#please go send some love to bereaving

[fairycosmos]

my ex girlfriend died a month ago. i've always found a lot of peace and recognition in what you've written about your grief but especially now, losing someone so young and who's bound to you in a different way than anyone else you've lost has been hits different and i get that now. she was 24. sending you lots of love and know that your presence on here has brightened my current darkness

i'm so so sorry to hear this. the one thought i consistently have about grief is that there are no adequate words to describe or comfort it, but still, i'm so sorry. i know exactly how unbearable it is, especially when it's still all so extremely raw and fresh. you just have no clue how you're going to get through it, and honestly you don't have to. focus on getting through minute by minute. this must be so awful for you and everyone who knew her - 24 is really no age at all. you're right, it's a very specific type of mourning. it's the hardest thing in the entire fucking world honestly. nothing really helps but if you can talk about it - whether it's with a friend, a grief counsellor, whoever - or write about it, then that sometimes enables you to process things a little more clearly. and with a smaller sense of loneliness. i sincerely hope you have good people around you who can help you through this, and that with time you're able to come up with small ways to honour her memory and keep her presence alive. at the moment i'm working on trying to find more ways to keep my sister around - like dedicating a plaque on a bench to her, and trying not to numb myself to the memories i have with her. which is hard, because it's so difficult to remember her. but i'm trying to keep her here and let her be felt everywhere, and i hope you find your version of that too. your ex was incredibly lucky to have been loved by you and you by her, and i'm glad you got to experience that, even if the inverse of that love is this. if you'd like to talk about her or discuss some of your favourite memories with her when you're ready, or even just talk about something entirely unrelated to the grief/her, please drop me a message any time. i'm glad me being open about my own grief has allowed you to find some sense of recognition and catharsis. i'm going to leave some resources for you to come back to as far as daily coping mechanisms go - they may be useful, they may not be, god knows they're certainly not a cure to the immensity of what you're going through - but they'll be there for you if you ever feel like you're truly at your wits end. sending so so much love back your way. i will be thinking of you and your ex girlfriend and keeping you both in my heart. x

bereavement and grief self-help guide / coping with grief and loss pdf / coping with grief pdf / healthy vs unhealthy coping mechanisms for grief / strategies to cope with grief / death is nothing at all by henry scott holland (a poem i come back to)

[hacked-by-jake]

I'm so excited for moonvale that I'm getting procrastination paralysis for everything else in my life 🫣 I was supposed to work during the day of the release but my grandfather sadly passed on Monday (fly high 🙏🤍) and I thankfully got some bereavement leave so I can completely engross myself in the game tomorrow. Ain't that some bittersweet luck haha

I wish we had a countdown cuz Imma be refreshing the app store every 5 minutes 😭 but fr imma need to be on my best behavior and not fall for anyone besides Jake during this game (Richy almost got me last time 🫡)

First of all, all my condolences for the loss. It can always be a big cut in life and it’s hard to just live over it, it’s always in the head. I hope you’re doing reasonably well given the situation. 🫂

But I really hope that Moonvale can be a positive and nice distraction and will help you.

I am also glad that your work allows you to take some time off. It's really great to do that.

Yes, I feel you. I also thought they would make make another posts or already showing the trailer or similar. Just a little thing before the release. Maybe today. Of course, earlier would have been great as well. But maybe as little reminder that tomorrow the new case starts for us. But with duskwood, it was the same. They mostly only uploaded the trailer to announce that the episode is out now. And I also guess they have lots of things to do now. Like giving the game the really last cherry on top.

I won't lie, Richy got me in the end. But Darkness as well. Oh, and Alan. Oops. And I'm 100% it will happen again. But the important difference is, that no one got me like Jake. Jake is over everything and everyone. And I'm also sure it will stay this way. Unless they have someone new just like Jake. xD But in my defense, Jake is not the first fictional character on my list and not the last. So it is absolutely foreseeable that it will happen again. And I will never abandon Jake. So as long as he stay on top, even if someone else joins him, he will still he main part of my blog. Hehe.

And I mean, even if Jake won't be part of the main game or whatever it's going to be with his character, he will be included in fanfictions etc. This is a firm assumption.

I still relate to you because even if I know it's not unusual for me, I will feel bad. Because, Jake, our hacker man. Beloved hacker man. Awkward but lovely dork.

I just hope that everything can be brought together well. And please nobody hate me if I fall for another one. 😂

But I keep my fingers crossed that we will get out of the game "unscathed".

As always, it's good to see you here again. It's always wonderful. And I'm sending you big hugs and lots of love. Oh, and of course I hope Moonvale will catch you like duskwood did. And thank you for always passing by to leave an ask. I really appreciate it. Have a great day/evening/night. Take care of yourself and stay healthy and safe! 💚💚🫂

[hero-deserves-to-be-happy]

hi! your hearts for hero event is really aweome- here are some of my requests, if you don't mind! <33

🧡 (specifically with Aubrey, their dynamic doesn't get enough love hehe)

🖤 (after basil and sunny's deaths in the neutral end >:])

🤍 (specifically for headspace, please! :D)

❤️ (for whatever, i don't mind! this just seems like an interesting one lol)

Thank you so much! <3 :]

Hi there, Lilac! Thank you so much for your ask. We're so happy to hear that you enjoyed our Hearts for Hero event, and we're sorry it has taken a little bit to answer your request. We hope you will like the headcanons we have come up with for you and that they are worth the wait! 🥰

Thank you so much again for your ask and for all of your encouragement and support. We really appreciate it. Please feel free to stop by any time with more requests or to talk about Hero. Sending positive vibes & much love to you!!💙

Headcanons below the cut (Warnings: OMORI spoilers and heavy themes & subject matter including grief, death, and depression).

🧡 -- Hero and Aubrey Childhood Friendship

(A/N: We completely agree with you that this dynamic does not get enough love)

Hero always walked Aubrey home from their friend group's gatherings. She would often (playfully) roll her eyes and insist that she didn't need him to walk with her--she lived so close by after all, but Hero would insist. Aubrey would eventually agree however since she knew it meant a lot to Hero to make sure that she made it home safely and she didn't want him to worry. Even if it wasn't something Hero was ever really able to find the words to express, everyone knew he had always worried about Aubrey as if she was his little sister, and the protective big brother in him didn't like the idea of her wandering around in the dark (even in the safety of Faraway Town). Walking her home was his way of being a big brother to her, and it really meant a lot to Aubrey to know that someone was looking out for her.

Even though it was only a short walk back to Aubrey's house from his and Kel’s house or from Sunny and Mari's house (where they hung out most frequently), they always found something to talk about and really came to enjoy the fun little talks they would have on their walks, mostly just sharing about their day or interests or checking in with each other as if they really were family. Looking back on it, Hero and Aubrey can't really remember exactly what they talked about on their walks, but Hero always thinks back to them as the times he really got to know Aubrey.

🖤 -- Hero Angst After the Death of Basil and Sunny in the Neutral Ending

Hero is so distraught after Basil and Sunny's deaths in the neutral ending that ends up taking a semester off of school. He says it is for himself and his own mental health which in part it is, but it is mostly to be able to stay in Faraway Town and look after Kel and, especially, Aubrey who is beside herself with guilt. He spends most of his bereavement leave pushing aside his own pain and trying to take care of Aubrey and Kel, and by the time, Hero does return to school (at Kel and Aubrey's insistence), he is nowhere closer to finding healing than before.

He can't help but blame himself for what happened, and he feels it is something he will never really get over, leaving him numb and broken--just barely able to go through the motions of his so-called "life." The only thing that helps him feel any better at all is taking care of a small window box of sunflowers, tulips, and lilies (Basil, Sunny, and Mari's favorite flowers). Unfortunately, the first frost comes early that year, and when Hero finds his beloved flowers withered and dead from the cold, he sinks to his knees and sobs on the floor of his dorm. He couldn't save his friends, and he couldn't save his flowers either. Never in his life had he felt so worthless.

🤍 -- Hero Headspace Fluff

Once, Headspace Hero wanted to surprise his friends with a congratulatory gift after one of their many adventures. He planned a grand tea party for them--spending hours preparing, decorating, and making all the tea, treats, and sandwiches himself. He even hired Rococo to paint a portrait of their tea party to commemorate the event forever. All of his friends were so surprised and said it was the greatest tea party ever.

❤️ -- (One of) Hero's Secrets [feat. Hero & Kel Sibling Angst]

Hero pretends he doesn't see the way his brother looks at him after Mari's death and especially after their fight, but he does. Hero sees that sadness in the back of Kel's eyes, sees the way he awkwardly twists his hands or trips over his words, the way his voice trails off whenever he has to talk to him about anything that even hints at the less-than-happy, as if he feels like he has to walk on eggshells around him. He would never say anything (and feels he doesn't have the right to), but he can't stand that look that's so often in Kel's eyes now—like he's watching a trainwreck, heartbroken and worried but too far away or perhaps too afraid of making things worse to do anything about it. It breaks his heart that there is such a distance between them now, that Kel looks at him like he is fragile, maybe even dangerous—looks at him like he is scared Hero will break if he doesn't say the perfect thing.

Hero loves his brother, and whenever he sees the way Kel looks at him now, he wants nothing more than to throw his arms around him and cry, hold him and tell him how sorry he is—how much he just wants his brother back, wants to talk and laugh and tell each other everything like old times without Kel being so afraid of breaking him. But he doesn't think he has the right to even wish for that anymore. He was the one who had lashed out at Kel, who pushed him away when he was only trying to help. It was the only time he and his brother had ever fought, and there are very few things in Hero’s life that he looks back on with as much regret. He wishes he could go back and do things differently, better—that he could somehow stop his younger self before he did something he would regret for the rest of his life, before he hurt one of the most important people in the world to him and permanently damaged their relationship, before he had to confront that pained expression in Kel’s eyes knowing that he was the reason it was there in the first place.

If Hero is being perfectly honest, however, the real secret is not so much that he sees how Kel looks at him but rather that he stays awake at night agonizing over whether Kel will ever stop looking at him that way...and, honestly, Hero wouldn’t blame him if he didn't.

[ladyonfire28]

In the film commentary, while the last scene was happening, Céline was reading the script at the same time. So I translated the whole text.

(A HUGE thank you to @bereaving for making those GIFs and helping me out with the text. You’re amazing.)

Here is the translated script of that final Portrait of a Lady on Fire scene:

“I saw her one last time.”

THEATER. INTERIOR. NIGHT.

MARIANNE makes her way among the spectators on the balcony of an Italian-style theater. She sits down and watches the room fill up in the hubbub of voices amplified by the acoustics of the auditorium. She distinguishes a familiar silhouette which progresses in the opposite balcony. The face slips away and Marianne does not take her eyes off it until it turns. It’s HÉLOÏSE. She squeezes between the occupied armchairs and the empty armchairs until she reaches the end of the balcony like the edge of a precipice. She’s sitting there. There’s nothing between her and the stage. Her eyes are riveted on this horizon. She does not look at the room as the conversations go out one after the other as by mutual agreement.

"She didn't see me."

The theater suddenly fell silent before the stormy violins begin their first movement.

(Music begins)

Like a restrained breath torn by a well-known staccato, the one of the inaugural notes from Vivaldi's Summer presto. HÉLOÏSE displays a first disturbance in the face of the first bars of this long-awaited piece. You get imperceptibly close to her face during the 3 minutes of the movement.

This face experiences the dramatic deployment of music as it hears it, pierced by the generous rise of it. There is everything: there is surprise, elation, a beating heart, waiting, melancholy, concentration, the red which goes up to the cheeks, the memory, the sadness, and the breathing which becomes deeper.

All the attitudes of a woman that we knew well, and that we loved to look at. That we loved, period. But there are also things that we didn't know about her and that are being discovered. Maybe because they are new, like this wrinkle around the eye. Maybe they are things that we hadn't been able to see and that remained to be understood.

When the piece reaches its exalted final, HÉLOÏSE reveals the last and most alive of all her faces.”

"Adèle had only one instruction: to finish on an inhalation."

The audio

Click here to see more translated parts of the DVD commentary

[fayes-fics]

I just wanted to reach out and offer you my love during this hard time… i know I don’t know you personally… I just wanted to give the warmth you’ve given me.

In these hard times the one thing I can offer as advice is of course be with your family but have YOU time as well. If that’s getting ready in the morning- or your scroll through tumblr, if that’s reading a book. Find yourself a space to escape and to give you a break from your emotions ( as much as you can anyway) I’m not sure what’s going on so this could be terrible advice … just know you have friends here who you can share or vent to. Yes we are here; brought by your writings to you but we are here for you and not just your writings… so take all the time you need to heal. Your online friends will be waiting in support

If I could hug you through my phone I would xoxo

And omg don’t reply to this. It’s so corny <3

Hi Nonny 🫶🫶

I know I’m an emotional bean at the moment cos of what’s happening, but I don’t know how to thank you enough. THANK YOU for this message. You have no idea how much this made my heart happy. I’d like to hug you too!

I don’t want to share private details here, but the medical emergency could turn into a bereavement at this point, so it’s very tough news to deal with. I really appreciate your advice, as you are right, we all need to take time to look after ourselves, even when tragedy strikes.

