#spoiling from the last chapter first going backwards

[deathberi]

FINAL FANTASY VII REBIRTH (2024) ↳ Cloud, Aerith, and Sephiroth ➤ Forgotten Capital [ ✧ ]

[ellethespaceunicorn]

The Howling of Claw Creek Forest, Chapter One

Chapter One: Hide and Seek 

Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors - DNI 

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x Reader 

Word Count: 2.7K 

Series Summary: You live in a small town called Claw Creek, surrounded by a deep, dark forest. Since you were a kid, an urban legend of the creature in the woods has been told. If the distant howls at night and mutilated livestock are anything to go by, you fear the stories to be true. 

Chapter Summary: After a curfew is set in place, you and your best friend sneak out past the town border for a drunken game of hide and seek. What could go wrong? 

Warnings: drinking, peril, mention of blood 

A/N: A special thank you to @peyton-warren for being my lovely beta and soundboard for this.  

Dividers by me 

Support/Reblog banner by me 

Cover Art by me 

Series Masterlist 

My Masterlist 

“C’mon, girl. You need to get out of the house for more than just work and the coffee shop. Look, we’ll even stay in town. Just please don’t make me stay in and watch The Great British Bake Off again. Paul Hollywood’s eyes still haunt my dreams.” Your best friend drapes herself against the couch in a dramatic show of boredom. 

“Liv, you’re the one that agreed to wine and TV. So, what? You wanna hit the bar now?” You guess, sitting on the arm of the couch. 

“Yuck. No way. I was thinking of something much more exciting. But you gotta agree to it before we go. That’s the deal.” She props her head up on her fists, while she lays on her stomach, letting her feet swing in the air back and forth. As innocent as she looks, you knew better. 

But then again, you could always go for a little adventure.  

And that is how you ended up in a clearing in Claw Creek Forest with Olivia, a heart full of optimism, and a six-pack of Jack Daniels Watermelon Punch. By the time you are halfway done with your second bottle, the sounds of the night are almost calming. Crickets are chirping, owls are hooting, and leaves are rustling in the light wind that tickles your neck. 

You’re downing the rest of your drink and looking up into the sky when Liv suddenly stands up with a look that can only mean one thing. She’s got a terrible idea that she thinks is genius. 

You decide to stop her before she even starts, “Girl, whatever idea just popped into your head after two wine coolers is not gonna be as brilliant as you think it is. Just say it so I can turn it down.” You twist off the top of your third bottle and look up at the defeated face of your best friend. 

“Damn, way to try and spoil all the fun. I just wanted to have a chugging contest.” She sits down on the fallen log next to you and grabs the last bottle from the cardboard pack. She twists off the top and you nudge her with your elbow before winking at her. 

You smile at each other before bringing your bottles to your lips. The rush of the bubbly drinks makes you both stop every few sips to breathe and burp a little. But in the end, you finish your bottle first and shoot up off the log to slam down your empty bottle. 

The moment you are upright, the blood rushes to your head and you instantly feel ten times more drunk. A few seconds later, you feel like you even out and you can hear Liv’s laughing as she falls backward off the log and her drink goes flying. You crumple to the ground, laughing your ass off, until she pops up over the log with a small scowl on her face. 

“Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?” She stands up and brushes off her pants before picking up her now empty bottle along with yours. Her little attitude is adorable, but you don’t dare say that. As she walks past you, she doesn’t look at you. 

“Olivia, don’t be like that. Come on, girl. We’re having a good time! I don’t want it to end. Please?” You’re not too proud to beg, and she’s not the only one who can pout charmingly. 

When she turns around, the first thing she does is look at your pout and scoff, “OK, fine. But I’m only staying if we play a game of hide and seek. It’s spooky season, after all. Well, technically, in my head it’s always spooky season, but you get it.”  

“You wanna play hide and seek...in the woods...in the dead of night...drunk?” You hoped there was enough moonlight so that she could see the incredulous look on your face. 

Wiggling her eyebrows, Liv bites her bottom lip and says, “All of those things together are so perfect. We’re drunk. It’s nighttime. Spoo-ooky woods all around. Come on, babe, the kid versions of us would be so proud to say we weren’t too scared to play hide and seek as adults with barely any wits about us.” As soon as she finishes speaking, the cutest little hiccup escapes her, and you can’t help but laugh and shake your head. 

“Fine! But I’m hiding first. Count to 30 so my drunk ass can find a good spot around here. And don’t cheat, Liv!” You direct her to face a tree and cover her eyes so she cannot sneak a peek at where you are going. You also make her count loudly so that she can barely hear your footsteps crunching over the leaves. 

Even drunk, you are surprised you can think of all that. You back up slowly, turning around to run in a full sprint in the opposite direction. When the tree cover blocks out the light of the moon, you slow down and pull out your phone to use the flashlight to light up your way. 

You don’t know if you got very far in 30 seconds or if Liv just stopped counting, but you can’t hear her anymore. You turn off your flashlight so she can’t use that to find you. You tip-toe forward in case she has gotten closer to you. You find a tree with large roots above ground and decide to try and hide in the little alcove it is shaped into. 

But something catches your eye. At first, you think someone is shining a flashlight or something a bit away from you. But flashlights don’t usually blink, do they? But if you can remember correctly, you’ve seen those glowing yellow eyes before.  

And now they were slowly moving toward you. The glow of the moon illuminated dark fur covering pointed ears and a muzzle that only hid its teeth for a moment. As those fangs came into view, a billow of hot breath turned into a smoke cloud in the frigid night air. The sudden huff of the beast made you realize you weren’t moving. You were standing stock-still while an imposing wolf thought about making you into its dinner.  

Turning on a dime, you begin to run further into the forest. Not looking where you were going, you didn’t see the pile of rocks in your path. Your right foot slips, and you fall face-first onto the unyielding ground. You grunt as your head connects with a sharp stone. Your head starts to swim as you try to lift yourself to continue running, another huff directly behind you scares you enough to flip over onto your back.  

Ringing starts in your ears, and you suddenly feel light-headed. You start to hyperventilate as the wolf comes closer. As tunnel vision closes in, you think you hear it whine softly. The last thing you feel is a wet snout against your temple and then nothingness. 

What was once the sensation of cold wetness is replaced by warmth as you start to regain consciousness. You reach a hand up to your forehead and feel a wet cloth being pressed against your temple. When your hand touches what is holding it there, your eyes shoot open, and you try and scuttle away.  

A firm hand grips your shoulder, and you find it hard to move. Turning your head slowly, you first look at the hand that holds you down. Thick fingers clutch your joint tightly, and the connected veiny forearm is covered in a smattering of dark chocolate hair. Even under an old woolen sweater, you can see the outline of a sizable bicep. The broad chest breathing heavily under that sweater triggers the onset of hyperventilation until the hand that was holding your shoulder moves away. 

When a warm palm touches your jaw, your eyes threaten to close. But when a thumb brushes your cheek, you finally lock eyes with...an angel? 

You can’t tell if the dimly lit room you are in is fuzzy or if you have a concussion. But if you were a betting person, your money would be on head trauma. Because there was no way he positioned himself in front of a light to have a slight glow about him. Maybe that just works like that? 

Deep cocoa brown curls are about ear-length on his head, but a few unruly strands are hanging above his slightly raised brow. Concerned aquamarine eyes with a touch of brown in the left iris aren’t enough to hide the growing bags under them. A strong nose sits in the center of his face. And a small, yet inviting, mouth is outlined by a dark beard speckled with a few greys here and there. 

“...best you lie back down.” The stranger speaks and you only catch the last bit of it because you were looking at his pretty face. 

“I...,” You start, your hoarse voice causing you to clear your throat, “I’m sorry, what did you say?” 

“I said, it’s probably best you lie back down. You’ve got quite a lump on your head. If I hadn’t found you when I did, who knows what could have happened?” With one hand grabbing for the warm compress, his other hand guides you back down to lay your head on a soft pillow. 

“Found me? Was there a wolf near me? He was huge and he chased after me and then I slipped and hit my head. And where am I? Where are we right now? Who are you? I need to get back to my friend.” Your words exit your mouth hastily as if you are in a rush to get the hell out of...wherever this is. 

“Try and stay calm. Yes, I found you not far from the trail. I didn’t see a wolf anywhere, though,” He pauses quickly, but picks right back up where he left off, “Ehm, my name is Walter. Walter Marshall. We’re in my cabin, just outside of Claw Creek. I didn’t see your friend anywhere but, as soon as this swelling goes down a bit, I can take you into town.” Walter speaks clearly and smoothly, his voice is dark yet pacifying, but it’s obvious that he doesn’t enjoy talking.  

“I guess I should give you my name,” You rattle off your name, and Walter nods, “I’d like to say it’s nice to meet you, Walter. But considering the circumstances of our meeting, this could have gone a lot differently. Not the way I hoped to end the night.” You laugh, mostly to yourself. 

“I should hope not. When I found you, you were still bleeding a bit. I was able to stitch you up and get you cleaned up. But I’d probably go and see a doctor first thing in the morning.” Walter suggests in a strong tone. 

“Thank you, Walter. I hate to think what would’ve happened to me had you not shown up when you did.” Your bottom lip quivers as you think the worst. 

“Hey. You’re stronger than you think. And the swelling has gone down some. Why don’t we get you back to town where you can get more rest?” Walter pats your shoulder and gets up from the chair he was sitting in. 

Your eyes follow him as he moves about the cabin. You realize that you hadn’t looked around before, so focused on him previously. It’s a nice, cozy place. Full of warm, rich colors and various little knickknacks on shelves. It lacks a woman’s touch, so to speak, what with all the antlers and not enough candles to cover the smell of a man. However, it suits the man who lives here. 

Grabbing a set of keys, Walter comes back to where you lay on the couch in the center of the room. He gently and slowly helps you up and off the soft furniture and guides you to his truck parked outside. He helps you into the passenger side, shutting the door when you’re seated, and walks around the front to get in the driver’s side. Turning the key in the ignition, the truck rumbles to life and you are on your way home. 

You’re rubbing your hands together and shoving them into your coat pockets before Walter gets the hint to turn on the heat. It’s only a couple of minutes before it is warm enough to be comfortable.  

The drive down the tree-lined road is mostly silent, save for the low music playing on the radio. Walter points out where he found you and you almost can’t believe you made it that far on foot when you reach the edge of town. But you were drunkenly competitive, so you had your eyes on the prize. 

Once you make it to town, you pass a curfew checkpoint and Walter supplies the officer with a story about how you two lost track of time while out of town. You thank him for the cover and direct him to stop at Olivia’s house to make sure she got home safely. Of course, you told him it was your place, and that Liv was your roommate. 

As handsome as he was, serial killers come in all shapes and sizes and no way were you giving this man your actual address. You’d apologize to Liv later. 

Once he stopped outside of her house, you went to unbuckle yourself and thank Walter for all his help. Protocol for this type of situation eluded you, so when you went for the door handle, you weren’t expecting his voice to stop you. 

“Do me a favor and be careful from now on. No more late-night drinking in the forest. It can be a dangerous place." His calm smile brings out the most adorable dimples and you resist the urge to poke them. 

“I promise. Scout’s honor. No more drunk forest parties. Thank you again for everything.” You place your hand on his arm and squeeze before exiting the truck and waving as you walk up the pathway to Liv’s house. 

