#reminder that he wanted The Book for a Page to bring his daughter back to life so his wife could be happy again.

[astralmarionette]

thinking abt the shitty characterization of fitzgerald in bsd again. maybe i need to do a complete rewrite of the entire fucking story.

[undiscovered-horizon]

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It is nights like these that make Coriolanus ponder the 'what ifs?' the most; it is nights like these that bring Lucy Gray back to his mind, even after all this time. Even if she's unwelcome.

If he was a better man, a little less power-hungry and a little more altruistic, he would have missed all of this. He never would have found you - a deer so susceptible to the wolf's skilful machinations. So impressionable, so devoted... And what gamesmanship it truly is to make the prey believe there's some grace in being eaten alive.

He's leaning against the doorframe leading to the nursery - awake, although you have told him to go back to sleep when your newborn daughter woke her parents up. Coriolanus is watching the scene unfold from afar, never letting even the smallest of details escape his attention. He wishes to gloat, to bathe in his own triumph.

Your face, which once smiled so brightly only for him, now smiles for another. What's strange, is that it doesn't make Coriolanus as angry or bitter as it usually would. That territorial beast residing deep in his viscera is wary but not bothered. Not yet, at least.

The baby's cries die down as you cradle her in your arms. In gentle, almost fearful, movements, you rock the newborn. Coriolanus sees your lips move but the whisper is too low for him to discern any words. Whatever it is you say to the youngest Snow, it makes her giggle and babble. The sound reminds him of your own laughter, which he so easily elicits with the smallest gestures of affection. Maybe too easily - although just as exciting, it was never a challenge.

You gently lay the baby back down in her cot. For a moment, you study her face with an expression so loving it's almost pathetic. Coriolanus feels his skin crawl. Something animalistic within him beckons the man to do truly terrible things only to ensure that it's him and him only that you look at with such adoration.

But the urge dies down when you turn away from the newborn and meet his gaze across the room. He's back in the centre of your attention, where he belongs. Suddenly, something changes in your eyes.

That glint of devotion is clouded by something much more mischievous, something he used to absolutely hate until he learned about its nature. Since he met you, you've been looking at him with a hint of insightfulness as though you could see right through his facade and read about his sins on the pages of the open book that was his soul. He felt seen and not in a good way. Then, after learning a few things about you, Coriolanus realized that this perceptiveness is the best thing he could hope for - you were smart enough to connect the dots, to notice patterns not many deemed obvious and yet, too blindsided by love, you thought of his wrongdoings as right. Not in the ethical sense, perhaps, but in logic. There was a method to his madness and a very effective one at that. After all, how utterly foolish would it be to play nice while in The Capitol? In a world of "eat or be eaten", Coriolanus was going to throw a feast. You knew it early on and appreciated the wit and grit it takes to do so.

Standing now in front of him, you slightly lift one of your eyebrows, silently asking him what's on his mind.

"You're beautiful," he confesses.

Your lips curve into a smile. "Tell me something I don't know."

His blue eyes bore into yours. The intensity of his gaze makes you want to look away but prohibits you from doing so at the same time. "I'd burn the whole world for you," he whispers, his tone gravely serious.

Coriolanus feels himself shudder when the back of your hand gently brushes his cheek. Still looking at you, he tilts his head to kiss your fingers.

"I said 'something I don't know', love," you retort in an equally low voice. "Now come, the morning is still far away."

You take his hand in yours, pulling him back towards your bedroom. And, for some strange reason, he lets you guide him.

If he was a better man, he would lead a different life. A more peaceful one, perhaps. But he's not a better man - in fact, he's far from being considered "good" or even "decent". Which is why his life is pleasant, instead of peaceful. And if awful things have brought him so much joy, why, pray tell, should he ever be anything but despicable?

_____

Me? Writing dark characters with dark themes? In other news, the water is wet.

[graceshouldwrite]

The Most Powerful Hack to Make Your Readers Cry

You’ve seen it all: show, don’t tell, plant a visceral image in the reader’s brain of the environment/character, write a complex character arc with lots of growth and setbacks, establish deep relationships, high stakes, etc. 

All the advice for making readers cry I’ve seen so far is basically that list. But, while those things are absolutely important, I find that the thing that always does the trick, whether as a tipping point or in and of itself, is this: 

THE CALLBACK! 

Before we move on, this is an ANALYSIS heavy post, so all the book + show examples contain spoilers!!

So, what do I mean by a “callback?” Think of Chekhov’s gun, but, here, you use the gun to pierce your reader’s heart. As a refresher for anyone who needs it, Chekhov’s gun is just a rule in writing that anything you introduce in the book should play some role in the plot.

Specifically, the name comes from the example that if a reader introduces a gun in the first act, it MUST go off later, (maybe, say, in the third act). For example, in the TV show Breaking Bad, the protagonist Walter White prepares a vial of poison (ricin) that he wanted to use to eliminate an opponent early on in the series. After the assassination attempt falls through, the ricin makes an appearance again in the very last episode of the show, when Walt finally uses it to kill another opponent. 

Got that? Alright, onto the examples of successful, tearjerking callbacks: 

1. The Last Olympian (Rick Riordan); “Family, Luke, you promised.” 

Context: The character Annabeth says this line. Years ago, Annabeth had run away from home, and Luke had effectively adopted her into a found family with another kid named Thalia. Common reason for leaving home = parental trauma! Yay! He promised Annabeth that they would be each other’s “family” from now on. 

Now: Kronos, the antagonist titan, has possessed the demigod Luke and uses his body to strike Annabeth, injuring her. She’s also holding a dagger that Luke had given her when she joined his “family.”

Significance: her words + the dagger are a mental + physical reminder to Luke of his promise. They force him to recognize the sheer degree of his current betrayal by bringing him back to a different time. The fact that their found family only happened because of parental trauma bringing them together makes it worse—Luke felt abandoned by his Olympian father, Hermes. Now, he realizes that he basically did the equivalent to Annabeth by joining the titans. 

2. Les Miserables (Victor Hugo); Jean Valjean’s death 

Context:  At the beginning of the book, the bishop had caught Valjean trying to steal candlesticks to sell. Instead of handing him over to the police, the bishop told the police that he had given them to Valjean, saving him from arrest and showing him mercy. This changed his life forever, kickstarting his character redemption arc. 

Now: Jean Valjean dies surrounded by his loved ones, remembered as a benevolent man who bettered thousands of lives. He’s surrounded by light from candlesticks that once belonged to a bishop.

Context: Valjean had once taken in an impoverished woman named Fantine, showing her mercy and promising to take care of her daughter, Cosette, after Fantine died. Valjean then rescued Cosette from abusive quasi-foster parents (it’s a long story), raising her as his own daughter. This furthered his arc by allowing him to finally understand how unconditionally loving someone feels. 

Now: Valjean describes Fantine to Cosette, who never knew her mother. 

Significance: Both examples throw readers back to much earlier points in the story before the completion of Valjean’s character arc. In a way, this final scene feels like an external manifestation of his kindness paying off; both he and the reader feels a sense of accomplishment, relief, and just a general “OMG WE MADE IT.” Readers don’t feel cheated, because they were with Valjean every step of his 1,400 page arc. The weight of it all just crashes down on you...

3. Your Lie in April (anime); Kaori’s letter after she dies

Context: Kaori’s entire plot significance is that she helps Kousei, a piano prodigy who can’t play piano anymore due to traumatic parental memories associated with it, play again—but also, just to help him enjoy life again after a turbulent upbringing. She meets him a year before she dies of a medical condition, and her free spirit + confidence influences him to find beauty in life and music again. They basically do a crap ton of crazy funny stuff together lol

Now: Kaori has died, and she leaves a letter to him. Among other general confessions and thoughts, she references things they did and memories they shared: she says, “sorry we couldn’t eat all those canelés,” reminisces about  jumping with him off a small bridge into the stream below, “racing each other alongside the train,” singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star as they rode the bike together, etc.

Significance: Yes, the nature of the letter is just sad because she’s revealing that she loved him all along, apologizing for not being able to spend more time with him, lying that she didn’t like him (to spare his feelings b/c she knew she would die soon), etc. BUT, these small details highlight exactly how many experiences they shared, and the depth of their relationship. Thus, they emphasize the significance of her death and the emptiness it leaves behind. 

4. Arcane (show); “I thought, maybe you could love me like you used to, even though I’m different.” 

Context: Character Jinx says this in the last episode to her now estranged older sister, Vi. Without going into the crazy complex plot, basically, orphans Vi and Jinx used to care for each other before a bunch of crap went down that got them separated. They then grew up on opposite political sides; Jinx grows up on the side of the underbelly city rebellion, and Vi grows up working on the side of the richer city that essentially oppresses the undercity. Thus begins the development of their opposing viewpoints and work environments, to the point where they always meet on opposite sides of a political battle, never able to come together as a family or understand each other again. 

Now: After a super dramatic confrontation, Jinx reveals that although she wants Vi to love her like she did before their separation, she knows it’s not possible because “[Vi] changed too.” She finishes with, “so, here’s to the new us” before blowing up a political council meeting a few blocks down filled with people Vi sides with. Oops! This cleanly seals the fate of their relationship as something basically irreparable.  

Significance: This callback isn’t through literal flashbacks or items like in the previous examples. Jinx’ lines are enough to bring back images of their childhood to the audience’s mind. Now, the audience subconsciously places this image of: 1) two sisters so different, hurt, and torn apart, right next to 2) the image of two sisters as innocent children who loved each other and would care for each other no matter what. 

Why do callbacks work so well? 

If you’ve noticed something in common with all of them, you’re right: they remind audience of a time BEFORE the characters have come so far on their arcs, developed, and put on so much more emotional baggage. 

Callbacks force the audience to SUDDENLY and IMMEDIATELY feel the weight of everything that’s happened. The character’s anguish and overwhelming emotions become the audience’s in this moment. Callbacks are a vehicle for the juxtaposition of worlds, before and after significant development. 

This works because we, as mortals, fear IMPERMANENCE the most. We fear LOSS. For us, time gone is time we will never get back; callbacks make us face that exact fact through a fictional character. A lost moment, time period, or even part of oneself may hurt as much as losing a loved one, and nothing makes humans grieve more than the realization of a loss. A callback slaps the audience in the face with the fact that something was lost; loss hurts so much because almost 99% of the time, what’s gone is gone forever. 

Of course, a good callback requires good previous character development, stakes, imagery, and all that jazz, but I thought I’d highlight this specifically because of how under covered it is. 

∘₊✧────── ☾☼☽ ──────✧₊∘

instagram: @ grace_should_write

I’ve been binging general media lately: I finished Death Note, Your Lie in April, and Tokyo Ghoul all within like a month (FIRST ANIMES I”VE EVER WATCHED!!), reread lots of Les Miserables, analyzed a bunch of past shows like Breaking Bad, watched a bunch of My Little Pony, worked to fix up my old writing... and that’s not even all! The amount of times I’ve CRIED while enjoying the above media and so much more honestly just inspired this post. 

Like, no joke, my eyes were almost always swollen during this period whenever I hung out with my friends and it was so embarrassing help 

Personally, I just find that this method works super well for me, and I watched a bunch of reaction videos to these above scenes (and read book reviews on the book scenes I mentioned), and it seemed that just about everyone cried during these parts. That’s when I realizes that the callback might also just be a universal thing. 

Anyway, this post is long and dense enough as is. SORRY! As always, hope this was helpful, and let me know if you have any questions by commenting, re-blogging, or DMing me on IG. Any and all engagement is appreciated <3333

Happy writing, and have a great day,

- grace <3

[bonny-kookoo]

green!family is so cute :((( does oc see their lowkey family portrait on the fridge when she comes over?

The second time Jungkook visits with his daughter, she's a lot more comfortable basically zooming right off into your apartment the second Jungkook has taken off her boots and coat.

It makes you happy to see her this comfortable in your home, even if Jungkook feels a bit embarrassed by the way she visibly forgot to even greet you, instead jumping right onto your sofa since her favorite cartoon is already running on the TV. "I'm so sorry, I swear she's more polite usually-" He defends himself, but you wave it off.

"It's not that big of a deal Jungkook, really. I'm glad to see her happy." You reassure the young father. After all, it must be quite a handful to manage such a young child, work, and your own life all at once. And honestly, it's not surprising she's still rather unsure about you- you've noticed that she hesitated while looking at you as Jungkook had slipped off her boots.

She does, often, look at you from a distance. As if she's trying to figure out how to approach you, of if she should. So it's not that she's impolite- she just doesn't know how to really act towards you.

"I guess it might be because.. well, she's mostly around me, or my friends. And they're all men." He sighs. "I'm.. I mean, you know, I've been with women here and there, but I've.. always kept them from her, you know? I didn't want her to get confused, or attached, and then..."

"Jungkook, that's completely reasonable." You say, walking into the kitchen with him to get something to drink. "...though I do feel rather special now, hearing that." You tease, and much to your surprise, he takes the bait right away, and bites down with the force of a predator.

"Well, I'd promised myself to only ever introduce her to someone I'd see myself with long-term." He explains, walking closer to you until his hands are on your hips, eyes traveling from your neck up to meet your gaze. "And from what I can tell... and from what I've.. experienced.." He says more quietly, a warmth to his words that softens up your soul, as he leans even closer, eyes moving from your lips back to your eyes again, unsure. "...we do fit quite well." He teases with an impish grin, making your ears flop down a bit in shyness, clearly getting the hint at what exactly he's talking about.

"Minji-" You start, but he only raises his brows before he tilts his head to the side.

"Is in the living room, watching TV." He calms you. "But don't worry- I won't yet do that." He purrs, leaning closer to instead kiss your cheek, chuckling.

"But we already kissed.!" You complain as he moves away from you, grinning as he takes his and your cup of tea to bring along into the living room.

"Not really." He denies however, sending you a rather odd look. "Not.. like that." He reminds you-

and you realize what he means.

Once you sit down on the sofa- Jungkook between you and his daughter, the mood eases up quite a lot, both you and Jungkook talking about random things of your days while Minji happily watches the frog-cartoon next to her father, only occasionally getting distracted by something.

But it's when both she and her father leave that suddenly, your doorbell rings again, causing you to open it, surprised. "Did you forget something?" You ask, but instead of Jungkook answering, Minji whines, and jumps with something in her hands, holding it out for you to take.

"She left it in the car, but really wanted you to have it." Jungkook explains as you unravel the rolled up page of paper, curious as to what it might be.

It's a page out of a coloring book, colorful strokes of crayon painting the bodies of the frogs and background. A sun in the corner with a smiling face, little trees and flowers all around, and in the middle, three frogs. Two bigger one's stand next to a smaller one in the middle on a swing, the small child-frog and the bigger frog on the left colored different shades of green- with added strokes of a black fineline marker, clumsily drawing in two small lines on one side of the big frog's mouth.

Jungkook's piercings, you realize. She even drew them some bunny ears, even though they're a bit off-center and different sizes.

But what catches your attention most is the frog on the right, painted with orange and red, a fluffy big tail added to it, making it clear who it's supposed to resemble.

A small hand tugs on your shirt. Only now do you realize your eyes have begun watering up.

