#my great grandmother died last year and my great aunts have been distant ever since | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

myforeverforlife · 5 years ago

Text

the sacrifice (part one).

Sorcery. Witchcraft. Burnings.

You lead a privileged life, connections to the royal family and the dormant magic of generations of witches keeping you safe from the witch hunts. You pose no threat, your family had abandoned the craft ages ago. But as your cousin lays dying and running out of options, you go against the king’s orders and run the risk of being put to death. Now, your only choice is to seek out the age-old traditions of your family, with all of its secrets and mysteries, in search of the answers you need. But what do you do when the answers that you find aren’t the ones that you want?

A/N: Mentions of minor character death in this chapter

Pairing: Baekhyun and Fem reader

Word count: 5,155

Series masterlist: ( 1 ) ( 2 ) ( 3 )

Masterlist

You weren't destined for an ordinary life.

As niece to the king of Elyxere and best friend to the crown prince, your life was already considerably different from that of anyone else's. You were not descended directly from the great kings and queens, only considered royalty through association. Your aunt had married extremely well, and while your father and mother were not of noble blood themselves, they were still considered part of the renowned royal family.

But greatness was known to manifest in many forms.

As a child, your favorite stories were not of how Prince Sehun's grandfather had fought off the kingdom's invaders, but of the magic that your aunt and father's ancestors had possessed.

The same magic that now flowed through both of you.

Of course, no one in the Shin clan had proven to have any powerful magic for centuries. The last witch had been your one of your father's distant relatives, a woman who could conjure up remedies for everyday illnesses and ailments.

Oh, how you wished time and time again that the few drops of magic blood would someday manifest in a large display of power. The promise of magic had always interested you, even as you grew older.

Now, magic was your only hope.

You gulped, heart leaping up into your throat as you carefully flipped through worn pages. These books hadn't been touched in decades, not since your aunt passed.

Not since magic had been banned.

Your senses were on alert, head constantly looking over your shoulder at the slightest bit of noise. Your aunt's room remained just as she left it, and the king would have a fit if he heard that you were snooping around.

But you had given up on trying to reason with him long ago.

It had taken lots of waiting, lots of strategic planning for you to make it to your aunt's bedchambers unnoticed. If anyone had any clues on where the witches were hiding, they would be here. Your father had never been interested in seeking out the craft, leaving all of the family heirlooms to his younger sister. The stacks of books called out to you, tips and histories from ancestors past who still had advice to share.

With a grunt of frustration, you shut the book, placing it to the side with the ones you had already skimmed through. You didn't need recipes, or guidelines for rituals. They wouldn't work for you anyway. What you needed was a map, a journal entry, anything that would point you in the direction of the last remaining witches.

Sehun was doing his best to keep the servants distracted, you knew. Possibly another complaint about how the latest doctor hadn't done anything to help either, or a refusal to take his medicine. That would surely give you another ten minutes, at least.

Leaning against the bookshelf, you reached up on your tiptoes, fingers searching for any last books when they brushed against a leather spine. Your legs were starting to ache from the stress, but you pushed onward, determined to grab the book.

You let out a deep sigh when you finally had it in your grasp, pulling it out and instantly flipping through the pages. Upon first glance, you could already tell that this book was different. Some of the text was indecipherable, written in a language that you didn't understand.

But what caught your eye was the list of names.

Names of people in various clans, different covens stared back up at you, row after row. With a gasp, you traced the script that made up your own name — one of the last few members of the Shin clan.

You didn't recognize any names outside of your family, yours and Sehun's barely squeezing in at the bottom of the page. But the next page held more promise.

"Friends," you read aloud. Friends of your aunt? Of your family? There was only one clan listed there — the Byuns, who were last rumored to be living far away from the capital of Elyxere.

A bustling in the hallway interrupted your thoughts. You scrambled to put the books back where you found them, saving the last one for yourself.

Sliding silently over to the door, you waited until the commotion died down. Now was your chance. You had no time to lose.

With a speed you didn't even know you possessed, you were out of the room, up the lesser used staircases and inside your bedroom before anyone spotted you. The book would have to wait until later. You tucked it into your chest of drawers, hidden under layers of underclothes before heading back out into the hall.

Sehun would be antsy, waiting for good news.

People were coming in and out of his room as you neared the crown prince's chambers, some faces relaxing once they caught sight of you.

"Lady Y/N," one servant greeted you. "His Royal Highness insists that you be here while he takes his medicine."

You forced out a laugh. "Of course. Thank you." Nodding in dismissal, you hoped that you didn't look as nervous as you felt.

Sehun sat up in his wide bed, an almost childish pout on his face as the physician stood beside him. "Y/N!" he exclaimed, face lighting up once he saw you. To the others, he merely seemed excited to see you. But you knew that he was dying to hear of what you had found.

"Will you be a good little prince and take your medicine now?" you asked, taking a seat at the foot of his bed.

Rolling his eyes, Sehun inclined his head towards the physician. "Alright. I'm ready."

The man sighed, worn out by the prince's antics. "Your Highness, this is the same medicine you've been taking for months," he said as he stirred the hot mixture.

"And yet I remain ill. You'll have to forgive me for being wary of medicine that doesn't seem to do me any good." Sehun raised an eyebrow, hands outstretched as he waited for the physician to pass him the bowl.

The room was silent as Sehun slowly, steadily drank up every last drop of the bitter medicine. At this point, he claimed that he didn't even notice the taste anymore. Once he was done, the physician took the bowl back with a relieved smile.

"I'll see you again, same time tomorrow, Your Highness. Lady Y/N," he nodded towards you, bidding you both goodbye. The rest of the servants in the room trailed behind, the last one smoothly closing the door.

Once the door shut with a soft click, Sehun was motioning you closer. "Well?" he whispered. "Did you find anything?"

"Did you mother ever mention anything about the Byun clan?" you asked, just as eager as your cousin.

Sehun's face wrinkled in thought. "No. Who are they?"

"In one of her books, they're mentioned as friends. It's the only lead we've got."

The ailing prince nodded, bangs flopping against his forehead. "When do we leave?"

"You are not going anywhere," you exclaimed. "What would your father think if you just up and disappeared in the middle of the night? The crown prince, of all people."

"What would your parents think?" Sehun countered. "There's no use in arguing, Y/N. I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not."

"Sehunnie," you begged, even as the prince scowled. "This trip would be too much for you. What if you got worse?" Scooting closer, you held your hands out for his own, posture relaxing when they met yours. "You’ve been sick for too long, and I won’t stand for it anymore. I swear, I will not return until I have found your cure."

"But this is my life," Sehun mumbled. "You shouldn't have to do this for me."

With a gentle squeeze, you shot him the most reassuring smile you could muster. "You would do the same for me."

It was true. A relationship forged in the early years of childhood and strengthened through multiple hardships had only resulted in an unbreakable bond. There was no one that you trusted more than your best friend, and you knew without words that he felt the same.

"When do you leave?" he asked.

"Tonight, once I figure out how to get to the outerlands without being detected." Sehun's eyes darkened with worry. "I'll be back, I promise."

The prince let go of your hands, his thin arms extended for a hug instead. You weren't much of a hugger, but for your best friend, the boy who was practically your younger brother, you had no complaints.

