#mc is bilingual

[say-hwaet]

That's The Way it Is

Chapter Two: In Retrospect Author's note: Here is the second chapter to my biggest fanfic! If you're keen on reading ahead, the entire story is posted on AO3! I am merely sharing it on here for funsies, as this blog is all about writing and Red Dead in general. :D

After resting overnight just outside of Valentine, you are back on the road again. Jeremy has been giving you enough courtesy to remain silent the first few miles towards Strawberry. While you are eager to get back, there is one more quick stop to pick up some lumber from the Appleseed Timber Company. Not a large order, Jeremy reassured you, but Mr. Lewis offered to pick it up since it is only but a small detour back to Blackwater.

You don’t care. The farther you are from Valentine. From him, the less pain you are in.

You can tell by the tall trees, that you are nearing the timber company. You can also see the trees thinning out, and you cannot help but feel sad about it. Something about loss, the lack of something missing as more stumps come into view.

The scent of fresh pine fills the air, a sharp contrast to the dusty, dry landscape you've become accustomed to in and around Blackwater. The timber yard is bustling with activity, men shouting over the whir of saw blades and the thud of falling trees. Despite the chaos, there's a rhythmic allure to it, a working machine of flesh and bone, not shy of risk and danger.

Jeremy pulls off the road and sets the wagon brake. Several men taking a break nearby turn and see you, their attention taken as you stare back at them. You begin to feel uneasy and you adjust yourself in your seat.

“Wait here,” Jeremy tells you, and he gets off the wagon and heads for the main building that looks a little more than a shack.

You try to avert the men’s gaze, who knows how long they’ve been working out here without seeing much of civilization.

The scent of pine grows stronger, and you distract yourself by focusing on the trees that remain standing, strong and defiant against the human intrusion. You wonder about their stories, their silent witness to the changing world around them—something you feel a kinship with in your fragmented state.

As you sit there, lost in thought, a sudden flash of memory appears in your mind. A bunch of trees. Several small, box-like wagons are arranged in a circle. A large fire. Music. Music you haven’t heard being played in the hotel or saloon. It’s sharp, foreign, bordering exotic.

You feel a set of hands taking yours, as you begin to be pulled in a circle around the fire, women in embroidered scarves tied around their heads. Their skirts with red flowers and leaves at the hems.

“Držte krok, Kitka!” The woman beside you encourages. “Tančit znamená být lehký na nohy!”

You seem to know what she is saying to you, but you can’t fashion a reply. You only keep up with your feet as you dance to the rhythm of the music.

And as quickly as the memory floods you, it begins to disappear like an underdeveloped photograph, the developer reversing the forming image that had already begun to appear. You try to reach for it, but at the thrumming threat of a headache, you let it go.

You hear footfalls on wood and opening your eyes, you turn to see Jeremy walking with a thick-bearded man, chatting idly.

You feel the wagon shake and quickly turning around, you see an assembly of men loading up the wagon with short-cut timber.

As you sit there, they continue to load the wagon and it isn’t long before their work is done. Jeremy finishes chatting with the man, shakes his hand, and returns to the wagon. He glances up at you, smiling. “You ready to head back to Blackwater?”

You nod. “Please.”

He hoists himself up, and you are soon on your way again.

The way back to Blackwater via Strawberry is a pleasant drive. However, with the winding road and the sharper turns, he has to drive slower. You are eager to get back home. You’ve had enough for one day.

“Still got your headache?” Jeremy asks.

You shake your head tenderly, as there is still a soreness. “It’s nearly gone.” You reach for your temple again. “They seem to get worse and worse.”

Jeremy's expression softens, a hint of concern flickering in his eyes as he maneuvers the wagon carefully down the path. "You ought to see Doc when we get back. He might have something for that."

You nod, considering the option. You aren’t about to argue your way out of it this time, it isn’t worth the energy. “As long as he doesn’t ask me more questions.”

Jeremy gently nudges you. “If you let me go with you, I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

You smile at that, feeling a little heat in your cheek. “Why have you been so nice to me?” you dare ask. “It isn’t because I might be wealthy, is it?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

You look at your hand, the ring still on your finger. You haven’t brought yourself to remove it, regardless of what it might mean. “What if I am married? Or engaged?”

Surprisingly, he offers a quick answer. “If you are, I don’t understand why they haven’t looked for you, yet.” And he pauses. “You could also be a widow.”

You blink. “A widow at 29?” you chortle, unable to fathom such a tragic fate at such a young age. “I hardly think so.”

Jeremy’s eyes widen. “You just said how old you are.”

He’s right. You didn’t know that before. You blink, still shocked at the revelation. How did you come to do that? “How…?” Your mind reels, trying to process how this information slipped from your lips without your conscious knowledge. A surge of panic courses through you as you grasp at the small shred of individuality this revelation has given you.

Jeremy's words only fuel your unease as he stammers in an attempt to rationalize the unimaginable. “Maybe those headaches are a good thing…”

You shake your head vehemently, denying the possibility that such agony could hold any positive outcome. "I refuse to believe that!" you declare, but a seed of doubt has been planted, casting a dark shadow over everything you thought you knew about yourself.

His expression softens, quickly looking ahead to redirect the horse. “Look, Jane. I know this sounds bad. I mean, nobody wants to go through pain…” Putting both reins in one hand, he takes your hand in his other. “But you don’t have to go through it alone.”

You look up at him, and as you see the softness in his eyes, for a split second, you don’t see Jeremy’s face.

You see his. You see Arthur’s.

You know it is him, but he’s not the same. Younger, not sun-beaten and mud-covered, but his eyes. His eyes are the same.

“You’re not alone, Kit,” he says. “We got’chu.”

You lean away from Jeremy, nearly losing your balance and tumbling off the wagon seat. “Jane!” His strong arms reach out and pull you back, steadying you with care. Once you are sitting back up again, he pulls on the reins and the wagon comes to a stop. Your heart races as you try to steady your breathing and take in your surroundings. “You alright?”

It's happening again, those sudden flashes of memories and thoughts that seem familiar, yet foreign at the same time. You grip onto Jeremy tightly, seeking comfort and grounding in his presence. As your eyes take in the towering walls of rock ahead, a sense of unease settles over you. The rough texture and imposing faces of the stones seem to be reaching out towards you, almost menacingly. A shiver runs down your spine.

“We gotta get you back,” Jeremy says quietly. “Hang on.” He flicks the reins again, and the wagon lurches forward, the horse taking a steady pace as they enter the road between the rocks. “The river isn’t too far from here. Once we reach it, we will be on our way to Blackwater.”

That settles you for a moment, and you continue to clutch onto Jeremy’s arm as the wagon jostles a little.

You begin to pass by what looks like an old settlement on your left, a fence made with large planks stuck into the ground in jagged patterns, its ruins leaving an ominous mark. You think to ask Jeremy what the place is called, but you find no interest in speaking. There have been enough words.

But you haven’t noticed how ominously quiet it has become.

“Woo,” Jeremy says softly, pulling the reins back. The horse comes to a stop and Jeremy sits upright, listening quietly.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Something just doesn’t feel right.”

That’s when you hear a pik pik . Looking on the sloping rock face, you see small pebbles falling. You follow where they had fallen from, only to have a split second to see a man standing on the ledge, guns pointed at you, before a shot is fired.

BANG!!

You hear a sound, one that sounds striking and heart-stopping. You soon realize that it is the ripping of flesh, as the bullet goes right through Jeremy’s shoulder.

“Jeremy…!!” you scream and his body instantly topples over the wagon seat and falls to the ground.

“Aye, we got ‘em, boys…!” The man shouts. “Let’s get the girl and then take what’s ours…!”

There are other shouts and whoops as there is no more need to hide themselves. You find several men up top and you hear footfalls behind you as men come down the slope with guns raised.

You need to act quickly, lest you find a similar fate to your companion.

Oh, Jeremy…!

You reach into the back, picking up the rifle and with great finesse, you roll out of your seat, flipping backward and supporting your weight upside down as you reach the ground. Shots start firing, and you hear the bullets make contact with the wood of the wagon, bits and slivers flying.

You return right side up and sequester yourself against the wagon, between its wheels. If you had strength, you could flip it over, and use it as a shield, but you don’t have such creativity.

Creativity…create…

Why does this excite you?

You instantly remember that Jeremy has always carried with him a tiny flask of moonshine. Not to drink on the job but at the end of each day. He would always make a trip to the saloon to see his cousin, who owned the bar and they’d share a swig or two.

Did he have it with him now?

You look under the wagon and see Jeremy on the ground, still and unmoving. “Jeremy…!” you cry. Getting down on your stomach, you crawl underneath the wagon as fast as you can. Once you reach him, you try to search for signs of life.

Oh, he’s breathing. “Jeremy…!”

You grab him by the ankles and with all the strength you can muster, you drag him back to the safest side of the wagon. He moans, tossing his head from side to side.

“Jeremy,” you speak. “I need your moonshine.”

He tries to open his eyes and he grimaces. “Jane…?”

You see the blood oozing out of his shoulder, bleeding into his jacket. Not getting a response from him, you search his pockets until you feel the metal container. You clutch it tightly and remain where you are, setting down your ingredients before you. You go to the rifle, unloading it of all the bullets it has. Then, you reach down to your skirt. Taking hold of it, you rip it, trying to allot as many pieces as you can.

You hear Jeremy groan. “Am I dead?”

“Not yet.” And you look up at him. “Can you shoot any?”

His eyes open more, but he’s visibly weak, he draws his revolver. “I’ll do my best.”