"I-It's really pretty Minji." You praise, blinking the tears away before they can fall, as you squat down.

"She wants you to have it. We have made a copy, it's hung up on our fridge." He kindly tells you, and you nod, sniffling a little, trying hard to keep it together. But the gentle hand of the little girl carefully petting your head is enough to make you break down a little, moving the picture away as to not get any tears on it.

The picture on the fridge presenting so much more now than just a child's drawing.

[5h-epilogue]

“ . . . and as you’ve grown up, I continued with running my companies, starring in movies, making music, and I produced my play. Everyone else eventually found happiness in one way or another, thank goodness.”

Nia had wondered how her parents were so rich, how she was able to enjoy such comfortable seating out on the patio she glanced around at now that overlooked an enormous pool — the big, outdoor flower and vegetable garden to the right of it — and the patio also had two flat-screen televisions, a gourmet outdoor cooking area with a grill, and, appropriately, ceiling fans and a fire pit.

“Wow, mom. That’s . . . wow.” The young girl was in a bit of shock. She understood why a filmmaker wanted to make a movie about you. A countless amount of questions ran through her mind about you, her mother, who was considered to be a living legend.

Your beloved chef came outdoors and served you and your daughter a bowl of strawberry chicken salad, your favorite summer meal, which she now knew reminded you of your old, deceased lover, Armin Arlert.

“Thank you,” you said to the chef. “Would you mind bringing me my photo album?”

The photo album.

You mentioned it in your story.

Several minutes later, your chef returned with a brown, hardcover book that Nia had seen a countless amount of times in a reserved spot in the library, but never had she touched it. She couldn’t anyway, as it was on a pedestal display underneath protective glass.

Opening the pages, you showed her several photographs of your younger self.

“These were taken by Levi Ackerman,” you said softly.

“You look really pretty,” Nia mumbled, taking the photo album from you, as you were flipping through it too fast for her liking.

She glanced down at a selfie of you and a dark-haired man at the beach, the decades-old date catching her attention.

“Is that Levi?” She asked.

“Yes,” you replied.

Then, she saw the letter Levi had written to you. She only skimmed across it, having already known its contents from your story, and then, she explored the other pages: where Levi told you to continue filling the photo album with pictures from your past, present, and future.

There was a picture of you with a kind-looking, blonde-haired man, standing side by side in a bakery, hands covered in flour.

There was another picture of that same man in a selfie with her father, who seemed so young.

It was clearly Armin. Not only could she gather that from the details your story provided, but he was one of three people in every photo she stared at who she hadn’t seen in her entire life.

There was a photo of you and Jean in a studio together, you writing something down on a notepad as he studiously adjusted something on the soundboard mixer.

“Wait, was this CS Records or Arlert Records?”

You leaned over, looking at the photo.

“CS Records. See the date? Jean and I were more than likely working on my first few songs during the Eldian Devils tour. I can’t remember who took the picture, though.”

Nia hummed in response.

Next, there was a picture of you and Eren getting married for the first time as young artists in Las Vegas. Underneath it, there was a picture of you and Eren getting remarried in Europe.

The other photos consisted of you, Reiner, and his family the night he proposed, you and Mikasa having lunch near a bridge, a group of friends playing cards around a table, a few pictures of you on stage, on film sets, and at awards shows, Eren’s family, and other pictures of you and your friends who she lovingly recognized.

It was odd to know that, as she looked at all of the photographs of people who she had just seen last week, there were two people in some pictures who would never, ever age. The photos of Levi and Armin existed as a permanent reminder of how they will always be known.

Towards the back of the photo album, there was a picture of you with another man she didn’t recognize, but it wasn’t Levi. It wasn’t Armin.

“Is that Connie Springer?” Your daughter leaned over to show you a photograph of you and Connie dressed in suits and gowns for some sort of event.

“Yes,” you said. “That was my album release party. It was the first night Connie let me out of my bedroom after locking me away.”

“Uh,” Nia frowned. “That’s really-”

Nia interrupted her own sentence, distracted by the very last photo in the photo album.

It was a picture that was much older than the other ones. Not only did the date give it away, but the horrible camera quality as well.

It was a photo that couldn’t be found online. A photograph that was worth more than diamonds and gold.

Four young teenagers, standing in front of beautiful trees and bushes, smiling brightly, were photographed by her grandmother, Carla Yeager.

Nia read the little description below the childhood photo of Eren, Jean, Connie, and Marco: The original Eldian Devils. So long & farewell.

Below that, there was a photo of two young children trying to catch fireflies in a patch of high grass underneath a streetlight, photographed by her other grandmother, whom she had never known.

The little description below that childhood photo read: First loves. So long & farewell.

Nia closed the photo album.

“I think I’m gonna cry, Mom,” Nia started to bury her head in her hands. But then, she suddenly perked up and pushed herself out of her seat. “I gotta go see Dad!”

The young girl speed-walked through the enormous home. At this hour, she was certain where to find him.

Opening the door to the family room, there he was, strumming his guitar.

“Hi angel,” Eren smiled, soft wrinkles by his emerald eyes appeared as he greeted his beloved daughter with her favorite nickname, but upon seeing her eyes glistening with sadness, he immediately put down his guitar. “What’s wrong?”

He motioned the girl over, who quickly ran to him and sat down, wrapping her arms around him.

While he didn’t know why she was so upset, he had years of experience soothing her cries.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here,” he repeated.

Nia was a touch more sensitive and incredibly empathetic compared to the average person, that much was true, and right now, she could only think about all the pain her father experienced. The abuse. Almost dying. Losing friends.

And it hurt terribly, especially because she had only known him as the kind-hearted man who was a phenomenal father.

“I’m glad mom picked you,” Nia mumbled. “Thank you for always watching The Parent Trap with me . . . showing up to all of my shows and stuff . . . reading my papers . . . and just . . . you’re a great dad. I love you.”

“Aw, I love you too.” Eren hugged his girl even tighter. “Of course, sweetheart. Always.”

When you stepped into the room, smiling softly, Eren gave you a confused look that silently asked: What’s going on?

You held up the photo album, and he immediately understood.

Eren then motioned you over. Once you sat beside him, he kissed your forehead and wrapped his arm around you as well, holding on to the two people he cherished more than anyone or anything else in the world.

“I love you, mom. You’re so strong, and pretty amazing, too.” Nia reached out, touching your arm. “I hope I can be like you when I’m your age. Older you. Not younger you. You used to be a mess.”

For a while, the three of you sat there, hugging one another, experiencing nothing but pure love and joy.

—

A few months later, it was Thanksgiving.

The heartwarming event was hosted at your house, as it was every year, and familiar faces were gathered around the enormous dining room table covered with warm plates of food.

This year, Nia approached everyone and asked them more specific questions about their lives, wanting more details about the story she heard.

Aunt Hange was more than happy to answer just about everything after having too much wine.

Everyone was lovingly questioned by the teenager, and she shared what you had told her with their children as well.

After having dinner, Jean and his wife were sitting in the living room, playing cards with Erwin and Hange.

Reiner and his wife, who had flown in from Tennessee, were socializing with Annie, her girlfriend, and Sasha — who brought her husband, Niccolo, and their son.

Nia hung out in the recreation room with Reiner’s three children, who both had hair as blonde as his and were slightly younger than she was.

Mikasa, who had settled down in Washington after seeing the world, wanting to be closer to her friends and family, was telling you and Eren about one Thanksgiving year that she had spent lost in the middle of a forest.

A little while afterward, once dinner, laughter, and board games came to an end, Eren found you outside on the patio, staring at the glowing fireplace.

“Hi, baby. Everyone’s gone,” Eren sat down beside you. “Nia’s asleep, or she’s pretending to be, I’m not sure.”

“She’s probably tired, so I’m guessing she's actually asleep,” you said with a grin. “Today was fun. I miss everyone already.”

“Me too,” Eren smiled softly. “I’m glad everyone’s doing well. I hope it stays that way.”

“It will,” you suddenly yawned.

“Come on,” Eren stood up and reached his hand out, and you took it. “Let’s get ready for bed.”

“Someone’s excited to cuddle, huh?” You teased, expecting him to deny it, but proudly, he grinned wider and said, “Of course I am, so hurry up.”

After having a shower together, you and Eren both cuddled up in bed, falling asleep in each other’s arms.

That night, you dreamt of your past — making cinnamon rolls in a bakery and staring at stars from a rooftop.

It was a dream that you often had, but not out of regret. Not out of pain. But out of reflection of just how much you healed. How much your life had changed.

There were some people you wished you could bring back — Armin and Levi.

Some questions went unanswered — who your stalker was all those years ago, and whether it was a stranger or a lover.

But, even so, after having five husbands, and after every beautiful experience and painful memory, you could finally say that you had found contentment, and your one true love was the happiness you experienced as you grew old with your friends and family by your side.

— ONE MONTH LATER —

Five years.

That’s how long Eren had been trying his hardest to visit Connie in prison.

And a month after having Thanksgiving dinner with his family and friends, Connie allowed him to come.

What a stubborn man Connie was, but Eren’s persistence had won.

Eren couldn’t lie. He was nervous. The last time he laid eyes on the CS Records owner, he was testifying against him in court, both of them as young men. Both of them wishing that the other person would simply fall over and die.

But now, as the man in his forties sat in an uncomfortable chair in a private room, waiting for Connie to arrive on the other side of the thick glass, he couldn’t help but wonder what made Connie finally allow him to visit.

But he wouldn’t have to wonder much longer.

His leg, which shook with anticipation, halted its movement when a door opened and a prisoner was escorted out in chains, two correctional officers standing at his side.

It was him. Connie Springer.

Eren’s brows unintentionally furrowed, his face twitching as he fought the urge to both smile and frown.

It was Connie — the same man that tried to take his life. A murderer. Torturer. And yet, it was Connie, his old childhood friend who had aged just as he did, and despite being behind bars, he looked rather well.

If Connie was as shocked to see Eren after years upon years, Eren couldn’t tell, as the prisoner simply blinked at him as he was escorted to his seat on the other side of the glass, his face expressionless. Intimidating.

And he just stared at Eren.

The former musician was the first one to pick up the phone hanging on the wall to communicate. Connie did so as well a few moments later.

Pressing the phone to his ear, Eren’s emotional, shiny eyes darted away from Connie’s, down at the new tattoo on Connie’s left arm, and back up at him.

“Hey,” Eren spoke first.

Connie didn’t respond.

He just stared at Eren.

“I’m here because I wanted to see how you were doing,” Eren spoke yet again.

Connie’s chains rattled as he shifted in his seat.

He just stared at Eren.

With a frown, Eren questioned, “Why did you let me come visit you if you weren’t going to talk to me?”

“You didn’t give me a choice. I thought you’d give up . . . after five fucking years.”

Finally.

Eren couldn’t help but smile a bit. Hearing his voice again after forgetting what it sounded like was rather startling.

“You only said yes so I’d leave you alone?” Eren asked.

“Yeah.”

“Alright. I’ll take what I can get,” Eren softly sighed. “I never thought that I’d ever want to see you again, but here I am.”

“You really did all this to check on me?” Connie’s question was fired rather abruptly, nearly cutting off Eren’s sentence. “I put a bullet through your chest. I’m the reason you only have eight fingers left. I killed your friends, and I could keep naming shit I’ve done. Why are you here?”

Eren glanced away, adjusting the dark green phone in his hand.

“Time heals all wounds.”

“That something your therapist came up with?”

“Yeah.”

The corner of Connie’s mouth twitched as, this time, he was the one fighting the urge to smile.

“What I’m trying to say is that I can’t forgive you for what you did to Armin and Levi, and it’s not my place to or not to. But I forgive you for what you did to me.” Eren’s eyes glistened with subtle sadness. “I guess I’m just hoping that after all this time . . . after all we’ve been through . . . I can talk to my friend again. Not CS Records owner, Connie Springer, but my friend. I haven’t spoken to him since I was fifteen, and I woke up with two new gray hairs today.”

It was a soft noise, one that was very brief and vanished as soon as it had arrived, but Connie chuckled.

“You’re saying some corny stuff, man.”

Eren’s smile brightened. “That’s what happens when you have a kid. All I do now is think of dad jokes, and try to-”

“You have a kid?”

Eren’s face faltered in utter confusion, but as he stared at Connie’s slightly shocked face, he could tell that the man wasn’t messing around.

Nia’s birth was worldwide news. It was a steady hot topic for an entire year — one would have thought that a new member of the royal family had been born.

But then, Eren realized that for the most part, behind bars, the outside world ceased to exist. Especially in maximum security facilities.

“Yeah,” Eren said. “I have a daughter. She turned fourteen a month ago.”

“Is her mom around? Who’s she?”

“Her mom is Y/N. And, yeah, she’s around. We’ve been married for years.”

“Seriously?” Connie couldn’t hide the shock and surprise. A look of amusement appeared upon his face as he raised his eyebrows. “Well, uh . . . congratulations. How’s Y/N?”

Eren couldn’t help but smile as he thought about you, his beautiful wife. “She’s good. She’s great. Her companies are still going strong, and she’s finally happy.”

“Didn’t wanna come see me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Connie nodded.

Then, his face fell into a small frown, hazel eyes darting down to the corner of the glass, staring at nothing in particular.

“How’s Jean doing?”

“Jean’s fine. He’s retired from music. He married a pianist.” Eren paused. “Everyone else is doing fine too. Reiner has kids and a wife, and they all have Southern accents — it’s funny to hear. Mikasa finally . . .”

For a while, Connie listened to Eren ramble on about the progressive lives of the people he once knew.

As his old friend spoke, he couldn’t help but wonder how his life would have turned out if he had made different choices.

Sadness pricked at his heart, sending a small ache throughout his body.

If only he wasn’t such an idiot back then.

No. He was worse than an idiot.

He was a monster.

“What about you, Connie? I know you’re locked up, but how are they treating you here? Knowing you, you probably run this place, huh?”

Truth be told, Connie was rather surprised to know Eren cared. It was just as touching as it was shocking.

“Damn right,” Connie said.

And it was true, but not in the way one would imagine.

He intimated who he needed to. Ruined lives when he needed to. But, over the nearly two decades he had been behind bars, he had done it solely to stick up for the defenseless prisoners, both young and old, who didn’t deserve to be treated as he once was when he was locked up the first time.

It wasn’t some change of heart that had occurred over the last several years, either.

From the very first day he entered as a younger man, he was both starting fights and finishing them to protect others.

He couldn’t explain why he did such things. It was no secret that he didn’t mind letting other people get hurt, considering he excelled at harming others, but this was different.

Somehow, it just was.

“Can I ask you something? And be honest with me,” Eren paused, carefully thinking over his words before he dared to utter them. “Do you regret it? Any of it?”

Connie ran his hand down his lower face.

It was a difficult question, and not because he didn’t know the answer, because he did, but rather, he wasn’t sure if the truth was an acceptable response.

Telling the truth meant showing weakness. Losing power.

Letting go of that mentality was rather difficult, especially behind bars where weakness was preyed on.

But he didn’t care about those former beliefs anymore. He was getting too old for such stupidity.

“Telling you I regret it will give you closure, right?”

“Surely you want closure too.”