"Stay safe," he whispered into your hair. "It's not worth it if you get hurt."

Your stomach twisted in disagreement, but you forced yourself to nod. "Alright. But only if you stay safe too."

Sehun snorted. "I don't think I can help it, being locked up here all the time."

You rolled you eyes with a grin. "Yes, locked up in your golden cage. You know, just because you're sick doesn't mean that I won't hesitate to tickle you."

The prince scrambled back quickly, hands up to protect himself as you began your offense.

Just pretend for a few more hours, you reasoned with yourself. Pretend that your lifelong friend wasn't dying, that your parents wouldn't be heartbroken by your disappearance.

That you weren't possibly facing death by going against the king's orders.

Baekhyun's nose wrinkled in concentration, hands hovering over the rounded crystal before him. His power was nowhere near that of his great-great-great-grandmother's, but he still had enough to be able to use the family scrying stone. However, it was hard to look into the future when the rest of the coven was running around the house like a couple of madmen.

Grumbling under his breath, Baekhyun sat up, hood falling back from his head. Mongryong's ears perked up, the corgi resting next to his master on the floor.

"Can you keep it down out there?" Baekhyun shouted, not even trying to mask his irritation. "None of us are going to find out what happens in the near future if I can't concentrate."

Immediately, the house went quiet. "Sorry," Minseok squeaked out.

"I told Tanie not to chase Dotori around like that," Baekhyun heard Jongdae whisper.

"Well, maybe your familiar shouldn't have been trying to steal her food again."

Fed up with the constant interruptions, Baekhyun stood up, Mongryong already at his heels. He pulled the door open, letting it slam against the wall as the other two members of his coven stared at him in fear. Minseok's cat, Tanie ran to hide behind his legs while Jongdae's chipmunk familiar burrowed herself into the depths of his tunic.

"What have I said about making noise while I'm scrying?" Baekhyun barked out, one brown eye flashing darkly while the other remained an icy blue. "I know concentration's not a big deal for either of you, but I need all the help I can get."

Jongdae and Minseok glanced at each other, the two brothers sharing a knowing glance. "Baekhyun," Jongdae started. "What's wrong?"

The witch ran a hand through his hair with an irritated huff. "The stupid crystal hasn't showed me anything for days, and your constant noise while I'm trying to work is driving me insane."

Minseok came closer, reaching out to rest a hand on Baekhyun's shoulder. "Maybe there's nothing for it to show you right now."

Baekhyun couldn't help but glare at the older man. "It always has something to show me. Even with Mongryong around, the crystal still won't respond." He ran a hand over his face, letting out a low breath. "Maybe there's something wrong with me," admitted, the words coming out in a quick rush.

"Hey," Jongdae said, appearing at Baekhyun's other side. "That's not true."

"Yeah, well it's definitely not the crystal's fault. It has to be me."

After a bit of stifling silence, Minseok finally spoke up. "You know, we have our off days too. What, you think everything I brew turns out perfect? Don't you remember that time I accidentally turned Tanie pink?"

Jongdae chortled with laughter. "A pink cat. That was a first."

"And Dae's spells haven't always worked out," Minseok continued. "Going through a slump is inevitable."

Baekhyun shook his head. "You don't understand. Never, in the century that I've been alive has the crystal failed to respond to me. Why now?"

The other men didn't have an answer to that, both of them stunned speechless by Baekhyun's admission. Mongryong suddenly let out a short bark, running back into Baekhyun's room. The witch turned around, eyes widening when he saw the familiar glow of the scrying stone.

All three men scrambled into the room, Baekhyun pulling the hood of his robe back up onto his head as the other two sat behind him in respectful silence. Baekhyun reached out once more, almost cradling the crystal in his hold. He peered into the depths of it, an unconscious pout on his lips. Squinting through the cloudy surface, he struggled to make out the image swirling within. His confusion only grew as he spotted long skirts, a mess of hair tangled by the wind.

"A girl..." he mumbled to himself. Jongdae opened his mouth, about to ask something when Minseok threw a hand over his mouth. Baekhyun waited patiently, a skill only cultivated after a century of practice and nagging from Minseok about his restlessness.

The murky surface started to clear as Baekhyun concentrated, clouds dispersing to reveal a face. He had never seen the royal family, but the magic running through his veins told him who it was upon first glance. Baekhyun gasped aloud, everyone in the room waiting eagerly. "The princess," he shared aloud.

"Princess?" Jongdae raised a brow. "Not the crown prince?"

"Maybe the crown prince's cousin," Minseok whispered to him. Everyone in the kingdom knew of the royal family and their lineage.

"She's riding on horseback," Baekhyun continued, not even acknowledging the others behind him. "Leaving the castle. Searching for... me."

"You?" both brothers shouted at once.

"That's it. This is the end of the Byun and the Kim clans," Jongdae began to worry. "If a member of the royal family knows where we are, we're dead. Literally."

"She has a grimoire." Baekhyun was practically hypnotized by this point, his voice taking on a dream-like quality. "The late queen's. An artifact of the Shin clan." With that, Baekhyun let out a last shuddering breath before dropping his hands, the scrying stone falling to the floor with a thump and rolling away. Mongryong jumped up, blocking the crystal from rolling any further by lying down on top of it.

"She's coming here?" Minseok repeated as Baekhyun turned around. "But why?"

"To collect us and bring us to the king," Jongdae interrupted.

Baekhyun shook his head. "I don't think so. She was alone, and had the family grimoire too. Why would she bring evidence of witchcraft if she was coming to turn us in?"

"To make us think that she's one of us?" Jongdae suggested weakly. He groaned, the words sounded off even to his own ears.

"She is one of us," said Minseok. "Her and the crown prince, even if the king chooses to ignore it."

"I don't think she comes with any intent to harm us," Baekhyun spoke slowly, tasting the words. "I didn't see anything to suggest otherwise. Mother," his voice faltered. "Mother used to tell me that the late queen's clan was an ally of ours. Maybe she's trying to rebuild ties, fix what's been broken."

"You mean fix the murder of thousands of witches at the hand of her uncle?" Jongdae's face darkened, an unusual expression for one usually so bright. "To ban witchcraft is one thing, but to allow these witchhunts to go on... And to ignore the fact that he has witches in his own home!"

"His wife died because of a witch," Minseok argued softly. "I'm not saying that this excuses anything, but I can understand why he’s been seeking vengeance."

"No amount of magic was going to get the queen better — she had been sick for years! The king used that witch as a scapegoat for his anger when the potion failed to make the queen better, and we've been suffering ever since." Jongdae's eyes were glassy now, pent up frustration rising to the surface. He had never dealt with the full range of anger and despair at their losses. None of them had.

"I think we should let the girl find us," Baekhyun said softly. "Trust me," he added upon seeing the others' shocked faces. "If there was any evil intent, I would have sensed it. If she comes, and things do end up... heading for the worse, I think we can handle one girl."

Tanie rubbed her face against Minseok's knee, coaxing a smile from her owner. "What, do you expect me to turn the princess pink?"

That got a chuckle from Jongdae, the man covering his mouth with one hand. "Stop it," he mumbled. "I'm still angry."