I’m a very lucky lady to have met such a lovely, warm group of people just because I write silly word crimes. I appreciate all of you who I’ve been having so much fun with in the few months since I started this sideblog. Seriously some truly beautiful humans. I know I’m being a corny, emotional person but bad times make you appreciate what you have. Also Nonny your message is not corny, it’s wonderful.

Whoever you are, if you see this and want to chat on DM, please do send me a message. I won’t reveal who you are. You seem a wonderful human and imo life is about finding wonderful humans to connect with.

Thanks so much , much love back to you 🧡🧡

[let-me-take-your-soul]

I'm honestly so impressed with how you did that! It was super well written. Could I ask for a follow-up with Black*Star and Tsubaki? (You can come up with why on your own, I'd like SPirit to be there too because I love how you write him in this au)

Absolutely! Thank you for the prompt too! I've been really impressed with all these super cool au's people are sending me!

Angel of Death and Grief w/ Tsubaki and Black*Star

“Black*Star, you have to understand that we couldn’t have been called here for anything good, right? We’ve been so behind on collecting souls. If we’re being called for a meeting by the Angel of Bereavement, we must be facing some serious consequences!” Tsubaki calls after her meister partner.

“You worry too much, Tsubaki! Here’s how I see it: we might not have as many souls to show for it yet, but we’ve been training so hard that I bet this guy wants to challenge us himself to see how strong we’ve gotten. Don’t worry though, if we start fighting, I’ll try to go easy on him since he is technically our principal now.”

Tsubaki sighs as they approach the door to the Death Room. Just as she’s about to knock, the door opens and the familiar face of Spirit Albarn greets them.

“Oh good, you two are here. Kid’s been waiting for you,” he tells them.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Albarn! We didn’t mean to be late. Black*Star got caught up in training,” Tsubaki tries to explain.

“Don’t worry too much about it. Maka and Soul just left a little bit ago, so we haven’t been waiting long.”

Tsubaki thanks him and the two make their way inside, where they are met with the sight of the last reaper they know to exist. His presence fills Tsubaki with a deep sadness, and Black*Star is shocked into silence for a moment as they sit. He’s focused on Kid’s face for a moment longer before breaking the silence.

“Dude, what the hell happened to your face?”

“Black*Star! I’m so sorry for his behavior, please forgive him.”

Kid lets out a sound that is almost entirely inhuman, but after a moment, they recognize it as sounding close to laughter.

“Well, I don’t know what’s so funny about my question, but that’s not important. Why are we here?” Black*Star asks.

Kid holds up a finger, signaling for Black*Star to be patient. This irritates Black*Star and he lets it show.

“What do you mean, wait? And why aren’t you speaking? Can’t you use your words to tell me at least?”

“Black*Star, you are being so rude! We were late to begin with, we can be patient.”

Black*Star huffs and taps rhythmically on the table. He stares at the reaper’s presence, taking in the distorted feeling of his soul and the physical attributes that have formed because of it. After a few more minutes pass, Spirit comes to the table with a fresh batch of tea that he pours for them.

“Alright, sorry for the wait, but we should be ready to start this meeting now,” he tells them.

Kid says something in response, his voice ringing out harmonically yet incomprehensible.

“He said ‘thank you, Spirit. Let’s get started now, shall we?’” 

“You got that out of what he just said? Guess I know why we had to wait now. Alright then, why are we here?” Black*Star asks.

“Learn some patience, will ya?” Spirit retorts. “Still, I’m ready. So you can start now, Kid.”

Kid nods at Spirit before turning to Black*Star and Tsubaki.

“I’ve been intrigued by the two of you lately. It’s strange to see two people who are clearly so powerful and yet have done almost nothing to show that power in their studies.”

Black*Star squints at the angel of death in front of him when Spirit finishes his translation.

“Yeah? So what are we here for? You want us to fight you so we have something to show for our power?” 

Kid laughs again.

“No no, I’m in no condition to fight. I am nowhere near the level of control that anyone at this school has. If we fought, you could easily kill me- or I may even accidentally kill you. There’s no telling, but it wouldn’t be a good test of your skills.”

“Then what is it you’d like from us?” Tsubaki asks. “Are we being assigned another extracurricular because of how behind we are?”

“I suppose you could call it that. Though it isn’t so much because of your failure to adhere to the curriculum. Rather, when I scouted out Maka and Soul, your friends who did almost create a Death Scythe, I noticed that the two of you worked with them a lot as well. I monitored one of your training sessions, and while you definitely have a lot of growth to do in your… less than favorable personality, I can see the power you have. I want you two to join Maka and Soul on the mission I gave them.”

Black*Star twitches, annoyed at the insults sprinkled throughout the reaper’s explanation.

“Well, you’re kind of a dick, but at least you aren’t blind enough to not see my power. What’s the mission? I doubt we even need Maka and Soul there for it!”

Tsubaki scolds her meister again, but Kid just lets out another laugh, seemingly very amused by the two of them.

“I want you to find my family. It seems that they must have been caught by witches during their journey. Find my father and brother and bring them back. Feel free to incinerate any witches that stand in your path. If you do this and successfully bring back my family, I will grant you power beyond what you can imagine.”

“That’s it? We’re just playing hide and seek with your family?”

“Black*Star, think about this seriously for a minute! We’ve never been on a mission like this before. We’ve only fought kishin eggs. Witches are much more powerful, and if they were able to capture two reapers, who knows what could happen to us?” Tsubaki sighs, then turns to Kid, who seems to be observing each of their movements carefully and hanging on to every word they say.

“You said you asked Maka and Soul on this mission too, correct? And they agreed?”

He nods in response.

“Black*Star, if we go on this mission, we can’t stray from each other. We have to work as a team otherwise any one of us could die!”

Black*Star snorts at that comment.

“We could die on any mission, Tsubaki. There’s hardly anything about this mission that’s more or less dangerous than anything else we’ve done. There’s just another enemy standing in our way.”

“I like the way you think, human. You certainly have the spirit of someone who desires to surpass god.”

Black*Star stands up and pounds his fist excitedly on the table.

“We’ll accept this mission! With the two of us out there, Maka and Soul won’t even need to come with us! We’ll find your family and kill every last witch in our way!”

Black*Star proudly exits the room, leaving Tsubaki behind. She reaches out to stop him, but sighs in defeat as the door to the death room slams shut behind him. She turns sheepishly back to Spirit and the reaper.

“I’m sorry about his behavior. He’s truly a kind person, he’s just a bit… overzealous.”

Kid shakes his head before leaning down and pulling a large folder out of a bag he had with him and handed it to Tsubaki.

“You seem to be the one with a bit more reason. Here: this is all the information we know about the mission my family was on before they disappeared. I feel that I shouldn’t need to state this to you, but I have no desire in either of you returning without answers. Now, run along. I’m sure that you’ll be able to solve this little mystery.”

Tsubaki thanks him as she grabs the folder before dashing out after her partner.

Spirit sighs, turning to Kid.

“I know you want answers, but I still don’t feel comfortable having you send my daughter and her friends out into such an uncertain situation.”“I understand your attachment to your family. Don’t worry- the second I have any kind of answer, the witches will have me to deal with instead.”

[sunflowersupremes]

The Trade

All is not well in Gil-Galad’s war camp.

Characters: Elrond, Eönwë’

Background Eönwë/Maglor because I love them.

Read on AO3

They’d been traded.

He knew - he truly knew - deep down that it hadn’t been a fair trade. Maglor had given his sons away in return for being left alone by Gil-Galad, which Gil-Galad was already doing. It was a trade on paper, and nothing else.

If the Feanorians had also been given a few wagons of supplies, it was mostly because their camp was starving (that had been added to the agreement only after Cirdan - Gil-Galad’s messenger - had seen the condition of the Feanorians and their followers).

No, in truth it had been the easiest way to ensure everyone stayed alive. The longer the war raged the fewer supplies the Feanorians were able to find. Crops would not grow and game was scarce.

Maglor had given them up because he would not let them go hungry, and he had cut his own rations to feed them until Maedhros had ordered him to stop.

That didn’t make it sting less.

He was glad to be in the army, to be making a stand against Morgoth, but every time Eönwë - the leader of the Valar’s forces - would compliment him, Elrond would have to bite his lip. He was forbidden from asking why the Valar had not come to their aid sooner (he had done it once, in front of the entire court, and Eönwë had been spared having to answer by Gil-Galad swooping in to drag his herald off).

Even his position as Herald - which again, he did enjoy to an extent - was given to him to keep him under the king’s eye, because they did not seem to trust him.

Elros was spending more and more time with the Edain, who seemed to have elected him as some sort of leader. No one was watching him to see what he would do (probably because he had not yet stirred trouble by asking King Finarfin if he thought it was fair that Beren was returned and not Andreth. He hadn’t meant to upset the king, he just thought it was a fair question).

At least that incident had finally gotten a reaction out of Gil-Galad. He was tired of being simply sent away like an errant child, with nothing more than a plea to behave himself next time or to think before he spoke.

He did think before he spoke.

That was why he spoke.

But after he’d nearly reduced the king of Tirion to tears, prompting Finrod to shoo Elrond away, Gil-Galad had finally shouted at him, telling him to stop acting like a child and sending him to help reinforce the walls around their camp.

Eönwë stopped by to see him again, studying him with large, owlish eyes that mirrored the night sky behind him. Then he pointed to the bag on Elrond’s hip, where the Peredhel had taken to hoarding food, instinct telling him that the next meal might not come. “You will not go hungry here, half-elven,” the Maia said gently. “We have supplies aplenty.”

He gripped the leather strap more tightly, narrowing his eyes. “Then why can you not share with the others outside your camp? The Sindar, the Dwarves, the Feanorians, the Mortals of the south? Are they nothing to the Valar?”

Eönwë had, once again, been spared needing to reply by Gil-Galad. The king had come from no where to grab Elrond’s arm, sinking nails through his cotton shirt, and promised that Elrond would not trouble him anymore. As soon as Eönwë was out of sight, the scolding had begun.

It had devolved into a screaming match fairly quickly. Elrond accused Gil-Galad of trading in slaves; Gil-Galad had said he was no more a slave to him than he had been to the Feanorians.

The half-elf had said that the king didn’t understand; the king had accused Maglor of abusing the twins.

Elrond had threatened to join Elros and the Edain; Gil-Galad had replied that Elrond wasn’t forced to remain.

At that, Elrond had snapped that he was going to find his family. Gil-Galad had shouted that he was more than welcome to, in fact, he was ordering Elrond to do that.

Of course, Gil-Galad thought he meant Elros, but it wasn’t his fault the king was an idiot.

Elrond practically gloated as he packed and slipped away, heading not for the Edain’s camp, but into the woods. He’d gathered up as much food as he could fit in his saddle bags, and simply walked out of camp, heading to the east where he had last seen the Feanorians.

Back in camp, all hell had broken loose. It was Finrod who had realized he wasn’t with the Edain, when he had gone to visit them. A few people had suggested leaving Elrond to die on his own, but Elros had threatened to disband the Edain army if his brother wasn’t found (no one was certain if he had the authority to do that, but they really didn’t want to find out).

Finally a blue jay had swooped into the camp and chirped at Manwë’s herald. Eönwë had announced that Elrond was merely following the king’s order to return to his family, and Gil-Galad had shouted that Elrond had known exactly what he meant and that he was going to find the half-elf himself and tan his hide (Manwë’s herald had seemed strangely amused by the fight).

No one thought it was a great idea to send the king out on his own, so Cirdan had simply said that he would go and set off before he could be stopped.

But it wasn’t Cirdan that found him.

He felt the Maia before he heard him, but he kept going, his eyes glued stubbornly on the path in front of him. He’d filled his horse’s back with supplies, so he walked instead, leading the horse by her reins.

After a few moments, a voice echoed from around him, asking, “Where are you going, half-elf?”

“Should you not be leading an army, my lord Eönwë?”

The Maia materialized beside him, falling in step easily. “You will not find them where you are going.”

“Then I will keep looking.”

“Their camp has been disbanded. Their followers have joined the Edain army.”

Elrond tightened his grip on the horse’s reins. “Where are they?”

“I know not. Something to the southeast, I believe.”

Elrond turned his feet southeast. Eönwë followed him. “Your king is distressed.”

“My king ordered me to go to my family.”

“You knew what he meant, did you not? Your brother is to the west, by the sea, and yet you travel southeast.”

“My family is there,” Elrond replied.

“They are not your family.”

“They raised me.” He swallowed. “I love them.”

Eönwë seemed to consider. “They would not want you to do this, I should think. They sent you away for your own-“

“Why do you care!?” Elrond turned sharply, narrowing his eyes at the bird-like Maiar.

Tilting his head, Eönwë raised a feathered eyebrow. “Why should I not?”

Elrond snapped his head back to the path in front of them. “I’m not allowed to ask you why no one protected us from Morgoth sooner, if you care so much.”

Eönwë chirped, almost sounding amused. “It was not my decision, young lord Peredhel.”

He snorted. Then - with a bit more caution than he usually spoke with - he looked sideways and asked, “What if it had been your decision?”

“It was my Lord Manwë-“

“But what if it wasn’t?”

Eönwë blinked at him. A cloud drifted by in his large blue eyes. “I do not enjoy war.”

“Neither do we,” Elrond pointed out, breaking their eye contact.