The light on the porch turns on and your best friend rushes out and hugs you tightly, bringing you in from the cold as Walter drives off into the night. Once you are in the warmth of her home, she takes your coat and prepares you a cup of tea. She asks who brought you home and you tell her about your ordeal. 

When she asked if he was cute, you shouldn’t have been surprised but you still giggled bashfully. She also playfully swats you when you mention that you didn’t get his number. But that’s fine because at least you have his name.  

Once she deems you safe enough to be on your own, she drives you the few streets over to your home and has you promise to call her in the morning. You take off your boots at the door, remove your coat, and start to sling it over the back of one of your dining room chairs. As you look closer at your coat, you make a note to take it to the cleaners tomorrow. 

You survey the coat for any damage to the fabric and thankfully it just looks a bit dirty. You begin to wipe it with your hand and notice that it’s not all dirt on the coat. You can’t be sure, but if you had to guess what was on the sleeve and collar of the coat, you would say it was dog hair. 

Coarse, short dark-colored hairs that when you hold them under a lamp look to be an inky brown. You try and stop yourself from jumping to conclusions, but it is almost impossible not to do that very thing. If these truly were what you thought they were, that means that you didn’t hallucinate that giant wolf. He was there with you, and he didn’t eat you. 

You decided to get to the bottom of this. You’d schedule a check-up with your doctor in the morning. And after that, you would go back into the woods.  

In search of the wolf? Possibly. In search of the truth? Definitely. 

There was only one place to start. At Walter Marshall’s front door. 

To be continued... 

A/N: Walter is finally in the story!! Yay. I really hope you all enjoyed this chapter.

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[deeznutzzzz24]

Little Red Riding Hood

Chapter Four: Reckoning Day

Summary: Living a life of caution for as long as she can remember, Y/N has never stayed too long in one place, always moving from town to town in hopes to hide her identity. With the Hunters Moon coming, she knows she must be extra careful, as the local culture resides heavily in the hunting of her kind. One night, when a cloaked figure unveils her secret and narrowly escapes, Y/N finds herself in a desperate situation: kill or be killed. With no face to go by, she must now search through the townsfolk before the stranger can spread the truth about her. But the task proves more than difficult when she realises her only lead is a long, crimson cloak.

Genre: horror, fantasy, little red riding hood retelling

Warnings:cursing, stalking, death

Pairing: redridinghood!Jungwon x femwolf!reader

chapter one here

chapter two here

chapter three here

The trek through the forest is long, awkward, and incredibly quiet.

Jungwon trails behind me now, walking at a hesitant pace to ensure there’s enough distance between us.

He hasn’t said anything since we left Mary’s cottage, but then again, neither have I.

Stopping in the middle of the forests path, I wait for Jungwon to catch up to me. Just as quickly, however, he comes to a stop too, taking a step backward. “Is there something wrong?” His soft voice is soft and calm, or at least that’s how he wants it to sound. I can hear it brimming with fear.

“My dress…” I pout, pointing to the taut fabric stuck to a tree, “its caught on a branch.”

I hear him suck in a breath.

I don’t have to be telepathic to know he’s contemplating how to escape this. He’s afraid of me. And I intend to find out why.

Despite my obvious impatience, he makes no move to come closer. “Have you tried tugging it?” His voice is gentle, as though not to test my patience further.

“Twice, but it just won’t budge…” I muster the most helpless face possible and plaster it against my skin.

He’s calculating his options. He knows I’m close to Mary. He also knows I will relay all his actions to her when and if she should ask.

If Mary were to find out that her grandson refused to help her dear sweet Y/N, she’d make his stay in Avion a living hell.

He grimaces, slowly moving forward and kneeling before me. Gently manoeuvring the fabric away from the branch, he carefully tugs at the loose fragments so they don’t rip. I peer down at him, catching the way his jaw clenches in determination.

If he is who I think he is, I’m going to have to play at this very carefully. Helena and I didn’t just spend an entire year planning a siege on Avion just for it to be spoiled by a boy. Besides, it wouldn’t work if I killed him now. While Mary would likely take my side, I have no doubt the Council will point their stubby fingers to me. Not to mention, if I kill him now, everyone will know I was the last person he was seen with.

Helena’s words echo through my ears.

All good things come to those who wait.

She’s right, as always.

If I want this boy dead, I’m going to have to play chess with him first. And the first step is to move his piece as close to mine as possible so that when he gets there, I’ll be able to lean over and snap his neck.

————————-

We make it to the town pathway and bid our farewells, parting ways in the opposite directions. The walk was quick and silent, as expected.

After the incident with the branch, I didn’t initiate any further conversation. It wasn’t like there was really any point, anyway. Every time I tried to, he’d give brief, quiet answers.

I make it to the Avion welcome post and turn back to watch him walk away. I study his figure, comparing it with a memory of a red cloak running away into the forest. Jungwon has a similar build, but then again, so do most young Avion men. Lean, tall with broad shoulders. It could’ve been anyone.

Yes, I shouldn’t be so quick to make assumptions. I need something more solid. Something clearer.

But it’s no use. The strangers face was covered during our tumble, and I can’t go by his voice as he never actually spoke. My memories can’t disclose any detailed traits, only the image of a long, dark red cloak descending into the darkness remains.

Casting one last glance back to him, I turn around to resume my journey.

A fleeting memory evades my mind and I whirl back around.

His leg.

I threw a heavy rock at him during our tumble, which by any measure, would’ve given him a noticeable limp. If it really is him, his leg will give him away for sure.

But it’s too late, Jungwon is long gone, his figure completely swallowed by the darkness of the forest.

I contemplate running after him, but it’s no use. The last thing I need is for him to know I’m onto him. It’s not like his leg can heal itself overnight.

Helena’s voice rings through my head once more.

All good things come to those who wait.

Yes.

I’ll check tomorrow.

——————————————

Roaming through endless stretches of darkness, I come to a stop as I notice something out of place. It takes me a good five minutes to realise I’m lost. You’d think such a thing to be impossible, considering werewolves simply don’t get lost. The forest is both their home and hunting ground, not to mention, I’ve hunted in these woods every night for almost a year.

Hiding under the stark shadows of the moon, a grand chapel stands proud against the quiet blur of forest, its walls painted with breathtaking swirls of gold and white.

I eye the barren gates blocking my view.

Hmmm.

I know the dark forest better than the back of my hand. The curve of every leaf, the song of every house sparrow, the whisper of every hallowed tree hidden beneath the southern sky. I would’ve noticed a grand fixture like this if I’d seen it.

You definitely weren’t here before, were you?

But, no. The trees, the shade of ebony green flooding through the forest, it’s too…..unfamiliar.

I come to the realisation that this isn’t the Dark Forest at all, but somewhere else entirely different.

Maybe I’ve gone mad…

I shrug at the thought and move forward. The gates open silently as I pass through, standing firm as I come to a stop before the chapels smooth marble steps.

Unlike the entrance, however, the grand doors make no move to welcome me inside.

Cocking my head to the side, I lift a hand to the smooth white surface, giving three firm knocks.

No response.

I sigh, turning to retreat.

They can probably sense my dark magic through the doors. It’s clear I’m not welcome in such a holy place.

Before I can turn away, a thrum of noise echoes from the other side.

Without warning, the right door creaks open, defying its twin, who stays stubbornly stuck in place as I pass through.

The interior is enormous, boasting a grand sea of pews that face a massive podium. It’s windows shower a heavenly glow from the outside world onto its empty seats.

I stop in my tracks, glancing back to the grand doors from which I came.

They’re shut solid.

Huh….

I could’ve sworn it was night time.

I turn back to the windows. Observing the harsh stretch of white oblivion behind them, I come to the sensible conclusion that I have indeed gone mad.

This place is filled with magic.

Magic has been banned from Avion since the Dark Ages.

Yes, I’m not in Avion at all, rather somewhere else entirely.

Small echoes of church choir embrace me from every corner as all thoughts of realism slip between my fingertips like sand.

I look around, expecting to find a hoard of quire children singing their hearts out, but the chapel remains empty.

Well, almost.

In the distance, I spot a figure sitting alone in the first row of pews. His back faces me as his fingers clasp desperately together in prayer, hands held high above his head. He’s too far away to call out to, so I go to step closer, only for a soft voice to stop me.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I whip my head around, fingers dancing across the hilt of my dagger with caution.

A tall young man stands at my side, admiring a large mural hanging high on the wall before him. I observe his long robes, taking careful notice of the golden silk adorning his cuffs.

A Priests cuffs.

Naturally, my gaze lifts to look upon his face, only to choke on my own breath as I realise he doesn’t have one.

That’s it, I’ve officially gone mad.

Face covered by a cloud of beige blur, the stranger stands patiently to the side as he waits for my response. It’s nearly impossible to see what he looks like.

“Beautiful?” I glance to the giant engraving of Christ before us, cocking my head to the side as I inspect its infinite detail. The carving depicts a heart wrenching image of Jesus hanging limp against the cross, his features scrunched in agony as onlookers watch his suffering from afar, unmoving from their posts.

I glance over to him, cocking a small grin. “A Priest who delights in the suffering of Christ? I can’t say I’ve met one until now.” Though I can’t be sure, I feel his smile widen at my remark.

“I’m no Priest, though I’m flattered you think so. And it isn’t Christ’s suffering I find beautiful, but rather his sacrifice.” His voice remains calm, a beacon of gentle reprieve.

Stopping in brief intervals to observe the artistry of each portrait, I hear him follow behind me as we trail down the hall, coming to a large portrait of gods greatest disciples standing atop a grand table. For a fleeting moment, I allow myself to admire them in all their glory, that is, until I realise they’re cowering above the table as a group of atheists throw food at them from below.

Why would a painting like this be allowed in here?

“What sacrifice?” I laugh, nodding my head back towards the last mural. “The one where he ties himself to a wooden post and lets people stab at him?”

He laughs, his voice a soft, song like noise that feels sinful to listen to. “You don’t believe his suffering to be honourable?”

I shrug, turning my head to the side. “A noble sacrifice, I’m sure.” My eyes dance along the carved lines, tracing the fervent colours that connect the faithful. “But a pointless one all the same.”

I hear him scoff beside me. “How so?” I glance across, scanning the blurry haze that clouds his face. “Please,” he laughs in derision, motioning a hand towards the painting, “indulge me, little bird.” I can’t help but cringe at the nickname.

Without thinking, my hand reaches up towards the engraving, letting my lips explain the difference between reality and blind faith. “Most believe God sacrificed his sons life to teach us a lesson,” my fingertips trace the carved lines as I continue, “to eradicate the temptation to sin, by showing us that his very weak, very mortal son would live a life without sin, only to die for the price of ours. An honourable contribution and yet, look at them.” I motion to the carved audience watching Christ’s suffering from afar, whose faces stain with worry and fear. Among the carved crowd, my fingers find that of a mother clutching her young son as they watch on in horror.

They, much like the rest of those watching, make no move to release Christ from his restraints. Some faithful indeed.

I turn to face him now, staring into a hidden face with features I can’t quite make out, “Such a noble sacrifice, and for what? The mortals Christ died for? They don’t care. They may hang crosses above their dinner tables and dress for church every Sunday, but their blood boils with sin. It is the very beat of our hearts between each breath that condemns us.“ I pause and lift my head high, reciting the verse my mother used to drill into me as a child, “It’s as the judgement reads, ‘we are all sinners, though some of us are far better at hiding it than others.’”

