. Her hair was as coarse as a horses mane and hands thick and hard from years of work.

They said she had a brutish air, Luca used to needle her with the fact, but he seemed to have softened or at least changed his tune. “All the better for sooner then!” He crowed and poked her sides, “I could convince mother to really start looking.” “Luca,” she said sternly, “What were you holding the night of the storm?” Luca visibly deflated, “You always did like to dwell on unpleasant things.” He gave a deep sigh. Sabine stopped in place, forcing Luca to pause, the field around them is quiet and empty but for the rolling green grass. “Was that a bone?” She narrowed her eyes, “What have you done?” Luca put both hands up, “Peace sister, it’s not what you think.” She almost snarled, “You go off to war and come back with bones? I’ve heard it’s hard to let go of wars but this is-” “Didn’t I just say it’s not what you think?” He snapped and then drew a deep breath, Luca looked in both directions, glancing left and right as if checking for something, “Fine. You’ve corned me on this, I hope you’re happy... I’ll let you in on a secret little sister.” Sabine just crossed her arms over her chest, “Am I going to like it?” She asks warily.

He shrugs back, “it’s for all of us. So you should.” She leaned forward, “I’m listening.” Luca leaned in close, eyes holding hers like sunbeams, drowning in the wide deep. “Have you heard of Saint Ghita?” Sabine raised her eyebrows and stood up straight, “I’ve heard of her.” Sabine wracked her brain for details, revisiting mass and all the various lectures. Saint of boats? Bees? Sword play? She couldn’t remember.

Luca waved his hand in the air, “Saint of sieges, plagues, and devout protection.” He winked, “and sometimes soup.”

Sabine stuck her bottom lip out, “Did we stop for a liturgy?”

He shook his head, “She was buried in the holy city,” Sabine lifted her chin, focusing completely on him. Luca hadn’t talked about the war yet. “I saw her… when we reclaimed the City of Jade.” He said that part warmly, though there was a bite of darkness behind his eyes. “It took weeks, starving, patrolling, huddling in the cold and mud with nothing but… well, it wasn’t easy.”

Sabine felt slightly sick, “What happened?” Luca doesn’t meet her eye, “We hadn’t been paid in weeks. Barely fed either since the supply line was coming up short.” He looks toward the sky, “the commanders told us to take our fill of the city, take whatever we could as backpay.” Sabine eyes go wide in horror, “brother…” Her voice cold with warning.

“Don’t give me that look,” Luca bunched up into himself, “I didn’t do anything bad,” He paused “nothing the others weren’t doing.” He scowled at her and it seemed to burn. Sabine glanced at the satchel by Luca’s side, “and the bone?” Luca’s face lit up, “Oh! This will make the village rich Sabine!” He said excitedly, “It will draw pilgrims and wealth once I give it to our church, just you wait. A real relic.” Her stomach flips at the word ‘real relic.’ She shakes her head, “It’s someone’s bones.” She says darkly, “This can only bring ill fortune. You know the stories.”   Do not unearth the dead.

Luca squared his shoulders and turned, “This will bring our family a great blessing,” he started to walk away, “You always were a small thinker. You’ll see, put your suspicions away, it’s time to start living Sabine, not just surviving.” He kept walking.

Sabine stood there for another few shocked seconds, he really has changed.

-----------

Sabine tried to reason with Luca that night, after the children had gone to bed and it was just them, sitting quietly in the heart of the house while the family slept. It seemed neither of them were sleeping well by then.

She let’s the silence settle as she focuses her hands busily. It takes only a few minutes for her to find her tongue, “This won’t bring us blessings,” she said coldly, heart beating fast. He needs to listen, things are breaking, the dog is barking. “Spirits don’t rest if they’ve been moved.” Luca glanced over with a blank look, “Don’t you pay attention at mass?” He waved at her airily, “No spirits walk the earth like ghouls, you either go to heaven or hell- there is no lingering. Forget the old wives tales.” She bites her bottom lip, “stealing bones, how does that make sense to you?”

He huffed a sigh, “This is a relic. It’s holy, given to use by the grace of God so saints may continue to fortify us against evil.”

He seemed to be parroting something he heard, voice metalic and route.

“What happened to you out there?” Sabine asks lowly, face empty, and Luca just stands.

“I’m going to bed,” he doesn’t look behind him, “Don’t scare yourself with stories for children and old woman while I’m away.”

Sabine bolted to her feet, chair clattering backward, “I’ll tell-” “Will you? Who?” He met her eyes and Sabine suddenly felt no taller than a sapling. She shrinks and he just clicks his tongue, “Our church will be nothing but excited for this.”

Sabine hunched her shoulders over and glanced at the corners of the room, her body shuddered with something she couldn’t describe. There are things beyond the church, Luca.

--------

At Sunday mass Sabine carefully studied her shoes and let the words float in one ear and out the other. There was nothing between heaven and hell, spirits went one way or the other, the church said clearly and surely: your dead are gone from the mortal plane.

Sabine closed her eyes and took deep breaths, can I really let more pots be broken? More howling from dogs and scraped knees? Who knew how long a spirit would restrain itself, dread cramped down in her chest, veins running cold. More cold hungry winters lay in front of them, huddled down in front of the hearth and making thin soup last for days on end and gnawing on bread crusts. Who knew if the spirit would ignore her ailing sister then. Who knew how long until it all got worse.

Sabine waits for the end of the Liturgy of the Word. The prayers and repetition rang out as church drew to an end. Sabine bowed her head and let it wash over her like tepid water, draining down her shins toward the floor.

Sabine made an excuse and slipped to the side of the room, waiting.

People flocked to Father Michael for several long minutes after, asking for counsel or blessing for their new baby or for the now dead. They paid little mind to Sabine, she was just another face in the village, neither striking or noteworthy in all these years.

She belonged there the way scenery did: a painted tree on the background of a theatre piece. Sabine was used to it.

Father Michael waits for her, folding his hands in front of him and gesturing her forward as the aisles emptied, “Sabine Romano,” he says in his practiced weathered voice, “it’s a pleasure to see you.” She nodded, “I’m sorry I haven’t been to confession as of late.” She admits, feeling the guilt prickle in the back of her neck as she cleared that out of the air.

“Think nothing of it,” Father Michael waves a hand through the air, he was an old man at this point, back bent in overly large robes and sporting thick stark white hair. There were rumors he drank mead like water and feasted with a particular fevor, but those were rumors and Sabine had known Father Michael to be nothing but demure and slightly monotone.

She raises her head, “I was wondering,” she starts slowly, “Do you know of a Saint Ghita?” “Yes, of course,” he says slowly, “Saint of sieges and protection from malice and plagues.”

Sabine nodded as if she hadn’t just learned that 72 hours ago, “Yes…” Father Michael smiled, “A sudden interest in saints my child?” She nods again, “My brother was talking about her.” She says truthfully.

“Oh,” Father Michael nodded, “She was present in the holy city, yes, that’s where she earned her sainthood.” He crossed himself, “She supported the soldiers during the first great siege from the east. She refused to leave even as plague took hold within the walls and she tended the soldiers and the sick. She died in the final attack, bravely so.” Sabine nodded again, “So… she was buried in the city of Jade?” She asked tentatively, cringing at her own forwardness.

The priest cocked his head to the side, “Yes, I believe so.” He frowns deeply, “There is talk they have finally moved the remains to a safer location, foolish to keep them in such a violent place for so long.” He was still frowning, maybe he had heard about the grave robberies as well.

Sabine’s eyes go wide, she reaches out to grab the priests robes thoughtlessly, “Where?” There must have been some intensity in her gaze as the priest drew back.

“I do not know,” he looked her over. “Is there something you need to say my child?”

Sabine let go and just shook her head, pulling herself in again quickly. “Nothing, no,” she said quickly, “I was simply curious to know about the saint who might have protected my brother. I’ll pray to her.” That sounded reasonable enough. The priest nods, “Yes, the lord blesses us with his safe return, that is wise.” Sabine tries for a smile but it seems to peel away from her face with the effort, “thank you.” She gives a slight dip of her head and then excuses herself.

Saint Ghita, she keeps the name locked inside her head, have mercy.

I plan was forming in her mind, but she had no idea how wise it was.

--------------

Sabine pieced together the truth from snatches of conversation and barest of hints from visiting merchants and loose gossip. The summer passed in the grind of the harvest and sweating through her dresses under the unforgiving sun.

She tried to keep her distance from Luca, expecting him to pull away and for them dance around each other like rigid marionettes. But he was her brother, charming with bravado to spare, and perhaps he assumed she forgot easily. Sabine busies herself with the mystery of Saint Ghita and the question of where she was now.

Sabine followed the trail of breadcrumbs: visiting Sister Sara as she came down from the convent, ‘yes, the saint’s remains was moved to the north I heard, up and up.’

A passing silk merchant said he heard a procession of holy men carrying remains up the mountains to the corner of the country.

A priest in training from the neighboring village said his brother heard that a saint was moved to a neighboring county. That it was done in secret except for passing strangers as witness.

It wasn’t until the soft curl of the autumn leaves, just turning from green into a crisp red color, that Sabine learned all the she could. She was standing in a corner of the marketplace, head bent and the clamor of Sunday vending days bustling around her.

“Saint Ghita?” An old woman, stooped and squinting at nothing, said. She was examining ripe fruits as she stooped next to Sabine. “Did I hear you say Saint Ghita?”

Sabine stood up straight, she hadn’t been talking to the woman, but instead a traveling trinket merchant.

“Yes,” she said slowly, she didn’t recognize the woman, an old crone dressed all in black. “Saint of holy protections. Among other things.”

The woman barely turned toward her, “Yes, I know her.” She said bluntly, “A fine woman.” “Uh,” Sabine gave her a funny look, “I suppose so,” she said slowly, “Though I heard something odd recently, that the sacred ladies remains have been moved. Strange, don’t you think?” She tried to make it sound natural.

The crone snorted, “About time they did,” she grumbled angrily, “The City of Jade is no place for anyone holy.” Sabine scrunched her face up at that, it sounded wrong but she wasn’t one to start arguments. “So you know of her being moved?” Sabine pressed, a flicker of hope rising in her chest. “Would… you know where?” The lady in black just nodded, “But why would you want to know?” The women cracked her eyes open for the first time, they were milky white and crusted with yellow gunk.

Sabine forces herself to take a step forward, she speaks in a quick hush, “She is important to me.” She clutched her chest, “I wish to make a pilgrimage.”

The crone stomps her cane on the ground and starts walking through the crowd in the other direction, Sabine hesitates for a moment and then follows. “Please,” she tries again, “I have only good intentions.” The crone simply keeps walking, “You are a young thing,” she gripes lowly, “the open road is no place for a pilgrimage right now.” Sabine bit her lip, “So you do know! Please.” She takes money out of her pocket, “It’s for my family.” She relents. The woman stops and turns toward her, her milky white eyes fixed on the place just above Sabine, “you are certain?” She sniffs loudly, “There would be no turning back, no way home if you set out.” Sabine’s mouth goes dry and she flounders like a fish for a moment, she looks around to see if people are watching them or seeing the strange interaction. People mill around them, chattering and ignoring them.