For a while, they traveled in silence. Birds called out to them from the trees, and occasionally Eönwë would twitter back at them.

Finally, Elrond broke the silence, “Ever since the Nirnaeth, there’s been no food,” Elrond said quietly. “Kanafinwë said it wasn’t so bad at first, but as the years passed everyone began to see the damage.”

He blinked, feeling tears in his eyes but refusing to let the Maia see him cry. “Kana would go hungry to make sure we ate.”

“The land is poisoned.”

“Why?” Elrond stopped, turning to look up at Eönwë. “I know the Exiles brought the Doom upon themselves, but it was not just the Exiles who suffered.”

Eönwë sighed, expelling enough air to send up little clouds of dust at their feet. “I cannot give you an answer you will find satisfactory, Elrond.”

He looked off into the woods, at the gnarled and twisted trees, dead leaves drifting by even though it ought to have been the height of summer. “I can tell you that the Valar are much bereaved, that they find no joy in the suffering of anyone, even those who have forsaken them, and that Melkor has long been on their minds.”

Elrond sighed. “Am I going to find them?” he asked quietly.

“I do not think so,” said Eönwë. “And even if you did, I imagine you would be sent back.”

He swallowed and nodded slowly. His feet had begun to ache, and he had no idea how long it had been since he had last slept. It certainly felt as though he’d been traveling for hours, perhaps all night, but under the twisted trees of Beleriand it was difficult to tell the time.

“How far back to camp?” he asked wearily.

Eönwë’s eyes glittered with stars, his lips almost quirking up in a smile. “No so far as you might think. I have been leading us in circles.” He looked remarkably pleased with himself.

Elrond glared at him.

The Maia whistled loudly - Elrond winced and covered his ears - and a large hawk swooped down to land on a branch above them. “Leave the bags,” said Eönwë quietly. “He will take them to your family. I can… make an exception for this, I think.”

Elrond didn’t ask what he meant by exception. It wasn’t hard to understand he wouldn’t be able to help his family again.

They made quick work of removing the bags from the horse’s back, and the hawk simply gathered them up in his talons and took off with a powerful flap of his wings, throwing up a blinding cloud of dirt.

Elrond was practically shaking from exhaustion by the time the bird was out of sight, and he barely noticed Eönwë grabbing him and lifting him onto the horse’s back. He let the Maia take the horse’s reins and leading them back the way they had come.

Elrond was nearly asleep before he heard the Maia quietly say, “Kanafinwë was a friend of mine. If you have need of an ear, mine will always be open.”

He nodded, leaning forward against the horse’s neck with his eyes closed. “He only allowed the trade because he heard you were leading the army,” Elrond confessed. He yawned. “Maitimo nearly called it off when he heard about you.”

Eönwë laughed and the Maia’s hand came up to rest on Elrond’s shoulder. “Rest little Peredhel,” he cooed. “I shall handle your king.”

How many dads does Elrond have at this point? Because somehow Elrond’s dad is, all at once, a star, two mass murderers, a shipwright, a king, and one (1) bird boy.

Also Eönwë totally thinks he can teach Elrond to fly (since Elrond is part Maia AND the son of Elwing) and there’s a 50% chance that someone (probably Gandalf) had to convince him that “throwing Elrond off a cliff to see if he sprouts wings” is a really bad idea.

1

Okay but AU where Elrond befriends Eönwë and after the War of the Wraith Eönwë is like “you know who should guard the Silmarils? Elrond. Because Elrond would absolutely not hand them over to the Feanorians when they come looking for them, because that would be against the will of the Valar and he should be very careful not to accidentally fall asleep on account of his mortal blood. No. Elrond would never do those things. Elrond is a good child, very reliable, and his brother is the king so even if some accident happens he would have diplomatic immunity.

Manwë strikes me as the type of guy that you could absolutely lie to his face and he would believe you just because he wants to think the best of everyone. So if Eönwë was like “oh no, I don’t think Elrond meant for the Feanorians to just… walk out with the jewels… thereby avoiding any more bloodshed… and fulfilling their oath…” Manwë would probably believe him. (also by the end of the War of the Wraith Manwë is just 100% done and even if he did figure out the lie he’d be like ‘FUCK IT. FINE. PROBABLY BEST THAT NO ONE HAS THOSE DAMN ROCKS ANYWAY.’

2

Another great idea is imagining Eönwë just periodically showing up in Middle Earth to check on an increasingly exasperated Elrond who just wants to live his own life, but Eönwë keeps patting him on the head and calling him “little Peredhel” and offering certified ‘Terrible Advice’ because Eönwë doesn’t understand anything about how people actually work.

Eönwë couldn’t be one of the Istari because Manwë knew if they sent him he would just move into Rivendell and possibly never leave and also drive Elrond insane. (Okay, that might be AU #3 because its cracking me up)

Look, I’m not saying that the Counsel of Elrond had to be held outside because Eönwë was sitting in a tree, watching, but I’m totally saying it.

[sgt-paul]

Paul McCartney Is Still Trying to Figure Out Love – The New York Times Magazine

By David Marchese, Nov. 29, 2020

Paul McCartney, like the rest of us, this year found himself with an unexpected amount of time stuck indoors. Unlike the rest of us — or most of us, anyway — he used that time to record a new album. The pandemic-induced circumstances of its creation may mark “McCartney III” as an outlier in the former Beatle’s catalog, but as its title suggests, it does have precedents: Like “McCartney” (1970) and “McCartney II” (1980), the album, out Dec. 18, was primarily recorded by McCartney alone, with him playing nearly all the instruments and handling all the production. “At no point,” McCartney said, “did I think: I’m making an album. I’d better be serious. This was more like: You’re locked down. You can do whatever the hell you want.” Which was a gas, as always. “What I’m amazed with,” McCartney explained, “is that I’m not fed up with music. Because, strictly speaking, I should have gotten bored years ago.”

It seems to me that working on music by yourself, as you did on the new album, might allow for some insights about what you do and how you do it. So are there aspects of “McCartney III” that represent creative growth to you? 

The idea of growing and adding more arrows to your bow is nice, but I’m not sure if I’m interested in it. The thing is, when I look back to “Yesterday,” which was written when I was 21 or something, there’s me talking like a 90-year-old: “Suddenly I’m not half the man I used to be.” Things like that and “Eleanor Rigby” have a kind of wisdom. You would naturally think, OK, as I get older I’m going to get deeper, but I’m not sure that’s true. I think it’s a fact of life that personalities don’t change much. Throughout your life, there you are.

Is there anything different about the nature of your musical gift today at 78 than in 1980 or 1970 or when you first started writing songs? 

It’s the story that you’re telling. That changes. When I first said to John, “I’ve written a few songs,” they were simple. My first song was called “I Lost My Little Girl” — four chords. Then we went into the next phase of songwriting, which was talking to our fans. Those were songs like “Thank You Girl,” “Love Me Do,” “Please Please Me.” Then came a rich vein as we got more mature, with things like “Let It Be,” “The Long and Winding Road.” But basically I think it’s all the same, and you get lucky sometimes. Like, “Let It Be” came from a dream where my mother had said that phrase. “Yesterday” came from a dream of a melody. I’m a great believer in dreams. I’m a great rememberer of dreams.

What’s the last interesting dream you had? 

Last night’s was pretty good.

What was it? 

It was of a sexual nature, so I’m not sure it’s good for the Kids section. Pretty cool, though. Very interesting, dreams of a sexual nature when you’re married. Because your married head is in the dream saying: “Don’t do this. Don’t go here.” And just to let you know, I didn’t. It was still a good dream.

You know, I was conscious of not mentioning the Beatles early in this interview, and you’ve already mentioned them a few times. So let me ask you: The band broke up 50 years ago. You were in it for roughly 10 years. When you’re not doing interviews or playing concerts, how central to your own story of your life are those 10 years from half a century ago? 

Very. It was a great group. That’s commonly acknowledged.

Generally speaking. 

[Laughs.] It’s like your high school memories — those are my Beatles memories. This is the danger: At a dinner party, I am liable to tell stories about my life, and people already know them. I can see everyone stifling a yawn. But the Beatles are inescapable. My daughter Mary will send me a photo or a text a few times a week: “There you were on an advert” or “I heard you on the radio.” The thing that amazes me now, because of my venerable age, is that I will be with, like, one of New York’s finest dermatologists, and he will be a rabid Beatles fan. All of that amazes me. We were trying to get known, we were trying to do good work and we did it. So to me, it’s all happy memories.

“McCartney III” will come out very close to the 40th anniversary of John Lennon’s death. Has your processing of what happened to him changed over the years? 

It’s difficult for me to think about. I rerun the scenario in my head. Very emotional. So much so that I can’t really think about it. It kind of implodes. What can you think about that besides anger, sorrow? Like any bereavement, the only way out is to remember how good it was with John. Because I can’t get over the senseless act. I can’t think about it. I’m sure it’s some form of denial. But denial is the only way that I can deal with it. Having said that, of course I do think about it, and it’s horrible. You do things to help yourself out of it. I did an interview with Sean, his son. That was nice — to talk about how cool John was and fill in little gaps in his knowledge. So it’s little things that I am able to do, but I know that none of them can get over the hill and make it OK. But you know, after he was killed, he was taken to Frank Campbell’s funeral parlor in New York. I’m often passing that. I never pass it without saying: “All right, John. Hi, John.”

And how about your perspective on the work you did together? Has that changed? 

I always thought it was good. I still think it’s good. Sometimes I had to reassure him that it was good. I remember one time he said to me: “What are they going to think of me when I’m dead? Am I going to be remembered?” I felt like the older brother, even though he was older than me. I said: “John, listen to me. You are going to be so remembered. You are so [expletive] great that there’s no way that this disappears.” I guess that was a moment of insecurity on his part. He straightened me up on other occasions. It was a great collaboration. I can’t think of any better collaboration, and there have been millions. I feel very lucky. We happened upon each other in Liverpool through a friend of mine, Ivan Vaughan. Ivan said, “I think you’d like this mate of mine.” Everyone’s lives have magic, but that guy putting me and John together and then George getting on a bus — an awful lot of coincidences had to happen to make the Beatles.

People always ask you about John. I’ve noticed they rarely ask about George, who of course also died relatively young. 

John is probably the one in the group you would remember, but the circumstances of his death were particularly harrowing. When you die horrifically, you’re remembered more. But I like your point, which is: What about George? I often think of George because he was my little buddy. I was thinking the other day of my hitchhiking bursts. This was before the Beatles. I suddenly was keen on hitchhiking, so I sold this idea to George and then John.

I know this memory. You and George hitchhiked to Paignton.

Yeah, Exeter and Paignton. We did that, and then I also hitchhiked with John. He and I got as far as Paris. What I was thinking about was — it’s interesting how I was the instigator. Neither of them came to me and said, “Should we go hitchhiking?” It was me, like, “I’ve got this great idea.”

Why is that interesting? 

My theory is that attitude followed us into our recording career. Everyone was hanging out in the sticks, and I used to ring them up and say, “Guys, it’s time for an album.” Then we’d all come in, and they’d all be grumbling. “He’s making us work.” We used to laugh about it. So the same way I instigated the hitchhiking holidays, I would put forward ideas like, “It’s time to make an album.” I don’t remember Ringo, George or John ever ringing me up and saying that.

How strange is it to share an idle recollection from your youth, as you just did with that hitchhiking story, and then have the person to whom you’re sharing it — in this case, me — know the memory? It seems as though it would be weird. 

It’s quite annoying, David. It’s like people at dinner yawning when I’m telling stories. This keeps happening to me.

I even know the details. You and George slept on the beach. 

That’s right.

Some Salvation Army girls kept you warm. 

Yes.

Then at some point you sat on a car battery and zapped your ass? 

That was George who did that! I have a very clear recollection. He showed me the scar. Let’s set the record straight: It was George’s ass, and it was a burn the exact shape of a zip from his jeans.

Do you remember the last thing George said to you? 

We said silly things. We were in New York before he went to Los Angeles to die, and they were silly but important to me. And, I think, important to him. We were sitting there, and I was holding his hand, and it occurred to me — I’ve never told this — I don’t want to hold George’s hand. You don’t hold your mate’s hands. I mean, we didn’t anyway. And I remember he was getting a bit annoyed at having to travel all the time — chasing a cure. He’d gone to Geneva to see what they could do. Then he came to a special clinic in New York to see what they could do. Then the thought was to go to L.A. and see what they could do. He was sort of getting a bit, “Can’t we just stay in one place?” And I said: “Yes, Speke Hall. Let’s go to Speke Hall.” That was one of the last things we said to each other, knowing that he would be the only person in the room who would know what Speke Hall was. You probably know what the hell it is.

Yep.

I can’t amaze you with anything! Anyway, the nice thing for me when I was holding George’s hands, he looked at me, and there was a smile.

How many good Beatles stories are there left to tell that haven’t been told? 

There are millions. Sometimes the reason is that they’re too private, and I don’t want to go gossiping. But the main stories do get told and told again.

Can you think of one now that you haven’t told before? 

Hmm. I will rake through the embers. Oh, I’ll tell you one! I thought of one this morning. It’s pretty good. I don’t think I’ve told it. You’re going to have to say in the article, “I forced this out of him,” because it’s a bit telling-out-of-school.

I am hereby twisting your arm. 