The stranger makes no move to argue with my reason. Instead, he remains silent, and though I can’t quite see, I’m certain I feel his gaze burning straight through me. “And I suppose you would consider yourself such a person?” He asks softly, as though he’s sure of my answer.

I laugh and shake my head. “I used to be. But I’m afraid a rather…..” I pause, briefly hesitating as I trace the outline of an edge, “unfortunate shortcoming has exposed a sin of mine.” My fingertip gets caught on a jagged edge, and I watch in silence as it slices through taut skin with ease.

Small drops of blood fall to the floor.

“I suppose I’m not as good at hiding my flaws as I thought.” I murmur that last part, unsure if I even meant for him to hear.

The young man steps closer, stopping just short of contact, watching, waiting, searching for something. At this proximity, I can almost make out the soft glaze of ebony eyes. Its clear he wants to ask me something, though it seems he already knows the answer. While the small distance makes me feel uneasy, I don’t turn away, opting to neglect my emotions as he involuntarily unveils them.

Anything.

His eyes nearly plead the word, as though he wants me to confess something to him. After a long moment, he realises that’s not going to happen and turns away.

He motions to a mural on our right. I follow his hand, expecting to find another glorified portrait of Christ, but no, this one’s not quite like the others at all.

Its canvas spews a swirl of fiery reds across its surface, painting a picture of terrified mortals falling into a pit of hellfire from above. I look down to its description plaque. Its design is different from the rest, with three short words etched against a small, non descriptive plate of metal.

Day of Reckoning.

Unlike the rest, it bears no mention of a deeper meaning.

“Dishonesty is the quickest path to evil. You’ll do well to remember that, little bird.” I watch in silence as he lifts a hand out to graze a finger against the canvas. “They had sins too.” He sighs. “And like you, they chose to hide them from their forefathers.” He motions to the boiling pit of hellfire. “Of course, all sinners eventually go to hell, but there’s a special place for those who try and keep those sins secret.” I feel his gaze burn through me.

Before I can respond, he turns abruptly and resumes his stroll down the hall. He doesn’t look back as he calls out. “The day of reckoning will come, little bird. First, with your confession,” I watch in silence as he descends into the darkness of the Abbey, hands held firm behind his back, “and then with mine.”

————————

Scanning the Abbey’s pews for the lone figure I spotted earlier, my eyes hunt for any sign of movement, but it seems he too, is long gone.

The church quire still echoes in the distance, but the chapel is truly empty now. My only company is the tall shadow attached at my feet.

Small drops of water fall nearby from a leaky faucet. Turning to confront the noise, I come to face a stone well that sits dead centre in the middle of the Abbey.

What the hell is a well doing inside a church?

I creep forward, itching with the need to see what lays inside.

Instead of water, I’m greeted with an endless stretch of black oblivion that seems to stretch on forever. An empty well? Surely not. Perhaps it does have water at the end. Perhaps it’s too dark for me to tell.

A thought spears at my mind and my blood runs cold with dread.

Perhaps it doesn’t have an end at all.

Curiosity gets the better of me as I grip one hand to the stone corner and lean over, squinting against the darkness.

Still, I see no sign of an end to the well. It simply goes on and on, and I wonder, for real this time, where I truly am.

Before my mind can spiral a thousand different theories, a cold hand attaches itself to the small of my back and pushes me in.

I let out a panicked gasp and reach out for a pillar or a slab of stone I can grab onto, but it’s too late, I’m already falling down, down, down until there’s no more down to fall.

Before I plummet into the last depth of darkness, I whip my head to the cloaked figure that pushed me in, forcing my eyes to adjust to the darkness as the figure watches me from the top of the well. Face concealed by the shadow of his hood, the stranger turns to retreat, leaving a small corner of his red cloak to flap behind him before he disappears completely out of sight.

I force my drooping eyes open, denying them the reprieve of sleep as they try to whisper sweet nothings in my ear.

A red cloak.

My breath catches in my throat, and I question my sanity as I fall further down the well.

Wait, or was it orange? Maybe an amber beige?

But the colour of the cloak is no matter now, for my eyes are much too tired and my bones much too sore. I feel the bottom of the well nearing and briefly ponder the thought of death.

I’ve heard stories that when one dies they experience a slow peace that floods them from all sides. All the beautiful memories of their life flash before their eyes in slow motion.

Where is this the peace they speak of?

Why isn’t everything in slow motion? Why instead, am I falling ridiculously fast to my death?

Is this what it’s really like? A tumbling, torturous rotation of fear? A well with no end? A faceless figure?

I hear the echo of my screams ricochet off the bottom of the well, and when I glance behind me I realise I was right.

There is water after all.

An endless, black pit of it.

———————————-

Authors Note:

…..I have no words for how sorry I am at how long it took me to write this……..

…..really, no words…..🥲🔫

Taglist:

@ramenoil @moonmoongi @chlorinecake @denleave1088 @cha0thicpisces @w3bqrl @yu-yin-04 @rizzhee @babyy-bambii

[rynneer]

Misty Memories Cold

When you wake in Fíli’s bed with no recollection of anything after an accident in Mirkwood, he’s ready to risk anything, even his uncle’s wrath, to bring back what you had together.

<< Beginning | < Previous

Chapter 8

“I don’t think I’ll ever move again,” Fíli declares. You watch through the mirror as he falls backwards onto the bed.

It’s not the fanciest of rooms, furnished with just the large bed, a vanity, and a bedside table with tray of fruit and a bottle of wine. Not quite fit for visiting royalty, but Fíli, sinking ever deeper into the plush mattress, doesn’t seem to mind. “These are definitely better accommodations than the last time we were here.”

“Oh?” you ask, standing from the vanity as you run a comb through your hair. “And what were those accommodations like?”

“Cold, hard, cramped… a typical dungeon. But it wasn’t all bad.” Fíli sits up, leaning back on his elbows and watching you through half-closed eyes. “I remember it quite fondly, in fact.”

“Seriously? Why?”

Fíli smiles. “That’s when I first said I love you.” He stands and closes the distance between you, gently stroking your cheek. “It’s where we had our first kiss. I must say, you were quite aggressive about it,” he adds with a chuckle. He closes his hand around yours and places the comb back on the counter, running his fingers through your hair instead.

“Me?!” you exclaim in mock indignation, struggling to hold back a smile.

“Yes, you!” he laughs. “You yanked me in by the collar! I would have been more gentle. Like this.” Fíli cups your face in his hands, bringing his lips down to meet yours in soft yet hungry kisses, over and over again.

You let out a small whine as you stand on your toes and wrap your arms around his neck. “Fíli…” The playful mood vanishes, replaced with desperation.

His calloused hands leave your face, ghosting down your neck, your chest, your waist, finally resting on your hips. “You’re wearing one of my tunics, you little thief,” Fíli mutters, pulling away to smirk at you. His fingers dance along the hem of your stolen nightwear, tickling your skin. “I’d quite like it back.”

You’re still breathless from his kisses, barely drawing in enough air to reply. “Take it.”

It’s all the encouragement he needs. Fíli slips his hands under the tunic, sliding it up and over your head. He takes half a step back, eyes running up and down his wife’s figure. “Mahal, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs as he takes you in his arms once more. “I’ve missed this.” He plants gentle kisses down your scarred cheek until he reaches your neck. His bristly beard rasps against your sensitive skin, the prickling immediately soothed by the cool metal of his beads. “I’ve missed you.”

You whine his name again and tug at the front of his nightshirt. Fíli pauses just long enough to let you undo the buttons and toss it aside. He swiftly pushes you down onto the bed, covering you with his warm, heavy body. His mouth returns to yours and he lets out a deep growl of approval, tongue running along your bottom lip.

You part your lips to grant his request, but a low groan from the neighboring room makes you freeze. Fíli sits up. You prop yourself up on your elbows, barely breathing.

Another groan, louder this time, ending in a sharp cry. “Tauriel… Tauriel, please…”

You and Fíli lock eyes, your disbelief reflected on his face. “Is that… is that Kíli?” you whisper.

Fíli drops back down onto you with a huff and buries his face in the sheets next to your head. “Trust my little brother to ruin the mood.”

“I don’t know,” you snicker, “it sounds like they’re having a great time.”

“Should I go tell them to be quiet?”

“And spoil their fun? That’d be cruel!”

“They spoiled ours!” Fíli protests, lifting his face from the sheets. But his annoyed expression melts away as his eyes sweep over your body again. “I suppose we can ignore them for a little while,” he concedes, resting his forehead against yours. “Now, where were we?”

His knee lands between your thighs to part them, but you wince in pain when his leg brushes against your bandaged calf. Fíli immediately withdraws. “Did I hurt you?”

“It’s just my leg. I’m fine,” you say through gritted teeth. The bandage is warm to the touch and slightly swollen.

“Maybe we should just get some rest instead,” Fíli suggests. He plants a quick kiss on your forehead when he sees the disappointment on your face. “We’ll have plenty of time for this later.” Fíli leans over the side of the bed and retrieves his tunic, slipping it back over your head. As his head hits the pillow, he lets out a long sigh, then opens up his arm to you.

You oblige, curling up against his side and laying your head on his chest. His arm around you is tight and warm, his heartbeat steady in your ear. You lie still for a while, then lift your head. “Do you think he’s on top or bottom?”

“Y/N! That is my brother!” Fíli scolds you, pushing your head back down. But you feel him holding his breath, listening closely. “Oh, he’s definitely on the bottom.”

The Company is ahead of you. You do not recognize these mountains. It is dark. It is cold. You are falling behind.

Someone near the back pauses. They turn and call your name. Pick up the pace, they say.

You open your mouth to reply. The words come slowly. They feel foreign on your tongue. Slow down, let me catch up. Trudging through the snow, your feet grow heavy. The snow traps your ankles like thick mud. It refuses to let you move.

The Company grows distant. Wait! you cry. Please, I’m stuck!

They do not hear you. You manage to free a foot and take one step. Another step. You collide with an invisible wall.

You can barely see the Company now.

Help! Please, don’t leave me! You bang your first on the wall.

They do not hear you.

Did they ever hear you?

Were you ever really there?

Morning comes with a firm knock on your door. “The king awaits,” a voice announces.

You groan and bury your face in Fíli’s neck.

Fíli chuckles and gently tugs at your hair. “Come on, love. Time to get up.” He slides his arm out from underneath you and sits up, ignoring your protests as he abandons the bed.

A wave of dizziness washes over you when you sit up. You brace an arm against the headboard and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to stop the world from spinning around you.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” You wave away Fíli’s concern and take a few steadying breaths.

His eyes continue to track you as you dress, not at all convinced by your dismissal. He takes note when you press your hand against your mouth, trying to push down a sudden surge of nausea. He sees your slight limp as you avoid putting weight on your injured leg. His brow furrows, but he remains quiet. You’d tell him if you felt ill, he reassures himself. But even so, he takes your arm and lets you lean on him, just barely, as you follow your escort to the Elvenking’s throne room.

Fíli seems thoroughly unimpressed with the woodland elves’ halls. You, however, marvel at the grand staircases, the walkways carved from stone, all illuminated by bright torchlight. Your escort ushers you through a large set of doors, giving you a small nod. Tauriel moves smoothly to walk in front of you, shoulders back and head high.