“I regret everything.” The prisoner looked into his old friend’s eyes as he spoke. “I wish I . . .” He clenched his jaw. He couldn’t speak anymore — but there were, perhaps, no words in the English language that could properly express what he felt in his heart.

“Well, uh, how about this,” The other man sniffled softly as spoke. “You’ll have to be under constant supervision, but, in a few years, how about we work on getting you out of here . . . letting you see the sun again? What do you say?”

Fighting the urge to cry was an incredibly difficult battle. The prisoner nodded, his teary eyes shining with guilt and hope, and the other man nodded along with him.

“Okay, well,” the former musician smiled sadly, “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

The visit ended with goodbyes and promises that they both intended to keep. Your dear husband couldn’t be certain what the future held, but as he did the day he first met you all those years ago, approaching you backstage with great curiosity, he’d trust his gut.

For it had led him to his one true love, and he’d listen to it — always.

Thanks for reading! What did you think? Please let me know by like, reblogging, and/or commenting on the last chapter, or in my inbox!

[akirakirxaa]

FFXIVWrite Prompt 11: Surrogate

Rating: G

Word Count: 650

Summary: Stella brings Hades a picture while he's working. [Takes place in the OT4 AU, while Hades and G'raha are still at odds with each other. Note, very rough draft, words did not agree with me tonight.]

[Master Post]

Hades glanced over his notes, head leaned hard into one hand while a quill rested in his other (how long until he replaced every painfully primitive quill in the house with an easier to use pen, he wasn’t sure). He had overheard only a little of Akira’s daughter’s new abilities that were making themselves known, and though his help had been spurned before even asking him — and of course he certainly did not want to help anyway — he couldn’t help but ponder over it. And the more he pondered, the more he wrote, and now his desk was covered in notes he had no way to give Akira without admitting he had overheard. Not just her suggestion that they seek his help, but also the firm dismissal of—

“Up!” He glanced down at the small voice, finding the tiny red-haired frame of Stella, shoving the sketchbook he’d made for her at him to hold, barely waiting for him to grab it before letting go and climbing into his office chair, pushing insistently until she was crammed into it with him. She reached for the sketchbook and, while for anyone else he might grumble…he handed the book back, giving her a little pat on the head between her miqote ears.

For a while, they sat like that, Stella balancing the little book on Hades’ lap as she colored, Hades himself going back to his notes, occasionally glancing at the toddler. He snuck glances at her soul, as if someone would be able to tell if he lingered too long, fascinated at how the color almost precisely matched the ambient aether of the aetherial sea. He was deep into a multi page tangent on what it could mean combined with what other signs he had heard she was exhibiting when she tugged on his sleeve.

“What is it, dear?” Hades’ voice was softer than his usual prickly demeanor; he would never use the term of endearment if he suspected her father to be near, knowing with certainty now that, if the archon had his way, that Hades would have nothing to do with his daughter. But no matter what any of them did, Stella still sought him out with just as much regularity as her father, mother, or Hythlodaeus.

Stella flipped her book around proudly, ears flicking and small nub of a tail doing its best to swish while trapped between the arm of the chair and Hades’ leg. It was a little drawing of five stick figures, one much shorter than the others, three with red hair, one with purple…and one with white. For a moment, Hades was lost in the dozens and dozens of lives he’d lived, little children destined to live chaotic lives and die tragic deaths proudly bringing their ‘father’ their little creations looking for affection.

“Eme!” Stella pointed helpfully at the white-haired stick figure, and it broke Hades out of his reverie.

“No, no, Hades,” he corrected, and she frowned, pointing more forcefully at the figure.

“Eme!”

“Ha-des,” he pronounced slowly. Where had she learned that name? Now her face had a smirk that reminded him all-too much of her father.

“Eme!” she giggled at his frustration, and he let out a groan.

“You might as well give up,” Hades glanced up from his torment to find Hythlodaeus leaning on the frame of the office door. “Once kids decide what they want to call you, there’s no changing it.” Hades slumped forward onto his desk dramatically, and Stella jumped down with her prize, running over to Hythlodaeus and holding the book up to him.

“Oh, how lovely,” he crouched down to see it better. “I bet your mother would like to hang it up. Shall we go show her?” Stella nodded and, with one last smug look at his love, Hythlodaeus led her out of the office before her enthusiasm was the death of Hades.

[atwoodsfemalefantasy]

hey people! just a reminder that Vance quite literally said that he would willingly lie to Americans and make up a false story to feed them!

just a reminder that Trump has been convicted of actual real like rape!

just a reminder that Trump is a convicted felon!

Just a reminder that Trump dodged the draft and called vets "losers"!

Just a reminder that most of Trumps cabinet (aka the people HE CHOSE) aren't voting for him!

Just a reminder that project 2025 involves the government tracking women's pregnancies!

Just a reminder that Harris is pro ceasefire between Israel and Gaza (she can't call it a genoxide because Israel is our ally, and she can't risk upsetting them right now, but she CAN and IS calling for peace!)

Just a reminder that Trump mocked the disabled

Just a reminder that Harris came from a working class family and worked for what she has while Trump was always rich and had it handed to him!

Just a reminder that Trump sold his own modified Bibles, which is incredibly NOT GOOD CHRISTIAN BEHAVIOR PEOPLE

Just a reminder that Walz and Harris are both gun owners, so they are pro-gun, but they also understand the danger of guns, so they are pro-gun regulation! Walz feels this way because he fears for his kids' lives!

Just a reminder that Trump is a rapist. just thought i'd say it again.

Just a reminder that Harris is young! Trump is old as balls!

Just a reminder that Trump said he'd sleep with his own daughter if she wasn't his kid!

Just a reminder that Trump/Vance want to take away no fault divorce! mo fault divorce basically just protects women from their abusers! (but also allows for couples to divorce without financially harming the other, and to even get remarried if they wanted!)

Just a reminder that Trump made up a blatant racist lie! and Vance admitted it was a lie, yet kept on saying it!

Just a reminder that Trump made his hotel unusable for disabled people on purpose!

Just a reminder that if you're a woman, you might be republican, but if you value your life, you better be voting blue! even if you vote red again next election. (come on yall, take a page out of my conservative grandmas book. she's a republican, but she has the common sense to know Trump will steal her human rights!)

Just a reminder that Trump will make the rich richer, while Harris has been middle class and wants to help the middle class!

Just a reminder that Trump staged an insurrection. that's about as anti-American as you can get!

Just a reminder that abortion bans are unconstitutional, as the constitution demands a separation of church and state!

Just a reminder to all you transphobic queer people- once they come for trans people, they're coming for you! so stick by your own community damn it! stonewall was started by a trans black woman

Just a reminder to transphobic women that once they restrict trans women's rights, they're coming for ALL women's rights. this is only the beginning

Just a reminder that "Tampon Tim" should be a compliment, not an insult! what is so bad about helping women not bleed everywhere people??

Just a reminder that project 2025 brings back the draft (and guess who racist Trump and Vance will draft first! go on, guess!)

Just a reminder that you might not like Kamala Harris, but Trump is much worse, so settle.

Just a reminder that i saw a real Trump commercial that said (and i quote) "Crazy Kamala is for THEY/THEM. Trump is for you". i just think it's funny

Just a reminder that if you're mad Trump got shot, there's a very simple solution! it's called gun control, and it makes sure only people who are mentally stable and will use guns safely get guns! except yall have been calling it "taking away the second amendment"

Just a reminder that there is a goddamn genocide happening in Gaza. one candidate is a racist motherfucker who hates Muslims. one is a woman who wants a cease fire. go on, make that choice (look, again, Harris is not perfect on the Israel/Gaza thing but TRUMP IS A RACIST MF. HE WILL BE W O R S E!)

Just a reminder to women that we are STILL being ridiculed and not taken seriously because we don't have children. FUCK THAT THANK YOU

Just a reminder that Trump is a little bitch baby (or to quote my man Jack Antonoff a little bitch baby bitch muffin) who used AI to make Taylor Swift support him, and then when she released (a very polite actually) statement supporting Harris he was a little whiny bitch baby who tweeted "I HATE TAYLOR SWIFT!". you know, the way a competent grown up man does. not a kindergartner who had his little ball taken away.

Just a reminder to fucking vote. vote vote vote vote votevotevotevotevotevotevote! especially if you live in a battleground state! if you can't vote, get an absentee ballot. this is very important, and every vote counts.

Just a reminder that one candidate is an elderly, decrepit, extremely unhealthy, rich, military-hating, racist, rapist, pedophile, pervert etc etc etc etc.... and one is a woman liberals have a few problems with.

[myloveforhergoeson]

hello. in usual ash fashion i want to write but i don't want it to be any of my current works. so i'm taking a crack at @partiallypearl 's ipod shuffle challenge! though im cheating by using spotify, i'm just going to put on my liked songs playlist and see what comes up :) continue reading if interested <3

hayloft - mother mother

pairing: rames

james knew sneaking into roxy's bedroom was a bad idea. her father had been clear about that from the moment they'd started dating.

but he didn't care. it's not like declan would actually do anything to him, considering how that would affect the daughter he'd give the entire world to.

james would give her the world too - declan just couldn't tell that from the incriminating position he'd found the two teenage lovers in under her bright red duvet.

good thing james had left the window open, considering he'd scrambled out of it as quickly as he could.

roxy was screaming, so was declan, as the man crammed himself through the doorframe and began to take off after james. he chased him all the way down the block and into the forested trail, yelling some of the scariest threats the teenager had ever heard.

-

i never told you what i do for a living - my chemical romance

pairing: rames (rockstar roxy au)

"what brings you around here?" he asked, gazing out at the palm woods pool as he finally managed to catch the girl's attention. "i thought you already had a place with your dad."

"i do," she said, buffing her nails on her shirt. "he's hard to live with, rockstar lifestyle and all. figured it was time i flew the coop and got a place of my own."

"and you can... afford that? aren't you my age?"

"you know how well performing pays the bills."

that caught james' attention. "what...?"

"oh, come on," roxy laughed, a hand reaching out to brush his arm. it reminded him of their little encounter of the rocque records conference room. "i never told you what i do for a living?"

the boy shook his head, confused.

"i'm a performer, just like you," the girl shared. "time to forge a rockstar lifestyle befitting me, not him."

-

older - five seconds of summer

pairing: kaisy-ish. if you squint. more like mae walker x jasper walker lol

daisy didn't think there was anything better than watching her grandparents together. they had a bond that endured all; happiness and heartbreak and everything in between.

the two of them had been through so much together, it was almost hard for her to fathom.

the two of them sat in the study, next to each other on the worn out couch they'd had in there forever and ever. her grandpa had a world war 2 book cracked open for the two of them to read. while he was focused on the pages, his hand cradled hers.

he knew that she was starting to fall asleep on his shoulder, but kept as normal anyway.

daisy wanted something like that. something real. natural. as easy as breathing.

she didn't want to get older without a love like that, she decided, pouring over the sketchbook in her lap. just as she decided what to begin to draw - the scene in front of her - the chime on her laptop went off to alert her of a new message.

-

driving through a dream - andrew mcmahon in the wilderness

pairing: rames

one of these days, roxy was going to force james to get his driver's license. it always stressed her out so bad when he drove without one, but tonight they'd had no choice as they headed back into la from santa monica.

the songwriter was literally falling asleep on her feet after their jam packed day of fun, hardly able to keep her eyes open long enough to focus on anything in particular.

the radio was on, a tape of her favorite songs blasting through the stereo of the old pontiac gto, and the music mixed with the sound of the rustling wind as she laid her head on james' shoulder as they soared down the highway.

he always looked so cool, even with the wind whipping his hair wildly. he knew it too; she didn't need to peek at him to know the smirk growing across his face as she cuddled closer into him as the fall air chilled her skin.

"try to get some sleep," he told her, barely audible over all the other highway noises. "i'll wake you at home."

-

miss you - louis tomlinson

pairing: olive & roxy (college au)

"everything is great," olive assured her best friend, cradling the half-drank mug of beer in her palms. "everything is fucking great."

roxy knew this was the furthest thing from the truth, however. olive always got like this when her on-off relationship with the boy from her psych 101 class was going downhill.

"it will be," the other girl promised. "after one more pint... or five..."

olive snorted, looking out at the others hanging out around the sleazy bar 20 minutes away from their dorm. without saying anything, she got up and ordered four shots from the bartender.

not too long later, she and roxy were the only ones on the makeshift dance floor, singing along to the justin bieber tune roxy had begged the dj to play for them.

-

INFATUATION - i don't know how but they found me

pairing: kaisy

if kendall didn't have his phone on him, it made him anxious.

what if daisy-mae sent him a message and he wasn't able to reply to it?

would she think he had better things to do than talk to her?

he didn't think he ever would for the rest of his life.

besides, she said she didn't have a good way of reliably communicating with him until the laptop she'd ordered arrived. the laptop she'd bought just to talk to him.

how crazy was that? was it crazy to be crazy about her crazy decisions?

talking to her was his only repeive from the mess of his current state. no need to worry about hockey, or his knee, or anything else.

his friends said it was infatuation... katie had called it obsession... and kendall had no idea which term he preferred.

-

lost my cool - stand atlantic

pairing: roxy & mag

waiting was all roxy did. for the right time to share the song. for mag to indicate he liked her as much as she liked him. for any sign brand new day had a gig. for an excuse to hang out around the boy she might have been falling in love with.

what a fat lot of good that did her, considering she was running down the halls of her high school, face in her hands trying to hide the tears streaming down her face.

normally, she prided herself in being able to control her emotions well, but after mag had laughed in her face at the thought of them being together... anyone in her position would do the same.

she'd always thought it was so cliche when that happened in the movies or tv shows she watched, but now, living it in her own reality, she felt far more sympathetic to the plight of protagonists like kat stratford. maybe she should take a page out of her book and tell mag to eat shit, but the thought of ever seeing him again made her begin to cry even harder.

-

yellow - coldplay

pairing: kaisy

kendall wished being able to play the guitar turned him into songwriter he wanted to be. it wasn't enough that daisy liked the music he played, he wanted her to like the music he made.

he'd tried everything, scratching out all his thoughts onto the pages of his school notebook before tearing them out and crumpling them into a ball to trash in the corner of his room.

just as he went to write again, the chime on his computer went off. daisy was online.

look at the stars she sent aren't they exceptionally beautiful tonight?

he didn't think twice before he opened the blinds to his room, looking up at the same night sky as her, despite being thousands of miles apart. the streetlights outside his house doused his vision in a pale yellow.

and the lyric he managed to come up with then was just as stupid as the rest of them, but he wrote it out any way.

look at the stars. look how they shine for you.

the corner of his mouth perked up. that was a pretty good start, even if he could never put into words how much daisy meant to him.

-

one less lonely girl by justin bieber

pairing: roxy & logan (wag au), lolive if you squint

"you're not understanding me, hockey head!" roxy practically yelled at logan, taking his shoulders in his hands and shaking violently. "it's non-negotiable. you're singing this to her at the reception or else."

"we're not even engaged!" logan cried right back. not that he hadn't thought about it before...

"i don't care!" his friend continued to shake him. "there's no way i'm giving her to you unless you tell me right now - swear to me - you're going to do it!"

"she's not yours to give away," logan pointed out, starting to get a headache.