So when we did the album “Abbey Road,” the photographer was set up and taking the pictures that ended up as the album cover. Linda was also there taking incidental pictures. She has some that are of us — I think it was all four of us — sitting on the steps of Abbey Road studios, taking a break from the session, and I’m in quite earnest conversation with John. This morning I thought, I remember why. John’s accountants had rung my accountants and said: “Someone’s got to tell John he’s got to fill in his tax returns. He’s not doing it.” So I was trying to say to him, “Listen, man, you’ve got to do this.” I was trying to give him the sensible advice on not getting busted for not doing your taxes. That’s why I looked so earnest. I don’t think I’ve told that story before.

Tax filings — that’s some deep arcana. 

I have dredged the barrel.

I know that your goal with making music is to do something that pleases yourself. What’s most pleasing to you on the new album? 

I’m very happy with “Women and Wives.” I’ve been reading a book about Lead Belly. I was looking at his life and thinking about the blues scene of that day. I love that tone of voice and energy and style. So I was sitting at my piano, and I’m thinking about Huddie Ledbetter, and I started noodling around in the key of D minor, and this thing came to me. “Hear me women and wives” — in a vocal tone like what I imagine a blues singer might make. I was taking clues from Lead Belly, from the universe, from blues. And why I’m pleased with it is because the lyrics are pretty good advice. It’s advice I wouldn’t mind getting myself.

There’s a song on “McCartney III,” “Pretty Boys,” that is kind of unusual for you in how the music is sort of unassuming but the lyrics have an almost sinister edge. What inspired that one? 

I’ll tell you exactly. I’ve been photographed by many photographers through the years. And when you get down to London, doing sessions with people like David Bailey, they can get pretty energetic in the studio. It’s like “Blow-Up,” [the director Michelangelo Antonioni’s 1966 film thriller about a fashion photographer, thought to be loosely based on David Bailey] you know? “Give it to me! [Expletive] the lens!” And it’s like: “What? No, I’m not going to.” But I understand why they’re doing that. They’re that kind of artist. So you allow it. Certain photographers — they tend to be very good photographers, by the way — can be totally out of line in the studio. So “Pretty Boys” is about male models. And going around New York or London, you see the lines of bicycles for hire. It struck me that they’re like models, there to be used. It’s most unfortunate.

“Lavatory Lil” is another song I was curious about. That’s quite a title. 

“Lavatory Lil” is a parody of someone I didn’t like. Someone I was working with who turned out to be a bit of a baddie. I thought things were great; it turned nasty. So I made up the character Lavatory Lil and remembered some of the things that had gone on and put them in the song. I don’t need to be more specific than that. I will never divulge who it was.

I have another bigger-picture question. In your experience, how is the love in a marriage different at different stages of your life and in different marriages?

I don’t think it’s different. It’s always a splendid puzzle. Even though I write love songs, I don’t think I know what’s going on. It would be great if it was smooth and wonderful all the time, but you get pockets of that, and sometimes it’s — you could be annoying. To Nancy I’m pretty complex, with everything I’ve been through.

In what ways? 

I’m some poor working-class kid from Liverpool. I’ve done music all my life. I’ve had huge success, and people often try to do what I want, so you get a false feeling of omnipotence. All that together makes a complex person. We’re all complex. Well, maybe I’m more complex than other people because of coming from poverty.

And how do you think about money these days? 

It has obviously changed. What has stayed the same is the central core. When I was in Liverpool as a kid, I used to listen to people’s conversations. I remember a couple of women going on about money: “Ah, me and my husband, we’re always arguing about money.” And I remember thinking very consciously, “OK, I’ll solve that; I will try to get money.” That set me off on the “Let’s not have too many problems with money” trail. What happened also was, not having much money, when anything came into the house, it was important. It was important when my weekly comic was delivered. Or my penpal — I had a penpal in Spain, Rodrigo — when his letter came through, that was a big event. When they had giveaways in comics with little trinkets, I kept them all. Some people would say that’s a hoarding instinct, but not having anything when I was a kid has stuck with me as far as money. You know, I’m kind of crazy. My wife is not. She knows you can get rid of things you don’t need.

You’re a hoarder? 

I’m a keeper. If I go somewhere and I get whatever I bought in a nice bag, I will want to keep the bag. My rationale is that I might want to put my sandwiches in it tomorrow. Whereas Nancy says, “We’ll get another bag.” In that way, my attitude toward money hasn’t changed that much. It’s the same instinct to preserve. One of the great things now about money is what you can do with it. Family and friends, if they have any medical problem, I can just say, “I’ll help.” The nicest thing about having money is you can help people with it.

Something that has been a constant for you musically is your ability to keep coming up with melodies. It’s there on the new album — the melodies all flow. Is your facility for writing a catchy melody ever an obstacle to getting the songs to be more than just catchy? Because a good tune by itself is not always enough to make a good song. “Bip Bop” would be an example of that. Do you know what I’m saying? 

No, I know. “Bip Bop” is not lyrically stunning. I was always embarrassed about that song. Literally, it goes, “Bip Bop / take your bottom dollar.” It’s inconsequential. But I mentioned that to a friend, a producer, a few years ago, and he said, “That’s my favorite song of yours.” So you don’t know what people like. It’s enough if I like it and enjoyed putting it on record and don’t particularly want to think of any more lyrics. I don’t want to sweat it. Sometimes maybe it would be better if I sweated it. Once or twice I tried to sweat it, and I hated it. It’s like, What are you doing this for?

Sixty-something years into writing songs, do you feel any closer to knowing where melodies come from? 

No. There is something with my ability to write music that I don’t think I’m necessarily responsible for. It just seems to come easier to me — touch wood — than it does to some people. That’s it. I’m a fortunate man.

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH11

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 11: Resurrection Overture (XI)

Unfortunately, Qi Leren could escape his “date” with the Illusionist, but he couldn’t escape his one with Chen Baiqi.　　

Since there was no specific time for the day's training, Qi Leren got up early the next morning. When he got up, he thought he would suffer from a sore back due to training too hard the previous day, but except for slightly sore thighs, his body had no symptoms of strain, which made Qi Leren feel incredible.　　

Was it because he’d been blessed by Maria’s holy light?　　

Clearly last night when he’d gone to Du Yue, he’d been as tired as a dead dog. Du Yue had received him warmly and easily agreed to sign the confidentiality contract. According to the contract agreement, he wouldn’t be able to reveal this secret to anyone, whether it was in writing or spoken or even from a mind control skill. As long as it was concerning these secrets, he couldn’t say anything and Qi Leren would also feel it if he did.　　

This was actually an unfair contract that had no benefit to Du Yue. Qi Leren wanted to compensate him with some survival time, but Du Yue didn't agree: "I can earn so many survival days because of the clues qianbei gave me. I’ve already made a lot of money, I dare not ask for your days as well. If there’s a chance in the future, please take me with you!"　　

Looking at Du Yue's earnest eyes, Qi Leren agreed without saying anything.　　

At six o'clock in the morning, Qi Leren arrived at Chen Baiqi's shop and tentatively knocked on the door.　　

The door opened and Chen Baiqi, who had already dressed neatly and washed her hair, looked at him with a smile: "That’s very positive. I thought you wouldn’t arrive till after seven o'clock."　　

Qi Leren said that if he really had come after seven o'clock, he wasn’t sure how he’d be treated by Chen Baiqi.　　

"I’m very pleased to see that you’re so motivated. You’ll report to me at this time every day in the future. You know the consequences of being late." Chen Baiqi's smile widened. In Qi Leren’s eyes, this was really a smile full of maliciousness. "As for breakfast, ask Sissi what she wants to eat and get me the same."　　

Sissi, who came out of the back room with a yawn, said sleepily, "Flatbread fitters, thank you."　　

Chen Baiqi had put an hourglass on the table and encouraged Qi Leren by saying, "Twenty minutes."　　

"It takes at least ten minutes to run from here to the market near the steel bridge!" cried Qi Leren.　　

Chen Baiqi glanced at the hourglass: "Nineteen minutes and fifty seconds. If you feel stressed, I can send a lovely dog to accompany you."　　

Accepting his fate, Qi Leren pushed open the door and started to run as if a three-headed hellhound was eyeing his chrysanthemum behind him—truly, this was the most terrible place.　　

Many years later, Qi Leren still remembered the dominating fear of buying breakfast. In a sense, this period of running for his life in the sunset was the worst time in his life. The shopkeepers in the bazaar remembered this wind-like man. He would rush to the booth with short messy hair right on time at about 6:10 every day to buy two breakfasts. If there were other people waiting in line, his bereavement and frequent glances at his watch would make people suspect that he was manic. The most dramatic time, when he was faced with a long queue, he had resolutely cut in line at the expense of paying for everyone else in the line and disappeared from everyone’s sight like an unscrupulous customer who ran out when faced with the bill.　　

—He runs faster than I did when I learned my wife was giving birth, a stall owner said.　　

—Once, he brought a three-headed hellhound to do his morning exercises and ran faster than usual, another vendor said.　　

—That boy is really handsome. If I’m slow at preparing cakes, he almost starts crying in his rush. It's very distressing, a middle-aged female vendor fondly said.　　

People in the market speculated on his origin, but for a long time no one knew who he was, so the "6:10 rush to buy breakfast" was also included in the top ten incredible sights in the Village of Dusk. It’s worth mentioning that a new addition was also added to this list recently—why are there so many tombstones for Qi Leren on Undead Island?　　

However, Qi Leren, who monopolized these two items on the list, had no idea about his "unexpected popularity" because recently he was living a life that was like death. Chen Baiqi happily told him that because Maria’s holy light had blessed him, his body was very "resistant to exercise" and could accept more intensive training. She used this as an excuse to arrange an inhuman training regimen for Qi Leren.　　

Twenty minutes of hard running in the morning was just an appetizer. It was common to practice shooting at the same time. Even swimming from the Village of Dusk’s port to Undead Island was included in the daily training. Before finishing training every day, there was another "love lesson" by Chen Baiqi, which translates to "teaching you how to be hit by various weapons". Even the day when you dislocated your right hand because of shooting practice, you were not spared.　　

At this time, Qi Leren realized that the training menu Ning Zhou had given him was too easy and that he was too gentle as a coach. Just look at the results of Chen Baiqi's devil training: Within a week, when Qi Leren was chased by the three-headed hellhound outdoors, he was able to climb onto the roof without changing color, climbing faster than a monkey. If Chen Baiqi hadn't forbidden him from doing anything to the dog, he would have jumped at the evil dog with a gun.　　

Yes, Qi Leren also learned to shoot, as taught by Chen Baiqi.　　

Before be taught, Chen Baiqi also asked him how much he knew about guns and which one he wanted to try.　　

Although he was a man, he wasn’t very interested in guns. He said, "I don't play shooter games very much. How about a Desert Eagle? I’ve heard those are very powerful."　　

Chen Baiqi rolled her eyes: "You really do know nothing about guns."　　

Chen Baiqi recommended a revolver similar to a Smith Wesson 625, which had a large caliber, six-chambers, and convenient loading that wasn’t easy to jam. It was said that it was made by a gun fan, and that it couldn't be mass-produced at present with the technological level of the Twilight Township. He earned a lot of survival days thanks to this skill.　　

Qi Leren took the strange gun and thought of the problem of the laptop transformer and charger. The craftsman who was still alive when he’d gone last time had been away on a task, and he may have come back now. He would go see about this after today’s training.　　

While training in the afternoon, Chen Baiqi had a whim to teach Qi Leren how to dive, or dive without any equipment to be exact, to exercise his breath-holding ability, compression resistance, and control of his heartbeat and breathing. Since his profession was that of an assassin, he couldn't do without a well-trained heart.　　

Qi Leren listened in anguish to the main points about diving, put on the headlamp, and looked at the endless sea.　　

"I advocate that every player who focuses on the assassin's route should learn to dive, because to be a good assassin he must learn to overcome his nervousness and fear. There’s no training that can train a person better than jumping into the sea alone to challenge your own limits. As you dive deeper and deeper, the light will decrease. In the end, only your own heartbeat will be left in the dark world. It will seem like your soul has escaped from your body and roamed in endless darkness. You will be isolated and helpless. Nothing can save you. You have to learn to rely on yourself. The water pressure in all directions will become stronger and stronger, but the oxygen in your lungs will become less and less, and death will become closer and closer to you, and you won't even know what depth you’re diving to. You will feel fear, more and more fear, and fear will make your heart beat faster, oxygen consumption will increase dramatically, and you will die faster if you cannot overcome this fear." Chen Baiqi looked at Qi Leren, who was shivering in the wind, and smiled happily.　　

"This area isn’t deep. You’ll go down and touch a shell. It’s very simple to do," Chen Baiqi said.　　

Qi Leren said bitterly, "Can you tie a rope around me? What if I can't come back up from the water?"　　

Chen Baiqi's smile grew deeper, and her slender eyebrows made this smile even more malicious: "Don't be afraid, it doesn't matter if you don't come up for a while, anyway. You’ll slowly float up after swelling a little in two days."　　

“………………”

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Editor’s Notes: The next chapter may be a bit late, as I’ve had a hectic last couple weeks and unfortunately have fallen behind. I will try to avoid this though.