You then hear more calls from the bandits. “They’re hidin’ under there!”

“We can’t just keep shootin’!”

“Let’s just scorch ‘em out!”

That isn’t good. You need to work faster!

You have seven good pieces of fabric. Taking the bottle of moonshine, you twist the cap open and begin to douse the pieces of cloth.

“What…?” Jeremy pants. “…are you doing?”

With trembling fingers, you work to disassemble the bullets, emptying a good amount of powder into the center of each of the torn skirt pieces. “I don’t know…”

When there is a pile, you begin to bring the corners of the fabric together, tying them in a knot or using a thinner piece of fabric. Jeremy, weakly, shoots a couple of shots with his revolver. If he can’t hit anything, it might serve as a distraction of some kind.

That is the best way to find your escape, Kitka. Turn their attention away from your hands…

You shake the voice out of your head and keep working. Finally, you have what you need.

You don’t know what they are, but you made them, like breathing it came easy.

You also remember Jeremy smokes a pipe. Turning back to him, you search his pockets again, finding a small box of matches. His eyes weakly follow you as he pulls the hammer back on his revolver to shoot again. 

You waste no time in striking a match, lighting the first bundle, and exposing yourself for a brief moment, throwing it to the group of men on the ledge.

You must have a good arm, for just as it reaches them, it explodes.

The chaos that ensues is immediate. Shouts of alarm and confusion blend with the sharp crack of gunfire. You don't wait to see the results; grabbing another bundle and lighting it up. You throw it up there again, moving on instinct now, your body somehow remembering its given swiftness and agility.

The flames engulf them in an instant, their screams echoing off the rock walls as they try to escape the inferno, their curses slicing through the smoke and tumult that you have created. They didn't expect this—no one expects a store clerk from Blackwater to wield makeshift bombs with the expertise of a seasoned demolitionist. The edge of the embankment reacts under the force of your third creation, chunks of rock flying and sending two men tumbling down the slope.

But it isn’t over.

“Jane…!” Jeremy shouts weakly. “Look out…!”

Turning around, you are suddenly attacked by one of the bandits, eyes wild and fiery as he clutches onto your throat. “You think your little magic tricks will be enough?” He squeezes hard, his nails digging into your larynx and he forces you to the ground.

“Jane…!” Jeremy cries and just as he gets to his feet, he is soon attacked by yet another, and the gun falls out of his hand. They wrestle into the ground, and with his injury, Jeremy struggles to gain the upper hand.

Gasping for air, your vision tunnels, the edges tinged with blackness. In this desperate moment, you reach out, fingers clawing at anything they can find. Your hand brushes against the cold metal of Jeremy's discarded revolver. With a jolt of adrenaline, you grasp it, jamming the barrel against the bandit’s stomach, and pulling the trigger.

The gunshot echoes through the air, a sharp, definitive sound that momentarily slices through the cacophony of the ongoing battle. The bandit’s grip loosens as he leans back, eyes wide in shock and pain. He falls backward into the dusty ground, clutching at the wound that now mars his abdomen.

You gasp at the sight, unsure if it is because of the violence or a flash of memory.

A woman, being shot in the head. And a man with dark hair and dark eyes letting her body fall to the floor…

The man now dead, you whip around with the gun in your hand. You can do this, you can save Jeremy. The man is on top of him, landing blow after blow into his head with a rock.

You cock back the hammer and fire.

Jeremy’s attacker recoils as the bullet rips through his chest and he falls backward into the dirt.

You breathe for just a moment, looking around sharply to see if there are any more. There aren’t. They’re all gone.

Relieved, you look back to Jeremy, and he’s not moving. You study his body, and you cannot see the rise and fall of his chest, for there isn’t none.

An icy grip squeezes your heart. “Jeremy!” Your feet move on their own accord, propelling you towards him until you are kneeling at his side. His once smooth and handsome face is now a twisted mess of blood and bruises, an image that will haunt you forever. The metallic scent of blood fills your nostrils and bile rises in your throat as you try to hold back tears. You can feel the weight of the world crushing down on you as you see him in this state, and all you can do is pray for some miracle to save him from the brink of death.

But your prayers would be in vain.

You know he’s dead.

He’s dead.

He’s dead.

You feel sick. An image of a boy lying in your arms. Pale and lifeless, your voice hoarse from screaming, begging on the streets.

“Jeremy…!” you scream at the top of your lungs, your throat burning from the pain until you hear nothing left escape your lips.

You feel dizzy. Your head pounds with an ache that begins to weigh you down. The world spins around you. A whirlwind of days and hours gone in a matter of seconds. Jeremy, his life, gone, without as much a fighting chance. How many times has he gone on this journey before? What could he have done to deserve this?

And then it appears again. The boy in your lap, your hands, young and cold, reaching out to touch his face…

“Antek…” you say…your voice but a whimpering cry.

And as it leaves your mouth, you feel the weight of it all and the world fades to black.

***

You feel something soft underneath your face. You feel the weight in your body as you lie on your side. Warmth, something deeply warm heats your skin. You smell charred wood and hear pops and crackles. Fire.

Explosions.

Those men.

You open your eyes and quickly push yourself up to a sitting position. You feel the softness under your hands. You look down. An animal pelt, all white beautiful under the glow of the firelight.

How did you get here?

“Jeremy…?” you whimper, though you are unsure why. He’s dead.

“I couldn’t help him.” a deep voice speaks softly.

Your breath hitches and you feel the blood draining from your face. You’ve encountered it enough to start recognizing it. Turning slowly, you look past the fire near you, into the eyes of Arthur.

You feel something building in your chest, something that burns more than the fire ever could. You flare your nostrils. “You…!”

He holds up his palms, unmoving from where he sits. “Look, I was—”

“You followed me?!”

He shakes his head. “I was nearby. I…I was trackin' you, but I came runnin' when I heard the gunshots.” He pauses and seeing that you aren’t going to interrupt him this time, he continues. “By the time I got there, most had run or were dead…” And his eyes soften. “And you were just layin’ there.”

“And Jeremy…?!”

“He was already gone. I…buried him.”

Your eyes narrow. You only hope that he got a decent burial. “Where?” you hiss.

He looks pained at your words and something else you can’t pin down. “In Great Plains. Just after crossin’ the river.” He looks at you, almost wantonly. “I…risked a lot doin’ that for him.”

You scowl. “Giving someone a burial is risky?”

“When you’re a wanted man, it is.”

Your eyes widen. “Who are you?” And you dare ask a more important question. “And how do you know me?”

You see it in his expression, an aching familiarity, a recognition as he regards you sitting there. His mouth opens and closes, words wanting to escape but don’t. “You…you was with us, in a gang.” He reaches behind his head to scratch his neck. “We…kinda grew up together.”

The flash of memory you had when Jeremy took your hand. Arthur’s young face. That would make sense if you grew up with this man. “We’re siblings?”

He almost laughs at that and shakes his head quickly. “No.”

Then you remember the music, groups of people dancing. But those people were different. You felt shorter, smaller, and he wasn’t there. It’s strange. When you think about things that had hurt your head before, they don’t hurt now when you bring up those exact thoughts again. Perhaps, it is only new ones?

You remember what Jeremy said, about them being a blessing in disguise.

Oh, Jeremy…!

You feel the tears swell up in your eyes and you find no willingness to conceal them as you begin to sob. “He’s dead…!” you cry. “He’s dead and I couldn’t save him…!”

Your chest tightens and you feel like you can’t move, can’t breathe. The tears fall heavy down your soiled cheeks and you hold yourself for comfort.

That’s when Arthur moves toward you. You feel a sudden uneasiness when he reaches for you.

You quickly move back and rise to your feet. “Get away from me…!” you hiss and he moves backward, raising his palms.

“M’sorry,” he says softly. His voice holds a trace of genuine regret, a sound that stirs something within the depths of your fragmented memories. The campfire casts shadows across his face, making him appear both menacing and mournful at once.

You wipe your cheeks roughly with the back of your hand, trying to regain some form of composure. You need to mourn, but you also have questions. You have an obligation to Blackwater, you need to return to Mr. Lewis. But what will you tell him?

But if what Arthur says is true, if you were with a gang, could that mean you’re wanted, too? Not an aristocrat?

Would it be worth going back at all?

You sit back down on the pelt, and Arthur carefully returns to his spot beyond the fire. You appreciate the space he’s given you, despite his recent effort to embrace you again.

“It weren’t your fault what happened,” he speaks softly. “A lotta wagons get raided ‘round there.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Arthur doesn’t react in anger, but his eyes look saddened. “I am a bad man,” he says. “But I ain’t like them.”

“Does that make me bad, too?” you snap.

He is quiet for a moment. “You ain’t never done the things I have.”

You’re still skeptical, but your own curiosity is betraying your bitterness. “What did I do? What role did I play?”

“Are you makin’ fun of me?”

You snort. “I just don’t know if I believe you.”

He readjusts his sitting position on the ground and cocks his head, you can see more of his face under the brim of his hat as the glow of the fire is on his skin. Those eyes of his, even in the dark, make you think of paintings of the sea.

Where have you seen those?

“What if I tell you some things about you? Things that only you and a few others would know?”

You raise an eyebrow, a small gesture of disbelief and confusion. "I don't even know who I am," you say with a hint of despair creeping into your voice.

His shoulders slump in response, a mixture of disappointment and understanding in his expression. "You don't remember anythin’?" he asks, his tone gentle yet searching for any flickers of recognition in your face.