A grin spread over Baekhyun's face. Even with all of the loss and heartbreak shared between the three of them, they still always managed to cheer each other up — even in serious moments like these.

As Dotori climbed out of Jongdae's pocket and curled up in his hand, Mongryong waddled over and plopped himself down onto Baekhyun's lap. Three witches, three familiars. They would be fine, Baekhyun reasoned.

How much trouble could one girl cause?

With each passing day, you found yourself further and further away from the castle, the place you considered home. You barely avoided being recognized by strangers in the first couple of days. Now, a week later in the far edges of Elyxere, you could walk around without fear of a single person knowing who you were. Most of them had never been to the capital before, let alone seen the king's niece with their own two eyes.

You kept your aunt's book hidden from all, only pulling it out in the darkness of night and the security of a rented room. According to what you read, the Byun clan was less than a day's travel away.

Members of the clan were gifted with clairvoyance, able to see into the near future. You learned that your own clan had been known for spell casting, with a few clairvoyants appearing every couple of generations. Reading about your family's rich history often left you with an uneasy lump in the pit of your stomach. How could the king ban witchcraft, ban a talent that had been used to help others?

The memory of your aunt's passing was still strong, especially when you remembered how distraught Sehun had been. The queen had insisted on using magic to save her, after trying countless remedies with no improvement. The king sent for one of the most powerful witches, one skilled in potion-making. Everyone had placed so much faith in the witch's abilities, that it came as a blow to all when the queen only worsened. The king was in denial when she died soon after, taking his frustration and anger out on the witches and their craft.

Things only escalated from there, and soon people were organizing their own hunts for the witches, burning those who showed any sign of controlling magic. You, Sehun and your father were only kept safe due to your relations to the king, as well as the fact that the magic had never manifested for the three of you.

But it still didn't stop you from feeling sick about the hatred, the unbridled violence that people had for the witches.

Sitting up in bed, you slammed the book shut. That was enough reading for now. You'd be lucky if you didn't have any nightmares tonight.

You fell asleep more easily than you had anticipated, breaths evening out as your drifted off into slumber. Most nights, you slept without dreaming — falling asleep and waking up without remembering anything in between.

But tonight, you were very aware that something was different. Even as you slept, you could feel the haziness of a dream clouding your mind. And yet, you still thought as clearly as you did when you were awake. Your skin prickled with goosebumps at the realization — you were lucid dreaming.

"Indeed," a woman's voice called out.

You looked around, searching for the new voice. There was nothing around you, only what looked like a dense, gray fog, filling the air. "Hello?" you called out timidly.

"This is your first dream like this, I suppose? But not the last," the voice continued, almost crooning softly in your ear. "You're very close. Follow your path, and you'll find what you're looking for."

With that, the fog receded, darkness giving way to light before you were forced awake.

Your eyes flashed open, taken aback to see the sunlight filtering through the curtains. Had you really slept through the night? You could have sworn that it had only been a few minutes since you had fallen asleep.

The woman's voice played over and over in your mind, focusing on the firm reassurance behind her words.

"Follow your path, and you'll find what you're looking for."

Your path led you to a forest a long ways distance from the village you spent the night in. Occasionally, the reins would slip from your sweaty grasp. You weren't the most experienced of horse riders, but you had enough training to manage.

The horse slowed as you reached the edges of the forest, whinnying uncertainly at the darkness within. You slid down from its back, trying to figure out how you'd find the Byun clan all while managing not to get lost.

As soon as your feet touched the ground, the horse reared back with its head held high. It let out one last whinny of terror before turning around, galloping as fast as it could back the way you came.

Great. You supposed that's what you got for stealing a horse.

"Follow your path, and you'll find what you're looking for." You repeated the strange woman's advice under your breath, words coming again and again as you tried to reassure yourself. Adjusting your knapsack, you inhaled deeply. You had no other choice. You had to save Sehun.

Carefully, you took one step forward. One step became two, and soon you were walking at a steady, slow pace. The glimmering of the midday sun shone down onto the forest floor, warming up your skin and making you feel less alone.

You could have been walking for hours, for days and you wouldn't notice the difference. It made you uneasy to realize that not once had you come across another person, another animal. Birds chirped from the eaves above, but you had yet to see another living creature.

Your feet moved by their own volition, keeping you going even as you felt yourself start to zone out. The occasional fallen tree branch or cluster of bushes would wake you up, all senses on alert as you pushed forward. You forced yourself not to stop for too long, only pausing for a couple sips of water from your slowly depleting canteen of water, or a few bites from a loaf of hardening bread.

But even with all your progress, you still felt like you were walking in circles.

Groaning in frustration, you stopped by a small stream, resting on top of a lumpy boulder. "Where could they be?" you whispered to yourself, the heaviness of your legs suddenly too much to bear.

A rustling in the trees nearby startled you, head whipping around for the source of the noise. "Who's there?" you called out, a wobble in your voice.

No answer. The tree branches shook lightly as the creature moved around, a chipmunk appearing as it scampered down the tree. Its nose twitched curiously, tail puffed up in interest as it stared at you.

You couldn't help but laugh at yourself. "Really, Y/N. Scared silly by a chipmunk." Rummaging through your bag, you pulled out a couple of berries. "Here you go, little friend. I'm sorry it's not much. I wasn't expecting to be traveling for so long."

The chipmunk came over to your open palm, stuffing one berry and then the other into its mouth. You cooed at the sight of its cheeks, one side round and stuffed with food.

The animal ran back down to the grassy floor, looking into the depths of the trees before staring back at you.

"I don't have any more to share, I'm sorry."

The chipmunk ran around in a small circle before climbing up your skirts and back down. You watched, intrigued as it stood in the same spot as before, almost like it was waiting for you.

"What?" you asked.

With a squeak, it ran into the darkness. You thought your new friend was gone forever until it came back, waiting at the base of a tree.

You had the strangest feeling that it was trying to show you something. It wasn’t every day that you had a chipmunk try to grab your attention. “Should I follow you?" You stood up, legs already sore at the thought of walking again.

It continued to stare, standing still as it waited.

You sighed. "Alright. Your guess is as good as mine."

With a chipmunk as your guide, you continued the long trek, winding throughout the forest. To your surprise, it seemed to know when you needed a break even before you did. It would be rude not to reward such a kind companion, and soon all of your berries were stuffed into the chipmunk’s cheeks.

The sun had left its spot high up in the sky long ago, orange flames licking up the approaching onset of nighttime. "I think we need to find a place to sleep for the night," you panted out.

Giving a high-pitched squeak, the chipmunk circled around your feet before continuing on.

"I can't move as quickly as you do," you complained.

Even as you tried your best, the distance between you and your guide only continued to grow. You called out to it, begged it to slow down, but soon enough you lost sight of it.

"No," you cried, dropping to the floor. Your chest was heaving with the continuous exercise you had put yourself through all day. "No," you said again. "Please."

You thought of Sehun, of the years he had spent lying in bed as his body failed him. You had to keep going.

With a cry of pain, you pushed yourself up, legs shaking as you hobbled forward at a snail's pace. A few seconds later, you could have sworn you saw a tiny light far off in the distance.