"do i need to get wren on the phone? because she'll be on my side!"

that threat did hold quite a lot of weight; when it came to olive's best interests, roxy and wren did tend to see eye to eye.

"...fine," the hocky player conceded, cheeks growing a firey red. "and not just because you're threatening me..."

-

when you need a man - the driver era

pairing: pre-relationship rames, dak x roxy

it was infuriating to see dak anywhere in the vicinity of roxy. james didn't understand how she couldn't see how miserable he'd made her over the last few weeks. standing her up at the party, getting all up in her shit for hanging out with other guys, a whole list of things he could think of off the top of his head.

but it didn't matter, at least not to him, because he'd be there for her regardless. that was what a good friend did, even if he desperately wanted to be more.

when she needed a man, she'd call on him, and he'd be ready to swoop in and take care of her. show her what a real relationship looked like. turn her entire world upside down.

--

hi! if you made it this far, you deserve a medal. these are so embarrassing. now you know why it takes me so long to get my chapters out LOLLL. writing with brevity is literally my worst nightmare!!!!!! but anyway i hope you enjoyed <3 ty for reading ily

[dyannawynnedayne]

Which character parallel do you like the best?

Propaganda is encouraged!

Jaime and Criston

Ask and are rejected by their lovers to marry them in spite of their situations

"I am sick of being careful. The Targaryens wed brother to sister, why shouldn't we do the same? Marry me, Cersei. Stand up before the realm and say it's me you want. We'll have our own wedding feast, and make another son in place of Joffrey." She drew back. "That's not funny." "Do you hear me chuckling?" "Did you leave your wits at Riverrun?" Her voice had an edge to it. "Tommen's throne derives from Robert, you know that." "He'll have Casterly Rock, isn't that enough? Let Father sit the throne. All I want is you." He made to touch her cheek. Old habits die hard, and it was his right arm he lifted. Cersei recoiled from his stump. "Don't . . . don't talk like this. You're scaring me, Jaime. Don't be stupid. One wrong word and you'll cost us everything. What did they do to you?"

ASOS, Jaime VII

That night, Septon Eustace reports, Ser Criston Cole slipped into the princess’s bedchamber to confess his love for her. He told Rhaenyra that he had a ship waiting on the bay, and begged her to flee with him across the narrow sea. They would be wed in Tyrosh or Old Volantis, where her father’s writ did not run, and no one would care that Ser Criston had betrayed his vows as a member of the Kingsguard. His prowess with sword and morningstar was such that he did not doubt he could find some merchant prince to take him into service. But Rhaenyra refused him. She was the blood of the dragon, she reminded him, and meant for more than to live out her life as the wife of a common sellsword. And if he could set aside his Kingsguard vows, why would marriage vows mean any more to him?

Fire and Blood, Heirs of the Dragon-- A Question of Succession

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Jaime and Arys

The legacy of Criston Cole affects them both

The best and the worst.” So one of us is like to live in song. “And a few who were a bit of both. Like him.” He tapped the page he had been reading. “Who?” Ser Loras craned his head around to see. “Ten black pellets on a scarlet field. I do not know those arms.” “They belonged to Criston Cole, who served the first Viserys and the second Aegon.” Jaime closed the White Book. “They called him Kingmaker.”

AFFC, Jaime II

“The first Viserys intended his daughter Rhaenyra to follow him, do you deny it? But as the king lay dying the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard decided that it should be otherwise.” Ser Criston Cole. Criston the Kingmaker had set brother against sister and divided the Kingsguard against itself, bringing on the terrible war the singers named the Dance of the Dragons. Some claimed he acted from ambition, for Prince Aegon was more tractable than his willful older sister. Others allowed him nobler motives, and argued that he was defending ancient Andal custom. A few whispered that Ser Criston had been Princess Rhaenyra’s lover before he took the white and wanted vengeance on the woman who had spurned him. “The Kingmaker wrought grave harm,” Ser Arys said, “and gravely did he pay for it, but…” “…but perhaps the Seven sent you here so that one white knight might make right what another set awry.”

AFFC, The Soiled Knight

[bokutosworld]

the home we’ve made | bokuto k. 

pairing: bokuto koutarou x f!reader word count, genre: 1.6k words, family au, aged up bokuto, fluff.  summary: bokuto treasures the family he’s created. but he’s in for the shock of his life when one day, his precious daughter announces she’s in love.  

my note: i noticed this has been in my drafts for almost two years. so i wanted to post it as a belated bday greeting to my still sunshine, bokuto ☀️

“Mama, how did you know you love Papa?”

The question catches you off guard. You look at your little girl who is enthusiastically coloring the pages of her art book. Her eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, making you smile as it reminds you of a certain someone. Abandoning your book in the moment, you go over to her side and brush her hair as she fusses over which shade of pink would match the bear.

“Hm, that’s an interesting question, Hana-chan.” 

Your five-year-old looks up at you with her big eyes, curiosity emanating from them. 

“If you really want to know, it’s because your Papa makes me the happiest in the world.” 

She listens intently, her mouth slightly pouting in the same way your husband does whenever he is contemplating about something. They were way too much similar. No doubt that she is his daughter. 

You cup her cheeks in both your hands and press a kiss to her nose. “Plus your Papa gave me you.” 

Hana tugs you closer, her voice small and quiet when she timidly reveals her secret, “Mommy, I think I’m in love.” 

Just then, the front door bursts open and in comes the man of the house.

“I���m home!”

Hana’s eyes immediately light up at her father’s arrival. She stands up on her feet and runs out of the room towards the living area where he was already waiting with open arms. 

“There’s my little princess!” 

“Papa!” She’s beaming with excitement, jumping in his arms. They fall down sitting in the middle of the floor, hugging and laughing as they obviously missed each other.

“There, there, Hana-chan. Your Papa still has to wash up.” You help take Hana from his grasp, making sure to give him a pointed look. He chuckles, knowing how much you were a stickler for being clean inside the home and that meant Bokuto always had to take a quick shower whenever he returns from his trips outside.   

He leans to give you a kiss, “I’m back.” 

“Welcome home.” 

— 

When Bokuto comes out of the shower, he’s quick to recognize the smell of his favorite home-cooked meal. His stomach grumbles and it reminds him just how much tonight’s practice wore him out. 

All throughout the day, he couldn’t wait to get back to his family—to his charming daughter whose antics and smile could instantly bring his energy back and to his wife whose presence he was eternally gratefully for. He sits on the bed and dries his hair. 

In the corner of his eyes, he sees the picture frame on the bedside table. He smiles at the image, of you proudly showing off your engagement ring and him donning his bright smile with his arms wrapped around you, remembering how he felt — both the nerves and the excitement — when he asked the words will you marry me. 

He felt like he won the jackpot when you said yes. And even after years of marriage, Bokuto is still very much in love with you and every day feels like he is walking on cloud nine. You were perfect for him, you made him happy, and since high school, you never once wavered in your support of his volleyball career. He thought his life with you couldn’t get any better until the little one, Hana, came along. 

A sweet angel borne out of your shared love. The moment he held her in his arms, Bokuto swore that he was immediately wrapped around her fingers, promising that he’d do anything to protect her and become the best father in the world. 

He hears the pitter patter of little feet on the floor and anticipates the door opening. Hana peeks her head in the small opening she created and calls him. 

“Mama said to call you. Dinner is ready.” 

He stands up and walks towards her. She has her arms held up high, asking to be carried and he complies. He ruffles her hair and gives her a peck on the cheeks before heading towards the dining room where a table full of his favorites is waiting. 

The atmosphere at the Bokuto household is always lively, especially at the dinner table where Koutarou is eagerly telling stories of his teammates, sharing how he aced the spike he’s been practicing, and expressing how he’s looking forward to playing so he can make his daughter and wife proud. 

And very much like her father, Hana has tales of her own—recounting how she spent her day at the kindergarten, taking her parents through the new things she learned and the activities she enjoyed with her friends. 

And tonight, she’s sharing the news of her first love. 

“Oh also, Kento gave me a flower from the garden and said that I look beautiful.” 

Your little girl was grinning from ear to ear as she mentioned the boy’s name. While you were amused at how bashful she was being, someone on the other end of the table has put down his utensils and was staring in shock.

Before he could say anything, you asked Hana, “Who’s Kento, darling? Was he the one you were referring to when you said you think you were in love?” 

She hid her smile in her hands and nodded. You could hear the way your husband dramatically gasped, now leaning with his arms on the table and almost reaching out to Hana. 

“Kento always hangs out with me during break. He also holds my hands when we walk together. His hands are soft.” 

The soft giggle she lets out makes you utter an audible aww. Your kid was experiencing her first crush. And through the stories she’s told of Kento, you could see how she adores the boy so much. However, your husband has been eerily quiet.  

His current state reminds you of the times he’d be in one of his moods back in high school. But of course, you understand him. 

Hana was not anymore the small crying baby he held in his arms years ago. She wasn’t the baby whose diapers he’s changed in the wee hours of the night. She’s growing to become a little lady and discovering the wonders of life. It was only natural that he’d be surprised upon knowing his little girl was navigating puppy love. So, before she could notice that her father was acting differently, you indulged her, listening to more of her stories about Kento. 

“He sounds like such a sweet boy.” You nudged Koutarou’s foot under the table to pull him out of his trance. When he does, you smile sympathetically before turning to Hana again, “We’d love to meet Kento someday.” 

“Really? Can I invite him to play here tomorrow after school?”

“Yes.” 

“No.” 

“Koutarou.”

You hold his gaze for a moment, sending him a message that everything will be fine through telepathy. He caves, mumbling a fine and proceeding to finish his food. 

Smiling at your success, you turn to Hana and reassure her, “Bring him here and I’ll bake your favorite cookies so you can share some with him.” 

The kid was so overjoyed that she pushed her chair back and ran towards her room, where you suspect she’ll be contacting Kento about the plans for tomorrow. 

Now left alone with Koutarou, you catch him pouting at his food, the same way that Hana was when you were telling her about what you loved about him. 

Trying to soothe his crushed soul, “You know, it’s only an innocent crush.” 

“She’s five years old.”

“That’s right. And she’s turning six in two months.” 

“She can’t love any boy other than me yet,” he whined which only caused you to laugh in your seat. His frown deepened and his glare at you became much intense. “It’s not funny. I don’t want her giving other boys her affection just yet.”

You try to stop your giggles, “I know. I’m sorry.” You reach your hand out to him and he takes it, intertwining his fingers with yours. “A crush is just a crush, you know. No one can replace you in her heart. She loves you very much.” 

“I know that,” his words muffled as he presses his mouth to the palm of hands.

“It’s not like Kento will immediately ask for her hand in marriage. They’re both only kids. Let them have their fun.” 

Looking at you with his pleading eyes, you already know what he was asking for without any words. Standing up, you go to him and sit down on his lap. You let him hold you just like that—with his arms tangled in your torso, his face buried in the crook of your neck and his hair poking your cheeks. 

“She’ll always be your beloved girl.”

He exclaims, “She’s just growing up so fast.” 

“Yeah, she is. But you know, she’s not leaving the nest anytime soon.”

Koutarou looks at you with eyes full of affection and presses his forehead on yours when he whispers, “We raised a great child, huh?”

“We really did. We’re lucky to have her.” 

He hums, his thumb stroking your cheek, tracing over your lips before kissing you with a sweet, gentle passion that has you leaning closer in his hold. When you pull back, you see him flash the brightest smile and you’re left breathless when he says, 

“I’m lucky to have you.” 

He knows a day will come when he’ll eventually have to give Hana to the guy she loves. Nevertheless, he looks at you fondly, knowing that you’ll always be by his side. And right now, he concludes, he’s lucky to have both you and Hana to call his home.

[demonrubberduck]

I still say drabbles btw!

Jonathan/Mina, post-Dracula. Any rating you please

Yay, drabbles are still a thing!

Here you go, anon.

Paprika Hendl

(Summary: As the one year anniversary of Jonathan Harker's business trip approaches, Mina makes paprika hendl.)

It was almost May, the first anniversary of the business trip that had changed both of their lives. Mina drummed her fingers on the pages of the little appointment book she kept for herself and Jonathan, wondering at the near half-a-year that had passed since the sordid affair of Count Dracula had finally come to an end.

They were happily married, she and her Jonathan. Sometimes, days or even weeks went by without thinking about vampires or blood or the bitter loss of two dear friends. Mundane life had challenges of its own- running the firm and the household left to them by the kind Mr. Hawkins consumed much of their time and energy. Some days, their biggest concern was an appointment with a client that conflicted with plans that they had made, or an argument about how laundry should be placed into the hamper, or any of the other small disagreements any new married couple faces. They worked through such challenges, for they loved one another, and they were willing to work at it.

The ghosts of memory still reared their heads, though. A nightmare, or the sight of a figure in a hat passing them by on the street, or the squeaking of a bat as dusk fell, and that fear came creeping back. 

On days when things were going well, when they felt they had their feet strongly planted beneath themselves, Mina and Jonathan would talk about it. They really were each others’ strong pillars of support, as man and wife should be. They had made such progress. They had begun to heal.

And yet… 

And yet they still bore so many scars. Jonathan refused to stay with clients on business trips, paying for hotel rooms out of pocket rather than relying on their hospitality. Mina kept garlic flowers in vases around the house, even when she had to pay for blooms specially grown in a hot-house. Both of them, in spite of their Protestant faith, carried crucifixes with them when they went out. 

And they only spoke of Quincey or Lucy when they felt completely settled. They avoided reminders of their travels.There were still things they tiptoed around. Which was understandable, which would be fine, except for the past two months, Mina had not experienced her monthlies, and she’d begun feeling poorly in the mornings, her stomach turning at smells that she normally didn’t even notice.

There was going to be a third Harker before the year was done. They had already decided that their first child would be called Quincey if he were a son, Lucy if she were a daughter. Mina wanted to be able to tell her child about their namesake with no reservations, without sorrow haunting the name, and that meant she had to keep taking steps to confront her ghosts now. 

They weren’t ready to go back to Transylvania yet- that might take them years. But there were other things she could do, other wounds to tend to. As long as they were diligently working on making progress, she was certain she could welcome little Quincey or sweet Lucy into the world without regrets.

So the next morning, when Jonathan went out to meet with a client about a real estate contract, Mina opened the safe where all their documents were stored, and flipped through Jonathan’s little shorthand journal. Tucked in with the pages was a folded paper with the letterhead of the Hotel Royale. On it, a handwritten recipe. She hadn’t included it when she’d typed up her summary of the events for Dr. Van Helsing and the others, though she’d left the mention of it because she wanted them to understand her husband’s gentleness and goodness. He’d gone abroad with a sense of wonder at the world, and he’d wanted to bring a piece of it back to share with his fiance.

They’d never made the recipe, scared that the taste would bring back memories of that harrowing trip that followed after it. Mina hadn’t eaten much of anything when they’d followed Dracula back to his castle later on, so she still didn’t even know what it tasted like. 

Well, today she would find out. Jonathan had asked for this recipe one year ago out of love for her, and they would eat it tonight and drink to the health of all those brave Translyvanians who had shown Jonathan such kindness as he traveled unknowingly into the devil’s home. 