A feeling of emptiness washes over you at the thought of having no memories to hold onto. "No," you reply, shaking your head slightly. "I just remembered how old I am."

A soft smile forms on Arthur's lips, his eyes filled with compassion. "29," he says, the number rolling off his tongue like a familiar melody.

Your eyes widen in surprise. He could have thrown out any number to try to convince you, but he chose the precise and accurate one.

“Let me tell you some things.” The man's voice lingers in the air, hesitant yet eager. You feel a flutter of curiosity, your reservations slowly fading away. Memories flood your mind, images and whispers that have haunted you for weeks.

With a deep breath, you meet his gaze once more. “Who is Kitka?” The question tumbles out of your lips before you can stop it, the name feeling both foreign and familiar at the same time.

His smile widens, his piercing blue eyes that hold a wealth of secrets. “That’s you. Your name.”

You can't help but feel a rush of confusion and excitement at the revelation, wondering what other mysteries this enigmatic man holds. You repeat it, and it doesn’t feel uncomfortable settling there. “But when you grabbed me…in Valentine…” You see his frown fall, it must not be a pleasant memory for him, either. “You called me Kit.”

He offers you an explanation. “That’s what most call you. Guess some have trouble sayin’ your real name.”

“Do I have a last name?”

He grimaces. “I might be sayin’ it wrong, but it’s Petrova.”

You roll the name around in your mind—Kitka Petrova. There's a distant echo of familiarity, like a whisper from far away. "Petrova," you repeat, tasting each syllable. It feels foreign yet oddly comforting.

Arthur watches you closely, his gaze intense but not imposing. "There's more to you than that, though.”

You tuck your chin. Minute by minute, you are coming to believe him. This was more than what any doctor could help you with and it doesn’t hurt or give you a headache. You heard a woman speak that name, you felt her take your hand and dance. “There was a woman…” you begin, feeling your hands tremble at the thought. “She knew my name…” You look back to meet his eyes. “Do I have a mother?”

Arthur looks at you, his eyes softening as he speaks. “She died before I met you.” But lifting his forefinger, he points to the ring on your hand. “But that…that was hers.”

You look down at your hand, the gold band shining in the orange light. “So…I’m not married? Or engaged?” You feel a pit in your stomach. “No one was looking for me.”

You hear a rustling and look back up to see Arthur moving to you again, but he stops suddenly, remembering the proximity that you prefer. But he speaks to you earnestly. “We thought you was dead. I…”

But you clearly aren’t. “Folk in town say I was found in an alley. By the docks.”

His eyes widen. “That ain’t what Dutch told me.”

Dutch. Why does that name sound familiar…?

Suddenly, your head begins to pound.

Oh no, a new memory.

You want to fight it, so badly, but after knowing what happens afterward, you are tempted to let it run its course. You press your palms against your temples and feel yourself bending over into your knees without straining yourself.

“Kit…?!” Arthur says, his voice raised and concerned.

You don’t want him to touch you, you don’t want anything to interrupt. “Let me be…!” you snap.

You close your eyes shut and try to give in to what your mind wants to tell you.

You see something white. Grey. Paper. Words and lines. A Newspaper. A Headline.

BLACKWATER MASSACRE

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE GANG RESPONSIBLE

Your head pounds heavily and you feel it intensify. It’s becoming too much, you have to stop.

You try to open your eyes and come out of it, and stumble as you try to move. “I…have to…” You rise to your feet, your vision blurry as you try to get some air. It is dark, with nothing but light from the moon creeping through the trees, you hold out your hands to protect yourself as you keep walking.

“Kit?” You hear Arthur stand up and follow you.

You raise a hand to keep him at a distance, needing space to breathe and think. The name Dutch Van Der Linde spins in your mind like a relentless cyclone, pulling at the edges of your fragmented memories. “I need to walk,” you manage to say, your voice tremulous but determined.

Arthur hesitates, but he nods. “Just, let me go wit’chu.” He raises his hands. “I’ll keep back, I just want you safe.”

You nod, albeit reluctantly, and begin walking away from the campfire's comforting glow. Your feet crunch the dry leaves underfoot as you navigate through the dark forest. The air feels crisp against your skin, and each breath you take seems to clear your head just a little more. Arthur follows a few paces behind, his footfalls heavy and sure. They don’t frighten you or worry you, but they almost seem comforting.

You know this man. You don’t remember him fully, but somehow you know him. That much is clear.

You keep walking until the headache subsides again, and by now you have gone deep into the forest you aren’t sure you can navigate your way back. You stop and you hear Arthur stop as well.

“If we aren’t siblings…” you finally say. “But we grew up together…” You turn around to look at him. Shadows are cast from the moonlight, but you see his figure standing there. “How did I come to be in a gang of outlaws?”

“Kit…” he begins, his voice almost hesitant. “It might be too much to tell you…After what you just—”

“I want to know,” you insist, your strength returning. “Tell me.”

He sighs. There is a pregnant pause before he speaks again. “Hosea found you…in California. He heard you beggin’ for help.”

“I was hurt?”

“No.” His pause makes your heart pound in your chest. “But your brother…”

Brother? You try to search through your mind, struggling to find a face, a name—anything. “A brother?”

“Yes,” he answers. “You told me his name was Antek.”

The name hits you like a crashing wave. You remember the feeling of it in your mouth, then you remember. You said it before you passed out. You do know.

He was the boy in your arms. The boy pale and brow misted over in fever.

Arthur steps closer, his voice gentle. “He was very ill. You were cradlin’ him; alone and desperate. That’s when Hosea brought you to us. No doctor would help you ‘cause…well…”

“I was different,” you say, remembering the slurs that have been echoing in your mind for the past month.

Gypsie. Circus trash. Slavic scum.

You never understood why they were addressed to you, but you realize it now. You weren’t born into a wealthy family. You were born into a family of immigrants.

Your head begins to hurt again, but it isn’t as painful, for parts of this new information were already remembered. “But what about the music? The dancing?”

In the dark, Arthur’s voice is the only indicator of his presence. “Dancin’?”

You can barely see your hands in front of you. “There were wagons, men and women dancing.”

“That might be somethin’ before our time,” Arthur reasons.

You shake your head, frustrated. “It’s all jumbled. Why can’t it just be in one order? I…I remember your face, but not my family…?”

It is then that you feel a hand take you gently by the arm. Your breath hitches but you don’t try to pull away this time. “Come back with me,” he offers, his voice tentative. “Let’s get you back and rest. Then we can go to our camp on Horseshoe Overlook. Maybe the memories will come easier in time."

Go with him? To the gang? You don’t know where Horseshoe Overlook is, but you have a feeling that it is far from Blackwater.

Blackwater. Mr. Lewis.

But you know now that this gang that you supposedly were with, was the same gang that was responsible for the massacre. You don’t know how you were directly involved, but you aren’t the person you thought you were.

You aren’t a good woman. You are a wanted criminal, and it is a miracle that you’ve made it this long without being discovered.

You can’t go back now.

You nod, feeling the exhaustion tug at your limbs with an insistence that can't be ignored any longer. “Okay.”

“Let’s find our way back.” You hear him swallow hard. “Take my hand.”

Using your arm as a guide, you find his hand that has a gentle grip and take it softly, your hand is so small in his, his calloused hands showing signs of years of hard labor. You tried to remember the last time you held his hand, but the memories are like water slipping through your fingers — impossible to hold. As you walk alongside Arthur, the moonlight casts shadows that play tricks on your eyes. Every rustle of the leaves, every whisper of the wind sounds like a fragment of a forgotten melody, the echoes of your past life calling out to you from the depths of the night. You feel your heart beating faster, not just from fear or confusion, but also from a budding sense of anticipation. What if the key to unlocking all your lost memories lay just beyond the horizon, at this camp that Arthur mentioned?

Or will it reveal more things about yourself that you don’t want to know? You once thought that you were a wealthy woman engaged or married, but now you are a poor orphaned immigrant.

The journey is silent, save for the occasional crunch of dry leaves underfoot and the distant howl of a coyote. With each step, you feel a tug on your mind, fragments of forgotten dreams or perhaps buried realities trying to claw their way to the surface. You glance sideways at Arthur, studying his profile against the moon as the light finally bleeds through the trees again.

He’s rugged. His thick beard is clean now, and his face isn’t covered in mud. His nose has a scar over the bridge, indicating he’s been in more fights than the one you’ve seen. Do you know where he got that scar? How long have you known this man? You also see the mark you left on his face when you struck him in Valentine. “I’m…sorry for hurting you.”

Arthur senses your regret, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "It's alright, Kit," he murmurs, the sound of your name in his voice stirring something deep within you. The familiarity of it sends shivers down your spine, a mix of fear and longing intertwining within your chest. You find that your hand feels comfortable in his. You don’t want to let him go and you can’t figure out why. Your breath comes out of your nostrils loudly, frustrated at your own mind not helping you.

You continue walking, and it isn’t long before you reach where he had set up his small camp. You finally take the time to see his layout, a small tent, his untied horse, a mahogany bay Tennessee Walker, who grazes on a small brush nearby, and the fire, whose coals are still glowing. “How far are we from them?”

“Not far,” he answers softly, and you feel him let go of your hand. He approaches the fire, and takes a stick on the ground before stirring the coals. “You hungry?”

You fold your arms. “No.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t look at you, his eyes still gazing at the fire pit. “You can take my tent. I’ll…sleep out here.”