Squinting, you tried to figure out if this was real, or a figment of your exhausted mind. The light grew larger, weaving among the tall trees.

"Here!" you called out hoarsely. "Help me, please!"

As the light grew nearer, you realized that it was a person holding a small lantern. You stifled a gasp when you saw the tall, pointed hat on its head, long flowing robes trailing behind it.

A witch.

The figure seemed to glide through the forest, even as it came close enough for you to see its face. As he lifted the lantern up, you were surprised to see the face of a young man.

"My friend tells me you've been traveling for a long time," he spoke, lips curling in a manner you could only describe as feline.

Just then, you noticed your forest guide sitting patiently on his shoulder.

"Great job, Dotori," the man praised. He laughed upon seeing the chipmunk's full cheeks. "Looks like you got some snacks already. I think you'll be fine without any more."

With an almost angry squeak, the creature climbed down the front of the man's robes, burrowing itself into a pocket. Its little head reappeared, an acorn in its paws.

"You... you understand it?" you asked, staring at where the chipmunk was resting.

"Of course. Dotori is my familiar." The man cocked his head to the side, taking in your disheveled, worn out appearance. "Why did you tire her out?" he asked his... familiar? "You could've taken your time," the witch continued to admonish.

Dotori only held up her little acorn in response.

"I know it's almost supper. What have I said about letting your little belly get the best of you?" He sighed, shaking his head before sending you an apologetic grin. "Sorry about that. I hope you're not too tired."

You supposed it would be impolite to complain to a stranger about how you were aching all over, so you mustered up a small smile.

"Come," he said, robes swishing as he turned around. "The others are waiting."

"Others?" Adrenaline surged through your body at the mention of more witches, the rest of his clan. "Are you one of the Byun witches?" you asked, hurrying to keep up with him.

The man paused, a wary look in his eye before he continued on. "No. But we are practically like family."

His evasive answer caught you off guard, but you didn't let it deter you. "My family descends from the Shin clan. We've been allies with the Byun clan for ages."

A muscle jumped in the witch's jaw. "I know, little witch. I suggest you save your questions for Baekhyun. He's the one you want."

Baekhyun. You turned the name over in your mind, trying to remember it from among the lists of names in your aunt's book.

The light of the witch's lantern lit up your path, the clustered mess of tree roots and other flora slowly clearing with each step until you reached an open area ringed with trees. Your mouth fell open upon seeing the house nestled in the center.

"Hurry, before they eat all of our supper," the witch said. He extinguished the lantern's flame before opening the door, Dotori's head peeking out once more.

You followed behind, the sudden gravity of it all hitting you. Finally, you would find the answer you had been searching for.

The witch took off his hat, tucking it under his arm as he yelled out for someone. Shaking his head, he went up the flight of stairs close by, leaving you behind.

"Hello."

The new voice had you jumping out of your skin, only relaxing when you spotted a man sitting by the fireplace. A dog lay beside him, eyes closed as the firelight danced against its fur. This new witch stood up, studying you under his gaze as he approached. You stifled a gasp, taken aback by his eyes.

One a comforting brown, the other one startlingly light blue.

"Why have you been looking for us?" he asked, voice low.

"I," you struggled to get out. "I need a cure. My cousin is dying, and nothing else has worked. I need the help of the Byun witches." You gulped upon seeing the hardening of his eyes. "Are you one of them?"

The man laughed hollowly, the sound sending a chill up your spine. "Princess, you're looking at them."

"I am the last of the Byun clan."

Series masterlist: ( 1 ) ( 2 ) ( 3 )

A/N: I have always, always wanted to do some sort of story focusing on witches. This draft has changed multiple times, from being a loosely inspired fic based off of rapunzel with jongdae as the person in the tower, to a fic where y/n is the lost princess, and enlists the help of a mischievous coven of witches to find out who she really is. And now, we’ve come to this final fic idea haha. I think what finally did it for me was seeing baekhyun’s latest magazine shoot, and just knowing that I needed to write this up asap before this just ended up changing again and sitting in my drafts for another year. But I hope you all enjoy it! I’m not sure how many chapters there will be yet, maybe around 4? I also can’t guarantee that the next update will be soon, but once classes end, I should be back on here more regularly by the end of may (and in time for baekhyun solo woohoo)

For clarification, baekhyun’s and minseok’s spirit familiars are their pets in real life, and jongdae’s is a chipmunk because honestly the idea of writing tiny jongdae with an even tinier chipmunk was just too cute to pass up. dotori also means acorn in korean! If you have any questions, my inbox is always open!

#exo #baekhyun #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun fanfic #exo scenario #exo fanfic #writings

89 notes · View notes

thearrangment-phff · 6 years ago

Text

LXVIII.

October 2018

In late October, Archduchess Isabella left France to attend the wedding of Duchess Sophie of Württemberg and Count Maximilian d‘Andigné. While Sophie was a distant cousin, she was more so a closer friend of Isabella. To Isabella’s surprise, Sophie’s cousin Prince Joseph Wenzel of Liechtenstein, second in line to the Liechtenstein principality had a familiar face as his date.

The familiar face was Countess Laura Henckel von Donnersmarck, Isabella’s second cousin through their mutually shared great-grandparents, Charlotte, Grand Duchess of Luxembourg and Felix, Prince Consort of Luxembourg. Within days of the Württemberg wedding, Prince Joseph Wenzel and Countess Laura had announced their engagement with an intended wedding in the Spring of 2019. Prince Joseph Wenzel’s great-uncle, the Swedish billionaire, Count Gustaf Douglas had invited few selected friends and family to his home in Sweden for a dinner party.

The engagement came to a great shock to Isabella, as she and many others never heard of a whisper about a relationship between Joseph Wenzel and Laura. Whispers quickly went around saying Laura was being pushed into an arranged marriage. The marriages of Isabella to Harry and Princess Olga Galitzine and Grand Duke George Mikhailovich were being brought up again. Olga and George were having an unhappy marriage so far.

The last thing Isabella had heard was Olga and George were highly disappointed in the birth of a daughter, a little girl whom they named Maria-Olga. There were talks about a plan, a plan to marry royals with other royals and those with noble blood. Isabella had been the perfect Habsburg-Bourbon royal. Laura’s mother was a Princess of Hohenberg, a great-granddaughter of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, and while she had Habsburg-Bourbon blood, Laura also had much noble blood.

Prince Joseph Wenzel needed a royal or noble blooded wife and though there were better choices, Laura was the only one who had accepted his proposal. Like Isabella, Joseph Wenzel recognized that marrying for love was a choice, being born with such a family meant a royal duty that made him forget having choices. His parents and grandparents were pleased to have Laura marry into their family. For centuries the ties of the House of Liechtenstein and the Houses of Bourbon and Habsburg were prominent and this new marriage proved to just be that once again.

Not long after, Isabella and Queen Letizia of Spain attended the First World Health Organization Conference on air pollution and health at the Headquarters of the World Health Organization, in Geneva, Switzerland. The simple fact that Isabella could speak Spanish with the Spanish Queen earned her the nicknamed of ‘Diplomatic Duchess’ as she did similar tactics with other foreign royals and politicians. The next day Isabella stepped out with Kate on their first joint engagement.