Sabine thinks of the hacking cough of her sister and the dozens of broken pots. “I am certain.” She croaks, “I must go.” “You must want it too,” the crone shakes her head, “It is on the western path out of town. Towards the rising sun, you will know it once you start. The graveyard of Isaac will challenge you, you mustn’t ever lose heart.” “The graveyard of Isaac,” she repeats, though it meant nothing to her, “Thank you grandmother,” she dips into a sort of bow. “This means the world to me.” “Leave then, before the first tree is bare.

Sabine reaches to kiss her hand, but she hears the barest whisper of her name. “Sabine.” Sabine turns to look for the caller, but no one is there, when she turns back the crone is gone.

The market is filled with a sea of people, all brightly colored and unaware of the woman in black. Sabine suppresses a sharp shudder and turns to find her family again, this is for them, she reminds herself, I will not lose heart.

----------

When Sabine was a little girl and yet to settle into a reserved young woman who was more sensible than she was fanciful. She was an untamed child, all loose bones and quick feet, when it didn’t matter if she was beautiful or behaved or anything at all.

She was the youngest of three children (technically four, but her other sister had passed before Sabine was born) her old mother was less agile to keep her daughter from flitting around as she pleased. But Sabine also had help.

She vividly remembered one day she had stolen away honey cakes from the windowsill and stuffed them greedily into her mouth, smearing her mouth with honey. She brought the corner of the last one to her older brother. He was only around 9 months older, so she never felt the exact reverence for an elder sibling, but something tighter.

She slipped into the pottery, hot and sticky with the fires of the kiln, Luca was sitting on the bench looking annoyed. He had never wanted to be a potter.

“Tato,” Sabine hissed, using the nickname that their mother had endearingly given him before he grew tall. She thrust her hands out with the treat, “it’s still warm.” Luca raised his eyebrows and took a few steps toward her, “Bina,” he shook his head and looked down at her stolen bounty, he cracked a smile, “no rest for the wicked I see.” She just grinned and he took the honey cake quickly to finish munching on it. It was a second before they heard calling.

“Sabine!” Her mother called with a thunderous weight, “come here right now.” There was an unsaid threat under the words.

Luca glanced toward the high open window and then back to Sabine, he took her shoulder, “Run silly rabbit,” he moved to hoist her up so she could climb out, “Before the wolf eats you.” She scrambled to swing her legs up, “Will you be in trouble?” Her eyes were wide.

Luca shrugged, “I was always better with words than you.” He was grinning his easy smile.

Sabine had little time to reflect as clipped footsteps came lumbering down toward them. She gave a nod and pushed herself over the ledge and toward the dusty alley down below. Her knees shook from the impact, but she was off before a second, shooting off toward the end of the road and to wherever her feet could carry her.

When she returned at dusk, her brother had red ears, but gave her a cheeky thumbs up all the same, “Wild girl,” her mom tutted, but there was no helping it.

Sabine would grow, Luca would hoist her out windows and tell her to run out to the pastures when he couldn’t.

These images flash behind Sabine’s eyes as she stands over the lumpy form of her brother, tucked into the summer blankets and fingers twitching now and then. Her brother hadn’t been sleeping well, but perhaps luck was on her side tonight.

Sabine searched for just a brief moment before she sees the end of a blunt bone sticking out from under Luca’s pillow. That couldn’t be comfortable.

Sabine takes a deep breath, “there’s nothing for it.” She took another steadying breath, “No choice.” She didn’t sound confident even to her own ears, but the old crone was right: there was no turning back.

Before she could doubt herself any further, she nimbly grabs the end of the bone, glancing between her brothers shadowed face and end of the saint’s bone.

Sabine tugs as quick as a hare in fright, she tugs and carefully holds the pillow up so his head doesn’t jerk down. Her body freezes as she waits for a response, but perhaps the forces that be were working for her as well.

Luca turns in place, shifting unknowingly, but his features remaining tense and closed. Sabine turns on her heels and quietly bolts out of the room, bone in hand.

It was well before dawn, she had as many provisions as she could spare over the last few weeks and her good shoes. She had ‘borrowed’ her brother-in-laws sturdy pants and thick white shirt, pulling on a thick vest she bought and fastening it.

She was built wide and sturdy, it wasn’t a perfect look, but with a cloak tied around her throat and her hair fit neatly under a felt hat it would do the trick. Lone travels rarely faired well in the stories and talk, woman travelers even less.

Sabine secured the bone in a sack slung around one shoulder and neatly tucked it by her side, she touched it one last time, eye fixed on the dark hushed streets, readying herself. Don’t strike me down spirit, she begged the saint, you will be rested soon.

Sabine left a simple letter, she frowned at it the entire time. Her father had taught her to read, but she had never had any training in spelling or penmanship, every letter was an embarrassment.

‘I’ve gon to help the family, donot worry for me, love, Sabine. I will be bak.’

She couldn’t bare to read it over twice and slipped out the door, refusing to look back as she flew toward the roads and into the western sun.

There is no turning back.

She disappears with her heart in her throat and the only world she had ever known fading behind her.

-----

historical note: this is set in fantasy-Italy, but stealing the bones of saint’s was a real phenomena in medieval times and the catholic church really didn’t believe in ghosts since purgatory wasn’t a thing yet conceptually for them

[aion-rsa]

Wonder Woman 1984: DC Comics Easter Eggs and Reference Guide

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This article contains Wonder Woman 1984 spoilers. Our spoiler free review can be found here.

Wonder Woman 1984 has brought its message on the importance of truth onto screens worldwide. With retro stylings and a Hans Zimmer score, the second installment in Diana Prince’s story shows a more mature Amazonian who has adapted to man’s world and her solitary life, developing her skills as a superhero and her ability to keep out of the limelight.

Wonder Woman 1984 takes place well before the introduction of the other heroes of the DCEU and largely exists as a standalone film. However, there are still plenty of references to Diana Prince’s own history across the comics, small screen, and previous films.

We’ve used all the wisdom of Athena to chronicle as many Easter eggs as we can spot, but as always, if we’ve missed anything, do let us know in the comments. Let’s get into it. 

Themiscyra

This expansive opening brings us back to Themyscira, Wonder Woman’s home, which is sometimes referred to as Paradise Island. As always, we love any and all time on Themyscira, a world made up of exclusively strong women, ruled by Diana’s mother Hippolyta. 

Since this sequence takes place in the past, Robin Wright’s fantastic character Antiope is back! Audiences will unfortunately recall that Antiope was killed in the battle on the beach in Wonder Woman. 

The triathlon-like trials here, which the production team have called the “Amazon Olympics” are reminiscent of the trials all Amazons competed in during the comics to see who would make the sacrifice of leaving Themyscira to go with Steve to save the world of man. In that iteration, Hippolyta was all in on saving the world of man, as were the other Amazons, so there was no need to leave under cover of darkness.

This offers our first look at Diana’s skills as a kid, especially archery and horseback riding, two of her signature abilities. The girl playing 10-year-old Diana here is the same actress as last time, Lilly Aspell. She’s excellent, and really did all of this great action work – only the log that comes swinging above her head is CGI. 

Kid Diana is dressed similar to adult Diana back before she knew about her history – strappy sandals, arm gauntlets, and tan clothing she can easily move around in. Here, instead of just the partial tiara from Antiope that she’ll one day wear, she has a child-size version that matches Antiope’s exactly. It looks like everyone competing is more or less in a uniform, which includes that tiara with chin straps, which is also a reference to the helmet on the Asteria/golden eagle armor Diana will wear toward the end of the film. 

Lindy Hemming, the film’s costume designer, told a group of reporters including Den of Geek that, “They’re in their triathletes suits, 2000 or however many years ago version of their Speedos really. We’re saying, design-wise, that they’re made of leather and that, in honor of the golden-ness of the games, and this golden theme really in this film.”

Hemming wanted some continuity with this setup flashback and Diana’s gold armor later on in the movie: “There’s a link between the end of the film and the beginning of the film, in a way. The gold and the gold, the beginning and the end of the film.” – more on that below!

If you’re wondering why all the action looks so damn good here, a few big reasons: practical effects, the use of real-life women athletes like last time, and Cirque du Soleil. We even see an Amazon do their signature move from the first film, cantilevering herself off the side of a horse to grab a helmet off the ground.

When can we go back to Themyscira in the present? At the end, when Diana is flying and the air clears, I briefly thought Diana was headed back and yes please!

Wonder Woman’s apartment/life in DC

This isn’t the first time a version of Diana Prince has lived in the Washington, DC area. Back in the 1940s, she even ran for president in an issue set 1,000 years in the future! We’ll be referencing Greg Rucka’s Rebirth run frequently since Patty Jenkins likely drew quite a bit of inspiration from it. During that run, Diana lived in Arlington, Virginia while working for Director Etta Candy at ARGUS, squaring off with Cheetah and reuniting with Steve Trevor. Diana also operated out of DC at various other points throughout her 80 year comics history.

We see lots of little incognito rescues by Diana here, alluding to how she’s escaped notice for so long. Her big public return in the present day was depicted in Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice and then Justice League, so it’s assumed that she operated in secret during all the ensuing years, as well.

The opening sequence, at least until Diana gets to the real action at the mall, feels a little bit like the opening credits of Richard Lester’s otherwise maligned Superman III, where the credits unfold over a series of mishaps on a Metropolis street forcing the Man of Steel to get involved.

Diana works in cultural anthropology and archeology at the Museum of Natural History in the Smithsonian – a far cry from her long-running job as a secretary in the comics. As the last movie joked, “where [Diana’s] from, that’s called slavery.”

Diana can read Latin, which surprised Barbara. She can read hundreds of languages, as she told Steve in the previous movie, but messing up and letting it show in front of someone who doesn’t know her secret is a hat tip to her being a demi-goddess, a classic move from the comics.

There’s a newspaper article that says “The Great War Ends” next to a photo of “the gang” from the first movie (sans Steve) all dressed up with flowers – maybe they were at a wedding or celebrating the end of the war? It is not the same photo Bruce Wayne will send her in the 21st century, as depicted in the first Wonder Woman movie.

Elsewhere in Diana’s apartment we see a newspaper clipping referring to Steve as a “local hero,” a shot of Steve with his plane, Steve’s watch, and a photo of Diana in front of a sign that says “Trevor Ranch,” which we’re guessing is some kind of charity ranch in honor of Steve (possibly founded/funded by Diana?). Steve’s watch will come up again later, but at the end of the previous movie he gave it to her before he sacrificed himself.

Where’s Etta Candy?

There’s a photo in Diana’s apartment that shows her liberating a concentration camp during World War II with Etta Candy, so while Diana seems to be staying out of the limelight, she’s not sitting on the sidelines. 

In addition to their great relationship in the previous movie, in the comics, Etta and Diana worked together frequently, including at ARGUS, so this kind of team-up is a natural fit. Another photo shows Diana with an older version of Etta in New York. Etta would likely be in her late 80s or early 90s in 1984, so it’s likely that she’s no longer with us. Pour one out for a real one.