You tighten your grip on Fíli’s arm as you approach the throne, eying Thranduil warily.

“Manners, Y/N,” he whispers, freeing himself from your hand and bowing slightly to the king. You follow suit, then grab his arm again.

Thranduil reclines in his seat, tilting his head curiously. “The princes and princess of Erebor,” he muses with narrowed eyes. “It must truly be an important matter if the King Under the Mountain is willing to send his heirs.” His eyes flick to Tauriel. “You have returned early, and without your charges.”

She dips her head. “I would not have returned so quickly if I did not believe this to be serious, my lord.”

“Continue, then.”

Tauriel closes her eyes for a moment as if gathering herself. “Princess Y/N suffers from an ailment of the mind. I believe it to be magic in nature—magic borne of Mirkwood.”

The king raises an eyebrow. “And what sort of ailment troubles her?”

“It was that stupid stream,” Kíli interjects. “It…”

You’re dizzy again, darkness creeping in at the edges of your vision. Kíli is still talking, but his voice sounds strangely far away. Your grip on Fíli’s arm tightens as you struggle to stay upright.

Fíli notices immediately. He takes a few steps back, putting Tauriel between you and Thranduil. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a little dizzy,” you say. The darkness fades with a few blinks. “It’ll pass.”

The prince frowns and pulls you to the side of the room, evidently trusting his brother and Tauriel enough to plead your case themselves.

“You’re keeping something from me. Out with it,” he orders. He fixes you with a stern look, one he surely learned from watching his uncle.

You squirm a bit under his gaze, then sigh. “Fine. I’ve had a few dizzy spells today. And some nausea. But it’s nothing, I promise,” you insist.

Fíli opens his mouth to speak, brows set low, but a whisper from Kíli interrupts him.

“Get back here!” he hisses. “This is about you!”

Fíli nods curtly at his brother, shooting you a look that tells you he’s not finished with this subject yet. He shakes his head slightly at Tauriel as she raises a brow in question.

“So, you have run afoul of the powers of Mirkwood,” Thranduil fixes his full attention on you. “And you come seeking aid.”

“Can you help us?” Your voice comes out stronger than you expected.

“No.”

Silence descends upon the room as the four of you stare at the king, stunned.

It’s Kíli who jumps in first. “Can’t help,” he begins with a growl, “or won’t?”

Tauriel brushes her fingers against his arm. A warning, and a gesture that does not go unnoticed by Thranduil.

“I will forgive your insolence this time, Prince Kíli,” he replies slowly. “But I would advise you against testing my patience further. We cannot provide the help your princess needs,” he continues. “The magic of Mirkwood runs deep. It is an old magic, and not ours to command. It would be an extraordinary healer indeed who could cure whatever ails you, if it is even possible. You will not find such a healer in these lands.”

Your shoulders slump and tears sting your eyes. So that’s it, then. A year of your life, gone forever. The memories of Fíli’s confession of love, of your wedding, of your first time together, all whisked away like spider silk in the breeze.

“Extraordinary healer…” Fíli mutters, brow creased in thought. “What about Elrond? Could he do it?”

All eyes turn to him. Even Thranduil is caught by surprise. “I suppose… if you really mean to pursue this… I will not stop you. But remember,” he suddenly leans forward, looking at you intently as he continues, “interfering with old magic is a dangerous game, daughter of Man. You would do well to remember your place in this world. Do not forget where you come from.”

Beside you, Fíli bristles, but you simply nod. “That’s it, then. Rivendell. Thank you, Your Highness.” You dip your head to Thranduil. “We’ll, uh, we will take our leave then.”

Thranduil nods, waving a hand to dismiss you. Tauriel and Kíli waste no time in heading for the door, the she-elf striding with purpose. Your hand closes around Fíli’s as you quickly follow, fighting the urge to run straight to Rivendell this very second. Rivendell! A beacon of hope and safety, a chance to reclaim your life!

“Tauriel.”

She halts, turning back to her king. “Yes, my lord?”

“You are released from my service.” Thranduil rubs his forefinger and thumb together idly, tone light, as if he had merely remarked on the weather.

Tauriel stands frozen. It takes a few tries before the words come out. “My lord?” she manages.

“It is clear that you have cast your lot with the dwarves. You are released from the service of Mirkwood.” Thranduil looks directly at her, the casual mask dropping away, eyes sharp as flint. “You may go now.”

It’s as if her feet have taken on roots. Tauriel’s mouth opens and closes silently, her carefully maintained composure slipping away with each passing second. Tears shimmer in the corners of her eyes.

“Come on, Taur,” Kíli murmurs. He laces his fingers with the elf’s, gently pulling her from the hall. “It’s not worth it. Let’s go.”

Tauriel stumbles slightly, but lets him lead her through the winding corridors to your twin set of guest chambers. Each step is stiff, her eyes staring into the distance.

“Will she be okay?” you whisper to Kíli as he ushers the elf into his room. His only reply is a grimace and a shrug before he shuts the door.

You sigh as you enter your own room, your excitement for the next step of your quest nearly forgotten. You join Fíli as he sits on the edge of the bed, plucking at the dark red duvet.

“So,” he says at last, clearing his throat. “Rivendell?”

Leaning against him wearily, you nod. “Rivendell.”

It didn’t take long for the elves to come for you once you woke.

You lay with your head in Fíli’s lap, both a little tired after the… excitement of your mutual confessions. He dragged his fingers through your hair, a lazy smile pulling at his lips as he imagined all the beautiful braids he would weave into it. Braids, beads, clips, ties, all showing the world that you were his.

You opened your eyes halfway, chuckling at his expression. “I never expected the lion prince of Durin’s folk to be so soft,” you teased. You reached up and tugged at his mustache playfully.

“Only for you, amrâlimê.” He kissed his fingers and pressed them against your lips.

Sitting up, you leaned in expectantly. “A real kiss, please,” you requested, closing your eyes in anticipation. Fíli answered with a soft peck on the lips.

Across the hallway, Bofur shook his head in amusement. “Regular pair o’ lovebirds, the two of you,” he laughed. “Careful lad, keep that up and she’ll be mounting you before you know it!” His remark drew chuckles from the other dwarves in earshot, and an eye-roll from Kíli.

Fíli draped his arm over your shoulder and rested his head against yours. “They’ll be insufferable once we’re out of here. I’m sure it won’t take long?” He gave you a questioning glance, but you pressed your lips together tightly and shook your head. No spoilers. “Worth a shot,” he mumbled with a shrug.

You pushed his head off of yours and leaned into him. “I’m tired,” you murmured.

“If I let you go to sleep, how will I know you’ll wake again?”

“If you try to wake me up, I’ll smack you.”

“I suppose that would work.”

You smiled, sinking down and further nestling into his side, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of another person for the first time in so long. He adjusted his arm around you and stroked his thumb up and down your arm as you drifted off.

You kept your word, swatting away the hand gently squeezing your shoulder. “Geddoff,” you grumbled.

“I suggest you try a little harder to wake her,” a dry voice remarked.

You cracked an eye open. A shadow loomed over the two of you, belonging to a tall redhead. Tauriel’s guard uniform was neat, not a single crooked seam, no hair out of place. It contrasted starkly with the dwarves’ worn-out clothing you’d grown used to seeing.

“Up. You have an audience with the king.”

“I didn’t ask for one,” you muttered as you untangled yourself from Fíli and stood. You dusted yourself off and ran a hand through your hair to straighten it. She turned the key in the lock and pulled open the door, motioning for you to follow her.

Fíli stood as well, but she quickly shut the door again. It nearly hit him in the face.

“Just her,” she said.

Fíli squared his shoulders and fixed the elf with a glare.

You reached back through the bars to squeeze his arm. “I’ll be fine,” you reassured him.

“If they do anything to you–”

“They won’t, Fee.” You cut him off firmly but offered one last squeeze before moving to follow Tauriel through the winding halls.

“Y/N!” A relieved call echoed through the hall.

Thorin!

Another guard was escorting the dwarf back toward his cell on the lowest level. Thorin jerked his shoulder away from the elf. “Can a dwarf not have a moment to comfort his frightened ward?” he demanded with a glare.

The elf hesitated, then halted with a sigh.

Ward? As you approached, he reached out and folded you into an embrace, startling you. “The others?” he whispered in your ear, dropping his act.

“They’re alright.”

“Baggins?”

“Don’t worry about him.”

“How long here?”

“A few weeks.”

Thorin sighed and pulled away, then paused. “I’m glad to see you awake.” He offered you a brief, small, real smile, before his guard whisked him away.

Tauriel raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She guided you to walk next to her as you entered the throne room. Tauriel bowed to the king and moved off to the side. “My lord.”

Your heart hammered in your chest and your hands shook slightly as Thranduil stared down at you. You quickly hid them behind the back. That damned headache began pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

“You are a strange one,” he said, rising from the throne and approaching you. The king circled you slowly, head tilted. “You are no dwarf…” With each word, he took another long step. “And yet too tall for a hobbit.”

Step. Step. Step.

“Then you must be a daughter of Man—ah, but you are so small.” Thranduil came to a stop back in front of you. He bent over to look you in the eye. “How curious.”

You did your best to hold eye contact, but his gaze was too intense. Your eyes dropped to the ground.

Thranduil straightened back up. “Perhaps you will be more willing than your leader to share the purpose of your journey?” Again, he circled you. “Perhaps we could find more suitable accommodations for a lady. Finer clothing, finer food. Safe passage home, even.”

Your stomach growled at just the mention of food. It would be so easy… a bed to soothe the aches from sleeping on stone… maybe even a bath… But you shook away the thought as you pictured the betrayed faces of the Company, of Fíli. No, you would not be bought by luxury. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“Such loyalty,” he tutted. “But why? They are not your people.”

“They’re the closest I’ve got,” you shot back.

Your sudden defiance seemed to amuse the Elvenking, who chuckled. He turned back to his throne and waved a hand lazily. “You may go.”

“Wait, that’s all?” Did he really summon you just to stare at you and bribe you?

“That is all. If you will say nothing, you are of no use to me. Tauriel, please.”

“Yes, my lord.” The she-elf escorted you from the room, swiftly guiding you back to your cell.

Fíli leapt to his feet when he saw you, gripping the bars of the door. “Y/N!” He ran his hands down your sides as Tauriel returned you to your little cave. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

You gently pushed his frantic hands away. “I’m okay.” With a huff, you sat down against the wall. You crossed your arms. “They called me small.”

“Well…” Fíli sat down next to you. “…you are small, my love.”

You looked over at him briefly, deflating. “I don’t like this,” you sighed, resting your chin on your knees and wrapping your arms around your legs.

Fíli nudged your head with his own affectionately. “I think you’re perfect,” he offered. “You fit just right in my arms.” To emphasize his point, he pulled at your arm to uncurl you and bring you into his lap.

You allowed him to arrange you in a more comfortable position, resting your head on his shoulder. You closed your eyes in hopes of resuming your interrupted nap.

“…Y/N?” Fíli’s quiet voice made you stir. “May I ask you something?”

“Mmph,” you mumbled.

The blonde prince hesitated, finally clearing his throat. “Would you… if you could choose… would you… stay? Here? With us?”

Something told you he wasn’t referring to your little cell. You drew back, taking your time with an answer as you stared at him. The pink lips, chapped but soft. Little strands of straw-colored hair sticking out of his braids. How his forehead creased in worry as you remained silent.