The two women went to the First World War Galleries at the Imperial War Museum. While the conversation started talking about Kate’s distant family members who died in World War One, things quickly changed to focus on Isabella. To many, why would anyone spend their time on Kate whose family were simple soldiers when Isabella was standing right next to her.

Isabella’s great-grandfather was Emperor of Austria & King of Hungary, her great-great-grandfather was King of the Belgians, her great-aunt was Grand Duchess of Luxembourg her great-grand-uncle was the King of Sweden, a great-great-grand-uncle was King of Denmark, another great-great-grand-uncle was King of Norway, another great-great-grand-uncle was King of Greece, another great-great-grand-uncle was Tsar of Bulgaria, and more distant relatives ruled the Kingdoms of Spain, Bavaria, and Saxony because of marriages to Archduchesses of Austria or their own Bourbon blood.

Compared to Isabella, Kate looked small and dull. A simple commoner standing next to an Archduchess of Austria could hardly compare in a historians eyes. When Isabella brought out stories told to her by her paternal grandfather Archduke Carl Christian of Austria and maternal grandmother Josephine Charlotte, Grand Duchess of Luxembourg nee Princess of Belgium about World War One, nothing Kate could have said or done would take the attention off of Isabella. When Isabella shared family stories about the times of world war one in Sweden, Austria, Belgium, and Denmark Kate accepted the situation.

When the car was pulled up and both women had gotten into the car, they were treated by Isabella’s two elder ladies-in-waiting.

“Your mother won’t appreciate that,” spoke Charlotte first.

“I was simply telling stories. My grandmother would have appreciated her own grandmother being talked about,” replied Isabella.

“Her mother would have appreciated it too,” added Christine.

“Marie Astrid was just 4 when Princess Ingeborg died. I highly doubt she would remember her great-grandmother very well,” bite back Charlotte.

“Talking about family members is good, it keeps their memory alive,” said Kate.

“The history books written about Belle’s family are doing that job for her. That’s what happens when you have such a family like hers,” snarked Charlotte.

“Just because books were written doesn’t mean one should stop talking about family. What’s written can be completely different from actual experiences,” replied Kate.

“Kate is right. How we interpret book is not how we interpret family. You’ve read all those horrible things about my family over the centuries. Many of them might not even be true,” agreed Isabella.

“Really? Such the cases of Juana or Maria the Mad. What about King Charles VI of France or King Philip V of Spain? You descended from them and they all have the nickname the Mad. You don’t think what we read about them is false? What about all the atrocities they committed since the beginning of time? Belle, you tend to forget that you come from a family of inbreeding and despicable acts, what else are the Habsburgs known for and it looks like your family does not learn from their past,” argued Princess Charlotte.

“I think that’s enough bickering for today. We have a fun day ahead of us tomorrow for the centenary celebrations. We should look forward now,” interrupted Princess Christine.

Isabella turned to look over at Kate who was shocked at the way the conversation went too. Kate was trying to help but Charlotte was just as obnoxious about royal blood more so than Isabella. When the car pulled into Kensington, Kate waited until they were out of the car before talking.

“It was very nice going on this engagement with you today. Hopefully there will be more,” smiled Kate.

“Yes, of course. Thank you for dealing with my ladies, I know sometimes it seems backward to have them-”

“No, not at all. I understand that they mean a lot to you and they do more,” interrupted Kate.

“Okay, good. I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

November 2018

Morning at Westminster then attending several services were exhausting to Isabella. Just minutes after the engagements in London ended, she was on a plane to Luxembourg. There was a mass celebrated in memory of the deceased members of the Grand Ducal Family. While Isabella and Harry had gone, other royals include Grand Duke Henri, Grand Duchess Maria Theresa, Prince Guillaume, Princess Sibilla, Princess Charlotte, and Prince Leopold. It was a small gathering but the simple fact that Ferdinand von Habsburg came to another family event puzzled Isabella.

After the mass when the family was mingling around at the Grand Ducal Palace Isabella felt Harry and went immediately to Ferdinand.

She quietly dragged him away from the crowd, “Two family events, you have to tell me the truth Ferdinand.”

“Charlotte and I are dating. You know that.”

“Yes, but the simple fact that you come to two mass events is getting me suspicious. How serious is it?” asked Isabella.

“Serious enough to be here,” answered Ferdinand.

“She is just 18 Ferdinand.”

“You had someone at 18. It is not like we’re getting married.”

“But marriage is a thought in the far future, right?” asked Isabella.

“While it hates me to say this to you out of all people, but... this is none of your business.”

“She’s my little cousin. I remember holding her in my arms hours after she was born Ferdinand.”

“You’re treating me like a villain,” observed Ferdinand.

“You are 21.”

“It’s a three-year age difference. You and your husband are eight years apart. You’re being hypocritical again.”

“When have I ever been hypocritical?” asked Isabella.

Ferdinand hesitated, “We are getting off point Belle. The point is there is no secret agenda, no lies, no anything but the simple fact that I really like Charlotte and I want to be with her.”

“I just don’t want to see her hurt. She was always like another little sister to me. Charlotte was the only girl, surrounded by three boys, and I just wanted her to be happy,” confessed Isabella.

“I just want her to be happy too. Her parents and brothers are happy with our relationship. Things are going great for us.”

Isabella looked into the eyes of Ferdinand knowing she shouldn’t even have questioned Charlotte and Ferdinand’s relationship, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry about anything. You had the right intentions but bad execution.”

“I’m sorry. It’s been a rough couple of months.”

“It’s understandable. Your name hasn’t been off the front page of the papers since your engagement. At least it feels that way,” chuckled Ferdinand at the end.

“I have to go now,” said Isabella in embarrassment.

“Okay,” smiled Ferdinand.

Before Isabella could return to Harry standing alone across the room, Isabella’s mother Marie Astrid had put her arm around Isabella’s waist pulling her in another direction.

“What is going on?”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Have you called Joachim lately?” asked Marie Astrid.

“I have,” answered Isabella.

“Belle! You need to stop doing things like that. I also received a call from Alois saying you are ignoring his calls and from a Kinsky Count that are forgoing all responsibility on the trusts. You are spending far more than you are earning and you have paid barely enough attention to anything else,” explained Marie Astrid.

“What would you have me do?”

“Hand over the chateaus to someone else and put yourself on a budget. No more giving millions to charity. Form a council that has to approve every transaction over 100,000. Think logically about this or face having to sell you jewels within the next decade.”

“I’ll call a meeting with Johann and Alois. It will most likely not happen for a couple more weeks since I have a full schedule,” said Isabella.

“There is another thing I wanted to talk about.”

“What is it?” asked Isabella.

“Christine and Charlotte came to me before mass and said that they believe you might be pregnant.” There was a longed silence between the two women before Marie Astrid spoke again, “Is it true?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to know?”

“I don’t know,” repeated Isabella.

“I can call a doctor and we can find out tonight.”

“I have to fly back to London with Harry tonight. If I stay, he’ll think I’m running away from my responsibilities or doing something I shouldn’t.”

“Then your father and I will talk to him. Belle, you should know by now.”

“I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. I haven’t been paying much attention to many things,” replied Isabella.

“I worry for you.”