She took the recipe out of the book and placed everything else back into the safe. Scanning the ingredients, she nodded to herself. 

“To the market, then. I wonder if our usual grocer carries paprika.”

—-----------------------

Jonathan smelled the familiar scent as soon as he opened the door to their home. He sat down his briefcase and stripped off his coat, uncertain how to feel. It had been a long day of legal back-and-forth on contract issues, and he was hungry as a horse. But could he eat that again?

“Darling, is that you?” Mina called from the kitchen. 

“Yes, my love,” he replied automatically. He went forth to meet her.

There were several discarded pans in their usually orderly kitchen, which he could only assume to be rejected attempts. The scent of chicken and spices was heavy in the air.

“Oh, I lost track of time, dearest. I haven’t even set the table!” She was frazzled, and he caught her around the waist and drew her in for a hug until she took a deep, calming sigh. As they parted, Jonathan noticed a streak of red on her forehead, where she must have wiped her brow with hands still covered in paprika.

He loved her more than words could express, and he could feel his mouth turning up in a smile as he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe away the mess from her face.

“I’ll set the table. You sit for a moment. I’ll bet you’ve been on your feet all day, when you should be resting.”

She shooed his handkerchief away. “I’m not that far along that I need bed rest, Jonathan Harker. If you’ll put out the place settings, I’ll finish up here.”

Jonathan simply nodded. He’d have done all the work if he thought she’d let him, but his Mina had her pride, and the best thing he knew to do for her was to lend his help where she’d let him and trust that she had the rest in hand.

By the time he set the dining room table and poured glasses of water for each of them (with an extra pitcher close at hand, for he remembered how thirsty a dish it was), Mina had gotten her pots in order and helped the paprika hendl into a serving bowl.

They sat and said grace, and served up their plates. Mina set her dark eyes on him eagerly, not yet moving to try her own creation.

“Darling, are you not eating?” he asked, worried at her lack of appetite.

She shook her head. “No, I’ll eat in a moment. I just… want you to try it first, and you must be honest with me if I got it right. I swear I haven’t tried even a bite yet, so that we could be together when I try it for the first time.”

What notion had his wife gotten into her head? She was so earnest, he couldn’t refuse her. He picked up his fork and tried a bite. 

It had that familiar taste, perhaps slightly different for the regional variations of staple ingredients. It brought back memories, yes, but not of horrors. He remembered hotels and inns along his journey, of his broken conversations in German with patient locals who shared their food and hearths with him.

He dutifully answered. “It’s wonderful, darling. You made it perfectly.”

She smiled, lighting up the whole room. “I’m so glad.”

She took a bite of her own, and the journey her face went upon as the spices registered had Jonathan chuckling even as he pushed her glass of water closer to her… and then his glass… and then the pitcher….

—------------------

“That was lovely, Mina,” Jonathan told her after dinner. “But why go through all the trouble?”

They sat together on a couch, embracing one another.

Mina looked up at him, her face serious. “Because it was something you wanted to share with me, before Dracula interfered. Because it is something I want us to be able to share with our child one day. Because each time we reclaim something Dracula tried to take from us, we kill him again.”

Her tone had gone a little bloodthirsty by the end, and Jonathan loved that about her too. His fierce, stubborn Mina, who had survived Hell and who would keep surviving and dancing upon Dracula’s grave until her final day.

He took her hand in his, and gave it a squeeze. “Alright, my love. We’ll keep fighting him. Perhaps, if you’re feeling up to it, we’ll take the train to Whitby for our next holiday?”

Mina took a long moment, considering. Finally, she placed one hand upon her stomach, and nodded. “Yes, I think I’ll be ready, so long as you’re by my side.”

Jonathan wrapped her in his arms once more. “Always, Mina. Always.”

[foggyfanfic]

Dinner the night that Octavia joins the family, not shown: Julieta generously topping off Alma's wine, proving why she's the golden child. In case you haven't read it yet, here's the story that precedes this scene under the cut.

Or read it on AO3

Of Daughters and Debts

“And what sound does it make?” Leandra asked patiently.

“Ummm,” Amada squinted at the book they were holding between their laps, just behind her Gabriel’s face was screwed up in an effort not to help. On the opposite end of the couch as Leandra, Bruno patted Gabriel on the back.

They were in the entryway to her and Bruno’s room that people sometimes used as a waiting room while Bruno had their requested visions. He usually tried to get folks to come into the room proper, so he didn’t have to do as much walking, but there were a few people who for whatever reason refused to come any further into Bruno’s room than they had to. Leandra wanted Bruno to just refuse to give those people visions, but they were the same sort who only ever came to him if it was truly important, so he felt obligated to do what he could for them. She also hadn’t wanted him to buy those assholes a couch to sit on, but he was a much kinder, more forgiving person than she was. He hadn’t even gotten them an uncomfortable couch, it was perfectly plush, horribly cozy. Much better than she thought Those People were owed.

Honestly, she was a little annoyed to be sat on the couch at all, unfortunately for her, this was where Amada had wanted to practice her letters. Usually they did reading time down in the storytelling tent, but the kids had helped Bruno pick out the new couch and were very attached to it.

In short, Leandra was the only one who hated the new couch.

“Is it ‘ah’?” Amada asked, and behind her Gabriel nodded eagerly.

“It is, very good,” Leandra ducked down, gently jostling her daughter in a show of affection, Amada giggled and tried to jostle her mother back, Leandra did her best to be jostled by a four year old.

“So what does that make the word?” Bruno asked.

“Um. Amarillo,” Amada said, mispronouncing the double "l" since she had yet to master her double letters.

“Good, so can you read the whole sentence?”

“The banana is yellow,” Amada read slowly, pausing between each word. When she got to the end Gabriel clapped for her, she grinned and bumped against him then frowned when he didn’t return the favor. Instead he patted her shoulder. They turned the page and Leandra frowned at the picture of the orange, Amada struggled with the fact that the letter “j” was nearly silent. Amada frowned at it as well, pressing her lips together.

Before she could start to argue that it was dumb for a letter to be largely silent, somebody knocked on the door. Bruno raised an eyebrow, when he noticed Leandra sending him a questioning look he shook his head and shrugged a little. He didn’t have any visions booked for the day. She handed Amada the picture book and stood, prepared to remind whoever it was that visions were by appointment only, no exceptions.

When she opened the door she was pleasantly surprised to see Jose Sanchez standing there with the cutest little toddler she had ever laid eyes on. The child had giant black curls, a wide round nose, and big sparkling dark eyes. Not only was the kid cute, but Jose owed Bruno money and had promised to bring some back when he came back from trading in the city. Not all the money owed, of course, just the excess of what he gave his wife.

“Oh, Señora Leandra,” Jose smiled politely, but somewhat stiffly, “is your husband in? May I speak with him?”

“He’s right here, actually,” Leandra opened the door wider so that Jose could see Bruno waving at him from the couch.

“Oh, great,” Jose looked between the two of them, and when he looked at Leandra he grimaced just the tiniest bit. She raised an eyebrow and debated asking if something was wrong with her being there, but she didn’t really want to start anything in front of the kids.

Especially since it might just be in her head, she really was feeling all bent out of shape over the couch situation. Was it really too much to expect the folks who come around asking Bruno for favors to treat him with some common decency? It’s not like he asked for money for his visions, didn’t seem unreasonable to say they owed him the barest sliver of basic respect.

“How did things go in the city,” she asked instead, trying to shove her thoughts aside.

“Great, great! Well, I didn’t sell much, but things are still great,” he said, and she began to suspect she knew why he probably wasn’t happy to see her. Bruno was a lot more likely to forgive debts than she was, at least when it came to the town’s merchants who traveled to and from the city.

Her childhood best friend was the daughter of one of those merchants, she knew how much money they made, they were the last people in the village who needed a hand out. And Jose definitely didn’t need one, judging by the brand new clothes he was wearing, how often he was down at the cantina buying rounds for the whole bar, or how many young girls he’d been buying jewelry for. It was possible he had spent the money he was supposed to be sending to his wife, who had separated from him and moved her and their kids in with her brother’s family after Jose cheated on her a few years ago. That was how he ended up owing Bruno money in the first place, he’d come to Bruno with tales of sorrow and guilt and had asked Bruno to give him a vision he could smash and sell to make things up to his estranged wife and kids.

Maybe on a different day, she would have let Bruno take over and shrug the debt off, if only to get this man out of her home that much quicker. But today was not that day.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear the market was rough, have you come by to return the emeralds Bruno lent you,” she asked in a cheerful voice. Behind her she heard Bruno stand up and shuffle a little closer. She sent him a look over her shoulder, he frowned but subsided, silently agreeing to let her take the lead on this one. It's not like he actually wanted to have an awkward conversation, and they both knew it.

“Uh, no, I brought you guys something better,” he brandished the toddler in his arms, “you guys like taking in strays, right?”

Leandra briefly stopped breathing, her brain struggling to comprehend the sheer audacity of the man before her. Bruno must have had a similar problem because she heard him gasp, take a few steps forward, then abruptly stop when he was just a step or two behind her. Once the audacity was comprehended and she was sure that this man had in fact referred to her children like they were stray animals, she clenched her fists and grit her teeth. She forced herself to take a deep breath in, then slowly let it out before she did something she might regret. First and foremost, she needed to worry about the innocent child this lovely gentleman was offering, then she could start biting.

“Does this kid’s parents know you’re trying to sell their kid to pay off your debts?!”

“Probably not,” Jose said with a little shrug.

Leandra sent a startled look Bruno’s way just in time to see him step in between the door and their kids. Behind him, Gabriel encased Amada in light from the overhead lamp. Leandra turned back to Jose. He did not elaborate on how he acquired a kid to sell them without the kid’s parents being aware.

“What do you mean ‘probably not’?” She prompted, keeping her voice measured, and her fists carefully still.

“We found her on the way into the city, she was all by herself, no parents in sight,” Jose explained, lowering the toddler a little and loosening his grip on her, “you want her or not?”

Something about that nonchalant question pushed Leandra over the edge, as if the kid was the last empanada and not a little person, she snatched the toddler out of his hands and transferred her to Bruno, “Bruno, hold our new kid real quick!”

“Uh, right, sort of seems like something we should discuss first, but ok.”

“You,” Leandra hissed, pointing a finger under Jose’s chin, “you sniveling, self centered piece of slug shit! Where do you get off trying to sell a child, a human child to settle your debts. Debts you got, by the way, by being a deadbeat, drunk, failure of a father and husband. Do you-?”

“Now hold on,” he held up his hands to ward her off but she took a step closer to him, practically snarling. He took a startled step back.

“Do not interrupt me! Do you have the emeralds Bruno gave you?”

“No, but-.”

“Why not,” she asked, then when he hesitated to respond she repeated, “Why not?!”

“I uh I sold them.”

“Oh, well, what happened to not having a good time at the market?! Don’t answer that, I do not want to hear your excuses. Do you have the money you owe Bruno?”

“Um.”

“What did you spend it on?! And I’m warning you now, the honest answer better be your wife and children.”

“Now see here, I am a grown man, I can spend my money-.”

“But it’s not your money, it’s my husband’s. And he gave you those emeralds on the condition that you would use them to pay what you owe your wife,” Leandra cut him off, taking another step into his space, “have you?”

“I-I work hard, I deserve to have a bit of fun every now and then.”

Before she had truly thought it through she grabbed Jose by his ear and began dragging him down the hall, “Oh you work hard do you?! Well, that makes it perfectly ok to cheat on your wife with a bunch of poor naive girls young enough to be your daughters. And I’m sure when those girls wise up to all your lies and come to you teeth bared, they’ll feel just fine about their tattered reputations once you explain how hard you work.”

“Ow! Ow! You crazy bi-.”

“Call me that and you’re leaving without the ear,” Leandra snapped. She dragged him down the stairs next, “Your wife is working her ass off to care for the four children, I repeat four children, that you have all but abandoned. Meanwhile you’re drinking it up in every cantina that’ll take you, sleeping around like a cheap hostel bed, and trying to pay off your debts by selling a human being. A child no less! Work hard my ass! Deserve fun? The only thing you deserve is a beating far more thorough than I’m going to give you!”

As they passed through the courtyard Félix and Agustín emerged from the kitchen, each with a five year old in their arms, to see what the fuss was.

“And the thing is, as low as I think of you, I may just have forgiven you if only to get you away from my kids a bit quicker, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let anyone get away with calling my children strays!”

Behind her Félix sucked some air in through his teeth, then retreated into the kitchen despite Camilo protesting that he wanted to see what was happening. After a beat, Agustín did the same. Casita was kind enough to open the front door for her as she pulled her burden into the sun.

“You are not welcome in this house until you have the money to pay back my husband,” Leandra declared, marching towards town, “you are not welcome around my children until you learn some basic decency, if it was up to me you wouldn’t be welcome in my village until you quit being such an ass!”

With her quick stride they reached town before she'd finished her sentence, where they garnered a lot of stares from everyone they passed. Slowly, she became aware of the fact that her next words would decide whose side the village took. Her original plan was to drag him to a pigsty (where she personally felt he’d be right at home) but instead she dragged him straight to the church. Once there she finally let him go, but only long enough to open the large double doors. Then she dragged him to the threshold, and gave him a swift kick in the ass to push him over into the church.

“You need Jesus,” she wagged her finger at him, using her best Stern Mother voice, “you sit here and you pray to the lord and every saint you can think of for the strength to extract your inflated head from your ass, grow the fuck up, and be half the man a monkey is. You pray good and hard until you’re ready to be a god damned adult. You pray until the lord takes pity on you and grants you the sense he gave a headless chicken! And if you ever, EVER call my children strays again, you pray that god strikes you down before I do.”

Her piece said and anger almost spent, she gave him one last disgusted look and began to turn away, then a thought came to her.

“I’m going to be paying your wife a visit Friday, and if she hasn’t received the money you owe her, I will sell off all your fancy clothes to make up for what you owe,” she told him.

“You can’t do that!”

“Yes I can,” she smirked at him, then turned to those who had gathered around them to watch the show, “what does the village think? Should he be allowed to keep his silk shirts and linen suits while his youngest kid is walking around in shoes two sizes too small?”

Multiple people said no, and a few people booed. Sometimes, she loved how easily manipulated people got when they were in a mob. Usually she hated it, because usually the mob was eyeing her husband with trepidation, but she couldn’t deny how handy a tool it could be.

“There it is, stop being a selfish dick, before the rest of the village has to step in,” she nodded once, then turned and walked away.

She had no doubt that little display would be the talk of the town for the next month or two, Alma wouldn’t be happy about the gossip, but that man had it coming. Honestly, he had a lot more than a bruised ear and some public humiliation coming, so maybe Alma would thank her for her restraint. And it wasn’t like Leandra could just let him call her kids that. What message would it send to her children if she’d stood by and didn’t get pissed off when some lowlife was insulting them?

When she got back to Casita, Bruno was standing in the courtyard, holding the little girl in his arms, and talking to one of the other merchants. He smiled a little nervously when he saw her.

“Tía Leandra!” Camilo yelled before she could greet Bruno, he ran up with Gabriel and Amada hot on his heels, “Did you kill that guy?”