Barbara Minerva and Cheetah

While there have been no fewer than four Cheetahs in the comics, Barbara Minerva is the main one and one of only two who has actual powers. Cheetah is one of Wondy’s great foes in the comics, a frenemy and a vicious eater of human flesh! For a while she’s worshipped like a goddess in the jungle in the fictional African nation of Bwunda. She’s, uh, a little different here. There’s usually at least some element of Barbara asking for powers or a better life as well as the “be careful what you wish for” element where key information is withheld about what being the Cheetah will really mean. 

There’s a fun little moment of foreshadowing when Barbara compliments Diana’s animal print heels. Costume designer Lindy Hemming shared during a set visit that at one point they debated having Barbara wear a bit of cheetah flair earlier on, but ended up saving it all for her transformation. This little shout-out feels more fun, and brings in the added layer that later on, Barbara walks well in heels. 

In a sign of Diana’s very specific brand of feminism, Barbara makes a comment about scientists not wearing heels and Diana responds that in fact, they do, since she’s a scientist and she’s in heels. In the 1980s as women entered and stayed in the workplace at unprecedented levels and reached new heights in their careers, most workwear trends like big padded shoulder blazers were focused on blending into what was presumed to be men’s spaces, rather than standing out or taking over the space. Since she grew up on Themyscira, Diana has less of that cultural baggage.

Barbara ends the movie in human form now – probably. She isn’t necessarily all gone and vanquished. We never saw her renounce her wish and, unlike most of the wish-makers in the film, she was modified with layers of wishes. We wrote more about what this ending means here.

Let’s go to the mall!

Diana uses her tiara to take out security cameras, with surprising precision. This was one of Diana’s original skills in the 1940s comics, and at some points the tiara had telepathic capabilities. Whatever the reason, Diana does it because she’s still trying to fly (ahem) under the radar, likely to accommodate the fact that her “big entrance” comes in Batman v. Superman. The tiara is, of course, Antiope’s. After her beloved mentor was killed on the beach of Themyscira, Diana now proudly wears it. Oddly enough, the film’s ONLY real nod to wider DCEU continuity is the fact that Diana is staying the heck out of it.

Director Patty Jenkins has referenced this mall scene as wanting Diana to have a Spider-Man-style scene swinging through the mall:

“The way we’re telling these Wonder Woman films, she’s got emotional stakes pretty quickly so the thing I kept saying to the studio and everybody was, after ending the first movie, I’m craving that Spider-Man-like moment where you’re just delighting in your superhero at their best. A lot of superhero movies have those moments at the three-quarter point because they don’t have big emotional stakes, so how they beat the villain is how you get that.”

She continued “I needed there to be that badass, flying around [sequence] – I always loved that part of the Spider-Man movies.”

The jewelry store is called “Koslov Jewels.” This may be a coincidence, but it shares a name with a couple of very minor DC Comics characters, both of whom appeared in 1970. 

The first (and perhaps most likely of these two unlikely connections) is a Colonel Koslov, who took on Superman and Batman in the pages of World’s Finest in 1970. This Koslov was the military leader of a fictional Eastern European country called Lubania.

The other is a former boxing opponent of Ted “Wildcat” Grant who appeared in a single issue of The Brave and the Bold when Wildcat teamed up with Batman. 

Is it just us, or would that vault in the back of Koslov Jewels have made a great opportunity to tease obscure stuff from other ancient or mystical corners of the DCEU like the Rock of Eternity in Shazam, Atlantis from Aquaman, or magical things that will appear in the upcoming Black Adam movie (such as Dr. Fate’s helmet).

The mall scene is reminiscent of a similar one in Greg Rucka’s Rebirth run when Diana takes Barbara to go shopping (after Cheetah has reformed) and Diana is mobbed by the press.

Steve Trevor returns!

Steve’s watch starts working again when he’s brought back to life by the moonstone — ahem sorry, Dreamstone. In a nice nod to the first movie, he puts a very ’80s Casio watch in Diana’s hand to let her know it’s really him, since he basically unwittingly body-snatched some poor guy.

Ironically, in the comics Steve was once meant to be used as a vessel to bring back someone else’s spirit, the malevolent plant god Urzkartaga who bestowed Cheetah’s powers upon her. Luckily, Wonder Woman helped Cheetah see the light and they stopped Urzkartaga from sacrificing Steve and taking over his body.

Steve has been killed and brought back to life on several occasions throughout his comic history. He has been resurrected by Aphrodite and even brought back as a double and then merged with his original self, which feels spiritually similar to what happened here. 

Steve mentions not knowing where he was, but he knew it was somewhere nice, so that implies he could be brought back again, right? Here’s hoping.

In this movie, Steve gets to be the fish out of water instead of Diana. While she was delighted by ice cream, Steve lights up at the Smithsonian air and space museum (of course – he’s a pilot!) and he mistakes a trash can for art when Diana shows him some modern outdoor pieces, a nod to her future work at the Louvre.

I love the ’80s!

Aerobics! Pay phones! Stationary bike! Watching the wall of TVs in a store window! There are plenty of nods to 1980s culture throughout this film.

Steve continues to be the damsel, doing a period-appropriate montage usually reserved for the leading lady. We can’t get enough of these fanny packs! And of course: “Does everyone parachute now?”

Sadly Steve’s navy outfit is not a jumpsuit but possibly a Members Only jacket and swishy pants, which is very 80s and we stan.

Steve Trevor eating pop tarts and “cheese on demand” is living his best 1980s life. 

Maxwell Lord has “a great relationship with Sears,” offering to hook Diana up with a, gasp, 19-inch TV.

The unnamed President in this film bears a passing resemblance to Ronald Reagan, who was, of course, President of the United States in 1984. If you squint, he might look a little like E.G. Marshall, who portrayed a similarly Reagan-esque President in 1980’s Superman II.

At one point we can spot a poster for a Minor Threat gig on a brick wall, and it’s great to see the legendary hardcore band get a shout here. The only problem? They broke up in September of 1983. This movie takes place in July of 1984. Ah, well. Go listen to some Minor Threat anyway.

Rock the Casbah, I guess

Egypt actually made a go of pan-Arabism from 1958-1961, bringing together Syria and Iraq under the name the United Arab Republic. There have been other attempts at pan-Arabism, but this is the most relevant to this context. Really, shouldn’t the attempt to reclaim ancestral lands be about Israel, like it is in real life?

As always, it is DEEPLY uncomfortable to watch Gal Gadot in any Arab and/or Middle Eastern context – put down those kids Gal! 

While this movie invokes the fictitious Middle Eastern country of Bialya, they still do some from within the very real location of Egypt. It’s unclear what exactly is going on here in the increasingly manic and global final act of this movie, but our best guess is that the fictional Emir Said Bin Abydos, an existing DC character, lives in Cairo in exile from Bialya. He wishes for his ancestral lands to be returned. 

This is where things get even more hairy. In the comics, it’s an arid desert and the geography we’re given is “north of Iran and Saudi Arabia” which doesn’t really make sense. It would need to be carved out somewhere around Iraq or Syria (which would be North of Saudi Arabia and west of Iran) or perhaps eastern Turkey. Instead, we see the border spring up disruptively in Egypt, seemingly in the heart of Cairo. That puts at least part of Bialya on the Africa continent in an arid desert. That fits since Libya under Qaddafi seems to be an inspiration, but in this world does Bialya have the Suez? Does it go up into the Levant or stay in Africa? Basically I have a lot of questions. 

Diana dragging herself under the truck feels like an homage to a stunt Indiana Jones pulled off in Raiders of the Lost Ark, itself an homage to stuntman Yakima Canutt, who did the same thing in 1939’s Stagecoach. Funny enough, at least one of the punches Steve lands seems to use the same sound effect that we often hear when Indy throws one.

Asteria and the Golden Eagle Armor

This film provides a really lovely new backstory for the golden eagle armor of the comics (we dug in deep on the comics history of the golden eagle armor here). In the film, the armor is first worn by Asteria, who had to hold back the men while the rest of her Amazon sisters escaped to Paradise Island. It’s made up of pieces of the other Olympians armor, all given to her to help her in her sacrifice. 

Diana tried to find Asteria but could only find her armor.  

We never see Diana’s standard sword (the Sword of Athena, not the destroyed God Killer sword from the first movie) and shield here, nor the axe that goes with the golden eagle armor in the comics – perhaps part of her stance on nonviolence and deescalation? Costume designer Lindy Hemming viewed the wings on the suit as shields, so perhaps that’s why the standard shield was considered unnecessary.

During a set visit, Hemming said of the wings, “They become like Roman shields. So she’s protected. I won’t give away the story of why that’s the kind of protection she needs. But basically her fighting style is with the shields. So I’m really pleased now because I think that there was no logic to being a pair of wings, really. But there is a logic to being something she can glide in on.”

Agree to disagree on the logic of nonfunctional magnificent gold wings, Lindy, but fair point. Diana used to wear this armor when she was vulnerable, or facing a particularly strong enemy – ironic that she uses it once she regains her full strength. Although, Barbara is meant to be equally powerful, at least after the first wish, and then gets more, so maybe she still needed it. She was definitely on the defensive for a while there.

Invisible Jet

The invisible plane is nearly synonymous with Wonder Woman. Whether you watched the old Lynda Carter show or grew up reading the comics, the invisible plane has been around since 1942 and had the same creator, good old William Moulton Marston. The invisible aircraft was a necessity because like the Diana of the big screen, comic book Wondy couldn’t fly until the mid-80s (Crisis on Infinite Earths).

While Diana’s plane in WW84 seems to be normal in every way except invisibility, in the comics it could fly 2,000 miles an hour when it was first created. The jet only got faster as the decades went on, up to 40 miles per second, which is 144,000 mph. In the old William Moulton Marston days it was equipped with a “mental radio” so Wondy could receive telepathic distress calls (or send them) from Paradise Island.

Around the 1950s there was an upgrade and it became an invisible jet, specifically. It can go to space, go completely undetected by RADAR, and a more recent version of it is actually sentient and shape-shifting and went by the name WonderDome. 

Here we see Diana use her own will to make the plane invisible, which is quite similar to the original origin story of the plane in the comics, rather than the more recent one. The comics version of the plane could send out rainbow rays to penetrate the mist around Themyscira and allow Wondy to fly back home. The fireworks may have been a nod to that in addition to a great visual device for the invisible jet (rather than the adorably hoaky image of Lynda Carter sitting in a plane outline while clouds scroll by). It  could certainly be a possible route home for her in the future.

Wonder Woman can fly!

Yes, Wonder Woman can fly! In one of the more emotional arcs, we see Diana develop her ability to fly in this movie, picking up where her hovering in the last film left off. She starts with extended leaps and riding air currents and lightning bolts to stay in the air far longer than anyone else could, and after she and Steve talked about flying while in (where else?) the invisible jet, she learned to fly freely on her own. 