You aren’t sure why, but you don’t like that suggestion. You haven’t been the most kind to him, and you’d hate to take his only shelter. “That doesn’t feel right, Arthur…”

He looks up at you at the sudden mention of his name. That is the first time you ever said it out loud, at least to your knowledge. You see it in his eyes, there is something there, a hunger, a loneliness that seems to mirror your own. It’s as if in that single moment, the distance between you both isn't just physical but emotional, stretching back years, across untold secrets and shared memories. Things he clearly knows but hasn’t told you.

Arthur breaks the gaze first, chuckling softly. "Kit, I insist. You need rest more than I do." He stands erect after throwing some more wood in the fire and he begins to remove his buckskin jacket. Walking around the fire, at a distance from the tent, he rolls up his jacket like a pillow and goes to his knees. “We will head back in the mornin’.”

Your aching body and weariness remind you of your need for sleep, you yawn deeply. “Alright.” You head for his tent and crouch your way in without saying another word.

Inside, the tent smells faintly of leather, tobacco, and pine, a scent that is oddly comforting and familiar, like a distant echo from a past life. You settle into the sleeping roll that was already laid out, pulling its cover up to your shoulders. The fabric is coarse wool but warm, and as you snuggle into it, you finally give into sleep.

***

The sounds of birds chirping wake you up and you discover to be out of the sleeping roll and hugging it. The wool is pressed against your face, your nose buried in its scent. For the past month, you’ve never woken up to being in a position like this before, but then again, you haven’t been sleeping in a tent outside, but in your own room in the hotel in Blackwater.

And as your mind wakes up, so do your other senses.

You hear a metallic sound coming from beyond the tent and rising to a sitting position, you rub your eyes. “Arthur…?” you call softly, hoping that is the source of the noise.

“Mornin’,” he replies. “Got some coffee if you want some.”

You smack your lips. Do you like coffee? You don’t remember drinking it at the restaurant or the hotel. Can’t hurt to try it.

Straightening your shirt, you see your torn-up skirt. You can’t go back to Blackwater for your money and clothes. You’ll have to make do for now.

You crawl out of the tent. Opening the flap, you see Arthur by the fire, pouring a pot of coffee into a small, tin cup.

He’s wearing a different shirt, a dark green, but the hat is the same. He must travel around a lot, to pack another set of clothes with him. “It ain’t the best,” he excuses. “But it warms up the bones pretty good.”

You rise to your feet and so does he, holding out the cup to you.

You take the cup from his hands, feeling the warmth seep into your chilled fingers. The steam rises in gentle swirls, carrying with it a rich, earthy aroma that sparks a faint memory, like a whisper in the back of your mind. You wrap both hands around the cup, enjoying the heat before bringing it to your lips.

He lied to you. This coffee is the best you have ever had, or remember. Of course, that isn’t the best compliment you can think of, but you can think of worse things to conjure up.

He must see the approval in your eyes, for he looks down, almost bashfully. “You seem to be doin’ okay…after last night.”

You swallow before speaking. “I suppose it could be worse.”

He nods, smiling. “That it can.”

He pours himself a cup and drinks it slowly, you both taking in the morning view. He had set up camp in a small clearing, with an opening of the trees leading the eyes to look into a canyon and waterfall below. You aren’t sure where you are, but by the gradient of green to golden, you suppose Blackwater isn’t far.

“Why Blackwater?” you ask. “I remember the gang did it.”

Arthur offers a solemn answer. “I wasn’t there on the boat. Nobody really will tell me what happened.” He sets his cup down on the ground by the firepit. “I came in time to help them escape, when Pinkertons showed up, and things went bad.”

“You didn’t see me get shot,” you infer.”

His eyes meet yours and you see the regret in his eyes. “I was…We…” his voice trails off and he looks away. “I weren’t there.”

You look into the little bit of coffee that remains in your cup. “I was shot in the back, the doctor said it’s a miracle I’m still alive.”

“Shoah is.”

There is a moment of silence and you can’t help but wish he had more to say about the massacre. If he wasn’t there until the end, then he couldn’t possibly know about Heidi, or what happened to you. Dutch said you were dead. Could he have seen you?

Arthur begins to kick dirt into the fire. “We should get goin’. We want to make it back before it gets dark.” He walks over to his tent and begins to take it down as he speaks to you over his shoulder. “Can you go into my saddle bag and give Montana an apple?”

Your brow furrows. “Montana?”

“The stud over there.” He gestures to the Tennessee Walker with a tilt of his head. “Got him up near Colter.”

Not sure what Colter is, you walk over to the horse as he looks on at you, his brown eyes soft and alert. You see the flare of his nostrils as he takes in your sent. He doesn’t move once you approach his side, and you get on your tiptoes to reach into the saddlebag. Feeling the inside of it, you find something smooth and round. Pulling it out, you reveal a red apple.

Montana nickers excitedly, spotting the fruit in your hand.

You can’t help but smile, feeling a soft spot for him already. You extend the apple towards Montana, watching as he gently takes it from your palm, his lips tickling your skin slightly. It's a brief interaction, but one that fills you with a sense of comfort—something that’s been rare since the ordeal.

As Montana munches on the apple, you glance back at Arthur, who has finished with the tent and is now watching you. You feel something in your stomach, and you wish your body and mind would work together for once.

“He likes you,” Arthur says. “You’ve always gotten well with my horses.”

“Have I met this one before?” you ask with interest. You like the idea of having a way with animals. Maybe that’s what you did in the gang. It seems less violent and dangerous.

He shakes his head. “No, he’s new. The last one, Boadicea, you knew her. Wouldn’t let anyone else ride her except you 'n me.” His smile falls. “She was shot durin’ our escape. I had to leave her.”

The revelation hits you like a sudden gust of wind, disorienting and cold. To learn that such loyalty had been cultivated and then lost under such brutal circumstances stirs a deep sorrow within you, one that resonates with your own fragmented memories of loss and abandonment. “I’m sorry.”

Arthur watches you carefully, perhaps gauging how much of the past you remember, or maybe how much you could handle knowing. "Thank you," he replies softly, turning away momentarily as if to hide a flicker of pain that crosses his rugged face.

A silence hangs between you, thick and heavy, as the remnants of sunrise paint the sky with streaks of purple and orange.

You offer a soft smile. “Maybe we should get going.”

He nods. “Perhaps you’re right.” He walks up beside Montana, packing his tent and bedroll on the saddle. Without another moment, he hoists himself up on Montana’s back and offers you his hand. “You okay with riding behind me? Your horse is back at camp.”

You feel a sudden excitement and take Arthur’s hand. He pulls you up as though you were but a flower on the ground and you swing your leg comfortably over. You settle behind him and try to figure out where to hold on. Bashfully, you place your hands on his waist, clutching onto his jacket.

With a soft clicking sound from his mouth, Montana trots on through the trees.

“I have a horse?” you finally ask. “And you’ve kept them this whole time?”

“‘Course, she was all I had to remember you b—” and he stops himself, quickly changing the subject. “You named her Odliv.”

It comes to you naturally and you smile. “Low Tide.”

You see Arthur nod in front of you. “Right. You always said you played in tide pools when you were little.”

“In California,” you deduce.

“Yes.”

You resist the urge to lean into his body and inhale the scent of pine and tobacco you can’t seem to get enough of. “How old was I, when we met?”

He answers quickly. “16.”

You frown, realizing that was how old you were when your brother died. “I was just a child.”

“Yes.”

After a moment, you think of another question. “And how old are you?”

Arthur laughs, and you feel the vibration in his body. “How old do you think I am?” You don’t like the teasing, after asking a rational question. Your intrusive thought wins, and you slap him hard on the arm. “Ow…!”

“Remember what I did to you yesterday?” you threaten, but clearly with a hint of jest. “I wasn’t trying to joke.”

He exhales, shaking his head. “I’m too old.”

You furrow your brow. That isn’t what you would’ve guessed. By his agility in the fight, and how he lifted you in the saddle, you’d think the man would have more confidence. “You may be sun-beaten and gruff, but that doesn’t make you old.”

He laughs. “I’m 36.”

And somehow, that doesn’t bother you. “You’re only as old as you feel, Arthur.”

You can feel his body tense for a second. “You told me that once.”

Your heart skips as memories flicker like distant stars in the vast night sky, obscured yet persistent, leaving a tenderness in your head. You wonder how many of those words from your past linger in his thoughts, how many times he's replayed them during your absence.

The silence stretches between you, comfortable yet filled with unspoken questions. Montana’s steady pace picks up and you ride alongside some train tracks as they line the ground westward.

After a few more miles, you decide to ask another question. “How many are there? At camp?” You look at the landscape as you pass it by. “I imagine most will expect me to remember them.”

“They might also regret callin’ me a liar.”

“What?”

“I told them what happened, in Valentine. That I saw you. They thought I was goin’ crazy, took one too many hits from that fool. Even Dutch, he—” His body tenses again and he shakes his head. “They’re gonna believe me now.”

You can sense the growl in his voice, his determination to prove them right. But you have other concerns. These are people you supposedly know. People you’ve talked to, and shared memories with, and you don’t remember a single one. You managed to remember Arthur, so you hope that you will these people, in time. “Tell me about them, Arthur,” and you pat his abdomen, hearing his breath catch. “Tell me their names.”

And so, after relaxing, he begins as you brace yourself for the headaches that may come. “There’s John Marston, he came into the gang when he was just a kid. He picked on you a lot, especially when I weren’t around…”

Thank you for reading!

Tag Requests:

@photo1030

[xmdart]

I think you’re supposed to click on the pic to see the translations?? Or whatever idk how tumblr works. Translations are somewhere lmao

Based on this

[ryodust]

CROWSAURIOS SMP

“From the lava you died, and from the lava you will reborn.”