“I wish,” she said, and Bruno loudly cleared his throat, she sighed but switched into responsible parent mode and told the children, “but violence is never the answer. I wanted to get him out of the house, and away from you kids, but once we were far enough away I simply took him to church and encouraged him to pray on his actions.”

“Aw,” Camilo’s and Amada’s shoulders sagged, “that’s dumb.”

She swallowed a smile, god she loved kids, “Are you guys ok? I know seeing adults get angry can be sort of scary.”

“We’re alright Má, are you okay?” Gabriel asked.

She smiled at him and gently cupped his cheek, “I’m just fine mijo, just so long as my family is happy, I’m happy.”

“Is Octavia really going to be our little sister?” Amada asked.

“Octavia?” she raised an eyebrow and looked over at the little girl in Bruno’s arms. That was quite the name for such a little kid.

“That’s uh, that’s what we’ve been calling her Señora,” the merchant, Esteban, said while fiddling with his straw hat, “and uh, we didn’t bring her back to pay off Jose’s debt. I had no clue he was going to pull a stunt like that. It’s just… everyone knows you two love kids, and you’ve been very clear that you’d be happy to adopt more, considering how well it turned out with your first two. We thought you might want the option of adopting a third before we send her off to an orphanage or something.”

Leandra wanted to say yes, of course they were adopting her, but Bruno was right. This was the sort of thing they should talk about first, not just with each other but the kids as well.

“We a-appreciate that, of course we’ll take her in,” Bruno said, oblivious to the questioning look Leandra gave him.

“Marvelous, I’ll bring the clothes and such we bought for her by, after dinner if you don't mind waiting that long,” Estaban smiled, clearly relieved.

“Oh! Gracias, that’d be a big help, pretty sure we still have a few handy downs, but uh we’ll have to go digging for them,” Bruno said, shifting the toddler in his arms just enough for Leandra to see the little girl was chewing on his ruana. Judging by the way she was angling her head, it must have been for some back molars. Leandra racked her brain, trying to remember what age Amada was when her last molars started coming in.

“I don’t suppose you know how old she is? She’s got more teeth than I would expect for a kid her size,” Leandra asked.

“Been a while since my own kids were that little, sort of hard to remember the milestones,” he put his hat on and took his time straightening it, “they hit so many of them so quick.”

“Hm yeah, we remember,” Bruno said, looking at Amada, who Leandra could swear had been a baby just yesterday.

“We think she’s one, maybe as old as two, but she’s such a small little thing. Could be a baby that got her teeth early.”

Leandra nodded, then said to Bruno, “Well, we’ll at least know when she turns five.”

If they really were adopting her, that is. They really should discuss it.

Gabriel trotted over and leaned his head on Bruno’s arm so he could stare at Octavia, Amada followed him and hopped up and down on her tiptoes until Bruno set the toddler down on his feet. The kids stared at her, faces unreadable. Leandra nibbled on her lower lip, hopefully they were staring at their potential new sister that Bruno and Leandra had maybe already adopted on a whim with expressionless faces because they were overcome with joy.

Amada poked Octavia’s cheek then frowned when the only thing Octavia did was turn and stare at her.

“Thank you for taking her in on such short notice,” Estaban said, pausing at the front door, “with all my daughters being pregnant I don’t really have the space to take her in myself, but I don’t know, I couldn’t bare the thought of leaving her at an orphanage. Who knows what could happen to her if we did.”

Gabriel turned and stared at Estaban as he reiterated his promise to bring some clothes for her after dinner, then left. The man was always an interesting sight to behold, his daughters had married the second son of the hatter, the third son of a tailor, the stepson of a cobbler, and an artist. He had always been open about the fact that he chose to be a merchant because it meant he got to spend most of the year with his family, and all of his daughters still lived at home with their husbands. Their husbands who all practiced their fathers’ crafts, and had very different styles. Estaban made a point to wear one thing made by each son in law a day, so his hat was a traditional straw hat with a green hat band, his clothes were a very modern burnt-orange dyed linen suit, and his shoes were an experimental pair of sandals made of brown leather. He didn’t have anything from his artist son in law, but he was teaching the otherwise hapless young man how to trade and barter, so Leandra doubted the guy felt neglected by his family’s patriarch.

She also doubted Gabriel was staring because of Esteban’s garish attire, her son looked far too pensive for that.

When Leandra looked back at the toddler on Bruno’s feet, Camilo was gathered around her as well and Mirabel was walking out of the kitchen, eyes on the new kid. Amada poked Octavia again, this time Octavia reached a hand back at Amada.

“Are babies always this boring? I thought they were supposed to be cute,” Amada frowned up at Bruno.

“She is cute,” Bruno said, picking Octavia back up, “but sí, they don’t do much unless you take your eyes off them.”

“What do they do if you take your eyes off them?”

“Their absolute best to kill themselves,” Bruno said, “one time I looked away from you for two minutes to do the dishes and you had somehow climbed to the top shelf of the pantry.”

Gabriel stared up at Bruno, his brow wrinkled.

“So we’re keeping her?” Camilo asked.

“Bruno's right, we probably should actually discuss it,” Leandra said, earning a surprised look from Bruno, then tacked on, “but I would like to.”

“Me too,” Gabriel said, quietly.

Amada frowned up at Octavia in Bruno’s arms, “Can we see if she’ll do anything cool while we’re not looking before we decide?”

Bruno coughed to cover a laugh then gently said, “I would also like to adopt her, mija. Being your Pá has been one of the best things to ever happen to me, I-I would like more of it, you know.”

Amada did not look convinced, “Aren’t babies supposed to be loud too?”

“Sí, they can be,” Bruno nodded.

“Although she’s been pretty quiet so far,” Leandra frowned, wandering closer and checking Octavia’s eyes for any signs that something was amiss, “you would think this whole thing would be pretty overwhelming for a kid. She hasn’t made a peep, or really reacted to anything.”

“She reacted when I poked her,” Amada said, poking Octavia’s shoulder. Octavia made a little noise and looked at her.

“Yeah but… she might be old enough to talk a little,” Leandra said, “maybe… I mean if she has all those teeth she should be.”

“She is really small,” Bruno frowned, squinting down at the kid in his arms, “you think she’s getting enough to eat?”

“We’ll have to take her to a doctor, no matter what we do,” Leandra said.

Amada wrinkled her nose, “Tía Julieta can’t fix it?”

“Fix her being small? No, not right away at least,” Leandra shook her head.

Mirabel suddenly spoke up after observing everything in silence for a while, “If she has teeth that means she can eat normal food, right? Can't we just start feeding her?”

Bruno and Leandra made eye contact, silently asking each other how they would explain to a five year old what could happen if you overworked a starved stomach. They were saved the trouble when Amada poked Octavia’s shoulder again and the toddler swatted at Amada’s hand, saying something that almost sounded like a Spanish word, but not quite.

“Did she just speak French?” Leandra asked.

“That sounds like French,” Camilo confirmed, “sounds like something Pá said to Tío Felípe.”

“Did your Pá tell you what it means?” Bruno asked.

“Nuh-uh,” Camilo shook his head.

“If her parents speak French, they may be looking for her but struggling to communicate with local authorities,” Leandra pointed out.

“Estaban said they took turns trying to find her parents,” Bruno shrugged, “even got her picture taken and left it at all the police stations and orphanages. Basically anywhere worried parents might think to check. Nobody got in contact with them before they left town.”

“Hm,” Leandra put her hand on her hip, frowning at the toddler, “we’ll bring her to Félix, see what he can get out of her.”

“Will I have to change her diapers if she stays?” Amada asked.

“No, if she has this many teeth we can probably start potty training her,” Bruno shook his head, “although we’ll have to pull out the training seat. I-I mean it will take some time, some kids still have accidents when they’re your age or even older, b-but for the most part, no. No diaper changing for you.”

“You’re too short to reach the table anyway,” Camilo said.

“So are you,” Amada retorted.

Camilo opened his mouth to say something, then considered it, and instead said, “I’m ok with that.”

Amada frowned thoughtfully, “Sí, yo tambien.”

Meanwhile, Octavia crammed Bruno’s ruana back in her mouth and continued chewing at her back molars.

“Will she sleep in our room?” Mirabel asked, and Amada looked startled by the possibility.

“Uuuuh,” Bruno and Leandra stared at each other, having a silent conversation. Mirabel was still sleeping in the nursery with Amada, since her gift was… possibly nonexistent (although Bruno was still pretty sure the situation was more complicated than that). Throwing a baby in there right now, while Mirabel was still feeling pretty raw about not getting a magic room, didn’t seem very fair.

“She’ll sleep in our room for at least the first year,” Leandra said, while Bruno nodded. Maybe longer, when they had the chance she would suggest to Bruno they let Mirabel decide whether or not she wanted to share her room with Octavia when the time came.

“At least until we’re sure she’ll sleep through the night without disturbing you,” Bruno tacked on and Leandra took her turn to nod along.

“Oh, ok,” Mirabel said, sounding a tiny bit relieved. A lot of the tension leaked out of Amada’s shoulders as well.

“In that case let’s keep her,” Amada said.

Leandra leaned down, “Are you sure corazon? This is a big decision, it would be a big change, your Pá and I would have to devote a lot of attention to her for the first few years. We love you kids, and we love being parents, and we want to soak up as much of parenthood as we can get, but that doesn’t mean you have to love being a big sister. This is a four yes, or one no conversation.”

“Can I ignore her if I don’t like her?”

“Probably, Isabela ignores me all the time,” Mirabel said, completely missing the way Bruno and Leandra grimaced at her statement.

“Dolores ignores me too, especially when I’m playing parrot,” Camilo said, very cheerfully. This statement also made the two adults grimace, but for a very different reason.

“We won’t force you to play with her if you two don’t get along,” Bruno said, diplomatically, “a-although we do still expect you guys to be nice to each other.”

“Then I’m sure,” Amada said.

“Great,” Leandra said, a little tensely. Hopefully Amada would not end up disliking her little sister.

“Do we have to ask the other grown ups too?” Mirabel asked.

“Oh, uh,” Leandra sent a startled look to Bruno, were they supposed to ask the other adults? Nobody had asked them if they wanted more nieces and nephews before popping one out, but then again, the other two couples in the family tended to have children through a method that could result in surprises. The kids may have come into their lives as surprises, but it was sort of hard to actually adopt a child without meaning to.

“Maybe if we don’t point out she’s new they’ll think she’s always been here and they just didn’t notice,” Bruno said with a flinch and a shrug.

Leandra laughed, “Bruno we should absolutely not do that, but it’d be really funny, so sí. We’re just not going to bring up that we’ve adopted a third kid and see what happens.”

Amada grinned, “Can I help?! Can I pretend I helped pick out her name?”

“Sure,” Leandra said, shrugging.

“Me too! Me too,” Camilo jumped up and down.

“This is probably a bad idea,” Bruno hedged, but she could see the grin twitching at his lips.

“Yeah but it’s a hilarious bad idea,” Leandra straightened up with a shrug.

“What do we do?” Camilo asked.

Bruno bit his lip, then slowly started listing off everything they’d need to do to make it look like Octavia had been here for a while. Meanwhile Leandra looked at Gabriel, who was still staring at his new sister. She reached out and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, gently pulling him away to the other side of the courtyard.

“You alright mijo? You’re being very quiet.”

“Sí mamá, I’m fine,” he nodded, but didn’t meet her eyes.

“Gabriel,” she said, putting a finger under his chin to lift his face so she could see it better.

“I uh I don’t think Amada heard what that guy said, so everything is ok,” Gabriel whispered, still avoiding her eyes.

“Ah, but you did,” Leandra sighed and pulled him into a hug, then adjusted her grip on him so she could look down at his face without fully letting him go, “ignore him mijo, he was being an asshole. You’re not a stray, you’re my son. And we were hardly the only people who wanted you. We’re lucky to have you.”

“Really? Who else wanted me?”

“Your Tía Rosalie and Tío Felípe were both open to adopting you and your sister if Bruno and I hadn’t,” Leandra said, then hesitated before reminding him, “a-and your Abuelo was beside himself with worry for you when he dropped you off, it was obvious how much he loved you.”

And how much it broke him that his son had almost killed his grandson, but Leandra didn’t mention that. There were a lot of things that broke Señor Gutierrez, his son’s crimes and subsequent exile, possibly his wife’s death, then his son becoming a child abuser who maybe also killed Amada’s birth mother. Getting into the collapse of that man’s sanity would be a whole mess of questions, bad memories, and speculation.

Gabriel smiled a tiny bit, then turned to look back at Octavia.

“Seriously mijo, what’s on your mind, if you don’t want another sister-.”

“No, I do. I-I just uh, I don’t know, what would have happened to her if she went to an orphanage?”

“Oh. It’s hard to say,” she hedged, Gabriel understood better than any of the kids how cruel the world could be, but that didn’t mean she wanted to encourage his anxiety, “with how cute she is she probably would have been adopted as soon as she was dropped off.”

Gabriel stared at her, eyes solemn and far too knowing for an eight year old, “And if she wasn’t adopted?”

“Then uh she would grow up at the orphanage,” Leandra said.

“Is that a good thing?”

Finally she sighed and admitted, “It depends mijo, just like whether or not growing up with a family is a good thing depends on what sort of people your parents are.”

This Gabriel understood, and he nodded. He was coming out of a weird phase where he broke things on purpose to see how they would react. He was probably testing if he could provoke Bruno into losing his temper, since it was mostly Bruno’s things that got damaged. Bruno had eventually gotten irritated enough to bluntly ask Gabriel why he was trying to piss him off, and they were making him help Leandra sell her soaps so he could pay to replace what he broke, but it seemed they had passed his test. Now he kept slipping into these morose moods where he asked startling questions like “Pá do you ever think about murdering people when you’re angry?” or “Má, does Pá ever hit you in private?”. On the one hand, Leandra got that he was a very young kid trying to process his birth father almost murdering him, on the other, sometimes she worried she and Bruno wouldn’t be enough to help him.

Now he stared across the courtyard at the little girl and asked, “Why do you guys like taking kids in so much?”

Leandra thought about lying, she thought about giving him a generic mom answer like saying because she loved them too much to not take them in, she even considered giving him the half truth that she wanted to be a mother and it was as simple as that, but instead she said, “You know I’m adopted too, sí?”

He nodded.

“My Pá didn’t have to love me, he didn’t have to raise me and feed me and spend his hard earned money on me, but he did,” she gently moved aside some of the curls brushing his forehead, “who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t taken me in. Who knows who would have raised me, what person I'd be, what life I would lead. I… am grateful for the life he gave me, and when I was a little older than you it sank in that I ended up with this life purely out of the goodness of his heart and I asked him what I could do to thank him. Do you know what he told me?”

“What?”

“He told me to love my own children as fully and joyfully as he loved me. That if I gave his grandchildren the best life I could give them, he would consider it payment for every new pair of shoes, every dish I broke, every night he stayed up rubbing my back as I puked into a bucket,” she said.

He thought about it for a little, then asked, “Do you want me to do the same? Love my kids as much as you love me?”

Leandra shrugged, “I mean, big as an impact as that conversation had on me, by then I already knew I wanted to be a mother someday. Your abuelo was happy to take me in, but he didn’t spend his childhood dreaming of being a parent the way I did. And if you don’t dream of parenthood either, that’s ok.”