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[fairycosmos]

babe my dad is going to die after having been in a coma for a week due to a suicide attempt and idk what to do i feel numb and then it hits me like a truck like how does one survive this kind of pain it feels like im losing part of myself im never going to hear him laugh and see him happy again i am so sad. do you know any books or poems or movies about grief or losing someone i need to do something with this or ill implode

i'm so so sorry you're going through this. it's one of those things that platitudes and comforting words can barely even put a dent in. there's actually no words at all when it comes to losing someone and it took me ages to truly understand that. i thought something would eventually wake me up from the nightmare, i still do most of the time, but there's nothing else for it but one step in front of the other and collapsing periodically whenever you need to. it's truly a pain like no other and i wish there was a way around it but if there is i haven't found it either. it's only natural that you're feeling this way. the size of the grief is the same size as the love etc etc. i'm going to leave some recommendations below - i'll be thinking of you and your dad and keeping you both in my heart. i'm so sorry. he's shaped you as a person to your core and that means a lot of you is him, you will keep him around. i know it's not the same as him actually being here though. if you need a friend or someone to talk to or anything at all, please message me any time. i hope you have good people around you and all the support you deserve to get through the next week, day, or even minute. i'm sending you so so much love. x

books: crying in h mart by michelle zauner, the year of magical thinking by joan didion, wish you were by jodi picoult, atlas of the heart by brené brown, reasons to stay alive by matt haig, bearing the unbearable by joanne cacciatore, the grieving brain by mary-frances o'connor.

poems: death is nothing at all by henry scott-holland, taking care by callista buchen, do not stand at my grave and weep by mary elizabeth frye, in blackwater woods by mary oliver, separation by w.s merwin, alone by jack gilbert, first morning by joy harjo.

movies: other people, the lovely bones, extremely loud & incredibly close, manchester by the sea, big fish, the goldfinch, p.s i love you, coco, this is where i leave you, three colours: blue.

directory of grief support resources / bereavement and grief self-help guide

[valiantarcher]

This is rather delayed, but I’ve got some thoughts on Waking Rose after my last reread. Below the cut for spoilers and extreme length.

Timeline/Continuity:

Rose says it’s been almost three years since she met Fish - but if she’s 19 now, it should only be two years (it also makes more sense for Blanche and Bear to get married a year after Black as Night rather than two years after).

Back to Steve/Steven Foster (instead of Stephen).

Per Rose, Fish and Bear slept on the Fosters' couch.

Ben was 13 when his mom died, 16 when Father Raymond died.

Little Things Short Comments (mostly):

I love Bear inviting Rose to dance with him and Blanche on the last song - remembering that it started with the three of them.

Kateri is an observant and good friend - I too would probably tell Rose Fish wasn't worth it under the circumstances.

"Your particular brand of exuberance"

Ach, but Rose wants Fish to be happy and he tells her he's "happy enough" (...true for very low values of "happiness") but follows it up with "God's going to take care of me," which IS true.

Rose’s dramatic “I shall have twenty cats...” poetry.

Fish trying to make himself look like someone who doesn't folk dance. 

"What you see in front of you is fighting."

Rose thinking Fish's vocation is to be at the right place at the right time; Ben would probably argue that, but there is an extent it’s true.

We get the charges against Edward (I think this is the first time we learn his first name) Freet: (2) Attempted murder - Rose and Bear, (2) Assault - Rose and Fish (or Bear - it’s unclear), (3) Kidnapping - Fish, Rose, and I’m not sure if the third charge is for his involvement in Blanche’s kidnapping?

“Not that it was going to make much of a difference in the world, but it was good to attempt to bring some justice to this literary question.”

Fish dealing with the nuns is...I’m not sure humourous is the right word for it, but I appreciate his internal “they’re crazy, Father Raymond warned me about Catholics like them” dialogue.

“He had known too many manipulative women to be convinced by tears.” Well, Elaine is the first one to come to mind - no idea who the others are.

I know we get the hints towards the Rumpelstiltskin retelling with Fish (I think his role is the servant?), but I’m torn between going a) YES, GIVE ME MORE and b) no way I want to see Fish suffer even more, as I know he will in that story.

Alex assigning everyone who gets in trouble to read Thomas Aquinas outside.

I love that Kateri and Ben become really good friends - she asks after his health and knows when he’s cooking a Scheme and he keeps an eye out for her and worries after her and bails her out of jail.

“You’ve got to be kidding. I don’t want to be explaining to some bereaved parent or college official why their charge is dead, maimed, or serving a prison sentence because of something I set up.” “Since when were you expendable? Says the older brother who nearly went out of his mind scouring the streets of New York for you when you were kidnapped for three days.”

The idea of a fatal/fundamental doubt is echoed when Ben doubts that Dr. Murray is guilty for just a second.

Ben warning Alex that he’s now an arrested suspect and that by driving off with him in the car, he could be liable for part of his crime, and Alex just being like, “Well, I guessed that much - where do you want to go?”

Ben telling Alex about the assault and looking him in the face to do it - something he has struggled with so much - and Alex just taking it calmly and with sorrow.

Ben being like, “You don’t understand how bad this is,” and Alex being like, “Maybe not, but I understand enough, and it doesn’t change anything.”

Also, Alex basically blessing Ben as he goes off to the barn? Ach.

Ben’s birthday is in April, and so is little Ben’s!

Longer Comments (In no particular order or level of clarity - apologies):

Fish shows his propensity for law and justice while questioning Donna (even though or maybe especially because he’s angry and loses his temper). And then Kateri shows her heart by her interactions with Donna. I really like the conversation she and Ben have after they leave and when they clear the air, including the fact Kateri has had a grudge against Fish for ages.

I appreciate Alex more and more this reread. In addition to the above comments, he’s the one who suggest and inducts Rose and Nanette into being Ladies of Sacra Cor (and basically tells them it means they’ll start training too), he’s the one who remembers to call Ben Ben, and he’s the one who’s training the other guys and deciding when they’re ready to be knighted.  ALSO, he and Ben challenge each other - he tells Ben that the world doesn’t stop being evil just because you stop fighting, and Ben is the one who tells Alex to put his beliefs into action and back Kateri up.

The whole scene where Alex, Kateri, and Ben are wandering around Graceton looking for Paul and how Ben says that for being so tall, Paul sure got himself pretty lost, and they all nod BECAUSE THEY’RE ALL AVERAGE TO SHORT HEIGHT. And then how mad Alex is at Paul for going off on an interesting diversion and making him late for the proctor meeting and assigns him Thomas Aquinas to read.

“Blanche, you are a lifesaver,” Ben says when she tells him about Nurse Johnson. And, though he doesn’t know it, it ends up being quite literal as that starts the chain of believing Dr. Prosser is behind everything, leading to Ben doing his sting operation, and ultimately leading towards him realising Rose isn’t actually comatose and thus her being woken and saved.

Okay, so in the car going to see Rose, and they’re talking about Christmas plans and Fish says he’s staying there, so James asks where Fish’s parents are from. Fish says New York, but they’re both dead. James says, “Oh, sorry,” AS YOU DO and Fish replies back, “That’s okay. I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.” AND YOU KNOW THAT BOTH YOUR PARENTS DIED FROM MEDICAL ISSUES, BEN - IT’S VERY MUCH NOT JAMES’ FAULT.

Also, when Donna does go and tell Fish about following Rose to the barn - Fish very much doesn’t trust her, but he does thank her and even goes with her to talk to the police (again, legal/experiential side coming through). (Also, “Fish, being Fish, didn’t want to answer the question directly.” But he then gives her an answer by reasoning out that she has nothing to gain from telling him.)

On a tangent, the entire idea of Fish being the protector and having never wanted the Briers (or any other bystanders) involved in his and Bear’s work is why it’s so important that Rose gets into trouble all on her own: it means that Fish doesn’t feel guilty (...well, besides his stray thoughts which he thankfully gets under control pretty quickly) about causing Rose’s coma or obligated to look into what she was investigating for any reason beyond his own desire and sense of justice. And it takes a while, but that’s why it’s so important he does decide to do the undercover sting and try to bring justice to this - not as an obligation but as an active choice to try to fight the evil in the world.

Dinner at Fish’s apartment after the sit-in is great. Paul is not at all chill about being a hero in Kateri’s story and then there’s the stare-down between Alex and Kateri with loaded subcontext (how awkward might that have been for Donna, Paul, and Ben?).

Fish tells Donna that he’s convinced by actions, not words. Which makes sense, but it’s also interesting to see how that works out - because when she comes clean and tells him she lied, he believes her but he doesn’t trust her. And he accepts her into the group because Kateri trusts her and he trusts Kateri, but then he decides to trust her with the makeover for the sting operation. And, after that, he trusts her to take him to the barn and then - most of all - to get the antidote back to Rose in time.

Fish tries to claim he’s expendable and Bear is having none of that. Also, Bear puts his foot down about Fish working solo - either he has backup, or he doesn’t do this. And so Fish asks Alex to be his getaway driver.

And then Kateri and Paul and James and Leroy and DONNA! They all came even though Alex explained the situation and told them not to, and Ben is mad and explains how much legal trouble they’ll be in, but they don’t care. As Kateri says, “We’re not letting you do this alone.”

Alex organising the troops and planning it all out so that there’s the best chance for Rose to survive and for Ben to make it through. And Kateri being indignant about being left out of the lineup until Alex tells her her job is to sacrifice herself to save Paul and Rose, if the staff get through him and Leroy and James. Even if Paul won’t let that actually happen.

DONNA. I had forgotten that Donna not only played a crucial part in saving Rose’s life by getting through the staff/police barricade but also in saving Ben’s by sending Bear to the barn to help him. And I’m just so happy that she was redeemed and healed and she fully joined in - she could have easily said no or just done the bare minimum, but she waded in just the same as the rest of the group. Although it’s not explicitly stated, I fully expect her and Kateri to have been full-fledged ladies of Sacra Cor by their last appearance if they weren’t already. And she tells Ben she’s praying for him and gives him a kiss on the cheek, and he tells her thank you, truly and sincerely, and there’s peace!!

And Kateri also!! She and Ben have become full friends now, and he gets a kiss on the cheek from her and there’s half an idea that he’s kind of smug and pleased about her and Alex.

I wonder if Blanche had a premonition about Ben at all? Since she has them (or references them) multiple times in the previous books, it would make sense (and also help explain why she sent Bear off after him so soon after baby Ben’s birth - granted, she probably knew there was a sting operation, if not details), but there’s no comment about it at all.

I still would have liked a reunion between Rose and her family (beyond just a scene with her and Jean - though, I guess we got to see her and Bear’s meeting again, but it was pretty distracted, of course), even if it wasn’t strictly necessary for the story.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

JUICE ORTIZ x READER ⨟ PROMPT

Anon asked: Could I pretty please request prompts 13 & 49 with Juice?? Maybe where she goes to the station and she talks to him and she says "I love you" before she realizes what she said and she gets embarrassed and it's really cute and fluffy??

13. “I’ve been arrested for throwing a taco to a cop”.

49. “I love you”. (saying it for the first time)

Word Count: 823

Author comments: This work wasn't re-edited, so I'm sorry if you find grammar mistakes! I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine, credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba @minnicelli @ottosuricato @agirllovespasta ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

You're waiting outside of the police station, head down, frowning and both arms crossed on your chest. You're angry, totally mad and you're not going to hide it. So, when Juice finds you there and he's about to hug you, in front of Chibs and Jax, you just push him away. The president and the vice know then that they better go away, before you pay your rage with them too. Your friend is a little confused, until he remember that yesterday was Wednesday. Your movie night. When you started your friendship two years ago, he was super excited every Tuesday, organizing the night with enough time to bought junk food and drinks, and to find the perfect movie to watch. And you understand that he has to attend SOA business, but yesterday?

“Can you believe it?” He laughs somewhat nervous, lighting a cigar and having a puff. “I've been arrested for throwing a taco to a cop”.

Juice is trying to make you laugh, before telling you how much he's sorry. But you don't give him any chance, standing up from the metal railing keeping your hands into the pockets of the leather jacket. You begin to walk your way back home, you're tired after being waiting for him until five in the morning. You didn't sleep more than two hours. Hearing him snorting, your boots go downstairs to turn at the left.

And when you're about to cross the road, a hand covered by golden rings stops you by surrounding your waist. He holds you close, guiding you inside an alley that cuts the avenue.

“Hey, (Y/N), I'm sorry, okay?”

“Yeah… that's what you have been saying the last three Thursdays”.

“Oh, c'mon! I forgot it, we can watch those movies whenever”.

“You're twenty four, seven, with the club, Juice. It's supposed that Wednesday is our night, because Jax lets you free”.

“I said I'm sorry”. He just say frowning a little, seeming like he thinks you're overreacting.

“Cool. I'll set another plans for the next Wednesday”.

“No, wait! I prom—”.

“Juice, I get it. You prefer to be with your friends, and that's okay”.

“You're my friend”. He insists cupping your cheeks in his hands, sounding desperate for you to understand him.

“Then, it should be as important to you as it is to me”.

“C'mon! It's just a day, (Y/N)! Don't be dramatic”. Juice rolls his eyes, pulling himself away. And that hurts. And you can't help but slapping his face with all the anger residing inside you.

It takes you some seconds to know what have you done, but you're not going to say that you're sorry, nor anything like that. Because you're not. You're upset, sad and bereaved.