Hiii !! This is my character ( VIV0008 ) from Crowsaurios SMP, a Java / Bedrock ( Pirated / Cracked / Legal ) Minecraft server w/ plugins main focused on Roleplay, Lore, and talking to crows and missaurios. This server is bilingual, has a tons of Moderators and updates constantly. One of the major plugins that it contains is ProjectKorra, an ATLA bending plugin.

The server had its biggest lore event on Sunday the 17th, on which the server switched worlds and most of the persons are starting from zero. So, if you’re interested, is the right time to join!

[ranchracoon]

"Make Me Yours"

Ch 1. The Beginning

            A/N: I can already see the comments, so let me clear up: no, everyone is not related. Instead of saying "ma'am" or "sir," everyone is called auntie, uncle, or cousin as a form of respect.

The waves lap against the beach shore as the rising sun sets the entire island and ocean ablaze with oranges and yellows. Fishers tie off their boats from the early morning catches and heave them up the sandy coves to the mainland. Chickens, pigs, and dogs welcome the morning with a symphony of howls, grunts, and clucks while awaiting their own breakfast. Children who have already been awake since before the sun, run amok through the tall trees, banana plants, and orchids while their sleep deprived parents inject themselves with caffeine. At the hub of all activity is the common place kitchen, where everyone cooks, everyone cleans, and everyone shares. The roof is sturdy made from clay and palm leaves to keep out the sun's harsh rays and the frequent downpour of rain. The walls have hanging curtains that are rolled and tied to the roof so that the warm salty air blows through without any obstructions. The mouthwatering aroma of spam wafts through the nearby homes and awakens anyone still trying to linger on last night's dreams. Soon the hub is full of people, some old, some young, some in between but all of them catering to one another while passing around the dishes of spam and rice wrapped with seaweed.

The head chef searches the crowd for one person, knowing this day is one she has been looking forward to; she just doesn't know it yet. Finally she spots them, weaving in and out toward the bar where breakfast awaits but the chef beats her there. The young woman and the chef stare one another down, their eyes locked in a showdown of who will move first. The young woman makes a dash for the nearest plate but the chef is quicker, she holds it away from the young woman. She groans loudly with frustration and annoyance, drawing the attention of a few people nearby who merely chuckle at the altercation. This happens every morning.

"Come on mamá, I'm too tired for this. I even got here early!" The woman whines.

(mom)

"AH! I don't want any attitude from you, okay? Hoy es especial and I need you to help me get things ready. Ahora, go eat and report back here as soon as you are finished." Her mother scolds.

(Today is special. Now,)

"Ugh.." The woman groans.

She takes the plate from her mom and scurries away to the outside of the shelter to the nearby tables and chairs made from bamboo. She settles herself down into a spot and pulls her black hair away from her face to keep it from getting in her food. Only one bite in before three others join her; the first one is her best friend Alo, wearing only baggy shorts, a tank top, and nothing else with their hair clearly sporting the 'just woke up' appeal. The second is her other best friend Diana, she has on a red tank top with high cut shorts and hand-crafted sandals, her brown hair is braided back into a single braid with flowers interwoven. The last is her sister Neyla, two years younger than her and they are exact carbon copies of each other with the same sun kissed brown skin, black hair, and brown eyes.

"Good morning, Alo! Good morning, Diana! Good morning, Carmen!" Neyla announces.

"Morning." They respond simultaneously.

"So, what is your mamá making you do today?" Asks Alo.

"No idea. She just said to report to her when I finish eating. Did she tell you anything?" Carmen responds.

"No, she told me the same thing."

Diana taps her chip in thought, "is it someone's anniversary? Maybe someone found their mate? We didn't forget a birthday, did we?"

The other shrug their shoulders and finish their meals, chatter about the latest drama, clean their places, and report for their chores. There are others gathered with her mom delegating the chores. The tasks are divided by who can do what the best; cooking, cleaning, decorating, but no one tells Carmen about why they are doing this. She tries to overhear conversations, but no one spills anything she can run with. There is one possibility, but it can't be that. She would have been told about it. She approaches her mother and two other women who are currently sharpening utensils behind her. 

"Hola aunties." She waves to the two women.

(Hello)

They wave back and return their focus to their task while her mother approaches her and grips her shoulder tightly. 

"Carmen, I have a muy importante task for you. We need something to cook. Something big. The biggest you can find ¿bueno?"

(Very important. Okay?)

 Carmen beams with excitement, she was only allowed to hunt for very special ceremonies like weddings. Someone must be getting married, but she can't think of anyone recently engaged. Her heart flutters in excitement, it has to be what she's thinking right? Her mother smiles at her and released her shoulder, and she takes off like the start of a race. She dashes from the shelter and makes her way to the edge of the jungle. Carmen is the best hunter on the island; the record for biggest kill used to be held by her great, great, grandfather who killed a 200lb deer. That is, until she beat it by taking down a nearly 235lb jaguar that kept killing pigs. It took her three days of stalking and waiting to capture it.

She breathes in deeply and allows herself to unwind, as she lowers to her hands and knees. The grass tickles between her fingers that enlarge and widen into large paws. Her hair thickens and grows to coat her entire body before shortening to appropriate fur length. Her spinal collum extends behind her backside into a thick but fluffy tail. Everyone on the island can transform into a wolf, just like her. Her senses heighten, she inhales deeply and smells all the creatures within miles and the freshly washed fauna from the rain. 

The breeze shakes the tops of the trees, a few birds chirp in the distance, and she listens. The song of her island drawing her in, frogs, cicadas, birds, and then a twig snapping. Her ear twitches in the direction of her desired prey, a Boar grunting in the distance. She barrels through the foliage, vines and plants whip past her as she maneuvers and weaves expertly through. As she approaches, she slows to a steady walk, crouching into the thicket while stalking closer. Her snout and eyes look through the brush to see her prize snorting away at the ground. This will be easy, all she has to do is go for the hind leg, snap the tendon then break the neck. 

Carmen stills, her black fur blends with the shadows around giving her the perfect camouflage as the boar snorts the ground. When it stops and proceeds to dig for whatever it found, this is her moment. She leaps from the brush, lands directly behind the boar and slashes her fangs into its hind leg. It barely has time to react before it attempts to dash away only to fail miserably onto the ground and kick its legs wildly. Carmen stalks around the back of the boar, places one paw on its side and her mouth on the neck before jerking upward in a quick motion; the snap of bones echoes through the now silent jungle. Nearby prey scatters to the wind, and the birds fly off through the canopy after being startled by the sound. 

She lifts the boar and maneuvers it onto her back, it has to be 160 easy, this should be plenty for the celebration tonight. She trots back at a slower pace so as to not lose her precious catch, stopping every few moments to readjust then proceed. Back at the shelter, her mother and the two women gasp at her catch, they reach their newly sharpened tools and gather some extra hands to remove the boar from her back. Her mother strokes Carmen's ear proudly then tsks upon seeing the state of which she returned. 

"Ay mija, look at you! Go wash up and help your cousins with their chores. Be back here tonight." 

Carmen twists her head to examine her body, seeing the matted fur with mud, leaves, and blood. She shakes herself only to be scolded by the nearby women and threatened with a chancla (slipper) before she runs off. After returning to her humanoid form, she returns to the comfort of her home to rinse off and change out of her filthy clothes. Then she goes and finds Alo to help them with whatever they were assigned. Everyone takes a break when the sun hits the peak of day, it is too hot to continue so they all take a well-earned swim in the lagoon. The warm water is refreshing on their overheated skin, children splash and play while the aunties serve cold coconut water and finger foods. 

Once break time is finished and the sun is on the other side of the island, casting their side in a cool shadow do they return to their work. The shelter beams to life with lanterns and hanging lights, there's ribbons strung from the trees, and of course a roaring bonfire with her boar roasting over it. The bar is flowing with drinks for the adults, fresh mojitos, margaritas, all mixed with spirits and fruit from cultivated from their land. For the niñas and niños, virgin mixes and sodas to fill their sugar crave. Carmen invites Alo to get ready at her home, she puts on her best sleeveless, strapless crop top that she weaved and dyed herself with shorts that stop at her midthigh and her sandals. The final touch is flowers braided into her hair; she does a singular braid that flows over one shoulder. Alo went shirtless with a lei around their neck and on their head with a traditional grass skirt, and their best sandals. 

Carmen and Alo walk together to the center of the island, everyone is dressed their best but she sees no distinct pattern so it's not a wedding. People laugh, they drink, Carmen is about two margaritas in when all goes silent except for a bellowing horn that is blown when a ship is approaching. Carmen's heart races once more, she is the first to run toward the bay where she sees an approaching tugger boat that usually brings them imported goods. Only this time, the cargo it wields is much more precious. The others stay back on the beach shore letting her be the only one on the dock, she grabs the rope from the captain and ties the boat off then stands excitedly. The boat rocks as the captain leaps off the side then holds his hand out for another. 

The tears blind Carmen's vision as her heart explodes in unrelenting delight, her legs move forward without warning. She leaps into the air and grasps onto the man who steps off the boat, her legs locking around his torso with her arms around his neck. Her head buried into his shoulder as she shakes violently with happy sobs. The man is tall with the same brown skin and black hair as her, with a curly black beard around his chin and upper lip. He spins Carmen around happily, laughing wildly and nearly sending them into the water when he almost loses his balance. She unlocks from him and drops down onto the dock, her hands immediately finding his face as she smiles up at him and he smiles down at her, his eyes also wet with tears.