This is another one where the image of Lynda Carter’s Wonder Woman has imprinted itself so thoroughly on the collective consciousness that people who have never seen the show have still seen her fly through the air. 

Meanwhile, on the comics side of things, Diana Prince first learned to “manipulate air currents” (AKA Buzz Lightyear “falling with style”) in the late 1950s. It wasn’t until the 1985 Crisis on Infinite Earths reboot, which changed up a lot of her powers, that she was able to fly for real. Since then the origins of her flight have differed a bit, but Hermes is usually mentioned. Sometimes it’s like recipe given in the Wonder Woman movie – “…beautiful as Aphrodite, wise as Athena, stronger than Hercules…” with Hermes contributing flight. Other times, his feather touches her thigh and suddenly she’s got the gift. 

Wonder Woman harnesses lightning

Before we see Diana fly, we see her use her lasso to harness lightning and ride it through the sky, swinging from bolt to bolt. This feels like a natural progression since in the first film we saw her redirect Ares’s lightning and later on in WW84 she flies completely of her own power. 

This visually arresting new power is likely derived from the fact that Zeus, god of lightning, is her father in some tellings of her origin. In the New 52 era of the comics, Diana gained the ability to manipulate lightning, expel it, and use it as a weapon, with help from her bracelets. Since they were made from the Aegis, an Olympian artifact will get into below, they were both indestructible and helped her harness something of the divine. 

The shockwave and the Bracelets of Submission

We love how they keep Wondy’s suspiciously strong shockwave from crossing her gauntlets from the first movie, which is how she first suspected she was different from the Amazons. Here it’s still a powerful move, although it might even be stronger than the last time we saw it. Diana has definitely been leveling up in the last few decades. 

We haven’t spent much time discussing the provenance of the various items Diana took from the armory on Themyscira, but in the comics the bracelets are indestructible, which was reflected in the previous movie when they repeatedly stopped bullets. Sometimes they dampen her strength, but others they direct or even amplify it. They were forged from the remains of the goddess Athena’s shield, which itself was made from the Aegis, the indestructible hide of a goat named Amalthea who nursed Zeus when he was just a baby god. Uh, wow, gods are weird. Anyway.

This ability has only been around for the few decades of Diana’s history, but it quickly became iconic and definitely beats what it replaced. Earlier in Wondy’s comics history, the bracelets would render the wearer powerless if chained together by a man. All Amazons wore them as a reminder of the time when they were enslaved by men or, alternately (depending on when you are in the continuity) as a reminder that they had failed to save humanity. So, uh, yeah, we’ll take the divine shockwave thing instead.

And in case you were wondering, her gauntlets are officially called “the bracelets of submission”  and wow, creator William Moulton Marston wasn’t really hiding that kink, huh? (If you have no clue what I’m talking about, check out Jill Lepore’s book The Secret History of Wonder Woman or the movie Professor Marston and The Wonder Women, to learn about the kinky poly Tufts professor who invented the lie detector and created Wonder Woman, with significant help from his partners.)

Losing her powers

Wonder Woman’s powers waning throughout the movie seems like a nod to an oft-used superhero movie sequel trope. Both Superman II and Spider-Man 2 featured their title characters losing their powers, but the story logic in Wonder Woman 1984 has far more to do with the former.

In Superman II, the Man of Steel gave up his powers entirely in order to be with Lois Lane…making this decision just as three villains from Krypton made their presence known on Earth. Oops. But Diana losing her powers for her love of Steve here echoes Clark’s choice, and like Clark, she ultimately renounces her love in order to save the day.

It could also be a reference to the de-powered era of her comics history. In 1968, a character who was created as a feminist symbol of women’s power independent of men was written to surrender her power in order to care for a man, Steve Trevor, rather than join her sisters the Amazons. Steve was killed off and Diana went on to learn martial arts and wear some truly fabulous clothes, but it’s a disheartening turn of events nonetheless. 

Enter Gloria Steinem. When she couldn’t put presidential candidate Shirley Chisholm on the July 1972 cover of her new feminist magazine Ms., the full magazine’s first, Steinem got permission to put her childhood hero Wonder Woman on it instead, towering over a town as she fights off a tank and stops a fighter jet from harming civilians. Steinem apparently asked DC for an update on her favorite hero and was horrified to learn that Diana Prince had no powers. 

Meanwhile, Ms. flew off shelves and a new generation was excited about Wonder Woman. DC gave Diana back her powers. According to DC Comics archivist and librarian Benjamin LeClear, we have Gloria Steinem to thank.

New uses for the Lasso of Truth

Diana uses her lasso of truth, sometimes called the Lasso of Hestia, to show Steve Trevor the truth. Ares sort of did this in the last movie except the vision he showed Diana wasn’t so much the truth as it was his version of it. The lasso has been used for this purpose in the comics, and Diana has even used it on herself when she doubted her own memories. 

In the White House, we also see Wondy whirl the lasso like the a giant propeller on an airboat, one of the coolest and most visually appealing of her abilities yet. We haven’t found any prior references to this, so hit us up if you know of any! And if not, props to Patty Jenkins and her team for inventing a new move for a character that’s almost 80 years old. 

Max Lord

Max Lord also appeared on Supergirl for a hot minute! Remember when Alex was straight? Remember when Alex “was” “straight”? But the Supergirl version of Max was far more a traditional “corporate villain” than how he originally began life in the comics.

Max’s bravado and eagerness is very reminiscent of how the character was first introduced in the Justice League International comics in 1987, when he was the man who re-formed the Justice League, albeit with lesser known characters than Superman and Wonder Woman. Could we possibly see Pascal return as Max in a future DCEU movie, where in his ongoing quest to redeem himself from his actions in this film, he puts together a team of second-string heroes to try and save the world? Probably not, but we can dream.

Max did have some low level metahuman abilities in the comics, where he could implant mental suggestions in others to “push” them to do something. Usually when he would do this, he would end up with a small nosebleed. While Max’s health problems here are far worse than a nosebleed, the eyes, nose, and ear bleeding is certainly a nod to his comics power set.

In the comics, Max’s biggest run-in with Wonder Woman didn’t um…it didn’t end well for him.

Simon Stagg

The investor who Max ends up on the wrong side of (and who then ends up on the wrong side of Max) is Simon Stagg. Stagg has been kicking around DC Comics since 1965. Despite his long history, Stagg has never quite made it to A-list status in DC Comics, and is primarily known as the main antagonist of Metamorpho, the Element Man, although he did appear briefly in the first season of The Flash, played by William Sadler.

The Dreamstone

While this particular version of the Dreamstone doesn’t have a direct DC Comics parallel, there are a few points worth noting about it…

There are certain similarities to the Dreamstone worn by the protagonist of Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman, Morpheus. There, the Dreamstone was also known as the Materioptikon, and while it looked more like a finely cut ruby than the unhewn stone we see here in the film, it could still make dreams into a reality, although it wasn’t quite as literal as the way we see Max wield it here. It’s probably not really intended to be the same thing, but it’s still cool.

Anyway, it can’t be the same as The Sandman Dreamstone because that one was created by Morpheus himself, while this one was crafted by someone Diana refers to alternately as the God of Lies, Dolos Mendacius, and the Duke of Deception. The name Dolos does indeed coincide with a minor figure from Greek mythology, whose name literally translates as “Deception.” But that “Duke of Deception” name has some historical significance for comics fans, as he was one of the first foes Wonder Woman ever faced in the comics, way back in 1942 and who has bedeviled her in various adventures through the years.

Asteria and the Post-Credits Scene

As we see in that mid-credits scene, Asteria is indeed still wandering the world…and she’s played by none other than original TV Wonder Woman Lynda Carter. What a cool tribute.

The Asteria flashback we see in the story is a nod to a Wonder Woman origin story that I don’t think we’ve seen referenced in the movies, that the armies of man (led by Heracles) had at one point enslaved the Amazons.

There’s a very minor existing DC Comics character named Asteria (who, as far we can tell made her first and only and exceedingly brief appearance in Elseworlds’ Finest: Supergirl and Batgirl #1 in the ’90s), however she bears little resemblance to this version of Asteria, who has us extremely excited. This all fits quite nicely with the idea that Asteria was already “in the world of men” if you take that as a riff on the idea that Lynda Carter’s Wonder Woman TV show was a metaphorical early foray into our world.

Other Random Stuff…

Diana in the clouds hearing the wishes of the world feels a little bit like the scene in Superman: The Movie where Supes is cautioned by the spirit/memory of his father not to try and bring Lois Lane back to life. He disobeys, of course.

The idea of a villain strolling into the Oval Office to get the President to do his bidding, and then an all out battle in the White House, feels very much like another nod to Superman II, where Kryptonian villains Zod, Non, and Ursa take the White House by force.

On Diana’s shelf is a book called “The Natural Life of the Gorilla.” Is it possible that in her travels Diana has heard of or even stumbled upon Gorilla City, home of noted Flash villain Grodd and Flash ally King Solovar?

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The white dress Diana wears to her work gala is obviously playing with Grecian themes as a nod to her Amazonian heritage, but it’s also very reminiscent of a white Grecian maxi dress with a high leg slit she wore in the comics during her de-powered era when she wore a lot of mod fits, and white almost exclusively. You can see the dress here and more looks from that era here.

Did you spot anything we missed? Let us know in the comments or on Twitter, and if it checks out, we’ll update this!

The post Wonder Woman 1984: DC Comics Easter Eggs and Reference Guide appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[lolcat76]

Folie A Deux, pt 3

For @okaynextcrisis, BSG Spaceparents prompt based off of a Hallmark Channel movie about lost loves reunited over ballet. (Does it get any better than that description? I think not.) Parts 1 and 2 here. Who wants to know what poor Bill is thinking about all this?

Laura waited, tapping her fingers impatiently against the steering wheel, for Grace to emerge from her afternoon rehearsal. Grace had texted her that she’d be an hour late getting out, and Laura was starving. What on earth could be so complicated that the kids needed an extra hour to rehearse?

We’ll be done at 6, not 5. Mr. Adama says you can come in and watch if you want.

Fat chance. It had been a week since their disastrous encounter over coffee, and Laura was already frazzled enough trying to hide in her car every time she picked up or dropped off Grace for rehearsals. Frazzled, and deeply annoyed with herself that her 14-year-old niece was acting more like an adult than she was these days. A grown woman, a professional in her own right, hiding in her car from her ex-boyfriend.

As the minutes ticked by, Laura grew more impatient and more frustrated. With herself, her niece, or the situation, she couldn’t be sure, but by 6:15, she was sick of waiting. She was going to have a long talk with Grace about being respectful of other people’s time. To which Grace would undoubtedly respond that being respectful also meant not walking out on a rehearsal just because her aunt was having a minor middle-school meltdown in the car over the boy she used to like.

Sometimes being the adult was completely overrated.

Laura sighed and turned off the ignition, tucking her keys in her purse as she climbed out of the car. Better to go inside and see what was taking so long than to sit in the car and worry herself into yet another upset stomach and a sleepless night.