It’d been at least six months since the unexpected party at Bag End. Memories of your home flashed through your head, making your heart ache.

But had you ever felt such fierce affection before? You were already in Middle Earth. Would it really be so terrible to just… stay?

Finally, you leaned back in and wound your arms around his neck. With a content sigh, you buried your face against his skin. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I think I could stay.”

And the headache faded.

[robertwaltons]

Hii

Would you ever create a timeline for your Walton character study or in companionship with your fic?

Obviously no pressure to do so.

Thanks!

hiiii omg that’s such a great question! so i have been keeping track of the timeline i’m working off and basing the structure of my writing around in my notes because i’m a massive nerd about these things lol

it’s something i’ve given a lot of thought to since it involves both canon elements (e.g. the dates and months given for certain events in walton’s letters) and headcanon stuff that i have come up with by extrapolating on existing information in the novel itself

so for example, i decided robert and margaret were born in 1770 because:

walton’s voyage must take place in the 1700s because of the incomplete dates given in the letters throughout the novel (17—) among other reasons

walton’s references to coleridge (and the others throughout the novel) can be interpreted as just allusions to shelley taking inspiration from a fellow author she respected and knew personally, but i decided to take walton’s familiarity with his work literally and factor it into figuring out the exact time frame of his voyage — the rime of the ancient mariner in coleridge and wordsworth’s lyrical ballads was published in 1798, meaning that the earliest walton’s narrative could have began was the winter of that year. since the first letter to margaret is dated december and the last in summer of the next year, that means he would have set out from archangel in june 1799 and met victor in august

in his second letter dated 28th of march walton states that he is 28 years old; working backwards, he would then have been born in either 1770 or early 1771; i chose the former because i had already decided he and margaret were born in december (they’re sagittarius! ♐️)

sorry that’s SO long-winded and not what you asked about at all lmao but hopefully it explains how i’ve figured out some of the pre-canon stuff in my timeline at least!

the post-canon stuff that i’m working on at the minute is more tricky as there’s obviously no book information to go off of and i’m literally just making stuff up helpppp

ALL OF THIS TO SAY! i will definitely work on creating and posting a timeline for the whole thing that i can update as i go (since there’s stuff that i have planned for the future that i don’t want to spoil until i post those chapters) and that people can check out if they’re interested!

clearly i get very uhhh very excited when people ask about my fic so tysm for indulging me 🥺

[bedlamsbard]

500 words written today -- cut the last hundred or so words of the fight scene, rewrote them, feel happier about it now. Watched the first Mission: Impossible movie for the first time (I've never seen any of the M:I movies somehow), cut two inches off my hair with my fabric scissors (suddenly got fed up with my hair and thought about doing a Big Chop, but for that I'd probably better go to a salon), did three loads of laundry, went grocery shopping, went down a FB sourdough group rabbit hole and rediscovered that I am pretty laissez-faire about my sourdough compared to many people (well, if human beings could do it for millennia without all the intensity...), rewatched the Ultron ep of What If (I could fight What If and win; it drives me up the wall in very, very specific ways).

Snippet from Of Home Near chapter 11 (that's Dottie).

Peggy saw the flicker of movement in the open doorway from which Petkus had appeared the instant after Natasha had passed it.  She fired and Natasha whirled, her expression startled for an instant, like she thought that Peggy had been aiming at her. If Peggy ever shot her, it wouldn’t be in the back. Then a tall blonde woman emerged out of the darkness of the open doorway, slamming a kick up at Natasha’s chest.  Natasha fell back from it; at first Peggy thought it connected and then she realized Natasha had thrown herself backwards into a momentary handstand to avoid it, coming upright again and already moving into a roundhouse kick of her own.  The blonde ducked it, a knife suddenly gleaming in her hand as she darted forward.  Natasha swayed out of the way, her left wrist coming up to force the other woman’s knife hand aside.  The blonde grabbed her other wrist just above the now-glowing bracelets, her gaze flickering quickly towards them, aware that they were a weapon but not certain how. “You must be Mrs. Rogers,” she said in broad American English. “Your husband and I had a nice talk.” “Where is he?” Natasha said, her voice cold. “What, and spoil all this?  Aren’t you having fun, Natasha?  Don’t tell me you haven’t missed the old days.” 

[starburstfloat]

Coming-of-age Spotlight: TXT’s Name Chapter Thematic Parallels to Spirited Away

TXT’s latest album The Name Chapter: Temptation is a literary nerd’s dream to deconstruct because 1) it’s a conceptual album, meaning the tracks work together to construct a collective narrative so the album can essentially be read and interpreted like a book; and 2) like most of TXT’s previous work, there’s a heavy emphasis on growing up, coming of age, and darkness versus light - three topics that are my absolute favorites to consume and analyze!

There are still so many interpretations of the album’s themes and motifs floating around - ranging from Greek mythology to Biblical allegories - so to keep things from becoming too broad and sloping down too many tangents, I’m going to be centering my interpretation on the general coming of age theme at play. Besides the direct texts (the songs themselves, though mostly Farewell Neverland), I’m going to be supplementing my ideas with the concept trailer, Weverse magazine’s album description, and of course the main object of comparison: the Japanese animated film Spirited Away, which has several intriguing parallels to the songs.

Okay, let’s dive into this~!

To start, it seems relevant to know the premise of the movie Spirited Away to build a foundational comparison. The movie is about a 10-year-old girl named Chihiro whose mother and father stumble onto a seemingly abandoned amusement park. Chihiro explores while her parents begin ravenously eating at a restaurant stand, and when nighttime falls, Chihiro finds that the amusement park has come to life with spirits and creatures. Her parents have turned into pigs, and she finds out through the help of a new friend that if she wants to save them, she needs to work here and earn her way back to the real world.

The entire movie is a masterpiece, and there’s so much to delve into, but to cut it short: it’s very much a coming of age film in which we witness Chihiro unravel from a spoiled, uncourageous child into a brave, selfless girl who matures with grace. There’s three ways in which this coming of age movie parallels TXT’s Name Chapter and particularly resonates with the last song Farewell Neverland.

The first is the emphasis on the importance of finding one’s name; the second is the value of friendship in finding oneself; and the third is the protagonist’s shift from passivity to assertiveness.

Let’s start with point #1: the importance of finding one’s name. There’s a particular part of TXT’s Name Chapter teaser trailer - the one where Yeonjun whispered and fans played the audio backwards - that connects these two pieces of media. In the trailer, Yeonjun says: “It’s so sweet, but I should find my name”.

This album is titled Temptation, and from Yeonjun’s single line alone, we can already understand the premise of their story: our protagonist is tempted by the sweetness of something (metaphorical for anything that is tempting), yet to escape, he needs to find his name (to come back to his true self, back to reality).

There’s a very interesting plot point in Spirited Away that follows this same premise: in order for Chihiro to escape back to the real world, she needs to remember her name. However, when she signs a work contract towards the beginning of the movie, Yubaba the witch picks her name up from the paper, making Chihiro magically forget her own name. She’s assigned a new one, and as the film progresses, Chihiro struggles to remember who she really is. One of her new friends, Haru, comments on how vital it is she remembers her name:

“If she steals your name you’ll never find your way home”

He comments that he can no longer remember his name, but he still recalls hers. Later in the movie (spoilers!), Chihiro helps Haru remember his real name. When she asks towards the end of the film whether he’ll be alright, he replies, “I’m fine, now that I remember my name”.

The repeated emphasis on names throughout the film hints at the significance of holding one’s name close to one’s heart, and using it to ground one’s sense of self. Doing so takes a conscious effort, and therefore there's power to a name. This entire Medium article that delves into Spirited Away’s portrayal of names and identity is an incredible read and I can highly recommend it. There’s a particular footnote that stood out to me:

The fact that a name, existing without an objective reality, is only really grounded to us through its relevance of those who remember us, intrigues me.

Haru is the only one left who remembers Chihiro’s real name, and one of the only people who therefore comes to be her salvation. Likewise, she helps unlock his memory of his real name. This suggests that friendship is the most vital force in understanding and recognizing oneself. Had Haru not brought up Chihiro’s name - that representation of her true self - then she may have been lost to the spirit world forever.

With an album series titled The Name Chapter, it’s evident that TXT is also playing with a similar theme here, especially with Yeonjun’s line from the teaser trailer. It’s unclear when exactly TXT do remember their name to escape, but it appears relevant that at the end of Sugar Rush Ride - a natural segway into Farewell Neverland - we see all of the members departing the island towards the ship together, further emphasizing the salvation found in friendship. I suspect the next album in this name series will be vital to this point.

Another important note about the parallels between the movie and the album is the portrayal of coming of age. Chihiro’s journey, of being trapped in a spiritual realm away from reality, unceratin of her name and identity, is symbolic for her being between two stages of self: childhood and adulthood.

In her time there, she experiences shock witnessing the dark world of abuse, exploitation, and manipulation that is rampant in the adult world. She’s forced to grow up much quicker because of this. But it’s also because of her newfound awareness that she can enter her new world with a more grounded and healing perspective. She starts the story in one realm of self, and ends the story in another (aka fulfilling a character arc).

This parallel is certainly found throughout TXT’s album as well: we start with Devil by the Window, in which a young boy finds himself enticed to follow the devil (here perhaps a Peter Pan figure who tries to coerce young boys to travel with him to Neverland), and we end the album with Farewell Neverland, an incredibly mature and sentimental closing to the boy’s journey through temptation. They are forever changed by the experience, but it was a necessary step in their shift from childhood to adulthood. This line from the Weverse magazine further reinforces the coming of age sentiment weaved throughout the album:

Exposure to darkness and evil is a necessary step in growing up - in fact, to avoid this and live a completely sheltered life is to live more corrupted than those seemingly fallen astray.

It is in this light that we reach a final parallel between these two pieces of media and their depiction of coming of age, namely a narrative shift from passivity to assertiveness. At the beginning of the film, Chihiro is insecure, easily scared, and lacks courage. By the end, she manages to stand up for herself by talking back to Yubaba, negotiating deals, and using honesty and compassion as her moral compass.

We witness this narrative shift in Temptation most clearly through the protagonist’s decision-making and tone. At the start in Devil by the Window, our protagonist is ostensibly helpless to the pull of desire:

“High, so high, the crimson sky, It's way too sweet to turn down” followed by “I'll fly weightless without a worry into the night”

Despite some initial resistance of screaming and shouting, our character is, by the end of the song, freely letting themselves get taken away - they are a passive participant in their life. But by the time we reach the last track, our character has gone through an evolution: they’ve grown to recognize the chaos of merely pursuing pleasure, alongside the dark side of Neverland’s promise of eternal youth and immortality, and the tone is much firmer and mature.

I love how even if you don’t understand the language, that you can hear the affirmative stance they’re taking in Farewell Neverland. Their voices are soft but unyielding, and Yeonjun’s opening line sets the tone so well: “Neverland, my love, goodbye for now, And I’m free falling”. There’s a certain level of awareness and melancholy that indicates our characters have gone through a change. I feel like Beomgyu’s lines indicate this well:

“My paradise is full of lies, I wanted to turn a blind eye”

There’s splendor in remaining naive and ignorant, but our protagonist can no longer allow himself to indulge in this; doing so is immature, and he’s reached an awareness that cannot be disregarded.