“Oh,” he said, and she couldn’t decipher what the look on his face meant.

“I always wanted to be a mother, and I figured out on my own how blessed I was to have my Pá, but my Pá made me realize I could pay my blessings forward. I’m not saying you’re indebted to us or anything, I’m saying that,” she cut herself off with a sigh, then took a few seconds to formulate her next words, “I personally have had a really good life because my mother’s best friend decided to love me as his own when she passed, if he hadn’t made that decision I may not have had a good life, and it feels… I don’t want to take what I have for granted. You know?”

He nodded. She stared at him for a second.

“I wish you could take your father and I for granted,” she blurted, before it occurred to her that was sort of a heavy thing to say to an eight year old.

“What do you mean?”

She gulped down her emotions and simply said, “Your father and I will always love you and your sister. Sisters. Even when you’re causing trouble, or angry at the letter ‘j’, or chewing a hole in your Pá’s ruana. Please never forget that.”

“I won’t,” he promised, with all the solemnity of a monk taking a holy vow.

“Bien,” she kissed his forehead, “you’re a good son, now go help your father lie to the rest of the family.”

He grinned, ducking his head so his halo of curls hid his eyes, but not the way the scars on his face caused artificial dimples. With a loyal “Sí Mamá” he trotted back to Bruno’s side and eagerly asked how he could help.

Leandra stood back and stared at her newest daughter, who was still slobbering all over Bruno while she watched the other kids buzz around her excitedly with fascinated eyes. She thought fondly of her own father’s warm hugs, or his gruff and off key attempts at singing her lullabies, and quietly vowed to herself she would love this little girl just as thoroughly. Then she shook off her thoughts and reminiscences, put on her warmest smile, and took up her post at Bruno’s side.

[countrymusiclover]

7 - Second Chance at Love

Part 8

The Siphoning Princess

Tag list [ @mystrey101 @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @onentaien-kwara @melvia-ito @child-of-of-the-sunshine

Should I start incorporating more Once episodes as chapters or do y’all have anything you’d like to see that didn’t happen in the show?? Let me know in the comments ❤️

The doors of Rumplestilskin’s castle got slammed opened with Charming storming inside the grand entrance of the castle.  “Rumplestilskin.  Show yourself!” 

“Still dressing like a prince I see.  Even though you ran away from the life I gave you.” Rumple’s voice could be heard in the open doorway behind him.  “How’s that for gratitude?” 

“You gave me a prison sentence.” Charming remarks to the Dark One. 

“One that you’ve now scattered.  Careful dearie, King George is a vengeful man.” Rumple pointed his finger towards the prince. 

Charming dropped his shoulders and responded back.  “I’m here about Jaide.  The Evil Queen took her from George’s castle last night and I know you have something to do with it.” 

“Careful with your tone, Charming.” The Dark One warned the Royal. 

The prince drew his sword from its holder aiming it towards him.  “What did you do to her!” 

“What did I do to her?  You mean what did you do to her.” Rumple stepped closer to the prince, not afraid of the weapon aimed at him.  “I have kept my daughter safe for many years until she attended your family ball.  I warned her to stay away from you, but she didn’t listen and now the Queen has her.” 

Charming snaps back at him.  “Blame me all you want but you couldn’t keep her locked up forever.” 

“Why did you come here, dearie.  To judge a father on how he raised his daughter when you have no children of your own.” 

Charming placed his sword back into its holder.  “Name your price and help me rescue your daughter.  My true love.” 

“How about your cloak?” Rumple turned slightly to the prince. 

Charming gave him a confused look.  “My cloak.  Why would you want my cloak?” 

“It’s drafty in here.” Rumple extended a hand. 

Charming removed the fur cloak from his shoulders eyeing the man of dark magic.  “How do I get her out of the Queen’s castle?” 

“There’s many secret passages underneath the castle.  Filled with all kinds of boobytraps except for one.” He waved his hand creating a map of the castle tunnels handing it over to the young prince.  “Follow the map and you will find her.  My daughter has always been an expert at escaping prisons.” 

“Thank you.  I’ll get her out of there.” Charming ran out the door with the dark one watching him leave before picking up a hair from his cloak and finding one on his daughter’s pillow.  Finally having the pieces of his potion he needed. 

“So let me get this straight.  I’m supposedly this Jaide girl who is the daughter of Rumplestilskin who is Mr. Gold in this town.  David in Storybrooke is my fairytale husband named Prince Charming and we have two children together.” 

Henry nodded, flipping to another page in his book.  “Who is my mom Emma supposed to be?” 

“The savior who breaks the curse.” Bringing a hand to my forehead I plopped down onto the bed.  “Henry, can we please take a break.  There is a lot to remember here.” 

“Yeah, sorry.  But you are starting to believe me?” He asked me shutting his book. 

Biting my lip I thought long and hard about responding to him.  He was a kid full of Hope reminding me so much of my daughter.  “I’m starting to, mostly to make my daughter happy.  Cause I’ll be sad when the day comes and she grows out of her fairytale faze.” 

“It’s not just going to be a faze for her.  Emma has to break the curse or she’ll stay eight years old forever.” 

Sparing the kid a look before my phone vibrates in my pocket so I stepped out into the hallway.  “Henry, trust me she’ll get older whether I like it or not - hang on a second.  Emma, what’s going on?” 

“Graham and Tessa are at Granny’s playing darts.” She explained simply. 

Nearly shouting at the blonde I asked her.  “They’re what! When did he, how did he, why is he hanging out with her without me knowing?” 

“I don’t have any answers.  I just stopped to grab dinner and thought you’d like to know.” 

Leaning my head against the wall I sighed heavily.  “Thanks for the heads up, Emma.” 

“No problem, Renae.” She hung up the phone so I peaked my head inside Henry’s bedroom. 

“Hey kid, I have to meet up with your birth mom.  So I’ll see you around.” 

He waved bye seeing me quickly drive away from his house.  “Bye Renae.” 

Slamming my car into one of the parking spots behind Granny’s diner, I entered through the back door of the restaurant and walked past the restrooms.  Stopping in my tracks in the doorway near the dart boards I saw Graham holding Tessa up in his arms so she was eye level with the target.  “Raise your hand just a tiny bit and keep your eyes on your target.” 

Tessa lightly throws the red dart at the board and it actually gets stuck in the deer's kill shot.  “Ha!” 

“That a girl.  Good job.” Graham grinned, giving her a high five at the end. 

“You know some would consider taking your daughter out of the house without her mother knowing as kidnapping, Sheriff.” 

Graham slightly turned, seeing me standing there.  “Renae.  Please don’t be mad.  I just wanted to spend time with my da-“ 

“She’s my daughter.” Stomping forward I snatched her from his arms before he could say the words I didn’t want her to hear. 

He chased after me into the alleyway where I had parked my car.  “Renae.  Please stop for a second.” 

“Not going to happen.” 

He grabbed my arm but I hit him with my boot where he nearly fell onto the concrete.  “Renae  -” 

“Mama!” Tessa cried when I sat her in the backseat. 

“It’s gonna be okay.  Mama just has to take care of something first.” Handing her the unicorn from Mr. Gold I closed the door facing the sheriff getting up from the ground.  “Graham, just leave us alone or I swear to God I'll-” 

“I just want to be in her life.  Don't I deserve that?” He pleaded to me. 

“Not while you're sleeping with the mayor you don't.  End that weird relationship and then maybe we’ll talk.” Getting in the driver's seat I slammed the door driving away from him with tears in my eyes. 

Why did love or at least a second chance at love have to be so hard. 

Gripping the prison cell bars in my hands I clutched my eyes closed my eyes tightly needing to focus if my power would get me out of here or not.  I waited and waited to feel some sort of magic flow through my veins but nothing happened where I dropped my hands punching one of the metal bars.  “Gah! Shit! Why did I do that?”  

“You’re not as smart as your father from what I’ve seen.” The evil queen’s voice came from the shadows and low light inside the dungeon. 

Rolling my eyes I got to my feet glaring at the queen.  “Look lady, I don't know what your problem is with me but I have done nothing wrong to you.   In fact I didn’t even know you were the one they called the evil queen until you showed up in Charming’s chambers and freaking kidnapped me!” 

Two guards approached from behind her walking up to my closed jail cell.  “You’ll learn soon enough.  Place her in chains and follow me.” 

“Urgh no, I’m not going!” I attempted to elbow one of the guards but he just twisted my arms behind my back.  The second one took hold of my other arm pushing me forward.  “What exactly are you going to do to me?” 

“I’m going to make you suffer for helping Snow White escape my wrath.” The Evil Queen bared her teeth spinning on her heels with the guards escorting me behind her. 

[the-hidden-writer]

No Escape From Reality.

An Alan Wake 2 oneshot. Spoilers for The Final Draft!

Summary: Despite both Alan and Saga's reassurances, Casey can't stop questioning his existence and struggles to draw the line between his own life and the books.

Words: 2,521 AO3 link: [Here!]

No Escape From Reality

He was out of the spiral.

Despite sitting relatively comfortably in the back of a van owned by the FBC, Alan felt exhausted. But he would take the deep-rooted fatigue in his body over The Dark Presence any day. Besides, he wasn't alone.

Albeit for a much shorter time, The Dark Presence had possessed Agent Casey and Scratch had used him as a vessel just as he had with Alan himself, so the FBC wanted to bring back the both of them. And while his gut told him that he would be with the FBC for a considerable amount of time, he was less certain what they had planned for Casey. Did they just want to examine him? Question him? Or did they want to run tests on him?

Even though he was fully expecting that for himself, Alan felt a sudden flash of anger at the thought. He felt strangely protective of Casey, despite only officially meeting the man so recently. He wasn't sure why.

He looked over at the man in question.

Casey sat opposite him, his head tilted back to lean against the side of the van and his hands gripping the seat, but otherwise unmoving. Alan absentmindedly wondered if he was experiencing the same exhaustion as he was.

Casey hadn't uttered a word for the entire journey. The last time he'd spoken was when he was parting with Saga, insisting that he was fine and to greet her daughter on his behalf. Though the FBC had questions for Saga too, it wasn’t as urgent and they allowed her to go home to her family first. Alan had the feeling that she would have gone even without permission.

As soon as she'd left his sight, Casey's small, reassuring smile had dropped. Alan had been too wrapped up in his own thoughts at the time and thought nothing of it. But now, with a long journey ahead of him and a familiar stranger in front of him, he started to itch for a conversation. Not to end the awkward silence between them, although it was very awkward, but instead because the two of them being alone together was beginning to remind him a little too much of The Dark Place.

Wanting to end the silence was one thing. Figuring out how to start a conversation with the stoic man after everything that had just happened was another.

Time had no meaning in The Dark Place and Alan was accustomed to being there, so he was unable to determine just how long he spent trying to think of how to initiate a conversation. Being a writer, words usually came so easily to him, and yet all of a sudden he couldn't find the right ones. Maybe it was a side-effect of exiting the loop. Or maybe it was plainly the exhaustion consuming him.

Whatever it was, it didn't matter, because Alan felt a sudden tickle in his nose and broke the silence with a loud sneeze.

"Gesundheit." Casey said, without looking at him.

"Thanks." Alan responded, slightly embarrassed.

Of course, he thought, with a hint of chagrin. His actions were no longer being determined by pre-written pages. You'd never see the hero of the story cough, sneeze, or need to use the bathroom.

At least the ice between them had been chipped at.

Alan readjusted his sitting position, purposefully making enough noise when shuffling around to catch Agent Casey's attention.

Judging by the shuffling across from him, his plan was successful.

Not wasting the opportunity, Alan spoke up.

"Are you okay?"

"Just peachy." Casey replied, his voice gruff and his words thick with disdain and sarcasm.

After a long pause, he sat forward and finally looked at Alan. His hardened features melted into a weary frown.

"Honestly, I'm just tired." He said with an air of defeat. "With that thing, that- that presence inside me… god, it felt so awful, so…"

His voice trailed off as he also seemed to struggle to find the words.

"Dark?" Alan prompted.

Casey barked out a small, humorless sound that wasn't quite a laugh.

"Yeah." He affirmed. "Don't know how you managed it."

"I'm just used to it."

They fell into a more comfortable silence then. The ice felt like it had finally broken, which Alan was grateful for. He needed allies if he was going to help Alice, and Casey seemed like a great contender.

Again, he had no idea how much time he spent listening to the gentle hum of the vehicle before Casey was the one to speak up.

"I should've asked, are you okay?"

"I've been worse." Alan answered honestly.

Casey gave a tiny nod. "Good."

His gaze lingered on him for a few more moments, before stiffly turning away. Alan got the feeling he wasn't really satisfied with the answer.

"Agent Casey?" He tried.

Casey turned back toward him, face suddenly hardened again, and his eyes locked onto Alan’s, almost like he was searching or scanning for something within them. Alan had to fight himself to not blink too much or look away. The more questions he saw in the man’s eyes, the more they started to feel like his own.

Eventually, Casey said: "Wake, I'm real."

It was a statement with no room for argument, but Alan heard the implied question underneath.

That’s when it dawned on Alan exactly what was gnawing at Casey. He must still be fighting with the concept of being a fictional character.

Alan could relate, to some degree.

“Yeah.” He replied simply.

“And your books,” Casey continued, unable to hide his distaste, “based on me, not the other way around.”

“That’s right,” Alan affirmed again, “you can’t create something out of nothing.”

Casey nodded, seemingly pleased with that answer. But he wasn’t done.

“And I’m in control of my life. Your goddamn writing didn’t start twisting it until after we got to Bright Falls. I’m my own person.”

Alan paused at that. As much as he wanted to be reassuring, the affirmation didn’t come to him as quickly.

The truth was that he had no idea. He’d only just discovered Alex Casey was a real person and not just a figment of his imagination. His books had all been unknowingly based on a real, living man. Alan tried not to dwell on that fact too much, otherwise he’d start doubting his own abilities as an author and creative.

If the real Alex Casey was a Private Investigator, then maybe the question of which came first would be easier to answer. But he wasn’t. He was an FBI agent, one whose partner possessed the necessary abilities to break Alan out of The Dark Place and one who had previously investigated Bright Falls and murder cults. That’s exactly what Alan had needed, and what he’d written about. It would be a stretch to call that a coincidence.

As for being his own person…

Alan didn’t know how many times he’d killed the Casey (that looked and sounded identical to this one) in The Dark Place. It didn’t appear to have impacted the real one, but he couldn’t be sure.

He’d come to consider the echoes of Alex Casey in The Dark Place as comforting. A friend guiding him through the endless night, written into the story to save him. His character of so many years- or so he’d thought.

They say that every character contains a piece of their creator. Heroes and protagonists are especially more likely to just be a mask of the author.

Alan tried not to think about Thomas Zane and his familiar face. Nor did he wish to dissect Zane’s film, Nightless Night, or how “Thomas Seine” playing the role of him swapped places in The Writer's Room with the man who looked like Casey playing The Detective, a role which Alan himself assumed in The Dark Place. It was unnerving to think about and Alan was afraid he would come to a revelation neither of them would like.