“I understand mama.”

“If you are pregnant, then you can’t be on pills or at least the ones doctors would usually recommend,” said Marie Astrid.

“Pills? You want to go on medication?” asked Isabella.

“If it helps you and everyone around you then yes, I do. Belle, you have to think about Harry, your sons, and another possible child.”

“I understand.”

“I’m only trying to look out for you. You are my only daughter that is not within driving distance of me. I worry like any other mother would,” explained Marie Astrid.

#PHFF #prince harry fanfiction #prince harry fanfic #royal fanfiction #royal fanfic #fanfiction #Prince Harry

10 notes · View notes

noccalula-writes · 6 years ago

Note

Looking back, what has been the most important thing in your life?

(you know nothing but asking the hardest questions, do you?

Survival.

I’m trying to change that now, but I spent so much time just desperately trying to get through whatever traumatic thing was happening next that it wasn’t until a few years ago when it all started to calm down a bit that I realized I didn’t really have plans beyond “survive this.”

CW: parental death, drug addiction, abuse

I’ve been fairly public on here about the fact that I had a traumatic childhood. My mother was very sick from the time I could form lasting memories - a really severe case of Crohn’s - and we were very poor, which exasperates everything. My stepfather was only present long enough to abuse both of us in whatever way you can imagine but otherwise stayed gone a lot, so I took care of her (I drove from my hometown to Pensacola, the largest city with a big hospital system about an hour away, to pick her up from her hysterectomy - I was 12). She had 5 major operations before her death, and I took care of her through all of them. They split when I was 12 and while I was grateful for it, it started the revolving door of boyfriends who were just as awful as he was. By the time I was 14, her constant pain and shitty taste in men had become a full on addiction to opiates. When I was 16, she died, and all my efforts to get her clean, to save us, were suddenly over.

My entire life had been her and me versus the world - we fought a lot but we were extremely close and both very distant from any other family. And then I was alone.

I got sent to live with my father, who I only engaged with a couple times a year and who didn’t know me in the slightest at the end of the day, and his girlfriend (whom I’d had a great relationship beforehand with, I still don’t know what changed) turned into a fucking monster. She would leave the room when I came in. Referred to me as ‘it’. Started planting shit in my room and accusing me of stealing (my younger half sister Tara pointed out that if I was stealing, why did she always know exactly where everything was? and then suddenly, that stopped). She’d lock every room in the house except for mine and tell the rest of my family I was trying to break into the bedrooms to steal. I begged him to let me move out and he refused, but when summer came and her kids were going to visit, they suddenly needed my bedroom and put me out with the edict that I had to come back in the fall.

Needless to say, I put my foot down and didn’t. All the while, my father took every social security survivor’s benefit check that came in in my name, while I paid for my own gas, my own car insurance, and my own food (his girlfriend got upset if I ate ‘their’ food in the house).

I spent a little while on my own. I started my senior year of high school staying in my grandmother’s empty house (we weren’t close and she had gone on elsewhere, so I was just kind of crashing quietly) - woke up by myself, came home to no one. I floated around a bit, slept in my car, before my great aunt (my father’s aunt, an elderly woman who had lost her husband when I was small and her only child before I was born) to whom I was very close was like “what the hell are you doing, get over here now.” I lived with her until after I graduated, when I took off on my own again, and I went on to live with her on and off over the years up until 2012, depending on where I was.

We’re still close - she’ll be 96 in September and I don’t know what I would have done without her (she’s also extremely emotionally manipulative and kind of a pain in my ass but I love her dearly, so).

But if you know anything about poverty, you know that escaping it is difficult. Any head start I might have been given from survivor’s benefits was gone, and obviously I hadn’t learned any financial literacy from anywhere (where in the fuck would anyone I grew up with have learned it anyway?) so it’s been an upward slog. I met my wife in 2006 maybe a month after my first girlfriend (who was there when my mom died, we went way back) and best friend threw me out of the apartment we shared, and with the exception of a trial break up years ago we’ve been together ever since. She also came from no resources so the two of us have been scrapping and scraping and doing everything we could to survive since we joined forces.

It’s not great. we’re still struggling. When I suddenly developed my vestibular disorder, it threw every bit of forward momentum we’d worked for off - suddenly I, usually the main breadwinner, couldn’t work. Still can’t do full time. We’re doing everything we can to keep climbing and I’m not giving up but dear god it’s so hard sometimes.

But, as we’ve come to this plateau of the last few years and now most of my worst trauma is in the rearview, it’s just been navigating the emotional fallout. PTSD. My career in victim advocacy was incredible and I’m proud of what I accomplished from nothing but at the same time, I wasn’t taking good care of myself emotionally. I didn’t know how.

So now it’s about trying to get comfortable enough that we can make it one day to the next without panic about not having enough, but it’s also about working through the behaviors I inherited when the only thing I had to do was survive. Those coping mechanisms got me here but they don’t serve me anymore, and it’s a huge part of what I work on internally now - trying to adjust to a better quality of life than just “survived”.

#noccalula answers #ask and ye shall receive #be warned this one is heavy

6 notes · View notes

palestinianliberator · 7 years ago

Text

Story of our family’s blood curse

OKAY SO I didn’t realize how detailed this was until I actually sat down to try and write about it...but I’ll try to keep things juicy and concise.

It’s important to preface this by saying that in my village, there are three major families, or “clans”. There’s Manasrah, which my family hails from, Saramah, and Awowda. These clans supersede the immediate family units, and are incredibly unified and caring of one another.

The story starts with my grandma Mohdia and her three brothers, Musa [also known as Moses], Yousef, and Tawfik.

My grandmother spent her whole life in Palestine, very rarely leaving, while her brothers moved around the world to find work - Tawfik and Yousef moving separately to the US, and Musa moving to El Salvador where he started a family and became known as “Moses al-Arabiy” [Moses the Arab].

Yousef had 5 sons and and 4 daughters, one of his sons were Waleed and one of his grandkids was Khaled. Waleed was a good kid, working with his father and helping to support both his family, while Khaled was a gambling alcoholic who would beg friends and family for money. Yousef’s wife [who hails from the Saramah clan] had a daughter from a previous marriage who herself had a son, Mohammad. This daughter and son were not a part of their new family [my family basically], as they were loyal to her biological father of the opposing clan and remained with them. I KNOW THIS IS PROBABLY CONFUSING BUT BEAR WITH ME!

One day in the mid to late 1960s, Khaled went up to Mohammad, who was a wealthy man, and asked for money. Mohammad denied him and apparently chastised his behavior and inability to support himself. Khaled, drunk and furious at the slight, gunned Mohammad down and ran off, going into hiding.

Now my village is INCREDIBLY strict when it comes to dishing out justice, and they take family honor and alliances very seriously - when it came out that Khaled was responsible for the murder of Mohammad, our family offered up his life to make things even, knowing that he was guilty of murder and should face punishment for what he’d done. Not everyone agreed with this, but it was seen as the best way to keep things from escalating. Khaled was then executed, and after a period of mourning for both victims, things went back to normal.

Except that the mother and uncle of the family friend that was murdered weren’t satisfied. Keep in mind, my grandma’s brother/my “uncle” and my family are of the Manasrah clan, while the murdered man and his bereaved family were from the Saramah clan.