Perhaps this is where Farewell Neverland’s wistful tone comes from: it’s acknowledging the sadness of the realization that you’ll never be a child again, of having to part ways with childhood. If Sugar Rush Ride is paying homage to the thrill of growing up and discovering new sides of yourself (most notably sexual awakening), then Farewell Neverland is the closing chapter that sets the stage for a melancholic followup that reflects on what this newfound sense of self means.

There’s an undeniable element of perseverance and diligence needed in reaching that stage, one that both Spirited Away and Temptation provide audiences so readily.

Perhaps the most intriguing parallel for me is the ending in which Haru instructs Chihiro that she cannot look back. He’s leading her toward the field that leads to the tunnel of escape, and he informs her that if she turns her head to look back, she’ll be trapped in the spirit world forever. There is a moment where she is tempted to turn, but in the end she manages to make her way to the real world without looking.

It's only once she's crossed to the other side that she turns to look back at the tunnel. This feels metaphorical for Chihiro having outgrown the childish desire to fall into the temptation of instant gratification.

What I find interesting is how TXT have seemingly taken this same setup, but with a twist. At the end of TXT’s concept trailer, much like the end of the Sugar Rush Ride music video, Heuningkai, right before he jumps, turns around to look directly into the camera.

This moment breaks the fourth wall and invites the audience the consider taking the leap with him - to escape from Neverland. It’s a really clever way to get us to think whether we are also trapped in our own cages, our own metaphorical collapsing houses, and if we dare to take that leap of faith as well.

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Look! A Thing!

New Instalment this week! It's a web serial about broken people by a broken author on a broken website! I'm just yelling about it as hard as I can while everything burns down around me!

And the site itself!

You like obscure and indie? Just lookit these numbers!

Current known readers: 3 (hi!), 1st Goalpost: 10?

Current supporters: 2 (hi Kith and 5th!), 1st Goalpost: 5?

If you click this and you like it, you have the power to bring two of your friends and double my admitted readership! Hurry! Before success spoils me!

And I'm super distracted, so let me just snip an excerpt from today's thrilling chapter for your feed-friendly perusal!

Ann put up a hand. She drew Hyacinth farther from the door and lowered her voice, “John kidnapped Erik because they needed help and they knew we wouldn’t let him do this. Erik has been helping the Rainbow Alliance save coloured people and get them the hell out of this fucked up country, because Prokovia wants them dead, or… or worse…”

“De-magicked,” Maggie said. She took a sheet of paper off the bed. “It’s an apograph. Most of ‘em are, but you can read ‘em in the mirror. This is the important part. This is what Prokovia wants to do.” She held up the paper so both of them could see. It was divided into four equal parts, all of them moving and displaying text and images at once. “This is what happens when you try to take the magic out of an immie.”

In each quadrant there was a brief, animated snapshot, five seconds at most, followed by backwards text and further still images. They cycled endlessly, somewhat out of sync, as if whoever set them in motion had activated them one after the other, going clockwise from the top left.

The figure at the top left was a milk-white young man with threads of blond in his matching white hair. His complexion had the look of a broken mirror, with cracks running in every direction, except they weren’t open or bleeding. They were what Hyacinth couldn’t help thinking of as a normal human skin tone, but pale tan certainly wasn’t normal for this guy. He was smiling vaguely, almost vacantly, and holding politely still while the person with the camera moved to photograph him from either side. There was a round scar on each temple, just below the hairline.

The scowling blue woman to the right of him had a similar pattern across her face and bare shoulders, just a bit more fair. Her mirror had shattered more violently — there were patches of fair skin between some of the cracks, as if some of the glass had fallen out. She had a set of yellow hands holding her, and she was turning her head from side to side, not quite struggling but clearly uncomfortable. The five-second image ended with her swatting the camera and a split-second shot of a tile floor.

The orange child at the bottom left had no cracks at all, only patches, and much larger ones. The close-cropped hair suggested a boy, but it could have been either. Tears were welling in their eyes as they clutched a stuffed toy, curling their whole body around it and wincing from the camera’s flash. In the last two seconds, a brown hand intruded and gently nudged their head up, allowing a brief three-quarter profile view of a face with an olive-toned patch that included one dark eyebrow.

The final figure, another young man, did not seem to be coloured at all. His hair was dark, his eyes were blue, and his skin was fair. His hands were bandaged and bound to the chair he was sitting in. He was smiling, not unlike the other man, but his brief image also ended with the camera falling or being knocked over, for reasons unseen.

Honestly, the first thing Hyacinth thought was someone had painted up a bunch of coloured people for a weird theme party — except for the guy in the lower right. But then, as the image reset once more, she caught a thread of purple drifting across his face like smoke. It was gone so fast she wasn’t sure she’d seen it at all.

“What the fuck…?” She tried to pause the image and rack it back, dragging her finger from right to left, but it didn’t respond.

Maggie sighed. “It’s an apograph.”

“Smart paper has a backlight,” said the General. “It makes excellent apographs. Mr. Green-Tara seems to have figured that out at some point and copied a great deal of information he was certainly not supposed to keep, or share.”

“He did it for us,” Ann said. She touched the pile with the cardboard on top, but left it where Maggie had abandoned it on the bed. “It’s not much to read, it looks like he wrote it in a hurry, but he knew we’d come for Erik. He’s been trying to put things together for us, the whole time. The Rainbows haven’t told anybody because they don’t know who’s safe to tell…”

“I am the lone holdout,” said the General, “in insisting our government would not be complicit in an attempted genocide…”

“But they must know something is happening,” Maggie said. “They have intel. They’re not stupid. At the very least they’ve seen the ads, and they must know they’re not getting a bunch of coloured Prokovian tourists. It could be they don’t know because they don’t want to know. If they find out, there’s no guarantee they’ll help, and all this evidence is enough to blow the whole rescue operation out of the water if they take Prokovia’s side. The Rainbows aren’t wrong about that.”

“I am willing to admit,” said the General, “that it would be difficult to sell another war at this point, especially one with Prokovia, politically speaking.” She lowered her voice to a snarl, “Although it would be the only appropriate response.”

[Read More on my Disintegrating Website!]

[Or Read Soldier On from the Beginning, that's probably a more sensible place to start!]

[senditothemoonn]

Hii!! I love your art and headcanons they give me so many brain wiggles

I wanna make a scotfra fic but i have literally no idea what to make it about? If you have any ideas I could pilfer I would much appreciate 🧍

I have sooooo many ideas dude 😭 like my Google docs is just full of unfinished fics and au ideas. A lot of them are based off movies and stuff because I am ✨ unoriginal ✨

But you know you've got the courtesan au (Francis is a beautiful, sexy prostitute during the 18th century, Alasdair is from a wealthy upper class family. Can their love prevail?? Only you can decide)

And you've got the Notting Hill au (perfect for scotfra if you ask me (or ukfr tbh because Hugh Grant am I right) but I had fun writing out a first chapter for that idea before I let it fizzle out and die ajsjdjjs)

Then you've got the classic mermaid x fisherman/pirate/whatever seafaring career picks your fancy (in my au Alasdair was a lighthouse keeper because I guess I had just watched The Lighthouse?? Lol and I was in that headspace ajsjsjs but like this is a favourite au of mine just for the mermaid sex alone)

Not forgetting the single parent au (there's strong arguments for both single dilf Alasdair and single milf Francis and both are good in my humble opinion but like single parent Fran, owns a little bakery, moves to a quaint little Scottish town, him and his son falling head over heels for the local sad man who wears flannel shirts and backwards baseball caps 👀)

Not to mention the ICONIC fake dating au (in the one I have planned out it's a proposal style au. Francis is like "Alasdair you have to marry me...Brexit...blah blah...deported" but you could hopefully think of a better excuse ajsjdjsjs. Fake dating aus are an absolute favourite of mine and I don't think it's been done for scotfra yet? (Correct me if I am wrong please) I love this au for many reasons but above all it just lends itself so well to slow burn, sexual tension, jealousy, misunderstandings all that good shit 🤤)

One au that I like to think about a lot is a bit harder to categorise but if you've ever seen the movie Leap Year, then it's just that ajsdjsha and basically an au where francis is a spoiled little rich boy and Alasdair helps pull him bac down to earth.

Then of course there's the amnesia au (obviously it's up to you who gets amnesia but in the one I started writing it was Francis ajsjdjs also in the au Alasdair was a rugby player (not really relevant to the plot that much but I just think rugby player Alasdair is so sexy plus him being kind of a celebrity adds something to the angst of it all))

Last but not least, you can never go wrong with omegaverse (if you're into that)

These are all very abridged overviews and I could go into more detail for all of these but then we'd be here all day. If you wanna brainstorm about fic ideas and scotfra in general then u can totally DM me if u want 💖 I'm always down to gush about my otp 😭

[blbookhorde]

Scum Villain's Self-Saving System Book Review

Title: The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System.

Author: Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

Genres: Fantasy, Xianxia, Comedy, Romance, Action

Main Tags: System, Isekai, Cultivation

Chapters Read at Time of Review: All.

Translated: Complete Official Translation

Length: Around 350,000 words (published into 4 volumes in English)

Smut Level: For most of book 1.5, last few chapters do contain a sex scene but it’s a 3.5 smutty.

Warnings: mild homophobia, a few semi-sexual scenes are dubious consent at best, a man kisses a corpse, a teenager has dirty thoughts but no sexual action is taken, the single full sex scene is a bit r*pe-y (I have seen good arguments for both sides (one that its r*pe, the other that the MC’s dark thoughts are because of his internalized homophobia), either way its violent and painful sex.)

.

Scum Villain is Mo Xiang Tong Xiu’s first work, and it tends to get often overlooked by the two novels that followed it. And while her later works are beautiful works of art, its Scum Villain that I’ve read the most times. Because it’s funny.

This is not a book that takes itself seriously and it carries a pretty lighthearted tone and script throughout most of the novel. (One of the biggest jokes about Scum Villian, is that from any other character’s perspective, this novel is a dark fantasy-borderline horror. It is a great example of how MC’s are the ones who set the tone of a work).

It is an isekai story that follows one Shen Yuan, who wakes up in the body of Shen Qingqiu, a peak lord, and a powerful cultivator, (Who also happens to be the first major villain from a webnovel Shen Yuan likes to read, who meets a violent and horrible death at the end of the novel). Shen Yuan is accompanied to his new life by a System who gives him missions and ensures he stays in line (and doesn’t act in a way that’s out of character for the original Shen Qingqiu).

A large part of the novel is Shen Yuan trying to not fangirl at the new situation he is in, while also roasting the author for all the plot holes he now has to fix if he wants to survive. But his main mission is “taking care” (read bully) the main lead. And this is where things start to go wrong, because Shen Yuan is fond of the male lead and bends over backwards to make sure he’s alright. (I could list all the things Shen Yuan does to help Lou Binghe (the main lead), and trust me it is a LIST, but that would be fairly spoiler-y, so I will not do that.) Of course, Lou Binghe sees all this caring behavior and falls head over heels in love, and thus begins the start of “Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System”.

There's a lot more I can say about this book, but I don't want to get into too much detail and spoil the read. (Maybe later I will post a longer and spoiler-filled review.)