“You're always with them, and I don't even know if you're gonna… fucking come back, or if you're gonna die because of a gun, a knife, a car running over you, or whatever. It's not fair, Juice. I just want a night with you. Just one”. You say raising your voice more than you can notice, pointing him with a forefinger, even if the Son' still in shock because of the hit. “I wanna spend time with you too, I… I… need it. It's not fair”.

“(Y/N)...”

“Shit, no! Yesterday was a horrible day for me. I just wanted to go home, be with you lying in the sofa. You're my safe place! I love you! Do you know how painful is having it for almost two yea—”.

“What did you said?”

Your blood freezes, you're feeling out of air trying to swallow your own saliva by having a deep breath. Your body getting tense when he takes some steps close to you, while feeling the burn on your cheeks. Juice is drawing a silly smile on his lips, twisting slightly his neck, waiting for you to repeat your words. The only thing you want is be swallowed up by the earth.

“Do you… love me? Since when?” He asks then, narrowing his eyes.

Putting away your view, he takes the advantage to kiss you, placing his hands back to your face. But is not a conventional kiss, more than a set of them; shorts, gently, constants. Once and again, until he infects you that goofy smile installed on his mouth.

“I was just… trying to put some distance… because I thought… you didn't feel… as I do”. Every lovely gesture interrupts his words, but you're not going to complain about it. “I love you too… shit, I'm fucking happy… I'm sorry… I've been acting like… an asshole…”

“It's okay, you didn't know”. You finally say, surrounding his neck with both arms to hug him.

He closes you tightly, taking you into his body as if it was the first time after a long time.

“Come to my house, now, and sleep with me. I'll make it up to you this evening”.

“You better, Juan Carlos…”

[devouringyourson]

Hey First Time Watching Hannibal Anon again. Hope these arent getting annoying. I'm about halfway through S2 now and wooooo boy you were bang on it has been something else.

Jack Crawford has really grown on me this season. I didnt expect him to be as forthcoming about his fuckups. Plus with the opening of Ep1 and the Margaret reveal, well... uhhhh let's say i'm really interested in seeing where his story goes!

Also didnt expect Chilton to take the turn he has. Still a complete sack of shit but watching him put all of the pieces together about Hannibal was very pleasing. Best case ever of the "worst person you know made a good point" meme XD.

Fave comedy moment so far has to be Will's desperate improvising when meeting the Murder Orderly. The idea that Will met this tiny ratman completely by accident and thought that sending him up against Hannibal was a good smart thing to do... god I Love Will so much. Second place is Hannibal's big "oh no" face when Jack took food to go. Third place is Freddie demanding exclusive rights to the story of the world most private, introverted little weirdo on planet earth. Honourable comedy mention: Will's fishing daydream. Physically, he is within in a cell, spiritually he is escaping to a river. In the hospital. In the courtroom. Do not speak to him, he is vibing.

And of course, Big Fs in the chat for Beverly and Gideon. They will be dearly missed. Baffled that the FBI didnt give Beverly's two very close co-workers some bereavement leave or even just get someone else on that particular case but hey.

Also the bee lady. She fills people with bees. And the FBI turn up and shes just like "Yeah they were in pain so filled them with bees :D!!" I wonder if the state that Baltimore is in has tried to sue NBC for slander. Not only are there so many serial killers but they are the absolute weirdest ones going.

Anon I adore you and you're glorious takes. It truly is a comedy. The Margaret reveal lmao who's Margaret 😂 you're so right on all of this and I can't wait for your takes on the rest of the season this is just the tip of iceberg that's S2b insanity

[koholania]

What to say / not to say to a friend who has lost a loved one:

'Sorry for your loss.' - This overused phrase can come across as impersonal. While it's polite, it's more suitable for an aquainance, rather than a close friend. Even just 'I'm really sorry' sounds a lot more genuine.

'I don't know what to say.' - This is a perfectly acceptable thing to say to a friend and does not come across as offensive. It's okay if you don't know what to say. Actions speak louder than words. Showing you are there for your friend means more than any words.

'I'm sorry, I'm really bad with words.' - Again, this is a perfectly acceptable statement and saying it is not offensive. Your friend is probably also feeling very lost and understands. As cheesy as it sounds, speak from the heart and be honest, even if your words come out in a mess like: 'I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine what you're going through. It must be so awful. I'm sorry, I don't know what to say. I'm really bad with words. I wish I could be more comforting. I don't know what to do but I promise I'll try my best to help you.' You may feel like you're rambling and not helping at all, but just your honesty and support can really mean a lot.

Maybe I shouldn't say anything to my friend. I don't want to upset them by bringing up the subject - In my opinion, it is better to say something than say nothing at all. If you feel awkward saying something, try to remember what your friend is going through. By not saying anything at all, it can come across that you don't care or that you're not willing to put your own awkwardness aside to comfort your friend. If you feel like bringing the subject up will only remind them of their loss, just know that it is probably already on their mind constantly.

I can't think of any advise or comforting words to pass on. Sometimes people try to offer advise such as, 'it gets better' or 'one day you'll wake up and it won't be so hard any more'. Don't feel this is necessary. For the person currently grieving, this may not be as comforing to hear as you might think. Grief is normal, it's okay to be sad and it's okay not to be okay.

'I know what it's like, I lost my so and so too.' - Strangely enough, this isn't always comforting to hear. Each person's loss is so individual. The relationship with their lost loved one, the events leading up to their death and after, are completely unique. It's up to you whether you feel this is appropriate and helpful to say or not.

'Let me know if you need anything.' - While the good intention is usually there, most bereaved people will never take you up on that vague offer. Instead, consider: cooking and taking round some food, offering to buy groceries or helping with other daily tasks such as cleaning the house etc. It is easy to forget to eat and take care of yourself while bereaved. Often the simplest of tasks can be very difficult.

'I'm here if you ever want to talk.' - Similar to the above, most people won't reach out. Instead you could say, 'would you like to talk about it?' This is a bit more direct and helps your friend to be honest and say, 'no, I'd rather not talk about it', or, 'yes, actually, I would like to talk about it.'

I think it's best if I stay away and give my friend time and space to grieve. - A lot of people do appreciate having time and space alone to grieve. During difficult times, it can be hard to see friends. However, make sure you don't completely distance yourself from your friend. For some people being with friends can be very helpful to get through a difficult time. Unfortunately a lot of people stay away from bereaved people, because they don't know how to help. Over time this can create a bigger rift and sometimes leads to lost friendships. During tough times, people discover who their true friends are. They see who is there for them when it matters the most. Think about whether you want to be that friend.

While you are giving your friend time and space to grieve, sending a text saying, 'Thinking of you <3' - I think this is a nice thing to do. It shows your friend you are there for them but also respecting their personal space, without making them feel obligated to reply. During dark times, it's suprising how something so small and seemingly insignificant can brighten someone's mood a little.

In summary, I think the best thing you can do for a friend is simply show that you are there for them. It's okay if you don't know what to say or do. It's something that can be difficult to understand if you haven't experienced something similar yourself. But please try to put yourself in your friends shoes and think about what they are going through and how you would feel if it happened to you.

Note, these may not be the right for every person. Every person is different and deals with loss in their own way. What is right for one person may be totally wrong for another. These are just things I'd like to pass on from personal experience.

Please consider rebloging so more people see this and feel free to add to this list. Bereavement can be very lonely and many people lose friends because people distance themselves out of awkwardness and not knowing what to do. I hope more people read and pass on this message.

Thank you for talking the time to read my post

[fericita-s]

Beginning After The End (Part 4)

Part 1   Part 2  Part 3

This concludes this story about Thea and Hubert falling in love after the deaths of Elias, Agnarr, and Iduna. Thank you @the-spaztic-fantastic​ for being the best beta ever and saying “YES MORE” when I said I wanted to think about these two and their lives after the events of WAIL. And for her many contributions including the idea of getting Henrik back with these two for some shenanigans and many of the gift ideas. Thea deserves good things!

Elias had shaved every day at home, lathering up with a soap with a distinct scent that Thea had come to associate with him.  She missed the smell of it.  He came home from expeditions with a beard that was coarse and full.  Its roughness against her face when they kissed hello was part of the homecoming ritual, as was watching him trim and then shave it off, the time spent apart measured in how long it was.  She would cup his smooth cheek with her hand and say “There you are!” when he finished and then together they began their favorite part of his homecoming. 

Hubert kept his beard short.  This was becoming a greater challenge now that the white hairs in it were growing faster than the brown.  He would turn to Thea from his dressing table with the mirror propped up and the scissors in his hand, exasperated and possibly wistful and say “Why are the old-man hairs the ones most intent on announcing their presence?” 

She found the best way to assuage this particular fear was to kiss him on the lips while her hands scratched at his bearded cheeks. “I like it.  It makes you look distinguished.  Very reliable for knowing the best way to introduce ice cars to the national railway.” Often the scissors would be abandoned as his hand found places to caress that elicited less verbal sounds of satisfaction from her.

***

Elias had presented her with gifts throughout their courtship and marriage through the imports his family was so involved in.  He paid attention to the latest fashions that his mother and Linnea followed closely and seemed to always be giving her a new bonnet or pair of gloves or piece of jewelry or box of books.  He bought her paints and pigments for her artwork and she exclaimed over the expense, grateful he knew how important it was to her.  She hadn’t packed any of those gifts in the trunks that came to Antwerp, though she had tucked her wedding ring into a pair of woolen socks, unwilling to part from it completely and yet wanting to try living without its constant presence on her hand.

Hubert was similarly generous with gifts.  For their first Christmas together, he had given all of the children their own horses and when Thea gently pointed out that perhaps the twins and Elias were too young for a horse, he bought them ponies as well.  Vadik had also received a pocket watch that Hubert had been gifted from his own father at the age of ten and a letter Elias had written to Hubert announcing Vadik’s birth.  Sasha had gasped when he presented her with a Stradivarius violin. They hadn’t seen her for the rest of the day, the pastoral symphony from Handel’s Messiah filling the house the only evidence of her presence and a testament to her delight.

To Thea, he had given his mother’s diamond ring, resized to fit her hand.  He had shrugged at the extravagance, saying only “Antwerp is known for diamonds and I never gave you a ring when we were wed.” But she had seen how pleased he was when she wore it, how his eyes looked at her hand and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.  Later, Sara had hugged her tightly and whispered how glad she was to see her brother in love.

That night when the last carol had been sung and the last candle extinguished, Hubert lit one in the bedroom to tell her of another gift.

“I saved the letters Elias wrote to me over the years.  Yours too, but it’s his I think you might like to see. We started corresponding the year we were all at the Royal Sommerhus together,” he said as he crossed the room to the tall chest of drawers.  He opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of papers tied neatly with a piece of string. 

“I should have told you about them before, but I wasn’t sure if they would cause joy or bereavement.  But I think either way, the decision is for you to make.” He was looking at the letter on top, and even with only candlelight Thea could see that it bore the creases of having been once folded as a letter.  Hubert didn’t raise his eyes to hers as he continued speaking.

“He loved you so much Thea.  And he said that so often in these letters.  Sometime casually, sometimes in grand declarations.  And they’re yours to read whenever you want to; alone or with me nearby.”

The diamond had spun on her finger and she twisted it back around as she answered him, careful to keep her voice even so he wouldn’t hear grief in her voice and regret this gift.  “Thank you, Hubert. I’ll read them another night.”

He returned the letters to the drawer and then got back in their bed.

“Thank you for all of the gifts.  The children and I - we’re so lucky to have you.” She hoped he could hear the sincerity in her voice, how much she meant it to be true.  Thinking about Elias was still a wound but it was more of a bruise now, not the gaping wound it had been before coming to Antwerp. And one she preferred, at least for now, to prod and examine by herself.

“I love giving you good things,” he said and she knew he was trying to say something else.

***

The night before Vadik was born, Thea had been so uncomfortably pregnant that she sent Elias to Hudson’s without her.  “Bring me back krumkake if there is any.  Or skolebrod.  Or both,” she’d said as he kissed her goodbye.  He’d returned with both.

When she was so heavily pregnant that only one dress fit and none of her shoes, she felt her stomach had no room for any food.  Hubert begged her to take one more sip of soup, one more bite of bread, and when her contractions began said he would go for the midwife himself and fetch Sasha from school until Thea told him she would rather he remain close by and to perhaps send a servant instead.  

“Try not to get drunk like Elias did when I labored with Sasha.  All will be well.  There’s nothing to fear,” she had said as he left the room.

Thea had cried out once when the midwife said “There’s another!”  Hubert rushed in and saw the birth of the second while clutching Thea’s hand, his mother’s diamond leaving a mark in his palm.

***

Elias had taken the children sailing and riding and swimming and hiking, sometimes with Thea and sometimes not.  He rolled to the very edge of the bed when Sasha and then later Vadik came into their room at the sound of thunder and needed to sleep pressed against their mother. He put a steady hand behind Thea as she carried their babies, pushed the pram or nursed.

Maybe because there were two at once, or because he was older when he became a father, or just because he was a different man, but Hubert held the babies at every opportunity.  They bought a second pram shortly after they realized the need for it, but the twins, Helen and Castor, were still small enough that they fit in one, tightly swaddled and fit neatly together as the family walked through De Zoologie and exclaimed over the animals.  Hubert pushed the pram and Thea would have thought that was the way of it in Antwerp except every other pram they passed was pushed by a nursemaid in uniform.  Hubert smiled and waved to those passing and Thea thought his pride in his family, in their family, was visible to even strangers.