"Ben." She whimpers. 

"Hola hermana." He chokes out. 

She lets out a sob ridden laugh as she shakes his face in her hands, "I knew it! No one would tell me anything! I knew it had to be you! Look at you. Look at this beard! Oh my and..." she pauses, she looks him up and down then scowls, "are you wearing insoles?!" She accuses. 

His ears turn bright red giving him away as he sputters to try and come up with a lie, Carmen shakes her head and pulls him down by one of them. 

"My little brother is not going to be taller than me!" She threatens. 

He laughs loudly before Carmen releases him and wipes the tears from her eyes. Five years ago he left to become the person he always felt he was, and now he is back. Him and Carmen exchanged letters every month, he told her everything that was happening and even sent her souvenirs. The last she heard from him was before he was going in because there were some complications with his bottom surgery. She feared the worse, fearing that this boat carried his remains but here he is. She can't help but cover her mouth as tears start to fall again, taking him in. He straightens up and turns his body slightly back toward the boat. 

"There's someone I want you to meet." He motions toward the boat where a woman is stepping off. 

She has fire-red hair, her skin is white with freckles peppering every inch, especially her face. She gives Carmen a bright, wide smile, her eyes are a dazzling green like the lagoon. She approaches the two of them and stands beside Carmen's brother who wraps his arm around her shoulders. 

"Carmen, Clara. Clara, Carmen. She is my mate and also happened to be my surgeon." He chuckles. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you. Ben has told me so much about you." She greets. 

Carmen opens her arms and hugs Clara, at first the woman is tense but eventually relaxes and hugs Carmen back. 

"Welcome Clara." She greets. 

The three of them walk together toward the beach where Carmen and Ben's mother happily awaits and drowns Ben in kisses. She also hugs and kisses Clara while welcoming her to the family. The crowd swarms Ben and Clara, bombarding them in questions, excitement, and welcomes. Eventually the crowd wanders back the bonfire where a band strikes up with live music and the drinks flow once more. Carmen tried to give Ben drinks but was quickly told no by Clara due to the medication he is on, so, Carmen got Clara drunk instead. The boar that Carmen caught was devoured until only the bones and fat remained and would be used for other things tomorrow. 

The night carried on, children crashed from their sugar highs and were carted away by their parents. The music eventually died down with the embers of the fire as only a few stranglers remained. Carmen sits by the dying fire with her feet outstretched, her face and body warm from the alcohol as she stares into the embers. Ben joins her, groaning loudly as he lowers himself down onto a stump nearby with his virgin drink in hand. His eyes droopy with sleep but he's too happy to be around his family again to fall asleep now. Clara is passed out in Carmen's hut because Ben will need a bigger one to fit him and Clara, and the hundred grandchildren that their mother wants. 

They sit together in silence, Ben exhausted from answering all the questions about himself and his mate. Carmen exhausted from the many drinks shes downed that are finally catching up to her. Carmen sighs heavily and leans forward to start undoing her hair, she has a splitting headache and she's unsure if it's from the spinning landscape or her braid. Ben watches her unbraid her hair and toss the flowers aside, he picks one up and examines it thoughtfully. 

"How long are you staying?" Carmen whispers sorrowfully. 

"What do you mean? You don't think I'm staying?" Ben chuckles.

"You said Clara is a surgeon, and you're still going to school ya?" She replies. 

"Ya." He sighs, "It's not permanent though. We agreed that once I'm graduated, we'll move here for good. I already talked to Mrs. Eka about taking over the school and Clara wants to open her own study here.” Ben is silent for a moment, “you should come with me.”

Carmen stops her hands, she fiddles with the bit of hair between her fingers as she digests what Ben suggested, a sudden sobriety washes over her.

“Why?” She asks almost bitterly.

“You said you wanted to find your mate. You said, and I quote, ‘there’s nothing left for me here. I am happy, but I am sick of all the sympathetic looks I get from the elders and aunties. I know they whisper about me.’”

“You don’t need to use my words against me.” Carmen bites.

“I’m just offering.” Ben shifts his glass between his hands, “when is the last time you went up the mountain?” He asks quietly.

The mountain is home to the moon pool where many of their elders go to seek guidance from their goddesses or ancestors. Many go up there when they turn 25 to seek out their one true mate, leading them to a life of fulfillment and happiness. Carmen shields her face away from Ben to hide her expression.

“Not since the first time.” She mumbled.

“So…almost seven years. Maybe you should try again, and no matter what happens, the offer still stands for you to join Clara and I when we leave.”

Ben stood from his seat and wandered off most likely to go to bed while Carmen finished unbraiding her hair and looked up toward the mountain. She sighed defeatedly, maybe he was right. Carmen shifted and started the trek up the mountain, in human form it would take hours to climb all the way up but in her wolf form she cut that down to an hour. Once she was at the top of the mountain she shifted back into her human form, the moon pool glowed even without a full moon present. She wandered around and used some nearby matches to light the incense surrounding the water.

She kneels on the warm volcanic rock beneath her knees as she peers into the clear pool. She closes her eyes and begins to pray. Seeking anyone. Her goddesses, her ancestors, anyone who can answer her. Her prayers are said without failure, she thinks them in her mind then whispers them aloud while focusing on her intention. After her prayers she opens her eyes, the pool swirls and shimmers with life. Carmen leans forward, searching the now cloudy waters for any sort of symbol, sign, anything. The water continues to swirl, growing more and more cloudy until she can’t see through it anymore then it stops. The water remains cloudy but slowly unclouds from the center to the outer edge of the pool. Nothing. Just like when she tried the first time.

Chapter 2

[warriorverse]

MC: *arguing with the brothers and switches to a different language they have as their 2nd or native language*

Satan: I don’t understand what you’re saying!

Levi: Your insulting me, aren’t you?

MC: Ja!

Lucifer: … To think human language evolved to where I don’t understand your insults is either surprising or insulting.

Mammon: All I know is Spanish! (If you don’t speak Spanish)

Asmodeus: *starts flirting with you in French*

Beel: *hands you your favorite treat* You’re probably hangry… please eat snacks too, love.

Belphie: … *cuddles you mid argue*

[suenitos]

WHY ARE PEOPLE PITTING TWO BAD BITCHES AGAINST EACH OTHER!!! WHAT IF WE WERE HAPPY FOR BOTH OF THEM!!!!!!!

hard to be a qwter in a solonormative world.

[aroaessidhe]

hi!! i’ve been thinking about trying to get into reading via audiobooks so i was curious what are your favorite audiobooks you’ve listened to, or books that are particularly interesting in audiobook form?

hey!

hm, I feel like that's a hard question to answer because if audio is available to me, I will always read in that format (at 2x..), and all formats blend together in my memory so I usually forget about the particular audio experience....

I think the first thing that comes to mind is I really like audiobooks with strong/interesting accents - or basically anything that's not 'generic white american/generic english' accent? I think it brings a lot to the story especially since I will read everything in my new zealand accent otherwise lmao. I'm pretty bad at remembering which ones actually do that, but I recall these do:

Bitter by Akwaeke Emezi, My Sister The Serial Killer, Not My Problem (like any irish or scottish YA tbh), Most contemporary books where the MC is likely to have a specific accent or dialect will do this though when it comes to fantasy they often don't :/ you can find out by listening to samples if that's something that interests you I guess!

I also really like the accents in The Unspoken Name/The Thousand Eyes! (a fantasy that Does use different accents for different people)

Some that I loved recently (well, just looking through my list from last year) and idk if it had anything to do with the audio or just that it was the book I liked:

The Spear Cuts Through Water (this has some format things that might be easier Not in audio but idk...I figured it out), When The Angels Left The Old Country, A Thousand Steps Into Night, This Rebel Heart, Space Opera (Catherynne M Valente, very Hitchhiker's Guide which I think works well in audio), The Honeys (Ryan La Sala - has some creepy well placed sound effects), The Misadventures of an Amateur Naturalist

Also Natalie Naudus is a narrator who I always enjoy, and she does a lot of sapphic books so I've listened to a lot by her haha

[chromecries]

if jojo isnt in this purgatory you will see blood on your dash i Promise

[docmerlin]

regretfully i'm getting invested in q/sm/p

[egberts]

lesbian matchmaker extraordinaire. buckle up for drunk story time and know I'm working so hard to spell everything correctly. we went to a lesbian bar drag king show and this sweet very small fem who spoke little english gravitated towards me immediately and then after the show sought me out to dance. she asked in spanish if i wanted to dance with her and because i grew up learning spanish from my bilingual mother i understood and explained i could speak a little spanish and she was like yes. this is the pussy I'm getting tonight. so we danced and she??? put my hands on her boobs. which like, I guess it was fine. the whole theme for the night was consent but she doesn't speak English so i didn't blame her for not understanding when that rule was established by the MC. however, when alana (my gf) walked up with my margarita and she was like oh. you have a girlfriend. and i was like yes but it's okay to dance! but she was very embarrassed. she still danced with us though so kudos for that but here's where we get juicy. there was another girl, alone. clocked. i was like, "love your dress! are you alone?" and she said yes, so i asked her if she wanted to dance with us and she said yes! and we all four had fun dancing for all of one song before the two single lesbians ended up dancing on each other. like I'm talking these two were dry humping on the dance floor. they were fused at the hips. i didn't even know how to say goodbye so we just left ☠️

[caineinthecorner]

Language (The Demon Brothers)

★ Based on my language general hcs. Part 2 is here.