She pushed open the doors of the building just in time to get caught in an avalanche of children, parents and dance bags. Clearly rehearsal was over at last. Craning her neck over the crowd, she searched for her niece, but Grace was nowhere to be found. Very well, now she could start prepping her lecture.

The receptionist pointed her in the direction of the large rehearsal studio just off the lobby, and Laura peeked in the door to see the snowflakes listening intently as Jack walked them through what appeared to be spacing issues. Jack saw her and waved her in, pointing off to the side to where Grace, David and Bill stood watching.

So much for avoiding Bill. She heaved a sigh and eased into the room, working her way around clumps of corps dancers who were talking about choreography or gossiping about other company members. Laura came to a stop a few feet away from Grace’s little group, raising her eyebrow and tapping her watch when Grace finally looked up and noticed her. Her niece excused herself and came over to Laura, round face full of sheepish apology.

“Sorry,” Grace said with a grin. “Mr. Adama thought it might be a good idea for us to see an actual rehearsal.”

“Mr. Adama obviously doesn’t care that you probably have algebra homework to finish.”

“Nope,” Grace said, pointing behind her to a stack of books pushed against the studio wall. “Finished it during party scene rehearsal. The party parents took forever today.”

Laura laughed, remembering a little wistfully her own years of tedious downtime while others rehearsed around her. Yet another thing that nobody realized about the glamorous world of ballet - rehearsals for large numbers like the party scene were roughly 20% sweating and 80% sitting around and waiting for everyone else to get their acts together.

“Still,” she argued, “It’s after six. You must be hungry.”

Grace turned big, pleading eyes on her, effectively melting Laura’s irritation. “Please, can’t we watch for a little bit longer? This isn’t all the kids running around. These are actual professional dancers.”

She was tempted to argue, but deep down, Laura thought it might be good for Grace’s slightly overdeveloped ego to watch the corps dancers at work. Grace still harbored the teenage notion that only the stars of the show mattered. Granted, if Grace ever made it as a professional dancer, she’d learn the hard way that everyone, regardless of talent or training or swollen ego, started at the bottom and stayed there until the artistic director could mold them into something he or she considered worthy of a promotion. Better she see that now, while she was still young enough to learn to check her attitude at the studio door.

“Fine,” she agreed. “But not for the full rehearsal. You may not be hungry, but I am.”

Grace took her hand and dragged her over to where Bill and David stood watching the rehearsal unfold. She smiled at David and nodded at Bill, a little surprised when he returned her nod with a cool incline of his chin. It made her feel marginally better that she was not the only one uncomfortable sharing space.

“Group two,” Jack called, interrupting her thoughts and turning her attention back to the center of the room. “Entrance.”

The dancers took their positions and bourréed into position, barely hitting their taped marks on the floor before Jack paused the music. “Second line, you’re rushing. Keep your eyes on the first line.” He waved them back to their starting positions and re-cued the music, barking at them with his characteristically sharp words to hold their lines straight and follow each other.

Laura watched as the snowflakes repeated the same four eight-counts again and again until Jack was satisfied that they were ready to move on. The corps watched each other carefully, dancing in perfect unison. They were a motley crew in mismatched, colorful leotards, ripped and cut-off tights, and warm-ups in varying patterns of stripes, colors and polka dots. Each different, but together almost indistinguishable in their perfectly aligned movements.

This was what Laura missed most about ballet. Not the performances, or the curtain calls, or the solo roles. She missed dancing with a company, striving to be better, striving to reach that ever-elusive perfection. Some dancers dreamed of being prima ballerinas, filling opera houses and bringing crowds to their feet in standing ovations, but Laura kept going day after day because she loved the work. She loved being part of something older and bigger than herself. She loved learning new choreography, repeating it over and over again until it worked its way into her muscle memory. If she’d never made it out of the corps de ballet, she would have been perfectly happy with her lot in life.

She would never have been a principal dancer if it hadn’t been for Bill, pushing her every step of the way, forcing her to aim higher and to be better. Making her believe that she deserved more than she thought she wanted. She cast a sidelong glance at him, taking in his stiff posture and the slightly dour look on his face. She could tell he was itching to get in there with Jack and argue about some of the corrections he was giving his dancers, but ballet was nothing if not rigid, and he wouldn’t dream of undermining Jack’s authority.

Not in front of his dancers, anyway. The corners of her mouth twitched as she imagined Bill giving Jack an earful after the rehearsal. Bill might want Laura to work at tempering Grace’s ego, but she doubted he had any intention of doing the same for his own.

It was oddly comforting to her, eight years after walking out of their lives, to find herself back in this room with these two men and know that despite their graying hair and softening muscles, not much had changed.

Grace nudged Laura with her shoulder. “It’s really something, isn’t it? Look at how perfect they are.”

“The corps is the heart of the ballet,” Laura said automatically. “They set the stage. It’s the hardest job in the company, because you absolutely have to trust the dancers around you, and they absolutely have to trust you. Make a mistake when you’re alone on the stage, and the audience might never know. Make a mistake in the corps, and you’ll ruin it for everyone else.”

Grace mulled that over, working it out in her head. Where Laura had always been focused on class and rehearsal and perfecting her technique, Grace loved being onstage and being praised by her classmates and teachers for her natural gifts. “Mr. Adama says that ballet isn’t about a person, or a role. He says it’s about the art, and we’re all just bit players in a story bigger than all of us.”

She couldn’t stop the snort that escaped her. Sure, back in the day, Bill was all about the art, but she certainly didn’t remember him ever saying he was a bit player in anything. She cast another appraising glance at the man standing just a few feet away. Maybe more had changed over the last eight years than she thought.

Funny how you could know somebody so well, and yet have him be a complete stranger. Funny how they were here, standing just a few feet away from each other in a rehearsal studio again, barely able to make eye contact. Funny how life seemed to repeat itself, two stubborn people once again in a painfully awkward situation, and she was powerless to stop it.

Jack guided the snowflakes through their rehearsal, every now and then looking back at her after making a comment as if to ask, and what would you do? She shook her head and pressed her lips together. She was here to pick up Grace, and that was all. If Jack couldn’t see that the third group of snowflakes was entering a half-count too late, well, that was his problem. She’d made it abundantly clear that she had no interest in working for the man, and she would be damned if she’d let him railroad her into it in front of Bill Adama.

Let Grace absorb the ebb and flow of rehearsal. Let her take in the corrections and echo them in her own body as Jack spoke. Let Grace watch the young corps dancers with hero worship in her eyes. Laura just didn’t have room in her heart for it anymore.

She could miss this life, could wish that things were different, but at the end of the day, she had a hungry teenager to feed, she had bills to pay, and she had a yoga class to teach in the morning. While Grace watched, completely enraptured by the snowflakes’ jetés en tournant around the Snow Fairy, Laura packed up her niece’s bag and hefted it to her shoulder.

“Grace,” she whispered. “Time to go.” Grace shook her head, stubborn as always, but Laura had the car keys, and Laura made the rules. She dragged her niece out of the studio, stopping to pat David on the shoulder and nodding to Jack as he snapped his fingers along with the music. She didn’t turn back to look at Bill, and he didn’t turn to watch her leave the studio. Some things were better left in the past.

***

Laura Roslin. Here in the flesh, just as beautiful and just as rigid as she’d been the first time he’d met her eleven years ago. Laura Roslin, just as angry in their first meeting in the Pennsylvania Ballet lobby as she’d been that first night that they’d shared a stage. Laura Roslin, still determined to make him work for even the slightest hint of a smile from her.

Laura Roslin, still slipping away from him even as he tried to pull her close. He thought that by inviting her to coffee, he’d be able to break down the walls she’d built around herself, the walls she’d erected to shut him out. As always, he’d underestimated her.

He didn’t come to Pennsylvania to see her again. In fact, he’d demanded before taking the short-term job that he not see her again. It took him years to get over her, years that he should have spent alone until he could wake up and not feel the ghost of her breath on his shoulder. Years that he’d spent married to Carolanne in a failed attempt to chase her out of his head, to replace her with someone else.

He loved his sons more than anything, but Carolanne...at first, he’d thought that he could forget about Laura by falling back into a relationship with Carolanne. One of the perks of being a straight man in ballet was that he had his pick of the women in the company, and when he was a young man, he’d chosen well. The strongest and the prettiest of the bunch, all grateful to spend a season or two with him. Carolanne, with her fiery temper and her possessive streak, had held him for more than a year, but when she’d been injured, he really hadn’t missed her. He hadn’t spared her another thought once Laura Roslin placed her hand in his.

For the first few months that he’d partnered Laura, he thought that how quickly he’d forgotten Carolanne spoke to a glaring character flaw on his behalf, until he realized how thoroughly and completely his new partner had gotten under his skin. She was timid and unsure in those first rehearsals, but she wasn’t a pushover. He quickly learned that she wouldn’t argue with him out loud, but she refused to back down when he came at her. Which he did. A lot.

That first night that he’d danced with her onstage, it had been like dancing with a robot. She’d executed the correct steps in perfect time, but she refused to look at him onstage. It wasn’t until he’d grabbed her in the wings, pushing into her personal space, and hissed a few scant centimeters from her face that he wasn’t going to ruin his career dancing with someone who didn’t care about the audience that he’d gotten anything close to a reaction from her. She’d shoved him away from her, angry and afraid, and asked if he was going to replace her. He could see the tears of rage welling up in her eyes. He wasn’t sure if she was going to punch him in the face or quit on the spot. In that moment, he had no doubt that she’d rather die than cry in front of him.

He couldn’t remember now what he’d said to her to get her back onstage for the second act, but whatever it was, it had worked. It had pissed her off enough to bring a barely restrained fire to her performance. In all his years of dancing, he’d never seen anything like her performance that night. He’d danced with friends, with partners, with lovers, but he’d never danced with anyone who clutched so desperately to a thin shred of control over the rage quaking through her body. It was the most passionate pas de deux he’d ever experienced in his lifetime, delivered by a dancer who could barely remember upstage from downstage.

He might kill her before the season ended, he’d thought, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to replace her.

She’d spent the rest of that season alternating between glaring at him and ignoring him, almost daring him to push her past her breaking point. He’d brush up right against it before backing away. She was still young, still trying to find her footing in the company, and he was professional enough to help her transition from inexperienced soloist to principal dancer. Baiting her was really more for his benefit than hers. 

Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have wasted his time, but he had to admit...he liked her. He didn’t want to, he didn’t need to, but he liked her. So he kept pushing her, because dammit, he’d get her to laugh if it killed him.

She had all the raw material, technique better than he’d ever seen, and a wealth of untapped emotion. She was just waiting for someone to tease it out of her. And tease it out he did, bit by bit, watching her blossom on stage while she fought with him in the wings, criticizing the emotion he teased her with and reminding him to get his head together, because they had two more weeks in the season, and she wasn’t going to let him wear her out.

He wasn’t sure if he wore her out or she did him, but at the end of the season, they were something resembling friendly. At the end of the year, they were something resembling close. At the end of The Nutcracker’s run, they were in bed together every night, and he’d never been happier.