The mother, distraught at the loss of her successful and beloved son, went out into the village declaring that God had not allowed true justice to prevail, and that she would cast a blood curse on Yousef [her mother’s new husband], his family, and his entire lineage, and that she would seal it with blood so that nobody will ever forget the crime committed against her, her family, and her clan. Think of how serious and committed someone must be to go out and publicly speak of blood magic in a relatively conservative village like this - she wasn’t joking around. Not long after this, she disappeared completely.

Things remained somewhat tense, but overall okay.

Several years later, however, one of Yousef’s kids was killed under “unknown circumstances”, his body dumped in the street. The general consensus was that the family of Mohammad, the man killed previously, was responsible, but otherwise nothing solid and things eventually moved on.

In retrospect, that was the “blood” that sealed her curse.

Now switching gears and going back to Moses al-Araby, my grandma’s other brother living in Bolivia. He was involved in leftist revolutionary movements and opposed the US backed government that took over following the coup in 1964. I don’t know too many details about his life, but I hope to learn more as I reach out to family still in Bolivia in the future. Anyways, after the collapse of the organization Moses was involved in, he went into hiding.

Several years later, sometime in the mid to late 60s, Tawfiq [the last of my grandma’s brothers] travelled with his son to Bolivia to meet with Moses, not knowing ANYTHING of his involvement with leftist revolutionary groups, and not being involved in any sort of political movements himself. Tawfiq was falsely identified as Moses, and was assassinated along with his son by a hit squad. Moses used this as an opportunity to flee the country, going into hiding in the Middle East for a period, before he himself was eventually killed by Israeli forces in the late 80s.

Now back to Yousef, who in the late 70s was living in Idaho with his wife and some Waleed, where they owned a jeans and fashion store. One day, both Yousef and his 25 year old son Waleed were assassinated in a case that, to this day, remains an “unsolved murder”. The funny thing is, we know who did it, and we know where this individual currently lives.

Anyways, it was made well known that the assassination of both Yousef and Waleed was still part of the mother’s payback, and she followed through with her threat to murder her biological mother’s new husband. This entire time, however, she remained missing. She was never seen again after her initial threats of a blood curse. The building where Yousef and his son was assassinated is know known as a “haunted location”, a building in which future tenants have claimed to here voices and shouting, and where a man eventually hung himself. You can read about some of that bit here. So it’s great to know that if I ever want to visit my distant uncle, I can find his spirit in that building.

The body count at this point is 7, including the original murder and murderer.

Given this brazen attack on our family, and given that we knew the two men responsible for the murder, our clan decided to strike back. One of the two murderers was killed and his body hidden in a dessert in Las Vegas. you can read about that in the link above^. I don’t know who was responsible exactly, but it’s common knowledge that it was all in connection to the assassination of Yousef and his son.

Man there is so much more that I’m glossing over, but I’m trying to keep this from turning into a novel x_x.

There’s an ENTIRE other story about how this back and forth killing led to a feud so big that the IDF had to storm Deir Dibwan to resolve things, all sparked by two more killings tied to clan relations with this blood curse/feud.

By the end of the initial killing spree, each of my grandmother’s brothers had been murdered, with people at this point blaming the blood curse, and hoping it was the end.

Well...it wasn’t.

In the years since - two of Yousef’s sons died in car accidents, and a third was gunned down in a random attack. One of his daughters died with her family in a house fire.

One of Moses’ kids was gunned down in Bolivia under unknown circumstances.

Two of Tawfiq’s kids lost ALL of their money in different ways, leaving their families in shambles. One of his daughters committed suicide.

One of Tawfiq’s grandkids, the ~rapper~ Mally Mall [who is my cousin lol] had his house burn down, killing his pet wildcat.

Another of Tawfiq’s kids just went missing one day, and was never found.

One of Tawfiq’s grandkids also went missing, but he was eventually found in his car, which had been set on fire with him inside.

My grandma’s sister, who had been through enough shit with al-Nakba and some stuff that had happened to her due to Israeli forces, ended up losing her eye.

Then you have my immediate family & immediate aunts and uncles - I don’t want to divulge THEIR personal details here, but suffice to say......things are pretty messy. My grandma lost two of her children, and three of my aunts and uncles lost 4 children between them. My aunt had her San Francisco store burned down in an arson attack and lost a child to drowning. I came into this post fully intended to discuss some of the personal details with my family/uncles that more recently reflected manifestations of ~the curse~, but I realize now that I don’t want to share that info publicly...sorry x_x.

To this day, the curse and this entire ordeal is pretty well-known throughout the village, and two clans have since made amends. There have also been multiple “attempts” to tackle the blood curse, but.....you know, HOW do you know when one has been lifted? Especially one cast out of such malice. And sure, you can just go and blame any negative occurrence on ~a curse~, but given that the body count is well over 20, given the extreme unlikelihood that so many houses in my family have been burned down, given that my uncle’s goddamn spirit is said to still haunt the building where he was assassinated.......you know??

At this point, any negative major event that happens, we joke about as being the result of the curse~ [and those that know me..............well.. (: ]. At this point I’m going to stop typing, because holy hell this is long.....and I should probably proofread it first, but I just want to post it before I lose everything.

#Blood Curse #Personal

22 notes · View notes

seashellsoldier · 8 years ago

Photo

Going to share more of my English master’s thesis, without too much PII, in regards to my Russian roots, for V.

“Growing up in a Russian house in inner-city Cleveland couldn’t have been easy for mom. Her dad was a backstreet bullfighter that didn’t take crap from anyone. 5-foot 6-inches tall and hewn from rock, he boxed in the Air Force during WWII because he boxed for the steel mill he worked at when unions were ironclad and individual chapters acted like street gangs. In Cleveland, the mob ran rampant up until the 70s. Danny Greene and all that, with labor unions being prized jewels. I remember as a kid, grandpa’s ritual would be to flex his bicep and taunt all the kids to hit it as hard as we all could. It felt like marble and he’d just smile his big-toothed smile, the huge underbite keeping his cigar in place as me and my cousins thumped little fists upon the stone of his Gibraltar. Popeye the sailor man. I can only imagine him when he was angry. I never saw him angry, but I did see him drunk. I bet he could knock out a charging rhino in mid-step. ‘Spring steel and rawhide,’ he used to say was what he was made of as he thumped his chest and went out to sit in the driveway with a cold beer.

Russians are amazing people. Their history is a flowing epic of personal suffering. No Russian is happy without their grief. They revel in it, carry it around like a royal cape, and drink heavily to drown in the glory of it. The story of my mom’s family is a cardboard cutout of other Russians who ran when the Bolsheviks took over.

As the Reds were lopping the heads off of the learned and those loyal to the czar in 1917 and 18, my great-grandfather, whom relatives claim to this day was linked to the royal family through distant blood, took the garb of a priest and shepherded his family from Moscow to Kiev, through Poland, and eventually to America. His wife didn’t survive the Atlantic journey, but he signed on in New York with a steel mill in Cleveland. She was buried at sea. Once in Ohio, with his two small children in tow – my grandfather and his sister – the local Russian Orthodox priest set him up with a young Polish woman, who came to be what everyone in the family called Bubba, our great-grandmother.