In conclusion, I would say, that if you like more fantasy/comedy based BL this is pretty good one, also if you are just starting to read Cultivation and Xianxia works, this book dose a good job of explaining all the terms and getting you caught up in a lot of the lingo used in BL and webnovel communities. A long, but good read for beginners to the genres.

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See a term/word you don’t know? Or is there a rating scale you are confused about? You can find a masterlist of all the terms, ratings, and definitions used in reviews here -> BL Book Horde — Dictionary (tumblr.com)

[residentdormouse]

Find the Words Tag

Thank you @scienceoftheidiot for the tag!

My Words were: Smile, Dream, Tear(s), Dark, and Soft.

You guys are going to get sick of me posting these 😂 but here goes. All but one word was in the last chapter (and three of them within the same scene in that chapter). The missing word? Dream. I had to go back to Chapter 30. For 'dream'. When the canon source material has everybody getting haunted by this MF in their nightmares. I can't readily find dream?! Wtf am I doing?!

But, this is all from the last chapter - most are vague enough to just post as is, but all instances of 'tears' are spoiling a major event that happens later in Diving. If that is a concern, skip that one.

Since this is like the fourth I've done (😬) I'm just giving an open tag: if you want to join - please '@' me!!

Words: devour, dive, dig, dear, damned

My Answers:

Smile (Chapter 34)

"I uh… thanks for… if we don't…well…"

Thanks for everything if we don't make it out alive. The blanks were easy enough to fill in, despite Lloyd's current inability to come to the words himself.

With a sincere smile, she placed her hand on his shoulder. What she had heard of his past, maybe this response from him should have been a surprise, but it wasn't to her. Maybe she came in too late to see the man who had earned the reputation following him, but the man in front of her now, the man that came to Haven, that man was sincere in his intentions. Fit right along with the loudmouth tavern corner occupants, but never truly gave her a cause for concern. No, this man had always been a good one. If only he could see that too.

Another set of silent nods, and he was off.

Dream (Chapter 30)

"You didn't ask for him to show up in your head, did you? Didn't come to him uninvited?" He waited for her reply to the negative before continuing. "Yeah, thought not. From what I've gathered, between you and Lloyd, what we've seen, what I've seen, this magic, abilities, whatever you want to call it, it's not easily controlled."

His smile still held the prior compassion, his tone lighthearted, but she didn’t register it. Couldn’t. All she could see was the recent dream. All she could feel was guilt.

"He hadn't even started anything, Glen. Being an annoying ass, but that's it. I just got so… I wanted something bad to happen. I did. Did and didn't. I don't know."

Tears (Chapter 34)

**************SPOILERS*****************

Despite the prior context, a laugh broke through and caused a hiccup in the flow of sadness and tears from before.

“But now that that’s established, looks like up and running got you back in quite the spot again, yeah?”

"I…. Glen, I just… You were right. Down and still. I mean, what's the point of it all? Everything just gets more confusing, and violent, and then people die. You died…"

"I know… I know, but you have to head back there anyway. And you have people that are counting on you. Worlds. Universes. No, can't give up on them, you know you can't. Won’t. Deep down. You know that, and you helped me see that.” His hand came out to lightly tap her on the chin in a loving manner, but it only caused the tears to flow freely once more. While unsaid, she heard the “aw Hell’ sighed under his breath before he pulled her back into a hug, gently rocking her in place. A few additional moments were spent here before he once again pulled backward. “But you can't go back like you were either. What’s done is done, you can’t keep holding in your pain. Inflicting it on others…”

************END SPOILERS***************

Dark (Chapter 34)

Familiar knots in the wood gave away her location before she could even stand up from the floor of her cabin. Thoughts went back to the moment before. Lloyd and Flagg. Rayna. Then darkness. She was trying to take her out of the game. Fuck if she was going to sit by and let her do it.

The bookshelf was her first stop, and it took the brunt of her wrath. Books landed harshly against the floor as she threw them from their place. One after another after another, but there was no teal book to be found this time. No need for it anymore. No need for locking away secrets. No hope of pulling herself out of this state with its help.

Another burst of devastating anger, and she tipped the empty bookcase down on the floor. Splinters shooting outward almost drowned out the voice coming from the kitchen.

“Well, I’m sure that’ll be fun to clean up later.”

Soft (Chapter 34)

She took one hesitant step forward. One more. And without any further delay, she rushed towards him. Arms wrapped around his back and held him tight enough that if he wasn’t solid, she would have absorbed him with the force. But he was solid. He was there in front of her. She could touch him. Kiss him.

And with the realization, the action followed. Desperation fueled grasps at connection, as her lips met his. But no matter how much she felt him there, the tickle of his beard on her face, the glide of his hair through her fingers, the taste of him jolting her senses, she couldn’t understand how it was possible.

“Fuck… How are you… I… you…”

And there was that chuckle, that soft sound that always exuded a lightness which reverberated inside her until she had no choice but to relinquish whatever negativity she was holding on to. Let it all go, and just be there. With him.

[ollieofthebeholder]

oh 29 for the fic wip please please please

Send me an ask about one of my WIPs to learn more!

So remember in the notes of Chapter 45 of leaves when I said I'd struggled with the chapter because I'd suddenly got the idea for a plot twist that would 100% break the pacing of the plot?

This was that plot twist. (Putting the rest under a Read More because it spoils the ending of leaves.)

Basically, when Melanie stabbed Jonah after JonMartin Prime went back in time, the plan was for the Keeper to throw her a door and get her out of the Institute safely. Unfortunately, she timed it exactly right - or exactly wrong, depending on how you look at it - and got caught in the tangle of the tethers as they snapped around Jonah and were dragged through the crack beneath Hill Top Road. Ironically, she managed the one thing Jon and Martin hadn't - to get the timing down so that she was still alive when the Fears went through - which means that, unlike with the Primes, there wasn't an extra copy of Melanie King wandering about. She went back into her life, her body, exactly as she was the day she went to the Institute for the second time in S2.

So yeah, in this AU (I can't believe I have an AU of my own fic, but here we are), the Melanie who turns up in Chapter 31 is the one from the future.

As a bonus, have her first interaction with Past Jon from her POV:

There’s nobody else in there. Two of the desks have laptops on them, both closed, and stacks of paperwork beside them. The trapdoor is exposed but not open. It’s all perfectly mundane and normal and Melanie hates all of it.

She strides over to the Archivist’s office. The door is firmly shut; politeness dictates that she ought to knock, but Jon hates people knocking on his door for reasons she’s never cared enough to learn, so instead, she just pulls open the door.

“Excuse me, do you have a moment?” she asks.

Jon jumps backwards, obviously startled. He’s seated at his desk, recorder clutched in one hand. Evidently he was in the middle of recording a statement…or something…and she’s caught him off guard. He’s wearing the sweater she remembers him wearing more or less from the moment he came back from his coma to, well, the moment she quit, and she remembers, too, that it’s one of Martin’s that he accidentally left in the office when he took the job with Peter Lukas.

That’s a good sign. Maybe.

“Miss King—uh—how did you get in here?” Jon is trying to sound professional, but he actually sounds like he’s trying to get his heart rate under control.

“Sasha let me in.” Melanie steps all the way into the office and closes the door, just in case Elias is about, and studies Jon. She wants to ask if he’s from the future, if he remembers, but instead she asks, “Are you all right?”

“Hmm? Sorry?” Jon oh-so-casually closes the folder in front of him and slides it under the stack next to him. Like she’s not going to notice. She may not be tied to the Eye…yet…but whatever that statement is, it’s something he doesn’t want her to see.

There may be hope yet.

“You look like hell,” Melanie says. It’s how this conversation went the first time, but also, it’s true. Jon looks stressed, worry in his eyes he’s only barely concealing, and there’s a tension about him like a spring ready to snap. He’s gripping the tape recorder so hard his hand is trembling faintly. About the only good thing that can be said for him is that he looks like he’s got a few good meals in him, and he doesn’t have the extensive scarring she remembers from the last time she sat across of him in this office.

Something about that nags at the back of her mind, but it’s quickly drowned in the wave of emotion that hits her as she remembers the genuine compassion and devastation in Jon’s eyes when she asked him to call an ambulance for me in about five minutes, the way he’d actually hugged her tightly and almost made her reconsider her actions. How annoyed she’d been when he was the one to scream in agony when she did it, the way he’d cradled her and whispered I’m sorry over and over until she passed out from her own pain. Memories she’d apparently repressed, because goddammit, she still doesn’t like him.

“It’s been a rough few months,” Jon says, recalling her to the present, and she looks up at him, desperately searching for some sign that that’s a hint, that he’s signaling to her that he’s spent the last few months slogging through a post-apocalyptic hellscape. His eyes flick over her for a moment. “And if I look like hell, you must be in a far lower circle than I am. Are you all right?”

That’s not something she ever expected to hear from Jon, and she blinks at him, even as hope flares up again. It’s him, it’s him, he made it, they made it…“Fine. I—um—” She considers for a minute, then decides, best to be cautious. Maybe she can convince him to duck down to the tunnels. “I actually need your help.”

Jon’s eyes narrow, just slightly, and his voice goes flat and cynical. “Interesting.”

She still can’t read him. Time to try an experiment. Melanie snaps, and she isn’t entirely faking being annoyed. “All right, can you not be an arsehole about it? I just need access to your library.”

Her Jon, the Jon from her timeline, will refuse. If he thinks she’s the Melanie King from the past, then he’s aware of where this path will take her, aware of what will happen if he lets her look at those books, if he lets her go to India. He’ll tell her no, he’ll look like it hurts him, but he’ll do it, because even if it means Past Melanie will hate him, it’ll at least keep her safe, and then—

“So talk to Diana,” Jon says, sounding a bit clipped. “She runs the place.”

And just like that, the little flicker of hope in her chest dies. He doesn’t remember her, only knows her as the irritating, argumentative woman who came in with a story and shouted at him the whole time. It’s not her Jon. Something’s gone terribly, terribly wrong and they didn’t make it back. Or at least he didn’t make it back. Maybe there’s still hope for Martin. Maybe.

Melanie should storm out at this point, but…she can’t. If there’s any hope of changing things, she’ll have to do it herself. Jon may be an arse, but that doesn’t mean he deserves what happens—happened—to him. Nobody does.

“Yeah, I don’t exactly have the academic credentials you guys demand, so apparently I need someone to vouch for me,” she says. Jon sighs heavily, sounding annoyed, but she plunges on regardless. “And you’re basically the closest thing I have to a friend here.”

It hurts, saying it like that. Because they weren’t friends, they weren’t, she absolutely hates his guts and he never really liked her either (he tried to find another way out for you, he knew you wanted to quit, he promised you he would find something, he let you quit even though he knew it would likely hurt him…). But the man standing before her is the closest thing she has to the man she knew, and that’s…supremely unfair.

Jon gives a short, disbelieving laugh. “We’ve spoken once, and we ended up screaming at each other—”

“Yes! And that’s more than I have with anyone else here.” Melanie feels as though she’s following the lines of a well-worn script, words put down on paper and given her to memorize. She does it anyway, though, invoking Georgie’s name, startling Jon into admitting that he and Georgie hadn’t parted on the best of terms, avoiding mentioning the details of why nobody in the business will talk to her anymore, describing people in the industry as skeptics pretending to be believers pretending to be skeptics.

And that’s where the first twist comes in, because instead of sneering I think the word you’re looking for is “charlatans”, Jon looks at her for a moment and then says, “And none of them are helpful.”