And here they were, facing off over another Nutcracker, and she was a stranger to him.

He let himself into the small apartment Jack had found for him not far from the rehearsal studios, flipping on light switches and dropping shoes, bags and jackets as he made his way to the little galley kitchen. It was a far cry from the townhouse in Hoboken that he’d shared with Carolanne and the boys. Barely bigger, in fact, than the Brooklyn walkup he’d lived in with Laura.

Better than a hotel, he shrugged as he unscrewed a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a couple of fingers. He had company class at 9am, but he didn’t much care if he had a hangover for it. If he was going to sit here, once again reliving every minute of his life with Laura, he at least wanted the sharp edges to get a little blurry.

Sharp edges. She always had sharp edges, right up until the moment she decided she liked someone. Sharp edges gave way to sweet words and lingering looks and soft kisses. Nights filled with laughter, legs entertwined on a futon as they watched old movies and argued about the right answers on Jeopardy. (She was usually right. He didn’t admit it, but she was usually right.)

He settled into the couch and flipped on the tv, just in time to catch the last question in Double Jeopardy. Bill pressed the button on the remote, and the picture faded.

The answer is Bill Adama. What is an idiot, Alex? Correct.

When his alarm shook him out of a dead sleep the next morning, he was somewhat surprised to find his head clear. He had two empty glasses on the nightstand - one for whiskey, and one for water. Getting too old to find your answers in the bottom of a bottle, he reminded himself. He’d screwed up his relationship with his sons enough by leaving Carolanne. No reason to add being a drunk to the list of things he’d be paying for in their therapy later. Bill made a mental note to call the boys that evening, and maybe see if Carolanne would be willing to let them come down for a weekend before rehearsals kicked into high gear. In the meantime, he had a class to teach.

When he walked into the studio, his gaze immediately drifted to the corner of the room, same as they’d done every day for the last week and a half. Karl Agathon met his eyes and shrugged, giving him a half-smile that only served to make him feel more pathetic.

Years ago, he’d taken Karl out for a night of cheap beer and let him pour his heart about over his unrequited love for Sharon Valerii, feeling smug that he had a woman who loved him to go home to at the end of the night. Now Karl and Sharon were married, dancing principal roles, and Karl was giving him the equivalent of a pat on the head to a stray dog while Bill pined over the woman who’d left him while he was asleep in their apartment.

Jesus. He knew retirement wouldn’t be fun, but he never thought it would be this bad. He snapped at the pianist and barked out the plié combination. An hour and a half of beating up on the company in class, and then he had a meeting with Jack.

The fun never stopped around here.

When he walked into Jack’s office, Jack was staring down an unlit cigarette. “Jesus, you haven’t given that up yet? Those things will kill you.”

“This job will kill me faster,” Jack huffed.

Bill shrugged, fresh out of sympathy. His gig as a ballet master at ABT wasn’t anything to sneeze at, but he sure as hell hadn’t been offered an artistic director job when he retired. Well, not one that he would take. Washington Ballet and Texas Ballet Theater had sent out feelers, but he wasn’t going to go that far away from his kids, not while Carolanne had primary physical custody. Philadelphia wasn’t that much farther away from Ithaca than New York City. If he’d retired a year earlier, maybe he’d have had a shot at this gig, but no point in thinking about that now.

The older he got, the more he realized that eventually, he’d have to answer for all the choices he made over the years. Some stung more than others. This one was just a minor irritant. No matter how much better he still believed he’d do at the job, Pennsylvania Ballet was doing well under Jack’s directorship. He wasn’t even sure he liked the guy, but Jack was good at balancing the demands of the staff, the donors and the dancers. How he managed to kiss that much ass was beyond Bill, given how much of a dick Jack was to the people he claimed he liked, but Bill had to give him credit for what he’d accomplished.

Still, that didn’t mean he wanted to work for the guy.

“You’ve been here three weeks, Bill. How long are you going to make me wait until you give me an answer?”

Bill didn’t answer. He just raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, settling back into the chair. He was in no rush. The way he saw it, Jack needed him a hell of a lot more than he needed Jack. And he was already a ballet master at ABT, so he had no reason to quit that job for a lateral move to an inferior company. No matter what perks Philadelphia had to offer.

Philadelphia has no perks, he reminded himself.

“Look, Bill, I get it. You’re safe where you are. You’ve been on staff at ABT for a couple of years now, but that’s the best you’re going to do. At least here, you’ll be in charge of the repertory and you’ll be the lead in teaching company class. It might lead to better offers.”

It might, if he kept his mouth shut and let Jack keep digging himself into a hole. He stared down his old rival and waited. If there was one thing Bill Adama had in abundance, it was patience.

“Fine, goddamit. Associate Artistic Director. Would that make you happy?”

Well, it didn’t make him sad. “Come back at me with a better salary offer, and we’ll talk. In the meantime, I have a rehearsal.”

He was halfway out the door before Jack’s voice stopped him, “Bill, there’s nothing better for you in New York. There was nothing better for me there either. Here...you might find something that will make you happy.”

He slammed the door and turned back to Jack. “Something that will make you happy, you mean. You want me to line up all your ducks in a row for you.”

Jack shrugged, his attention back on the pack of cigarettes that he was batting back and forth on his desk. “I don’t give a shit what the ducks do, as long as they do it together and keep my company in the black. I’m offering you a second chance, Bill. Second chances don’t come along very often.” Jack looked up at Bill, his eyes boring straight into him. “Don’t screw this up.”

It was probably way too late for that, but Bill nodded. “I’ll think about it,” he growled.

“Jesus Christ, Bill, maybe stop thinking and start doing.” Jack shook his head and swept the pack of cigarettes into the trash. “Life is short, and getting shorter every day.”

God, he could use a drink. But he had a rehearsal with the mirlitons, followed by another rehearsal with Laura’s niece. Life was short, but the days in Philadelphia were getting longer and longer. He could put Jack off for a few more weeks, but eventually he’d have to figure out what it was that he wanted.

Trouble was, he knew what he wanted. He just didn’t know how to get it.

[socialattractionuk]

I met my lockdown love in real life – and I didn’t fancy him

My date and I had been talking online for two months before we met in real life (Picture: Ella Byworth for Metro.co.uk)

I’m sat in my bedroom wearing my favourite dress, full face of make up.

I’m positioned so that the sunlight shining in gives me that Instagram-filter glow. I look like I’m heading on a night out, except it’s 4pm on a Thursday afternoon, the UK is two weeks into lockdown and this is the first time I’ve changed out of my pyjamas in almost as long.

I’m about to have my first ever virtual date. This is what dating looks like during a global pandemic.

When the UK went into lockdown at the end of March, I resigned myself to the fact that my love life would be put on hold for a while. I’d already had enough of the constant Zoom calls. The idea of chatting to a man I’d never met through the screen of my phone filled me with dread.

But, ever the people-pleaser and annoyingly determined to seize every opportunity that comes my way, I’d agreed to a virtual date with a man I’d been chatting to on a dating app.

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My phone rang and I arranged my face in a way I thought might look pleasant to the complete stranger I was about to greet. A blurred and frozen figure filled the screen. I’d been let down by my unreliable WiFi at the first hurdle. After a few minutes, joking about technical issues and growing ever more flustered, I finally connected and saw him properly for the first time. He was cute.

Much to my surprise, I found the next three hours easy and, dare I say it, fun. We immediately clicked and the conversation flowed. We made plans to chat again later in the week, a second date secured as simply as that. I had done a complete 180 on my earlier attitude towards virtual dating.

I started to look forward to our weekly calls. We’d share silly stories from our past and eventually about more serious topics, we even developed our own in-jokes. Without the distraction of sex, I got to know him better in just a few dates than some of the men I’d been seeing for months.

In my most lonely lockdown moments, I’d look forward to the day we could lie in bed together enjoying one of the box sets we’d planned to watch. It seemed like the perfect fairytale, and I was fully ready to be swept off my feet when I met him in real life.

Almost two months later, we were still enjoying our weekly calls, but it was getting more difficult to find things to talk about. We needed to meet in real life to see if this thing between us could go anywhere.

The moment arrived and as I saw him walking towards me, it felt as though a balloon in my chest had deflated.

As soon as the rules allowed, we arranged a socially distanced walk. Our first ‘real’ date. I felt more nervous than I’d ever felt for one before, but excited too. I’d managed to convince myself that our first real-life meeting would be some rom-com style moment. We’d see each other for the first time and everything would just feel right.

Then the moment arrived.

As I saw him walking towards me, it felt as though a balloon in my chest had deflated. I was glad to see him, but it felt like being reunited with an old friend. I felt confused. Did I actually fancy him?

As we walked, we admitted how strange it felt to finally meet, chatting about the same topics we’d already discussed, more to fill moments of silence than anything. I was acutely aware that after all this time, surely we should have more to say?

It struck me why I was feeling so strange. As well as the literal two metre space between us, there was a figurative gap where the physical intimacy should have been. A silence is much more palatable if you’re holding hands or kissing and usually, after dating for two months, that’s what you’d be doing. We obviously got on, but what I couldn’t figure out was whether there was any chemistry between us. A quick snog might have fixed that.

He was also the first person I’d properly interacted with in real life for any length of time since lockdown began. It felt as though I was trying to remember how to socialise. Perhaps, in hindsight, meeting for the first time in these circumstances was too much pressure for us.

We gave it a good go. We found a patch of grass in the sun for a picnic and watched the world go by, making small talk. I think both of us were glad of the change of scenery after so long indoors and somehow our date ended up stretching out for five hours. I came away feeling nothing but confusion and pretty severe sunburn. Had I been on a date, or catching up with a friend?

We vaguely agreed that we’d meet again but haven’t yet, nor have we had any more virtual dates. I feel it fizzling out, but can’t bring myself to address it, and I think he feels the same. What was once regular and enthusiastic messaging has turned into polite, sporadic updates.

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Lockdown has made me question where my personality ends and my mental illness begins

Who knows, maybe once this is all over, we’ll pick up where we left off. Maybe, when we’re finally allowed to get closer, I might find that chemistry I was missing. If not, we’ll always have the story of our lockdown romance. Dating during a global pandemic is definitely a bonding experience, if nothing else.

For now, though, I’m listening to my original instincts.

The apps have been deleted and I’m taking a break from dating until I can actually meet my date in real life instead of through a screen. When I can (hopefully) give them a hug and stand neaerthan two metres to them.

But who knows, the world of post-lockdown dating might be a whole different minefield to navigate.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk 

Share your views in the comments below

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[amaralikecamera]

tryin to get grandma to care-

Preface- this is a message I sent to my namesake grandma (~70) after she asked about my opinion on sarah h. sanders being kicked out of a restaurant for being trump’s spokewomen & defending kids being kept in cages. At the time, all I could say was that “it sounds like you’ve bought fox news’ tale hook, line, and sinker!” but I promised to send details to why I felt that way - including the bible verses that instruct christians to accept immigrants (as grandma is a christian herself).