Hi. Today we have the demon brothers language hcs, brought to you by a single dumbass bilingual. :D

I include mentions of bilingual/multilingual MC, but I use the term MC and you interchangeably in the bullet points. It's the same thing who cares (you can also add whatever languages you think fit I am just going off vibes tbh)

★ Lucifer.

Since he was the strongest and highest ranked out of the brothers, his innate abilities were muddled the least.

This is to say that he remembers a lot from his innate knowledge as an angel, and can actually fare incredibly well on his own if you leave him in the human realm.

(the language he preferred back in his angel days was Archaic Latin, which is also Simeon's preferred language)

When Diavolo brought up the idea of the human exchange program he was like "(: ok" and binged human language for like two months straight like a total psychopath

He's like one of those fancy 10+ languages fluent polyglots (how)

Despite his fluency, it is rare to ever see him speak them. He has better things to do and prefers demon tongue.

Or if he does, the Loquar Ad Vos that was applied to you once you arrived in Devildom doesn't allow you to hear it.

You try to swear in your native language around him and oh boy it backfires

That is how you learn he's fluent in everything under the sun (exaggeration)

Frustrated, you grumble that you will learn demon tongue just to one up him

He takes it like a challenge. Enjoy reading a million books on the demonic language and having double the homework for your little joke.

(he gives you hard material to learn on purpose to see you fail. Enjoy hell buckoo. Double hell? Hell²)

You kept misspelling good morning in demon tongue as a demonic death threat and that somehow turned into an inside joke between the two of you.

He has to keep himself from chuckling whenever MC screws up words

Your accent is lovely though. Keep it up

★ Mammon.

Spanish and English.

Ok I actually can't justify myself further than "Mams would absolutely fucking go to Vegas" and the fact that USA has a large Latino population but hear me out

You cannot tell me that he would not watch telenovelas. Like. C'mon.

he has the vibes of a Spanish speaker is what I am saying

he was SO frustrated about having to learn human languages you have no idea

In fact he probably still struggles a bit and that makes him really mad

Why is it so complicated all of the sudden?! It wasn't complicated Before!

He unconsciously associates human languages with the trauma of the fall, and the stress and hurt and turbulent emotions it conveys

So learning new languages besides the two he knows is a touchy subject for him

(but like, he will learn MC's native language despite this. Whining to hell about it, but he will. Everything for MC)

You are actually very lucky that you have Loquar Ad Vos with you, bcs he actually switches from demon tongue to either English or Spanish mid sentence sometimes.

Not that you notice with your crusty translator (Loquar also works for human languages it supports), of course.

"Ayo can you [Spanish phrase], oh and give me a [English word], for a [spanglish nonsense]" <- Mammon's dumbass not functioning in trilingual

Also he has an accent but he's trying

The others are used to it so they don't question it anymore, but they deadass could not understand Mammon at some point because trilingual was not computing

It was frustrating to say the least

You two play charades with each other when the other forgets a word in your respective languages

"MC WHAT'S THE NAME OF THE ANIMAL FUCK THAT CHANGES HOME" "... Hermit crab?" "THATS THE BITCH"

★ Leviathan.

Japanese (very decent) and English (bad) are musts.

You cannot tell me for a second this fuck watches anime subbed OR dubbed. He's too weeb for that. He will watch the original dub version for the full emotional impact

He wanted to know what happens in the weeb world of the west (and internet discourse), so he learned English through shitty 2000s anime forums and Duolingo

Probably plays Duolingo competitively and/or cries if he loses his streak

His hearing and speaking English is okay, his writing is literally so so shit

Tried to learn a romantic language to be corny but failed miserably.

(He steered clear of languages his brothers know so he isn't self conscious)

It was probably Portuguese or something since Mammon kept talking about being good at figuring it out as a Spanish speaker (due to it being a romantic language)

The diacritical marks killed him on the spot

Meu português não é bom... (crying)

Victim of the you're* corrections

Runs his several-paragraphs-long rants about weeb stuff through Satan so the grammar is legit

Actually thinking about it would be absolutely fucking hilarious if he knew russian just for funsies. Yeah add Russian to the list

He sends you crusty Russian memes at unholy hours in the morning. Calls that bonding

Would absolutely swear in loud ass Russian while playing Valorant or smt

"ПИЗДЕЦ" "LEVI IT'S 2AM SHUT THE FUCK UP"

Ah + he knows Morse code (obviously). He was really excited when he discovered it and proceeded to obsess over it for like three weeks straight.

Although by the time he learned about it humans had already moved on from its wide-spead use at sea (post-1999), the Devildom Navy adapted Morse code for their own use as per Levi's command.

He teaches MC how to use Morse code (bashfully) and they send lil' messages to each other for fun

★ Satan.

He inherited a good chunk of Lucifer’s angel-knows-all-languages innate talents.

He doesn't have the angel knowledge of every language, of course, but he definitely has a really high count since birth; Unlike his brothers who had to relearn their languages of interest.

However, he can tell™ that the topic of languages is kinda taboo-y, as it signifies the traumatic fall he himself was not there to witness, and kept quiet about it.

The others (mostly) think he just learned languages in his free time.

He is the designated google translate person. When the other brothers need translations, they ask him.

He gets very frustrated when he has to translate something on the spot

Absolutely knows Chinese and Latin just to read fancy old human books and be a menace about it

He has a copy of the Art Of War in Chinese I will fight you on that

Actually he probably owns every important human book in its native language

Culprit of the you're* corrections

If he has to read another thesis-length essay abt weeb shit by leviathan he will actually lose his shit

You know the Voynich manuscript? He's probably trying to decode it for funsies.

If you and him (unfortunately) share a language, he will absolutely correct the living shit out of you when you speak it

Look me in the eyes and tell me he wouldn't "erm ACtuAllY" MC. You can't.

His ass does not understand slang. At all. You tell him See You Later Alligator and he'll be like "tf you smoking ಠಿ⁠_⁠ಠ?"

★ Asmodeus.

French. And Korean. Maybe very mid English.

Ok so french is the language of lOVe and whatever + Korea is known for their heavy beauty-focused culture

I can see Asmo definitely picking up Korean just for makeup and self care brands purposes.

Like it is easier to browse for products he wants if he can actually browse the original places/websites himself

It's just more convenient and he's actually very good at language learning

+ Korean it is a "cutesy" language so it fits his vibe.

Like he absolutely would go "안녕 teehee (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)" to look disarming is what I am saying

He flirts to hell with Solomon in French. It is a language they both know and isn't supported by Loquar for translation so nobody can snoop their conversations

If you have the misfortune of knowing French I am so sorry for you bcs they are NASTY

Solomon is teaching him English. Asmo fakes being bad at it on purpose

★ Beelzebub.

He knows a decent amount of English.

What does he use it for? Order food. Obviously.

In fact everyone kinda assumes he just knows a few food orders and that's it but no he's actually very decent at English (borderline fluent)

He learned through clunky conversation with small restaurant owners

Beel actually makes a great effort to enunciate every word clearly, so he doesn't like speaking long sentences

"Would you like Salsa with that, sweetheart?" "... Yes," <- Beel has no fucking clue wtf salsa is but it tastes good so who is he to defy food gods (a nice Mexican grandma with a killer Pozole) whom have blessed him

I also think he would probably know some kind of sign language

Fingerspelling maybe, solely because it allows him to talk while having his mouth full or bcs his games are loud and he can't hear words very well

That and, like, the Devildom equivalent of sign language. DSL or something.

Look at him. Absolute sweetheart. He would absolutely want to include deaf or hard of hearing ppl.

★ Belphegor.

Ok so

I am going to be very fr with you

I believe Belphie would be the only monolingual (demon tongue "native") of the brothers

at most he would remember a few phrases of a few languages from back when he was an angel, but not any specifics

Like this dude has ZERO interest in human culture I cannot think he would sit down to (re)learn anything

he would fall asleep trying to learn human verbs actually

He only knows how to tell you to fuck off on 4 languages (/hj)

None which you speak. So that's kinda awkward

He doesn't know how to cast Loquar (nor has any interest in learning how)

Beel casts it for him if he needs it

He can and will deadass just remove the translator spell from you if you try to annoy/interact with him (except if Beel is who casts it on you).

(so Beel now also casts Loquar for you)

Begone >:(

[mochatsin]

Masterlist

My collection of Obey Me Headcanons and Drabbles can be found here. Happy Reading!

When the Brothers are Jealous

When the Brothers Save MC (TW!)

When MC Sings

MC Giving Gifts for the Brothers

When MC Faints

When MC is Bilingual

When MC Comes Home Injured (TW!)

When MC Gets Cat Ears

When They Feel their Sins on MC

When MC Dances

When the Brothers Accidentally Injure MC (mildly)

When MC has a Stalker (TW!)

When MC has Incredible Strength

When the Brothers Forgot Your Date

When the Brothers Make MC Cry

When the Brothers Go Shopping with MC

When the Brothers Meet MC's Ex

When MC can Draw

When MC gets Catcalled (TW!)

When MC can Draw (Dateables Version)

When MC is a Writer

When MC Gets Pushed Off the Stairs (TW!)