Life, it seems, was never easy for any of them on that side of the tree. Russians by nature are typically construed as pessimistic, dour alcoholics who tolerate misery better than any other folks on the planet simply because they are genetically imbued with such resilience. It could be the heavy foods saturated with butter and onions, it could be the centuries of abuse by leadership and the ravages of wars, it could be the harsh weather and tough lands the Russians inherited, or it could be the Viking blood passed down through the generations as the nation was being carved out from the brush and scree of an unforgiving wilderness. In any case, my mom’s side of the family fit the mold perfectly. Celebrations were frequent and yet happiness seemed a fluttering, fragile thing few could grasp for very long. Cigars and strong liquor were met by pirogi, stroganoff, shashlyk, and kasha. Everyone was blue-collar in an industrial city mired in the mass pollution of its steel mills and iron works, famous for the Cuyahoga River catching fire in 1969, and the mob wars of the 1970s. My father labeled it 'the armpit of America' as we drove the then-exhausting five-hour road trip to Cleveland on the Ohio Turnpike at least once or twice every year, marveled at the Ohio border arch of powder blue, the churning acrid smokestacks of Toledo, and the brown-stained world of inner-city Cleveland.

Although I’ve never seen it, there is a photograph – or at least there was reportedly a photograph – that showed my great-grandfather side by side with Tsar Nicholas the Second. Perhaps he was an army officer. Over the years my mom and her sister mentioned this photograph, often many, many times. I’ve heard murmurs of conversations about it amongst great aunts. I really have no reason to doubt its authenticity, but I have often wondered if many of those that fled the Bolsheviks had similar stories to tell, to explain their fears and prove their value to those that lent aid before the days of airplanes and mass transit. I have to believe that a well-told story went a long way back then.

All of this history wrapped around my great-grandmother, whom everyone simply called Bubba. I’m not sure why, but it must be some Slavic label for matron. I never knew my great-grandfather, because like most men in my family, he died young, assisted by alcohol abuse and hard labor in places that today would be condemned, bulldozed and built over with parks and condos. My mother said he met me twice when I was a baby. My mom insisted that we visit her side of the family at least twice a year. The center of my mom’s world was Cleveland, Ohio, where she was born and raised and where all the other members of her family stayed put to this day. My mom was the rebel, tired of living under the yoke of my grandfather’s bohemian ways and iron-fisted rule of law. She fled to college in Indiana, married my dad and settled just east of Chicago, where he was from. It was a tactically sound choice. We were close enough to visit Cleveland, but not close enough for the Cleveland relatives to visit us.

Family gatherings were strange, old-world events that my sister and I just didn’t understand. We traveled five hours along the Ohio Turnpike to get there, the furthest farawayers for these displays of cohesion and unity. The entire clan would gather at Bubba’s apartment as a ritual. The most magical memories I have of my childhood are us meeting with my aunts and uncles outside Bubba’s apartment building, as if it were a staging ground. As a whole group we’d enter, walk up the two flights of stairs. There would be a knock on the door, always by Uncle Myron, and Aunt Rose would open the portal with her bowed back and altruistic smile, and language would – I swear if by magic – switch from English to Russian in one simple greeting of zdrastvooytyeh!

Every stick of furniture became crammed with people or piled with food that spilled from the kitchen by huge platterfuls. People stood in pressed groups with their small decorative plates in their hands. My sister and I were the little ones, made to fend for ourselves under the tables or in the closets as hands patted us on the head and pirogies, cheese fritters, bowls of borsch and kazakh were shoved in front of us in the constant throng of moving bodies and boasting, alien conversations. My mom would join the other women in the kitchen, lending hands, adding ingredients, chopping vegetables, chauffeuring trays back and forth while chattering away in a foreign tongue. Bubba’s grandchildren hovered around her, orbiting her celestial sun, cared for her every whim and need. Choreographed obedience. Old World Slavic ways. Cigars were lit, glasses of vodka with silver rims clinked and Bubba would be seated at the end of the kitchen galley in a simple chair, looking like some peasant Queen and I swear everyone there would have jumped at the snap of her fingers if ever she thought to do so. For a young kid, it seemed otherworldly, like being a Roman prisoner trapped in a camp of the Visigoths, or a puppy trying to understand the giants of humankind. She would beckon us to come to her, grant us hugs and a tousling of hair, bestowing blessings upon the youth with a smile shadowed by a century.

Now this photograph existed in Bubba’s possession, supposedly prominently displayed in her apartment after my great-grandfather passed away. The story stays true to this day, that in the fires of the October Revolution, as anyone associated with the royal family or the Whites were hunted down and killed like dogs, my great-grandfather took the guise of a priest and escaped with his young family from Moscow to Cleveland, and a Polish widow became the matron of the family tree. She wore the invisible, patchworked mantle from which the ruminations of being linked to Russian royalty flourished. Great-grandpa, that old steel worker in the heart of Cleveland, was supposedly a distant cousin to the murdered Tsar.

After the death of my great-grandmother, this photograph vanished from Bubba’s apartment. Rumors spread quickly amongst the grandchildren as to who was in that holy shrine first and what could have been taken before the will was read. Accusations were flung, fingers pointed, and to this day those embers still burn in Cleveland. Bubba didn’t own much from what I can remember. Sure there was old furniture with patterns that dated back to the Second World War, a black & white television, and enough kitchen equipment to feed a small, entrenched battalion. The true treasure however seemed to be a handful of artifacts that came from the motherland, the crown jewel being that photo of a young great-grandpa standing with his parents and the extended family of Tsar Nicholas II in some outdoor space, probably a far more luxurious gathering than the confines of the 500-square foot apartment with cigar smoke and the smell of onions and cabbage brewing out of it every time the door opened. Was he wearing a uniform in that photo? Opinions vary.

One of my great cousins was fingered as the culprit and he has basically gone underground as that branch of the family tree has pruned itself from the remnants of the others. It’s funny now, and sad, how Bubba seemed to have kept the semblance of family true and proper when she was alive, as if she was the last toehold to the bastion of Slavic life for our family. Since she died in the mid-1980’s, the family has been fractured and no get-togethers have ever taken place again outside the realms of funerals or weddings, and even then they have been poor showings. The older generation of great aunts and uncles are all but gone. All that really remains now is my mom’s generation, and I can’t recall the last time she spoke to her own brother. My godmother hasn’t returned a Christmas card in years. Cousins have broken the stranglehold of Cleveland confinement and moved on.

Times have changed. Bubba was the center of that alien, religious world of saints and soldiers that I was never able to truly understand, but those memories left such a profound impression upon me as a young child growing up. It was only thirty years ago. It was that photograph that seemed to, at least in part, tear the world apart and end a humble legacy of having all the members of one side of the family together, in one spot, for a day of celebration, story-telling, exotic food and hearty laughter. Year after year. This was the world my mom grew up in as a child in the 1950s, and this was the world she lost as a mother in the 80s.”

Painting:

Morning Execution of the Streltsy, by Vasily Ivanovich Surikov, 1881.

#heritage #russian #essays & memoirs #memory

2 notes · View notes