If your grandparents love you but hold some heinous beliefs / passively support the administration... maybe start inquiring in a similar vein? No one else in their life will do it. 

Hi grandma,

Sorry for my delay in sending these to you. I've had difficulty focusing lately. Please give me the 10 minutes it takes to watch the youtube links I sent you, then read what Senator Warren has seen. After that, I feel we'll be speaking with the same understanding I, at least, have. I'd be happy to watch/read what moving news clips/articles you've been witnessing, too.

Here is the news exchange that made me lose any empathy for Sarah H. Sanders (watch to 0:39):

https://youtu.be/VnX9RP00fC4?t=6s

Here's a breakdown of how Jeff Sessions is responsible for separating over 1000 kids from from their parents...and justifying it with the bible. The Late Show, with Stephen Colbert:

https://youtu.be/j4KaLkYxMZ8?t=52s

The bible quote I mentioned:

Deuteronomy 10:18-19 – “For the Lord your God...loves the strangers, providing them food and clothing. You shall also love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”

These are some others my Christian friend has been sharing:

Hebrews 13:1-2 – “…show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels…”

Romans 12:13 – “Mark of the true Christian: “…Extend hospitality to strangers…”

Luke 3:11 – “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none…”

Malachi 3:5 – The messenger will bear witness against those who thrust aside the alien.

Jeremiah 7:5-7 – “If you do not oppress the alien…then I will dwell with you in this place…”

Deuteronomy 24:14 – “You shall not withhold the wages of poor and needy laborers, whether other Israelites or aliens who reside in your land...”

Deuteronomy 10:18-19 – “For the Lord your God...loves the strangers, providing them food and clothing. You shall also love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”

Leviticus 19:33-34 and 24:22 – When the alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.”

Exodus 22:21 – Moses gives God’s law: “You shall not wrong or oppress a resident alien; for you were aliens in the land of Egypt.”

And, here is the experience of Senator Warren after visiting a detention center. Some people have been kept in cages for 2 weeks. I bolded parts I found especially important.

Sunday morning [June 24, 2018], I flew to McAllen, Texas to find out what's really happening to immigrant families ripped apart by the Trump administration.

There's one thing that's very clear: The crisis at our border isn't over.

I went straight from the airport to the McAllen Customs and Border Protection (CBP) processing center that is the epicenter of Donald Trump's so-called "zero-tolerance" policy. This is where border patrol brings undocumented migrants for intake before they are either released, deported, turned over to Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), or, in the case of unaccompanied or separated children, placed in the custody of Health and Human Services.

From the outside, the CBP processing center looks like any other warehouse on a commercial street lined with warehouses. There's no clue about the horrors inside.

Before we could get in, CBP insisted we had to watch a government propaganda video. There's no other way to describe it – it's like a movie trailer. It was full of dramatic narration about the "illegals" crossing our border, complete with gory pictures about the threats that these immigrants bring to the United States, from gangs to skin rashes. The star of the show is CBP, which, according to the video, has done a great job driving down the numbers.

Then an employee described what we were about to see. "They have separate pods. I'll call them pods. I don't really know how they name them." Clearly they had gotten the memo not to call them what they are: cages. Every question I asked them had a complicated answer that led to two more questions – even the simple question about how long people were held there. "Nobody is here longer than 24 hours." "Well, maybe 24-48 hours." "72 hours max." And "no children are separated out." "Well, except older children."

The warehouse is enormous, with a solid concrete floor and a high roof. It is filled with cages. Cages for men. Cages for women. Cages for mamas with babies. Cages for girls. Cages for boys.

The stench – body odor and fear – hits the second the door is opened. The first cages are full of men. The chain link is about 12-15 feet high, and the men are tightly packed. I don't think they could all lie down at the same time. There's a toilet at the back of the cage behind a half-wall, but no place to shower or wash up. One man kept shouting, "A shower, please. Just a shower."

I asked the men held in cage after cage where they were from. Nearly all of them were from El Salvador, Guatemala, or Honduras.

Then I asked them how long they had been there – and the answers were all over the map, from a few days to nearly two weeks (72 hours max?). The CBP agents rushed to correct the detained men, claiming that their answers couldn't be right. My immigration specialist on the trip who speaks fluent Spanish made sure the men understood that the question was, "How long have you been in the building?" Their answers didn't change.

Cage after cage. Same questions, same answers.

Next we came into the area where the children were held. These cages were bigger with far more people. In the center of the cage, there's a freestanding guard tower probably a story or story-and-a-half taller to look down over the children. The girls are held separately in their own large cage. The children told us that they had come to the United States with family and didn't know where they had been taken. Eleven years old. Twelve. Locked in a cage with strangers. Many hadn't talked to their mothers or fathers. They didn't know where they were or what would happen to them next.

The children were quiet. Early afternoon, and they just sat. Some were on thin mats with foil blankets pulled over their heads. They had nothing – no books, no toys, no games. They looked shell shocked.

And then there were the large cages with women and small children. Women breast-feeding their young children.

When we went over to the mamas with babies, I asked them about why they had left their home countries. One young mother had a 4-year-old child. She said she had been threatened by the gangs in El Salvador. She had given a drink of water to a police officer, and the gang decided she must be in with the police. The longer she spoke, the more agitated she got – that she would never do that, that she understood the risk with the gangs, but that the gangs believed she did it. She sold everything she had and fled with her son to the United States.

One thing you won't see much of in the CBP processing center? Fathers caged with their children. After pressing the CBP agents, they explained that men traveling with children are automatically released from the facility. They just don't have the cages there to hold them. Women with small children, on the other hand, could be detained indefinitely. I pressed them on this again and again. The only answer: they claimed to be protecting "the safety of the mother and children."

CBP said that fathers with children, pregnant women, mothers of children with special needs, and other "lucky ones" who are released from the processing center are sent over to Catholic Charities' Humanitarian Respite Center for help. That was my next stop in McAllen. Sister Norma, her staff, and volunteers are truly doing God's work. Catholic Charities provides food, a shower, clean clothes, and medicine to those who need it. The center tries to explain the complicated process to the people, and the volunteers help them get on a bus to a family member in the United States.

Sister Norma introduced me to a father and his teenage son from Honduras. The father said that a gang had been after his son, determined that the boy would join the gang. The only way for the boy to escape was to run. The man left his wife and four daughters in Honduras to bring his son to the United States. His only plan is to find work here to send money home to his family. His cousin lives in New Jersey, so CBP sent their paperwork to the local ICE center in New Jersey, and they would soon begin the long bus ride there.

Catholic Charities of the Rio Grande Valley provides a lifesaving service to people of all faiths and backgrounds, but with a humanitarian crisis in their backyard, they're clearly stretched as thin as it gets. With more money and volunteers, they would gladly help more people.

I asked Sister Norma about the women and babies who were in indefinite detention. She said her group would open their arms and take care of them, get them cleaned up and fed and on a bus to a family member – if only ICE would release them.

"This is a moral issue. We are all part of this human family," they say.

Next, I met with some of the legal experts on the frontlines of this crisis – lawyers from the Texas Civil Rights Project, the Border Rights Center of the Texas ACLU, and the federal public defenders.

I gave them a rundown of everything I'd seen so far in McAllen, particularly when it comes to reuniting parents and children, and they raised some of my worst fears:

The Trump administration may be "reunifying" families, but their definition of a family is only a parent and a child. If, for example, a 9-year-old crosses with an 18-year-old sister – or an aunt or uncle, or a grandparent, or anyone who isn't the child's documented legal guardian – they are not counted as a family and they will be separated.

Mothers and children may be considered "together" if they're held in the same gigantic facility, even if they're locked in separate cages with no access to one another. (In the world of CBP and ICE, that's how the 10-year-old girls locked in a giant cage are "not separated" from their mothers who are in cages elsewhere in the facility.)

In the process of "reunifying" families, the government may possibly count a family as reunited by sending the child to a distant relative they've never met – not their parents. Some relatives may be unwilling to claim these children because it would be inviting ICE to investigate their own families.

Parents are so desperate to be reunited with their children that they may be trading in their legal right to asylum.

The system for tracking separated families is virtually unknown, if one exists at all. One expert worries that for some families, just a simple photo may be all the documentation that the Department of Homeland Security and Department of Health and Human Services have to reunite them. (I sincerely hope that's not true.)

The longer the day went on, the more questions I had about how the Trump administration plans to fix the crisis they've created at the border. So my last stop of the day was at the Port Isabel Detention Center, about an hour east of McAllen. It's one of the largest detention facilities in Texas.

The Department of Homeland Security had released some details on its plan to reunify families. The release noted that Port Isabel will be the "primary family reunification and removal center for adults in their custody."

Let's be clear: Port Isabel isn't a reunification center. It's a detention center. A prison.

There's no ambiguity on this point. I met with the head of the facility. He said several times that they had no space for children, no way to care for them, and no plans to bring any children to his locked-down complex. When I pressed on what was the plan for reunification of children with their parents, he speculated that HHS (the Department of Health and Human Services) would take the children somewhere, but it certainly wasn't going to be to his facility. When I asked how long HHS would take, he speculated that it would be weeks, but he said that was up to them. He had his job to do: He would hold these mothers and fathers until he received orders to send them somewhere else. Period.

So let me say it again. This is a prison – not a reunification center.

We toured the center. It is huge – multiple buildings isolated on a sun-baked expanse of land far from any town. We didn't go to the men's area, but the women are held in a large bunk-bed facility with a concrete outdoor exercise area. It's locked, double-locked, and triple locked. Tall fences topped with razor wire are everywhere, each backed up by a second row of fences also topped with razor wire.

An ICE official brought in a group of nine detained mothers who had volunteered to speak to us. I don't believe that ICE cherry-picked these women for the meeting, because everything they told me was horrifying.

Each mother told us her own story about crossing the border, being taken to a processing center, and the point that they were separated from their child or children. In every case, the government had lied to them about where their children were being taken. In every case, save one, no mother had spoken to her child in the days since the separation. And in every case, no mother knew where her child was.

At the time of separation, most of the mothers were told their children would be back. One woman had been held at "the icebox," a center that has earned its nickname for being extremely cold. When the agent came to take her child, she was told that it was just too cold for the child in the center, and that they were just going to keep the child warm until she was transferred. That was mid-June. She hasn't seen her child since.

One mother had been detained with her child. They were sleeping together on the floor of one of the cages, when, at 3:00am, the guards took her away. She last saw her 7-year-old son sleeping on the floor. She cried over and over, "I never got to say goodbye. I never got to say goodbye." That was early-June, and she hasn't seen him since.

Even though the CBP officials at the processing center told me that mothers with children that have special needs would be released, one of the mothers I spoke with had been separated from her special needs child. She talked about her child who doesn't have properly formed legs and feet and walks with great difficulty. One of the mothers spoke of another mother in the facility who is very worried because her separated child is deaf and doesn't speak at all.

The women I met were traumatized, weeping, and begging for help. They don't understand what is happening to them – and they're begging to be reunited with their kids.