However, his mind did wander briefly to the actor he’d met whose name escaped him. He’d seen him before The Dark Place, he was sure of it, and he recalled that he looked so uncannily similar to Casey. His voice was nigh-identical in the movie clip as well.

And then the actor, bound to a chair by the reel of Zane’s films, desperately fighting against Alan’s pre-written narrative and begging for his life.

Wearing a mask.

Alan pulled himself out of his quickly spiraling thoughts and back into reality, realizing he had been taking a long time to respond. Casey was still looking at him expectantly, though the silence seemed to be an answer in itself. His hard mask had cracked slightly; his eyebrows furrowed and his lips slightly parted as he waited with baited breath. Alan saw a glimpse of a deeply-rooted fear, one that maybe even predated the events at Bright Falls, and an uncharacteristic sliver of anxiety.

No, Alan caught himself. He couldn’t decide that it was uncharacteristic. It might have been for his Alex Casey, but who was he to know the emotions and personality of the real one?

“Yeah.” Alan answered finally, brushing aside the reflections in his mind of the actor, the echoes, and Nightless Night. “You’re your own person.”

~-.-~

Looking out over the damned lake that started all of this, Casey sighed and took a big sip of coffee. Next to him, he noticed Saga doing the same.

The two of them had traveled back to Bright Falls to tie up some loose ends of their investigation, despite the case technically being transferred to the FBC. Both partners were thorough in their work and liked to see cases to completion if they could.

The real reason they’d come back was that Saga was concerned about the locals and wanted to talk to them. People like Rose and Ilmo had been through a lot and were kept more out of the loop of what was happening, and Saga wanted to see how they were doing and ensure that Wake’s story hadn’t permanently corrupted them in some way.

Casey himself, finally free from all the FBC’s prodding and poking, had no intention of letting her go by herself.

So there they were. Casey and Anderson sitting on a bench in Bright Falls overlooking Cauldron Lake with cups of Oh Deer Diner coffee in their hands, thankfully with the sun shining overhead.

It should have been peaceful. And yet any proximity to that cursed town brought back a lot of unwanted thoughts and fears in Casey. Particularly the memory of when Saga had told him that something he knew and remembered as fact at the time (Logan’s death) was untrue. Since he fully trusted Saga, he found that he couldn’t trust himself.

After spending many years contemplating the scary amount of coincidences and parallels with the fictional Alex Casey in Wake’s books, that feeling wasn’t exactly new to him. Didn’t mean it was any less unpleasant.

“What’s on your mind?” asked Saga, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Casey let out a small huff of amusement. He knew very well that she’d probably already deduced exactly what was troubling him and was only asking to be polite. He decided to humor her.

“I spoke to Wake the other day.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Was all he could say. He wasn’t sure why it was so difficult to explain what he was feeling. It was easier to think about it privately than to outwardly say: ‘Hey Anderson I think I’ve been twisted into a fictional character without realizing it’.

“Hey, Anderson?”

Saga gave him a patient smile. “What’s up?”

“I…”

I don’t know if I can trust any of my memories. I don’t know if my personality was mine to begin with. I can’t rid myself of the feeling of the dark shadow writhing around inside me. I think I might end up dying in an alleyway like in Wake’s book.

His hands began to shake, causing him to lose grip on his coffee cup which fell to the ground, leaving an ugly splatter on the floor. Casey held back a sob but couldn’t stop his voice from breaking.

“...I don’t know who I am anymore.”

The sight of the lake in front of him started to burn his eyes, so he tightly closed them. A few seconds later he felt an arm wrap around his shoulder.

“Look at me, Casey.”

Casey inhaled deeply and slowly opened his eyes. Saga had moved so that she was crouched in front of him, taking up most of his vision. Her face blocked his view of the sun, causing sunlight to outline her silhouette and give her an almost angelic look.

“You’re my partner, and you are real.”

He met her gaze and a stray tear found its way down his cheek. “The changes don’t affect me, remember?” Saga continued. “I’ve known you for years, and you’ve always been the same person I know and care about. A really great FBI agent, not some gritty PI.”

She had a point, there. She was the one who could tell when Wake’s story was changing reality, and if Wake really was the source of his life being altered, then Saga would know. And if she really did have some strange mind powers, then she would know that it wasn’t normal and he trusted her to tell him if that was the case.

“You’re right, Anderson,” he said with a small smile, “as per usual.”

She smiled at that. He knew that she liked to abuse her privileges of being one of the only people he actually listened to.

“See?” Said Saga. “Now, repeat after me: My name is Alex Casey, and I’m an FBI agent.”

Casey grimaced. “Do I have to?”

“Yes!” Exclaimed Saga, using the same patronizing tone of voice she’d use to get Logan to eat something she knew she wouldn’t like.

With a frown, Casey relented. “My name is Alex Casey and I’m an FBI agent.”

“And again.”

He groaned. It was all more than a little patronizing, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t help ground him and make him feel slightly better. He repeated the phrase again.

Saga was tenacious and wouldn’t let it go. “One more time?”

“My name is Alex Casey, and I’m an FBI agent.”

“Good.” Saga smiled, standing up. “I’ll go get you another coffee.” She began to walk back toward the diner, but he cleared his throat before she could get too far. She paused and looked back.

“Thanks, Anderson.” He said, and while his voice might not betray it, he could tell that she understood that he meant it from the bottom of his heart.

She nodded knowingly before heading inside.

Casey cast his gaze back to Cauldron Lake. The water looked innocent enough from an outside perspective- even beautiful on a day like this one. It chilled him to his core to think about all that had transpired because of it and what sinister secrets lay below the surface.

He closed his eyes.

“My name is Alex Casey. I’m an FBI agent.”

Thanks for reading! Comments are appreciated :)

[apenitentialprayer]

Left: detail of an icon of Jesus's Palm Sunday Procession. Right: detail of a 1791 replication of a bas relief of the Triumph of Titus

[T]his demonstration harbored a dangerous message that would lead to Jesus's public execution by the end of the week. The way Jesus entered Jerusalem at the beginning of Passover week was a strategically organized demonstration. Jesus's entire ministry was headed toward Jerusalem. Every time he had to leave a large crowd of sick people begging to be healed, it was because his journey was aimed toward Jerusalem. Word of Jesus's message had already spread to Jews in Jerusalem, and they were prepared to participate in these planned demonstrations. Mark 11 tells us that when Jesus and his disciples were approaching Jerusalem, he told two of his disciples, "Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. If anyone says to you, 'Why are you doing this?' just say this, 'The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.'" We don't know who was assigned to tie up the colt at the entrance, but taking the colt communicated to the crowds waiting in Jerusalem that Jesus was about to arrive. From the Mount of Olives, Jesus entered through the east entrance of Jerusalem on the colt while a crowd surrounded him, preparing the road for Jesus by spreading their cloaks and "leafy branches that they had cut in the fields" on the ground. And they shouted, "Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!" This deliberate sequence of actions was a symbolic reenactment of the prophecy of Zechariah. Zechariah 9:9 says, "Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, a colt, the foal of a donkey." Matthew even directly quotes the verse in his account. This was a purposefully timed demonstration that would also remind people of the next verse in Zechariah 9: "He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war-horse from Jerusalem; and the battle bow shall be cut off, and he shall command peace to the nations; his dominion shall be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth." Although the gospel accounts do not report this detail, we know that the Roman governor Pontius Pilate arrived in Jerusalem at the beginning of the Passover Week as well. First-century Jewish historian Josephus wrote that during every Passover, Pontius Pilate and a legion of Roman soldiers spent the week in Jerusalem because of an increased chance of an uprising as Jews celebrated the event of the Exodus. The Romans wanted to make sure nobody got any dangerous ideas as they recounted God's attack on Egypt and the liberation of the Israelites. So as Jesus humbly entered Jerusalem from the east on a donkey, surrounded by a crowd of peasants and leafy branches, Pontius Pilate was likely entering Jerusalem from the west on a chariot led by a war horse, surrounded by a legion of Roman soldiers with armor and deadly weaponry. In their book on Jesus's last week in Jerusalem, John Dominic Crossan and Marcus Borg point out, "What we often call Jesus's triumphal entry was actually an anti-imperial, anti-triumphal one, a deliberate lampoon of the conquering emperor entering a city on horseback through gates open in abject submission. The symbolism is packed with meaning for the lives of those in the crowd surrounding Jesus. This demonstration exposed two warring kingdoms: the kingdom of Rome, with the power and weapons on their side, and the kingdom of God with the people on their side, desperate for liberation.

Damon Garcia (The God Who Riots: Taking Back the Radical Jesus, pages 146-148). Bolded emphases added.

[pelideswhore]

the horror and the wild (and achilles)

basically i’m trying to explain why the songs that are in my iliad playlist are there at all and ofc i’m starting with none other than achilles. I’m gonna do this line-by-line so you can listen as you read but i won’t be doing repeated lines. enjoy <3

also, yes, i am aware that the song is written about an abusive relationship between father and child, and i love listening it to it in that sense (yes i’m traumatized) but in this context it’s obvs different. my ability to make everything about achilles is a gift that keeps on giving. if you don’t want this song to have different meaning than what it’s actually about, just stop reading.

You were raised by wolves and voices, every night I hear them howling deep beneath your bed —

The ‘you’ in this line is Achilles, who knew from a very young age that he was destined for greatness. He based his entire personality around the fact, hence the having been ‘raised’ by voices. The ‘wolves’ also remind me of the fact that he a) spent many years in a cave with Charon and b) had many father figures. I mean it. Count them.

They said it all comes down to (you) —

This ties in with the previous line. Achilles really was told that the fate of the war and hence the entirety of Greece depends on him, when he was literally a child. That’s way too much responsibility for a five-year-old if you were looking for parenting tips.

You’re the daughter of silent watching stones, you watch the stars hurl all their fundaments in wonderment at you and yours, forever asking more —

I mostly connect the female part of the song to Thetis. Firstly, I feel like this segment already makes her feel like an ethereal, divine being (although Madeleine’s voice does that well enough ngl), at the same time it also describes her character very well. The fact that the stars ‘hurl all their fundaments’ reminds me of Book (idk what book it is), where Zeus fulfills Thetis’ wish on Achilles’ behalf, no questions asked. I also feel like some people forget that Zeus literally wanted to marry her, she was that gorgeous, so ya.

You are the space that’s in between every page, every chord and every screen. You are the driftwood and the rift, the words I promise I don’t mean —

I don’t know what this means. Love it tho.

We’re drunk, but drinking; sunk, but sinking —

I love this line so much, you have no idea. It brings up the idea that while they all know that they are fated to die and it is guaranteed, there’s still living it in real time. They’re eating, laughing, speaking, with the knowledge that tomorrow they won’t be able to. They’re dead men walking. Also, on a less existential note, it reminds me of the fact that they’ve doomed themselves by starting the war and yet they continue it. They’ve dug themselves a hole and instead of hopping out, they dig deeper.

They thought us blind, we were just blinking —

Patroclus and Achilles now: Their decision to put the war on hold, a momentary action, is the blinking, in relation to “blindness” which would’ve been leaving. The ‘they’ who thought them blind could really be Agamemnon, who underestimates and insults Achilles with the little party he sends to him. Or it could be Hector and the Trojans who believed they were safe … and then Achilles came back.

All the stones and kings of old will hear us screaming at the cold —

The stones are a perfectrepresentation of the Trojan wall and the kings, well, that’s the current Trojan royal family but also all that have passed. They will hear Achilles screaming at the cold, which could be the sea or Patroclus’ corpse if you want to take it literally. When he hears the news of Patroclus’ death, his screams do in fact reach Troy.

Remember me, I ask. Remember me, I sing —

Yeah. Remembrance for Achilles is obviously a big thing, so I’m not going to go super deep here, however the switch from ‘ask’ to ‘sing’ is really nice, considering we’re taking about an epic that was sung in remembrance of Achilles. The first word of the Iliad is literally ‘sing’.

Give me back my heart you wingless (thing) —

This could very much be about the fight for Patroclus’ corpse, but Achilles didn’t even know that was happening at the time, so instead I just make it about Achilles wanting Patroclus to be alive again. He does in fact refer to him as “his soul’s far dearer part”.

Think of all the horrors that I promised you I’d bring —

To me, this sounds like Achilles referring to threats he made to Hector about killing him and bringing destruction to his people. While the threats were empty at the time, now, after Patroclus has died, he takes them very seriously.

I promise you, they’ll sing of every time you passed your fingers through my hair and called me child —

In the song, this is the same person as in the lines before and after, considering it’s a song about a father and his son, but to me, this line is about the fact that Achilles wants the affection Patroclus showed him to be remembered. He doesn’t want the love they had to go forgotten. This is 100% caused by the fact that in my writing, Patroclus and Achilles’ hair is a huge thing you might want to look out for if you read it lols. OH also, the fact that he cuts it after Patroclus dies is like a “if you can’t touch it, no one can” moment.

Witness me, old man, I am the wild —

Back to the Trojans. ‘Old man’ here obviously means father but we’ll just ignore that and apply it to Priam, specifically to the scene where he comes to Achilles’ tent and asks for Hector’s corpse back.

You are the son of every dressing up box —

Honestly, I have no idea what this means. It definitely does remind me of Achilles hiding in a costume among the princesses in Skyros, but that doesn’t hold all too much significance. Dressing up is also usually a kids’ game which reminds you that he’s really just a kid pretending to be someone he’s not.

And I am time itself, I slow to let you play. I steal the hours and turn the nights into (day) —

Instead of giving the female voice just to Thetis, I could classify it as divine interference as a whole. This line specifically is giving me Athena vibes, though she is not time itself. The way she refers to what would be battling in this context as ‘playing’ shows how superior she is and how much she looks down upon even her favoured soldiers. It also reiterates for the millionth time that these soldiers are really just children. The fact that Athena has to ‘let’ him or allow him to play illustrates that Achilles is dependent on divine interference to win his battles, but specifically the duel with Hector.

Day by day, oh lord, three things I pray, that I might understand as best I can how bold I was, could be, will be - still am, by god, still am —

Here we get to the self-reflection where Achilles realizes that he was never as great as he thought he’d be, and that he had failed his people by not using that greatness to its full potential. The ‘will be’ and ‘still am’ parts are just him hyping himself up to take revenge on Hector, reminding himself that he does have the strength to do it.

Fret not, dear heart, let not them hear the mutterings of all your fears, the fluttering of all your wings —

I don’t know how deep I can go into this beyond what it literally means. He simply can’t let on that he’s scared. I guess the wings do represent his inner demons, but it’s also kind of funny when you think of him being Podarkes aka. having “winged feet”.

Welcome to the storm, I am thunder —

In the storm that is the war, Achilles is the thunder, the loud thing everyone fears. It’s quite interesting to consider that in reality, thunder is safe. The danger is the lighting. In my mind, Achilles considers Patroclus to be the lightning, which makes sense when you remember that after his death Achilles admits that he is not the best of all Greeks, but Patroclus. This leaves Achilles to be the thunder, the echo of what truly mattered.

Welcome to my table, bring your hunger —

This is similar to the line before. It’s his table, his war. Hector is the one that has to come prepared, ready to fight, but also ready to be served, ready to die.