When MC has a Cast

Oneshots (links directly to AO3) Tooth Aches and Head Aches

Mini Series MC as a Dating Sim Character part 1 MC as a Dating Sim Character part 2

Brain Rot Fallen Angel Child!MC The School Play

[ranchracoon]

Make Me Yours Master Post

For the past few years there has been an empty space inside Carmen that grows bigger and bigger. All of her family has found their mates, and settled down except for her. She finally decides to try and reach out to her goddesses, even her ancestors but is only greeted with silence. That is until strange dreams plague her sleep every night to the point she's restless and decides to act. So she leaves her island home to face the unknown world beyond to try and find the meaning of these dreams. In her search she stumbles upon a village in the middle of the mountains of Romania, where the villagers are every thing but friendly. Her attempts at escape are futile for she soon realizes this is where her dreams meant for her to be.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

[kleinv01]

It's been almost a week and still all I can think about is Al 😭 I just wanna hug him and give him a lil forehead kiss

anyway, how would the Li react to a bilingual mc that tries to surround themselves as much as they can with thier native language so that they don't forget how to speak it (like taking notes/mumbling in it and consuming media)

://SYSTEM_MESSAGE_ANSWERED !

klein would 'learn' the language without your permission/knowledge. he wants to surprise you with this new data one day, hoping to get a reaction out of you. ( but he's too eager to show off. lol ) maybe you're mumbling/talking in your native language, and suddenly klein says something in response to that. then beams with pride at you. can even translate things for you almost spontaneously.

yael would find himself genuinely curious about it. considering he has known darling since they were students, yael would've known about this, but if you start doing it more often in front of him he'll eventually try to learn it as well, maybe even help you take notes as well, and help you out if he could.

al would be like O_O . oh, he'll have something new to learn about you! swiftly tries to learn/make notes of your language all by himself, not letting you discover this activity, though. he's a very, very quick learner.

[hanni-3]

Sooo...

MARIANA INTRODUCTION TIME !! :33

I'll do a Lucas introduction as well but lesbian first

-*———*-

Let's starts with the basics shall we? ; At 10 years old Mariana Martinez moved to Puerto Rico all the way to Golden Grove. The move was....something. Travelling to somewhere to a completely different continent, with a different language, different culture— just everything is different.

At least she has her Mama with her, despite not having the best relationship with each other, deep down Mariana really cares for her mama. She just has hard time expressing it.

In step 1, Mariana is a cis girl from all the way to step 4 and doesn't really care what pronous you use "You guys are obsessed, She..He..They. I don't care." she says

-Originally when I made her ; They were a transgender boy but I scraped it (and made another one that I'll introduce later cough cough)

Mariana isn't afraid to tell the truth, she's very blunt and so horribly honest. ex : Random "Hey! What do you think of my new hat?"

Mariana "It sucks."

So..yeah.. And because of this ; back in Puerto Rico she did not have that many friends. Some parents complained to Opal about it even but guess what? Mariana still doesn't care and continues on being 'mean'.

Fun fact while we're at it : Mariana has a bit of an accent in step 1, but by the time passes they manage to cover up the accent but it'll often come by from certain words. Especially the r's and the v's (pronounces the v = b's)

And the famous bilingual problem ; forgetting words. Both native and english, when people at school found out she was from Puerto Rico (which made her a bit more popular, bragging) people would often come up to her and ask him if their Spanish homework was good enough or what that word meant. She'd either :

A. Be blunt.

B. Knows what it says and capable of translating it but, just, can't.

C. Knows the word in Spanish but forgot it in English.

(^ mostly happens in step 2)

The relationship with the leads!!!

Whenever you would ask Mariana about love, she'd peek at Tamarack Baumann secretly and look back at you, plainly responding by "I don't do that romance crap."

In step 1 : When Tamarack popped out of the leaves, catching Mariana off guard, noticing how pretty Tamarack is.

She was hostile about her at first because of how her heart keeps fluttering everytime she'd smile. They're immediately and naturally close, without Mariana noticing much. And would defend Tamarack at anytime, Tamarack said you look like a broccoli because of your hair? Well she's right and she's being honest about it. Suck it up. Nevertheless ; while those two pining idiots goes trought the hardships of Tamarack not really feeling like a regular and Mariana being, her and confused about her feelings, in the end they could call each other's girlfriend's <3

As for Qiu Lin, ehh...they're neighbors all right. Mariana was ticked off by Qiu's charming personality and Qiu's being a people pleaser.

But in step 2, while Mariana is confused with her feelings and other stuff. Not wanting to bother Tamarack or her mama and on the other hand Qiu's confused with their gender. They'd rely on each other instead and give each other their shoulders to rest their head on to either ramble or stay in complete, comfortable silence. Then Mariana would maybe give a chance to Qiu. Despite Qiu giving up on befriending her, she'd try and befriend them.

And voil�� !! All the main stuff you need to know about Mariana. Thank you for giving me your time to talk about her, of course if you have any questions about her or hell, another mc that caught your eye you can ask them away. And I'd cry. Have a wonderful day/afternoon / night!!

[dorkus-mcdingus]

A random list of TWST HCs in no particular order

(Keep in mind they can range from general, fluffy, or angsty)

- Sam is bilingual but he speaks the Port O' Bliss (Louisiana) Dialect of French. He also would call Crowley a coullion/couyon (don't know the proper spelling. Sorry!) under his breath whenever that old crow is just yapping instead of paying for his order.

- Malleus had his mind blown when he first heard about milkshakes. I mean you can drink ice cream?! THROUGH A STRAW?! 🤯

- The only time you will ever hear Crewel call himself "daddy" is whenever he gets caught baby talking towards his dogs. Not that he has any shame in doing it.

- Jamil would slip into his mother tongue whenever he gets SUPER pissed off (it's not often when he does but 0/10 would not recommend you do it)

- I pretty much HC a good majority of the twst cast to be bilingual or know a few languages depending on where they come from. Although if they're from the Queendom of Roses, I mainly see them being monolingual but have the ability to read other languages.

- Rollo has vivid nightmares about his brother's death and how he ultimately blames himself for what happened. It's so bad to where the poor boy would rather not fall asleep so he won't see the visions again. The best sort of night is where he doesn't dream. There's nothing but the black void when he closes his eyes.

- I feel like Lilia would be sad hearing the song "Army Dreamers" because it would remind him so much of the war and the many soldiers that died serving Briarland. They were someone's child after all.

- Speaking of Lilia, he can turn on the old soldier voice and it's the one way he knows how to scare the shit out of some of the former soldiers that served with him. However, he would say

"I've spent so long playing soldier that I'm kind of tired of it."

If you ask him why he stopped using that voice. God... Malleus, Silver, and Sebek did a number on that old man.

- If I were to make a guess on Gidel's age, I think he would be around 9 or 10 years old. So it's safe to say that Fellow probably found him when he was either in his late teens or early twenties. Though, I'm more leaning on early twenties for this.

- I got PLENTY of hcs surrounding those two but much like most of the cast, Fellow himself is bilingual and learned the common language through his travels (mother tongue is Italian of course). Despite his limited education, he does try to help Gidel learn how to read and write as best as he can. Gidel is also his biggest priority. I don't think he really minds what happens to him as long as Gidel is happy, has food in his stomach, and his clothes are well mended but Gidel in turn knows how much Fellow has been suffering for their sake.

- Gidel also understands Italian but also the common language as well. Due to his limitations with reading and writing, one of the ways he is able to overcome the barrier when it comes to communication is miming or nodding and shaking his head. Sometimes what he's trying to say does get lost in translation but he and Fellow have such a tight knit bond that his big brother can understand him perfectly and can translate what he's saying if someone is having difficulty understanding him. He is a very streetwise kid underneath that adorable smile but is also a rather sensitive individual and can feel when someone is in pain or unhappy especially if it's Fellow

- A favorite story of our favorite scheming duo is "The Emperor's New Clothes"

- Yuu/MC has a tradition of welcoming the Halloween guest characters as honorary members of Ramshackle Dorm by making them perform a hazing ritual of having them take care of Grim when it's his bath time. Grim's a little bastard about it too especially towards Fellow and Rollo (I'm unsure about Skully but I'll update once the event is complete).

- Azul is the worst person to play Monopoly against

- I feel like the Tweels would sing a jazzy version of "People = Shit" with Azul playing the piano but the more he heard the two chaos gremlins sing, the more he wanted to crawl into an octopus pot

- Pre-overblot Riddle would definitely have a stroke reading The Cat in the Hat especially since the moral is that sometimes a little rule breaking is fine as long as it doesn't go too far

- If you think Azul is the most annoying person to play Monopoly against, Ace would know all the ways to piss you off in Uno. I think the first years playing Uno would be both one hilarious sight to witness but also the worst because of how much those boys are going to be fighting with each other.

- Despite Grim saying he's not a cat, his cuddles and purrs can soothe one's soul despite how much he's a little bastard most of the time. It's little moments like these where the MC thinks it's worth it putting up with his attitude and his black hole of a stomach

- Dylla was definitely a delinquent in her youth and the apple didn't fall far from the tree when it came to her son. Although her son may struggle in terms of academics, the fact that Deuce is trying to clean up his act and reform is something that always makes her swell with pride.

- If Maleanor were still alive, she would've been the CUTEST grandma! Although I do think that the fact that her son is close friends with a human does make her feel uneasy because she doesn't want him to get hurt like how humans have hurt her. Although I do also think that Lilia would often visit her grave and tell her of the many milestones that happened to him and her son.

- Despite the fact that Trein's daughters are all grown up, they still keep in contact with their father to make sure he's doing okay and their conversations can get LONG but I don't think the professor minds at all. Any time he spends with his children whether he's home or on a call, he treasures it.

- I feel like knowing that Crowley likes wild game and Vargas himself is a hunter, I wouldn't be surprised if he took the headmage on a hunting trip. I also think that Vargas would give the fur to Crewel if he needs some material. The man may be a muscle head but he's not wasteful when it comes to hunting for game meat.