***

“Three babies in two years; I know it’s been rare for you to have time to yourself,” Hubert said, with his hand on the doorknob.  Thea appreciated that he didn’t list the tragedies of those years, only the happy surprises: little Elias and Helen and Castor.  Little Elias was so big now that no one ever called him “the baby,” especially since the twins were currently taking up quite a bit of energy and attention, even spread as it was among Hubert, Thea, Sara, the nursemaids, and their older siblings.

It was their first anniversary, after all, and Thea was determined to have a happy day.  She had planned a menu with the cooks that would rival a royal wedding celebration.  Hubert’s friends and colleagues, who would probably have come to their wedding had it happened with any notice, were attending an anniversary dinner.  Even Henrik was coming. He was in the country to discuss the use of ice in train transport with Hubert and had promised to bring a few surprises of his own.  Thea had raised her eyebrows at this, but Hubert had been uncharacteristically unconcerned.

They were outside of a room Thea thought might be one of the sunrooms.  The Bonfrey family estate was large and she was still learning where everything was located a year into making it home.  The children seemed to learn it perfectly after one tour from Sara on the very first night.  But Thea would sometimes open several doors before ending up where she meant to, and wasn’t helped by the way the children were constantly leaving their books and playthings scattered in different places, a trail of unhelpful breadcrumbs like those from one of Hubert’s book of German fairy tales.

“Sara and Sasha helped me set this up the way they guessed you’d like,” said Hubert, and Thea was surprised to see a red flush on his cheeks, a nervous flexing in his hands.  They’d seen each other through so much this year - the grief of a funeral for beloved friends, a hellish trip across the sea, the birth of the twins - but she hadn’t seen him act like this before.  

He opened the door and gestured for her to enter first and she did.  

“Oh Hubert!” 

The room Hubert had led her into had been a sunroom.  The floor-to-ceiling windows let in natural light that displayed the contents of the room to full effect: paints and pigments, canvases stacked high, chalks and charcoals, several easels, hog bristle brushes, even a pantograph for reducing or enlarging sketches. On the wall were shelves that were mostly empty save for a handful of books. 

“They’re photo studies. Of statues, paintings.  Some landscapes and some models,” Hubert said as she stepped forward and traced the embossed titles along the book spines.

Thea moved about the room, her hands running along shelves and then on to the paintbrushes, experimentally brushing them against her palm.  

“I thought you could use a place to be by yourself, to think and to paint or even to just sit and read. I can move the letters from Elias in here if you’d like.”

Thea turned to him and nodded.  “I would like that.  I like all of this, Hubert. So much.”

“Sasha said you’d like those the best,” he said as she examined the canvas. “ And Sara suggested we paint the room white and take out most of the furniture so you can choose how to decorate it.  We left a chair and a stool for you, and the couch for whoever wants to pose.”

Vadik suddenly ran in the room with little Elias close behind and Hubert scooped him up before he collided with the glass jars standing at the ready for mixing.

“And the best part,” he said, reaching into his pocket and taking out a key, “is that you can lock it to keep out any unwelcome visitors.”

“Like who?” Vadik asked.  “Uncle Henrik? But he just got here and Aunt Sara told me to fetch you to greet him!”

Thea laughed and ruffled his hair. “No, sweet, Uncle Henrik is most welcome.  Come with me so he can exclaim over how tall you’ve grown.”  

***

The anniversary dinner party went so late into the evening that it was the early morning hours before any guests left for home.  Though Hubert gripped the table when Henrik gave a toast, it was entirely appropriate and never once mentioned Paris, for which Thea knew Hubert was extremely grateful.

When Hubert was walking the last of the guests to the door, Henrik revealed his surprise - paintings and sketches Thea had made and left in Arendelle.  She went through the neatly preserved stack and was delighted to see among them Sasha, age ten and playing her violin, Vadik as a baby sleeping in his crib, Elias in the pond by the Royal Sommerhus, teaching Sasha to swim. She had left them in Arendelle hoping to leave some evidence of her family behind in case they all sunk to the bottom of the sea. Looking at them now, she was surprised to feel only joy.

“Linnea brought them back on her last visit and asked me to deliver them to you personally,” Henrik said.  

He didn’t ask why she hadn’t brought them when she and the children moved here and she was grateful.  He reached for the portrait of Elias that she was now tracing with her hand - one of him in an Arendelle navy uniform, trying to look serious but his smile rendered fully in the watercolor. “Thea, you know he loved you.  And you know he would have wanted you to find love again.  To be cared for and to care for others. To not be closed off and grieving for the rest of your days.” He placed the painting back in the pile and squeezed her hand.  “He liked Hubert.  He would have liked this for you, even though he would never have liked to leave you so permanently.”

***

Hubert helped Thea arrange the paintings Henrik had brought from Linnea.  With each painting she felt a fragmented piece of herself realign and became part of the whole, like a dried out watercolor palette being worked over with water and blending brushes.  Hubert had his hand on the doorknob to leave, but she didn’t want him to go.

“Henrik asked again if I wanted him to pose for me.  Nude of course.”

Hubert laughed. “Again? Is this something he does often?”

“A handful of times.  I think usually it was just to bother Elias,” she said as she fiddled with the nearby paintbrushes and straightened the stack of canvases that were already in a very neat pile.  She picked up the lay figure and worked its arms and legs.  “Thankfully you’ve given me this so I can decline.”

“If you ever need a live model, I’d be happy to do it.  To spare you the sight of Henrik.” He said and took his hand off of the doorknob.  “It’s why the couch is here after all.”  

He sat down on it and then she did too.  

“Did I tell you about the time Elias offered himself for the same purpose?”

“No,” Hubert laughed.  

“I was very flustered - we weren’t yet engaged. I told him of my art classes and the sketches we would do, how both men and women had posed nude for us. I was trying to impress him with my worldliness.  And he said ‘I’d be very pleased to pose for you anytime you’d like.’” Thea glanced at Hubert who was smiling at her story, and smiled in response and in memory of her attempt to show off.

“I told him there was no need as I’d already seen more men naked than I could count, and then he said ‘Just wait until you see what I do with it.’” Thea reddened and put her hand over her mouth, laughing.  “I’m sorry; you don’t want to hear that!”

But Hubert was laughing too and reached for her hands to squeeze them in reassurance.  “You can tell me anything about him.  We can both remember him.”

“Thank you,” Thea said, and she leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling like another piece of herself was connected and whole again.

***

She loved him. She wasn’t sure when it started. Probably long before she said it, probably when her heart didn’t know what to call it anymore.  He had been patient and allowed her to find her way to it, not demanding it of her even when he said it freely and showed her in a hundred different ways.  

“Ice liebe dich,” she said, and kissed him on one cheek and then the other.  “Je t’aime.” 

The space between their lips was so small that she could feel his words as he spoke them, warm as they fell across her lips.  

“I love you too.  So much,”  Hubert said as he gently rested his forehead against hers and put his hands on her shoulders.  He rested them lightly and she could feel them tremble.

“Ik hou van je,” she said.  She had saved that one for last.  

Hubert spoke German when he was in a nostalgic mood and French for everyday.  Flemish was his language for murmuring in her ear while in bed at night, his body surrounding hers and bringing them both pleasure.  He spoke words of affection in Flemish after moments of ecstasy that she guessed he didn’t know if she was ready to hear.  But now, she was. And she was ready to say them too.

“Is that right?” asked Hubert, and pulled back from her so she could see his face.  His was smiling and his eyes were full of such hope and tenderness she knew he meant it was all he wanted.  “You love me in three languages?”

“I love you in every language. And I’ll learn them all, too, to tell you.  You loved me back to life and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say thank you enough.”

Hubert’s smile faltered a little and his brow furrowed.  They were small tells, but she could see them.  Someone who loved him could see that he was bothered. 

“Saying ‘I love you’ is better than ‘thank you.’  As long as it’s not an obligation.  As long as you don't think you have to say it to stay here and be my beloved,” he said, speaking gently and patiently, like always. 

She answered and kept her eyes on his.  She wanted him to feel the truth in what she said.  “No, I feel free.  You’ve made me free to love again. And I love you.”

He smiled and she saw the relief he felt at her words, the joy.  He moved his hands to her waist and her cheek and pulled her towards him in language their bodies were familiar with. “Well then. Let’s love.”

[cynicalrainbows]

The Next Best Thing Chpt 4

Thank you for the lovely feedback for my last chapter! This one is a bit more focused on Catalina- because I thought it would be interesting to focus a bit on what it must be like for the grown up in this sort of situation. Lots of child-centric fics tend to show adult caregivers as either perfect and saintlike or horrible abusers but there's a middle way irl and honestly, looking after children must be incredibly scary and stressful. I thought Catalina deserved to make a friend, and I also wanted to be able to introduce Anne and Jane a bit more in this chapter because I have a whole headcanon for Anne's backstory too.

***

There’s a long talk between Catalina and the headmistress in the office, while she chews her nails on a hard plastic chair outside- sometimes, she overhears the odd word or two (‘Grief process’ and ‘understanding’ and ‘bereavement leave policy’) but mostly it’s just a hum.

She wonders if Catalina is being told she’s being expelled, she wonders what happens when you’re expelled, if you go to school at all or if you stay at home or if they send you to a special scary school for expelled children- but when Catalina comes out, she just takes her by the hand and tells her that they’re going to go home and it’s all been agreed that she can start fresh tomorrow, as long as she promises that next time she feels this bad, she tells someone. They’ve made a deal, that Catalina is going to work out with her horrible-boss-James, that she can leave class to call Catalina on the telephone or just to take a moment to cool down, if she feels like she really needs to, on the headmistresses condition that she ‘not abuse the privilege’ (whatever that means- she isn’t sure.)

It’s a relief to be home (and it’s funny, she thinks, that she thinks ‘home’ and not ‘Catalina’s flat’ for once). She shakes her head hard when Catalina asks if she would like to take a nap.

‘You look exhausted, querida.’

‘I’m not. I’m fine.’

Catalina doesn’t look like she really believes her but she doesn’t insist. She does ask if Cathy would like her to read to her for a bit instead and that actually sounds quite nice because Catalina does Voices (and she’s really good at it). It turns out though, that lying on the sofa with her head in Catalina’s lap, listening to her read The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, actually does make her fall asleep after all, and when she wakes up (from a dream of snow and talking lions and turkish delight), there’s a blanket over her.

Catalina raises an eyebrow from her armchair.

‘I thought you weren’t tired?’

(Her godmother can be really MEAN sometimes.)

Later, she absolutely refuses her Catalina’s suggestion that she make Anne an apology card- she’s had enough of cards- but she weakens when Catalina suggests an apology letter instead, and a chance to write it with her special heavy fountain pen. (Especially when she promises a real envelope to put it in, one that she can seal up properly rather than having to save it to reuse because Stationary Costs Money, which is what Catalina usually says when she asks for stamps or envelopes or rubber bands to play with.)

(‘But you brought the envelopes home from work-’ Catalina makes a noise like she’s trying to cough and doesn’t answer, and she has to tug on her hand a bit. ‘You said they had lots and lots and that stupid James would never notice and anyway, he owes you for-’ ‘Well’ Catalina is looking very uncomfortable for some reason. ‘They still cost money so-’ ‘But it wasn’t YOUR money, you didn’t pay for them because stupid James did-’ ‘Shall we get some icecream before we go home?’ She isn’t sure why Catalina is avoiding the looks of everyone else in the supermarket queue or why she’s changing the subject but icecream is icecream. And grown ups are strange. Still, it feels a bit unfair too, the way that grownups are allowed to so easily avoid questions they don’t want to answer. Why isn’t SHE allowed to suggest they get some icecream to avoid having to answer questions about brushing her teeth and making her bed and whether or not she has plans to pick up her barbies from the living room floor?)

‘Can I have a stamp too?’

‘Don’t you want to give it to her at school? See her reaction?’

She isn’t sure. She does...but the idea of a stamp is tempting too... Eventually though, Catalina agrees to let her have a stamp anyway (even though she’ll just hand it over to Anne at school because she isn’t really sure of Anne’s full address) and she writes her letter at the kitchen table, while Catalina keeps an eye on the soup and washes up.

‘How do you spell ‘emotional’?’

Catalina obliges. ‘What are you putting, querida?’

‘I’m telling Anne that I’m sorry I kicked her and that I was having emotional stress-’

Catalina turns hurriedly back to the soup pot and presses a hand to her mouth- when she turns back, she’s fighting to keep her face straight. Cathy isn’t at all sure what’s so funny though.

‘-and that I promise to never do it again, unless she does it to me first and then it will be self defence. And that she can wear the purple shoes next time we play dressing up even if I get them first and they’re my favourites because I’m showing her that I’m properly sorry.’

‘That sounds like an excellent letter, querida.’ Catalina stirs the soup thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps you could cement the make up properly, hm? Maybe you could ask Anne over to play one day?’

It’s a very, very good suggestion. She finishes the letter and Catalina shows her how to do the first letter of every line in fancy curly writing, like in the big bible Catalina keeps on a special stand in her bedroom that is Not To Be Touched, and promises that if Anne’s parents agree, she can have Anne over to play next Friday.