Detainees can pay to make phone calls, but all of their possessions are taken from them at the processing center. The only way they can get money for a call is for someone to put money on their accounts. I asked if people or charities could donate money so that they'd be able to make phone calls to their family or lawyers, but they said no – a donor would need the individual ID number for every person detained at the center, and ICE obviously isn't going to release that information.

Three young lawyers were at Port Isabel at the same time we were. The lawyers told us that their clients – the people they've spoken to in the detention center – have strong and credible cases for asylum. But the entire process for being granted asylum depends on one phone call with an immigration official where they make the case for why they should be allowed to stay. One of the first questions a mother will be asked is, "Have you been separated from a child?" For some of the women, just asking that question makes them fall apart and weep.

The lawyers are worried that these women are in such a fragile and fractured state, they're in no shape to make the kind of detailed, credible case needed for themselves or their children. They had no chance in our system because they've lost their children and desperately want them back.

We stayed inside at Port Isabel for more than two hours – much longer than the 45 minutes we had been promised. When I finally went to bed that night, I thought about something the mothers had told me – something that will likely haunt me for a long time.

The mothers say that they can hear babies cry at night.

This isn't about politics. This isn't about Democrats or Republicans. This is about human beings. Children held in cages today. Babies scattered all over this country. And mamas who, in the dark of night, hear them cry.

I'm still working through everything I saw, but I wanted you to know the full story. The fight for these children and families isn't over – not by a long shot.

- source:

https://www.facebook.com/ElizabethWarren/posts/10155822214623687

Also, last but not least-

I want to share John Oliver's report on it - please excuse the 4 instances of profanity, as I feel the content is important (and will help you understand why I had no sympathy for Sarah H. Sanders being kicked out of a restaurant). Stop after 3:26 -

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ezxRf1-1Jf4

Here's Rachel Maddow's breaking down as she tried to read the news, of how children in TX are being sent to 'tender-age shelters' (<1 min)-

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKuIjT-k-C8

I hope you'll pray from the kids separated from their families, then use your lack-of-phoning-fear to contact your representatives. Ask their secretary what their position on the family detention and reunification policies are, then tell them your feelings about them as a constituent. I remember you did so once when Congress was planning to cut food aid to children... so you have the power. ;)

Rep. Justin Amash (next election: 2018) : 202-225-3831

Sen. Gary Peters (next election: 2020): 202-224-6221

Sen. Debbie Stabenaw (next election: 2018): 202-224-4822

Thank you for talking with me - I hope you'll let me know what you think of this information (and any response from your representatives).

Love, 

[aion-rsa]

X-POSITION: Cullen Bunn Promises Major Characters Return In X-Men Blue

Cullen Bunn is definitely knowledgeable about lesser-known X-Men characters, as has been proven time and time again during his run on “Uncanny X-Men.” From the Dark Riders to Emplate, Exodus, Sauron and the Nasty Boys, plenty of seldom seen bad guys have gone up against Magneto and his deadly team of mutant heroes over the past year. Now, with a new series (“X-Men Blue”) on the way, Bunn has no plans to stop digging deep into the toy box for new characters to spotlight.

RELATED: IvX Takes A Hellish Turn As Some X-Men Give In To Their Demons

This week in X-POSITION, “Uncanny X-Men” and “Deadpool and the Mercs for Money” writer Cullen Bunn joins us and answers all of your questions about everything from the upcoming “X-Men Blue” series and the next issues of “Uncanny X-Men.”

CBR News: Welcome back to X-POSITION, Cullen! Let’s kick things off with a few “Mercs for Money” questions, the first coming from cc008.

It’s a shame you’re not writing the “Mercs for Money” tie-ins to “Til Death Do Us.” Can you speak to the future of “Deadpool and the Mercs for Money” after that event? Domino will be appearing in “Weapon X” come the spring, and she’s really the leader of the Mercs right now. Will the rest of the team go their separate ways as well?

Unfortunately, I can’t speak about any “Deadpool” or “Mercs for Money” plans at this time. Obviously, there are a lot of story threads just waiting to be wrapped up, but I can’t say (without getting in a lot of trouble) how everything will play out. I’m not done with Deadpool, though, not by any stretch of the imagination.

EXCLUSIVE: “Deadpool and the Mercs for Money” #8 interior art by Iban Coello and Guru eFX

And here’s a “Mercs” Q from Kamose1234.

I loved the return of Agent Haines in “Deadpool and the Mercs for Money” and her outburst at the reminder of what she went through with Magneto in his solo series. Can we expect them to be reunited anytime soon or see Agent Rodriguez also come back?

You’ll be seeing Haines and Rodriguez again, although not necessarily in an X-book.

Next we’ll move on to “Uncanny X-Men,” beginning with a question focusing on the book’s central conflict.

Your “UXM” run has been building toward the inevitable confrontation between Psylocke and Magneto. Will the results of that showdown explain why Magneto seems to be back in the X-Men’s sphere of influence [in “X-Men Blue”] while Betsy appears to be missing?

There is a big showdown coming up, that’s for sure. The results of that fight will at least help to set up Magneto’s role in “X-Men Blue. As for Psylocke, if she’s throwing down with Magneto, that could very well explain why you haven’t seen much of her in previews of future storylines.

EXCLUSIVE: “Deadpool and the Mercs for Money” #8 interior art by Iban Coello and Guru eFX

Gary also wants to know more about your work with Psylocke.

Most Psylocke fans view you as being in the top three Betsy writers, alongside [Chris] Claremont and [Rick] Remender. Did you do everything he wanted to do with her, or would he like another shot at her sometime? ResurrXion Phase 2, perhaps?

No, I didn’t get to do everything I wanted with the character. I had a big Otherworld story in mind and I had dreams of seeing Psylocke take on the mantle of Captain Britain. Who knows? Maybe one day! No matter how many issues I wrote, I would have always wanted to do more. I love the character, and would happily return to her world sometime.

Master of Sound wants to know if you’ll continue to spotlight lesser-known mutants in future issues.

In “Uncanny” you brought back the Dark Riders, Exodus and the Nasty Boys. I really loved how you handled the Dark Riders. Can we expect more old time villains from you soon and if so, who?

You will definitely be seeing some more classic and/or forgotten villains in the days to come. I’m not sure how much I want to spoil, but in the first issue of “X-Men Blue” we’re going to see a supervillain duo that I think of as X-Men villain royalty. Then, in issue #2, I’ll be reintroducing another major villain. And as the series progresses, you’ll be seeing some enemies (as well as some allies who haven’t been seen in decades) that are really going to shock you!

EXCLUSIVE: “Deadpool and the Mercs for Money” #8 interior art by Iban Coello and Guru eFX

That’s something to look forward to! Next, Beaubier wants to know more about an X-character you brought back in the “Uncanny X-Men Annual.”

I appreciate very much that you’ve brought back Elixir and have so far written an interesting story for him with apparently more to come. I’d like to ask some clarification on how his powers evolved. Could you explain a little more about the “psychic backlash” that forces him to shift between his healing powers and his “dark side”? How does that work exactly?

The basic idea is that when he heals a lot of people or heals very serious wounds or illness (say, bringing someone back from the dead or wiping out a plague), he must strike a balance, doing harm and taking life in equal measure. So, if we were to bring back 16 million mutants, it is possible that 16 million other people would have to die. Elixir isn’t sure what that balance is, but he has to be careful.

Moving ahead, nx01a has noticed a friendly (?) rivalry between you and another prominent X-Men writer…

You and Dennis Hopeless seen to have a hilarious love/hate relationship in interviews and in gags slipped into the books. How are you two working together to share teen Jean Grey? Are you aware of each other’s plans for her development?

Dennis Hopeless is to evil as the Phoenix is to life. He’s like Cyclops if, instead of uncontrollable optic blasts, he unleashed uncontrollable awfulness. Every character you’ve ever loved, Dennis Hopeless will destroy, not because he wants to kill the character, but because he loathes joy and wants to hurt us all.

Actually, I’m just kidding. Dennis is a good friend and a terrific writer. We talk several times every week. We keep each other apprised of what we’re doing and look for ways in which our books can complement one another.

EXCLUSIVE: “X-Men Blue” #2 cover by Art Adams and Peter Steigerwald

You’re taking on a new cast in “X-Men Blue,” and Patrick wants to know if that’s been a challenge.

Shifting from the “Uncanny” crew to the “All-New” kids in “X-Men Blue” seems like a drastic shift in tone. Can you talk about what made you want to pick up this bunch of characters?

When I was offered the book, this was the team that came with it. It was always meant to be an Original 5 X-Men book, so choosing the team was something I didn’t do. It is a different tone, but I enjoy writing a wide range of books. In this one, you’re definitely getting a more upbeat team of heroes. There will be moments of darkness here and there. The dangers they face can be horrifying and strange. But this is a book about heroes being heroes, and I’m excited to be writing it.

Some of those characters have new powers to be explored, as Soulsword323 points out.

Jean, Beast, and Angel have all had their powers expanded in ways their adult counterparts haven’t. Do you plan on exploring this during “X-Men Blue”?

I will be exploring this to some degree, although I’m going to be careful about digging into too much complicated backstory that might isolate new readers. How much the characters have changed since coming to our time (and what that might mean about returning to their own time) is definitely part of the ongoing story I’m writing.

Also, their powers might be changing even more.

Ambaryerno is curious about one original X-Man in particular.

Is anyone going to FINALLY confront Warren over the fact that embracing the Black Vortex to escape his adult self’s future was essentially doing the exact same thing adult Warren did when he turned to Apocalypse after losing his wings?

I don’t necessarily have plans for the other members of the team to confront Warren. He’s gone through a great deal, and he’s not unaware of his changes. He has more personal changes ahead, and his worldview is shifting a bit. But I want to do deep dives with each of the characters, and you know I love Archangel. Seems like a good time for the two to come face to face for a little reflection.

With Magneto taking the lead in “X-Men Blue,” Bill wants to know more of your thoughts about this character.

Hi Mr. Bunn! I loved your work on “Uncanny X-Men” and everything you’ve done with Magneto is among the best character work he’s had since the Claremont era! With him joining the “X-Men Blue” lineup, will we see him as a main character who fights alongside the original five or a supporting character who just mentors them? Or a bit of both?

I think Magneto is best described as an arch-frenemy for the team. He will not be taking the field with them, at least not any time soon. He’s certainly more of a mentor and guide, almost an Xavier figure for their group, but that’s not quite right either. His motivations must remain a mystery for now… and so must the motivations for the O5 ever working with him.

And lastly this week, Maestroneto has a question about one of Magneto’s allies.

Will billionaire badass Briar Raleigh make the move to “X-Men Blue” as well?

Well, the X-Men Blue team has their own Blackbird (with a really cool twist to be introduced a little later on), their own Mansion (in a place you might not expect an X-team to be hanging out), and their own Danger Room (with all the lethal trimmings). Somebody must be paying for it!

Special thanks to Cullen Bunn for taking on this week’s questions!

Stay tuned to CBR for information about the next installment of X-POSITION.

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