(And of course they will say yes. Although they won’t exactly, because Cathy knows it will be Anne’s big sister Mary who Catalina will end up having to ask, and she will say yes because she always does, in her quick, relieved, as if she’s saying yes before the person making the offer can take it back. 

Cathy knows this, and Anne knows this- but Catalina is a grown up, and so she knows that Catalina will do the thing that all the other class parents do every time there is a party or a trip, of trying and trying to call the house phone, and getting more and more cross when there’s never any answer, before they give up and call the mobile number for Anne’s sister that they were told to call in the first place.)

She gives Anne the letter in the playground the next morning and Anne is bouncing up and down with excitement at the thought of seeing her new room (and a little bit at the thought of getting first dibs on the purple shoes too). Anna hovers next to them and reaches out to touch the paper of the letter.

Anne lets her take it, already talking about what they’ll do on Friday- but Cathy is only half listening because Anna looks sad- a strange sort of sad where she’s smiling to not let people see.

‘It’s really good-’ She strokes the curly letters with a gentle finger- her voice is different to any voice Cathy has heard before and that’s apparently because Anna is from Germany and that’s how they sound in Germany, just like Catalina sounds different because she’s from Spain. ‘Did you do it by yourself?’

It occurs to Cathy that for all she’s been thinking about Anna, this is the first time they’ve actually talked to each other.

‘Catalina showed me how.’

‘Is Catalina your sister?’

‘Her godmother.’ Anne is still bouncing. ‘She’s from Spain. She’s really nice. Cathy’s lucky.’

She wonders for a second if Anne is going to say anything else, scared it’s going to be yesterday all over again- but she doesn’t- and surprisingly, she doesn’t feel anything other than pleased. Catalina is nice, after all. She is lucky.

‘Can you teach me- us?’ Anna’s looking at Cathy like she knows how to do something really amazing and she’s not sure what to say, yes or no, and then Anne interrupts and says that Cathy should teach her on Friday so that they can maybe use Catalina’s special pen too.

She’s about to agree- and then she thinks about how that means Anna won’t be there. About how she invited only Anne to come over, not Anna, and how if she shows Anne away from Anna, how Anna probably won’t get to see it at all. And she thinks about how sad it made her feel, when she was imagining Anna and Anne off having fun without her, and how Anna doesn’t even really seem to have any friends yet because she’s new-

A little part of her wants to enjoy this- to say yes, to show Anna that SHE is Anne’s best friend and that Anne isn;t in the market for a new one...but it’s only a little, little part.

Instead, she tells Anne that she’ll show them both at lunchtime- and Anna smiles a very small smile at her. and she smiles back, and it actually feels better than leaving Anna out would. 

(Probably, anyway.)

**

‘But you promised!’

‘I’m sorry querida- I just forgot-’ 

Catalina looks tired in her wrinkled work suit, among all the other mums in comfy cardigans and tshirts, and usually Cathy feels sorry for her when she looks like that, like she’s been carrying something very very heavy for a very very long time….but she’s too angry to feel anything other than cross because she promised, it was all planned-

‘It was all arranged!’

‘I’m so sorry-’ Catalina really does look sorry, but she doesn’t care. 

‘Even if you forgot, you remembered now-’ She keeps talking even though Catalina is already shaking her head. ‘So why can’t Anne still come?’

‘Because-’ Catalina rubs her forehead with her fingers. ‘I’ve had a very, very long day querida. I’m very tired. And we can make plans for another day but tonight-’

‘I don’t WANT plans for another day!’ Her eyes feel hot, she stamps her foot hard and she wishes she was big enough that it sounded scary and loud and not stupid and silly.

‘You are not being reasonable Cathy.’

It should worry her perhaps that Catalina is calling her by her name when she never calls her anything but querida or carino...but she doesn’t even care about that because Catalina is still saying no and she promised, she promised-

‘I don’t care!’ She doesn’t quite shout it but it’s as loud as talking can be before it tips over, and Catalina looks like she’s having to fight to make herself not shout too, even though she never shouts.

‘Cathy, you need to stop this NOW.’

‘You’re being so UNFAIR!’ And now she is shouting, and Catalina is glaring at her.

‘I swear, if you don’t-’

‘Excuse me?’

And then as if by magic, a woman appears between them, and it breaks them both off from their little battle.

‘Hello-’ Catalina looks a little bit confused because she doesn’t know this lady, Cathy realises, but she does- her name is Jane and sometimes she brings Anne and her little cousin Kitty (who’s in the Reception class and who hardly ever talks she’s so shy) to school and takes them home and gives them their tea after if Mary doesn’t do it or forgets. 

(Mary forgets a lot, but then again, she’s quite busy because she has a baby of her own to look after which is nice except that it makes Mary look tired all the time and sometimes she doesn’t have the energy to take care of Baby Catherine and to take Anne and sometimes Kitty to school and to go to her own classes too.)

 Jane’s not an auntie or even a godmother, Cathy knows, just a neighbour- but she came to the end of term Nativity last year even though she doesn’t have any other children who go to the school and clapped especially hard when Anne (and Cathy and the other girls playing angels) came to the front in their halos made from gold tinsel, and she puts the pictures Anne makes in art on her fridge (says Anne) even when they’re not very good.

(Cathy doesn’t know if there’s a word for the person who does that. Because neighbour doesn’t seem to really fit for Jane.)

‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing-’ Jane is smiling a bit awkwardly. ‘I thought I was picking Anne up today- I didn’t realise she was meant to go to you-’

‘It’s fine-’ Catalina shakes her head. ‘It was planned but I forgot- I don’t think I can manage it tonight and if you’re here already-’

‘No!’ She howls it- why is Catalina ruining things even more?- and Catalina shoots her a cross be-quiet-now look.

‘It’s no trouble, I can go if-’

‘Yes! Yes please!’

‘No!’ Catalina says it so sharply and loudly that Cathy is stopped in her tracks- but before anything else can be said, Jane is putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘Cathy- it’s Cathy, isn’t it?’

She nods mutely eyes starting to sting.

‘Why don’t you run along and play with Anne for a few minutes while-’

‘Catalina’ Catalina has the sort of tight, forced smile that she wears when she’s having to make herself be polite.

‘While Catalina and I talk? Alright?’

She wants to say that it isn’t alright- but she’s also a bit scared about making Catalina cross so she nods again and turns to go.

‘Querida, wait-’

Before she can move, Catalina puts out a hand and stops her- she wonders if she’s in proper proper trouble- but Catalina just sighs and pulls her into a hug and cuddles her close.

‘I’m sorry I snapped at you.’

‘It’s ok-’ She sort of wants to ask about Anne coming over again but she doesn’t quite dare. It’s enough at least that Catalina looks normal again and has lost her shouty-cross face, and she presses herself close to her warmth and familiar safe smell before Catalina lets go and turns back to Jane.

She doesn’t go to play though. Instead, she takes her reading book from her school bag and sits cross legged on the hall floor a little way away, so that she can still hear.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt- it just seemed like things were getting a bit heated and… I know it’s not my place to-’

‘No, it’s fine- It’s difficult-’ Catalina sighs. ‘I did promise her, I feel awful really- It just completely slipped my mind!’

‘It’s quite alright- we’ve all been there!’ Jane gives a little laugh. ‘I’d offer to take both the girls to play at Anne’s but you don’t know me from Eve of course- I’m Jane, by the way.’

‘Catalina. I’m Cathy’s godmother.’

‘Yes, I- heard.’ Jane says it a bit uncomfortably, as if she’s admitting to something bad, and Cathy wonders what could be wrong with hearing things.

‘I can imagine everyone’s been talking…’

‘I think they’re just concerned for you both, really.’

‘I’m sure.’ Catalina says it in her sarcastic voice. ‘Funny that not a single one of them have actually come to ask how things are going….how Cathy’s coping, anything like that…. I mean, I don’t expect anything, they’re not MY friends after all….but I would have thought for Maria’s sake, at least….they were her friends once, after all.’

(It’s true, she realises, when Catalina says it. All the other mums used to talk to her mum at school- but they don’t talk to Catalina. They look past her like she’s not there, and then do little glances back at her. She wonders if it makes her godmother feel lonely.)

‘I suppose it’s difficult.’

‘It is. It is difficult. It’s difficult for Cathy, having to lose her parents and get used to me and deal with all the chance. And it’s difficult for me too- all I want to do is just….scream and throw things at how unfair it all is, but I have to keep things together because of course I don’t want Cathy to be worried and- Well, it doesn’t help to know half the school is whispering. Not that I care what they say about me but- you should have heard what some of them were saying when I arrived! Just because Cathy had a bit of meltdown yesterday- she’s seven, can’t they show some compassion?’

(Catalina sounds so angry- but it’s funny because it doesn’t sound like it’s HER Catalina is angry at. Even though she was the one to cause all the trouble.) 

‘-I’m sorry-’

‘No, not at all-’

‘I didn’t meant to unload on you like that…’

‘No honestly-’ Jane puts a hand on her arm. ‘It sounds like you needed to a bit. I can’t imagine how hard things must be for you both right now. I’m sorry you’re getting even more to deal with on top of everything-’

‘It’s just all so-’ Catalina lowers her voice but Cathy can still just about hear. ‘I’m new to all of this- as you can probably tell…. What you must think of me, shouting like that-’

‘You just forgot, it’s not the end of the world- especially if you’ve been working all day-’

‘It’s not just that… I barely trust that I’m doing the right thing with Cathy half the time’ Catalina closes her eyes. ‘I’m scared to death every moment that I’m going to do something wrong and…. just scar her for life by accident because of something I say or do wrong. The thought of two children to be responsible for- I don’t know if I could manage someone else’s child as well. What if something went wrong, what if-’

‘I think you’re being very hard on yourself’ Jane’s voice is very gentle. ‘Honestly...from what I  can see, you’re doing a fantastic job. Truly.’

‘Really?’ Catalina laughs bitterly. ‘I forget a promise I made and then I get cross with her over it like a-’

‘Like any parent who has had a long day.’ Jane soothes. ‘You should be happy she feels comfortable enough around you to act out a bit- I can’t tell you how worrying it is to have a child who’s too scared of displeasing you to say a word…I used to foster.’ She adds quickly as explanation. ‘The early days when they’re just...unnaturally quiet and good because they think they have to be….’

‘Yes I think I can safely say we’ve gotten over that…’ Catalina smiles ruefully. ‘Although you’re right...I think she’s finally starting to trust I’m not planning on getting rid of her if she does something wrong. I just- it’s such a big responsibility. To look after a child, I mean. I love her so much but I never planned to….have my own, and honestly? I’m scared to death of it. God knows what got me to even suggest it in the first place, I just wanted to cheer her up after she had such a horrible day- and she looked so happy when I suggested it and now-’

(Hearing Catalina talk is making her stomach squeeze- not from being scared but from feeling sorry for her godmother. It’s strange to think of Catalina being worried, it’s strange to hear her talk about being scared. She didn’t think Catalina was scared of anything. It’s a surprise to hear that she is, and it’s even more of a surprise to hear that Catalina is scared of HER. Or at least, scared of doing things wrong for her. She thought it was only ever children who were scared of doing things wrong for grown ups.) 

Jane considers. ‘I mean…. Look, please feel free to say no, there’s absolutely no obligation at all but ...would it perhaps make you feel… a bit more comfortable if you had Anne over with me to sort of chaperone? You wouldn’t have to worry about taking charge of Anne- she’s used to me, you’d have another adult to keep an eye on things and some company- although I’m happy also to just read my book if you don’t feel up for chatting...? But there’s no pressure at all,’ she adds hurriedly ‘I completely understand if you want to just  put your feet up and relax, you must be exhausted after working all day-’

Cathy holds her breath and wills Catalina to agree.

Sayyessayessayyessayyessayyes.

Catalina considers for a long moment- and she’s sure that she’s going to say no after all...and then she nods.

‘Yes. Yes please. I’d like that- it’d be nice to get to know one of the other mums here-’

‘Oh I’m not-’

Catalina nods quickly, embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry-’

‘Not at all-’

‘But yes.’ She smiles, looking a little embarrassed. ‘It’s...actually a little bit odd not knowing anyone at all- Maria did all the school mum stuff when she was here, of course but it’s not like she ever filled me in on it and it’s not like I would have listened if she tried-’ She shrugs ‘Of course we never thought she’d need it…’ She brushes roughly at her eyes and laughs a little. ‘Goodness look at me- you must think I’m an absolute mess-’

‘Actually, I think you’re doing a wonderful job. Really. Cathy looks so well and happy- you should be proud. She’s a lucky girl. To have you, I mean.’

(It’s the second time someone has called her lucky to have Catalina. And she is. She really is. She decides she’ll tell her one day herself.)

‘God I hope she thinks so, one day.’ Catalina tries to make it sound jokey but it doesn’t really work. 

‘I’m sure she will.’

There’s a moment, as Catalina fumbles with a tissue (she must have a cold, even though she hasn’t been sneezingJ and jane waits and pretends to rummage in her purse for nothing. Then she straightens up and smiles at Catalina.

‘Shall we go and tell the girls it’s all on after all?’

Catalina smiles back.

‘Let’s go.’