She starts to bristle automatically, then looks at him again. He’s not…dismissing her. She doesn’t know how to take that, so she just tries to go back on script, telling him the group split up, responding to his small noise of distress (not a go on this time, which is odd) by describing the bare bones of what led to her arrest. “After that…”

“Your reputation went with it,” Jon says.

He doesn’t say all-important. He’s taking her seriously. Melanie looks away, clenching her jaw tightly, trying her hardest to stay angry. It’s important that she be angry here, it’s important that nobody suspect…and damn it all, she does. Not. Like. Jonathan. Sims. He’s everything about herself she hates, which is…basically everything, if she’s being honest, and they’ve never done anything but rub one another the wrong way.

I’m so sorry, Melanie, I should never have put you in harm’s way like this, this is all my fault…

“Yes,” she grits out, forcing back the memories (and oh, God, why are they coming out now, why couldn’t they have just stayed decently buried). “Look, I have leads that I really need to follow up on, and as far as my colleagues are concerned these days, I’m the ghost.”

She’s aware of the dark irony in her voice at that. She’s practically the fucking Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. And nobody but her will ever know that. She just needs Jon to talk with Diana, get her that pass, and then—

“All right,” Jon says. “Come on, then.”

Melanie’s head jerks up. That’s not in the script. “What?” she asks, a bit stupidly.

“Come on,” Jon repeats, and he actually gets to his feet as he does so. “I’ll take you up to the library and vouch for you. If all else fails, I can claim we’re borrowing you as an adjunct for a few weeks or something.” He must see something in her face, because he suddenly falters. “U-unless you’d rather wait?”

“Oh.” Melanie isn’t sure whether to hug him or hit him. This…isn’t right. This isn’t what she expected. Maybe he is…no, no, he wouldn’t let her go up there if he was.

But Sasha’s alive, and Jon’s being helpful, and something has clearly changed. Maybe Martin’s making a difference.

“No, the sooner the better,” she says. “I—just expected a bit more of a fight, to be honest.” She also expected him to say something about losing the respect of his peers, but…

“Yes, well, I know what it’s like to be itching to follow up on a lead and have your every effort frustrated,” Jon says dryly. “And I believe I owe you for being…dismissive of you before.” While Melanie is still trying to cope with that, he seems to suddenly notice the recorder in his hand and adds, “Uh, end supplemental.”

She should be pissed about being recorded, but…she’s not. Maybe she can steal that tape later and listen back to it to prove to herself she didn’t imagine this. Acceding to Jon’s gesture, she heads back out into the Archives proper.

[steele-soulmate]

Princess of Candy Coated Lies, Modern Royalty AU- King Peter Steele & Single Mother OFC, Soulmate AU

Chapter 29

SUMMARY: Single mother Molly Anne Harper does the best she can do, given her circumstances- since she broke up with her ex-boyfriend by sending him to jail, she’s been struggling to be the best mother to twin daughters while working barely minimum waged jobs. But when she meets her soulmate- King Peter Thomas Ratajczyk of Brooklyn- she quickly finds herself falling heads over heels in love with the guarded, battle damaged ruler. Likewise, Peter finds himself with a family of a women and two little girls who call him daddy. But what happens when their father gets out from behind bars and starts to cause mayhem?

Soulmate AU where you never know what the first words your soulmate says to you until they say it

CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of rape (nothing graphic) mentions of gang rape (nothing graphic) mentions of abuse (nothing graphic)

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHORESS: This fic is dedicated to SkullWoggle on AO3 and @rock-a-noodle on Tumblr.

WORD COUNT: 1471

I was humming happily as I kneaded a ball of coffee oatmeal bread, my fiery curls tied up on the top of my head in a sloppy bun and my sleeves rolled up to my elbows. Last night, when I had expressed to the king how much I missed baking bread, he had kissed me on the forehead before we both went to sleep. When I had woken up this morning and wandered downstairs in pursuit of breakfast, I found the king happily accepting a grocery delivery from the neighborhood Wal-Mart, which turned out to be baking supplies- bread pans and yeast and flour and sugar and so much more.

After a quick breakfast, I had shooed off the twins and dove into baking bread, filling the house with the sweet, flakey scents of fresh baked goods.

Cinnamon bread.

Blueberry yogurt bread.

Honey oatmeal bread.

San Francisco sourdough bread.

Chocolate hazelnut bread.

Peanut butter bread.

Sandwich bread.

I found myself breaking out into a joyful smile as I surveyed the plastic boxes packed full with stuff that I had collected over the years as a youth for my hope chest. I had burst into giant, ugly tears when my parents had pulled up to Green Leaf Hall in a small moving truck and had begun to pull out the carefully labeled boxes.

And they dropped the boxes off just in the nick of time, too- the king and I would be getting married in just two days!

Although I didn’t necessarily need anything, as how King Peter was extremely generous with his money and his love, it always made my heart swoon with love thoughtful and loving he was with the twins. I had to set a clear boundary of spending a hundred dollars of fun money a month for each girl, with how much he loved spoiling them rotten.

“Please my love,” I had protested when he picked me up by my hips and then tossed me up onto the kitchen counter before crowding himself in between my knees. “Tell you what- you can spoil the twins silly with Christmas goodies, how does that sound?”

“Oh sweetheart,” he had chuckled in between sweet pecks to my nose. “My mom and sisters are going to love spoiling the twins. You won’t need to worry about just me.”

DING

I smiled as I pulled out two freshly baked loaves- one of cinnamon bread, the second peanut butter bread. I settled the loaf pans onto the counter before taking a step backwards to survey all the bread that I had made.

“Oops,” I said in a soft voice, giggling when I felt the vibrations on the floorboards, signaling the arrival of my kingly soulmate.

“Can I enter the kitchen now, or will you throw a plate at me?” Peter’s voice was laughing as he awaited my answer, staying respectfully on the other side of the doorway.

“You can come in now, my love!” I laughed, smiling at the sheer manliness of him. He was wearing a thin sweatshirt over a tank top, jeans and his badass stomping boots, as Aria had affectionately dubbed them. “Won’t you get cold?”

“Nah, I’m a man, and men are built for the cold!” He puffed his chest out playfully as he tugged on work gloves and a winter scarf. “I’ll be in the back yard, trimming the trees in preparations of the snow, okay?”

“Where are the girls?” I asked him with an arch of my eyebrow.

“Reading in their bedrooms,” he told me. “They picked out books from my office- don’t worry sweetheart, Aria selected a history book and Evie picked out a cultural exploration book. I don’t read those books that have graphic sex scenes. I feel weird about books like that.”

“Ah, noted,” I hummed, filing this new tidbit of information away for a later date. “Well then, what do you use?”

“My imagination.” I didn’t need to look to see the savage grin on his face.

“What does your imagination conjure up?” I asked him, leaning up against the sink.

“You in sexy leather and heels dripping wax all over my tied up body,” he purred in a smokey voice.

“I like doggy position,” I confessed, fighting not to look away for his smoldering eyes. “It allows for deeper penetration. But I hate choking and rough sex. Henry was fond of stuff like that.”

“Sweetheart, can you please look at me?” I hadn’t realized that I shut my eyes to avoid looking at his face. “There you are now. Hello my beautiful soulmate.” He took a step closer to me, clearly judging if he could come nearer to me in this vulnerable state of mind that I was currently under. “Our first time being intimate with each other, I will make love to you, and I will make you sing.”

A shiver raced down my spine at the way he phrased his promise to me. Everyone knew of his past flings- they have all spoke highly of his elongated length and skillful knowledge of aftercare.

“Sweetheart.”

I came back to the present again, blinking as the king scooped me up and settled me onto the kitchen counter, taking up his favorite spot in between my knees.

“Talk to me,” he begged me, bringing our lips together in a not quite a kiss. “What are you so afraid of?”

“Is it true?”

He blinked in confusement at my question.

“When you and your first girlfriend, Madeline of Leads, lost your virginities with each other,” I started off, suddenly feeling silly. “Was she really bleeding that badly?”

“Only a few drops,” he chuckled, finally understand where my fear was coming from. “Although, I do think that most of her bleeding came from the fact that her period started the following day. But I didn’t fuck her that hard.”

“Okay.” I wasn’t quite sure why, but I believed him.

“Sweetheart, sex can be a glorious thing to experience,” he told me rather bluntly. “I think you never really had the chance to know what joy and bless true sex can bring you.”

“I was either fucked by Henry or else he would pass me around to settle debts that he would rack up,” I muttered, suddenly feeling ashamed. “He would often just leave me to forgive whatever money was owed by complying by any sick fantasies that my partners had. One time, I did nine guys.”

I felt the king’s fingers tightening.

“At once.”

A quiet snarl was torn out from his throat at my confession.

“Luckily, I always had one guy in my pussy and one guy in my mouth and nothing more,” I confessed numbly, my fingers hooking into his jacket. “There were even a few times when Henry would agree to have guys fuck me bareback.”

The king drew back and looked at me with horror and rage in his emotional green eyes.

“Jesus…” he wheezed, crushing me to his manly chest. “Sweetheart, do you want me to see if your therapist can squeeze you in tomorrow?”

“Yeah, okay,” I muttered, wiping my eyes as PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD- PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PAD-PADs began to ring out from upstairs, indicating that the girls were on their way to come down and demand love from their parents. “That does sounds like a good idea, your majesty.”

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

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PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@elianafilthyrose

@ch3rry-c0la

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@angelxfuckk

[writer-updates]

Sebastian knight

Chapter 9 - Liliana

Sebastian smirked straps the key to my wrist, in shock I looked at him.

"Todo tuyo bebé." Was all he said.

(all yours baby)

"que? todo mio?" I gasped in delight staring at the hot pink 718 Boxster Style Edition.

(What? all mine)

I didn't realise I could grin so hard, Sebastian chuckled Rolling his eyes and opened the driver's door. I couldn't contain my giggle any longer before I climbed in, starting the car once he shut my door and I had my seatbelt on.

Immediately Sebastian ran to the other side and opened the door, he was also grinning as he jumped in quickly.

"Ansioso?" He asked with a wry smile.

I knew he was trying with me but I could tell help but smile wider, "Muy."

Slowly, I eased the car backwards and turned it in the driveway. I was proud that I didn't make a fool of myself and stall it, nothing worse than that. As I pressed my foot on the clutch, I noticed it was very sensitive to touch, being new and everything.

Carefully I navigated through the driveway, glancing at the review mirror every so often, to see two of the bodyguards, River and Fred climb into the black SUV.

"Only for safety baby," Sebastian replied as he knew what I was thinking. "I ordered extra detail being we are now officially on the news as the world's hottest couple from last night. You are my love and I need you protected at all times."

Nodding my head, I understood where he was coming from, growing up I knew we had a target on our backs with my dad working for Sebastian. Sebestian would always put extra detail on whenever I used to go out on my own or work a shift on my own. It's the little things he did for me, that got me attracted to him.

Until he was with another girl for a few years, her name was Tamara. He didn't tell me how it ended but I knew he was hurt, it's when I started to date Thomas. Go figure, double T's.

Lightly pressing my foot on the break before reapplying pressure to the accelerator, heading onto the main road. This is my first time driving one of these cares.

"You're sure about this?" I asked, nerves filling my core.

"Yes," Sebastian sighed. "It's my job to spoil you when I can and you've got a new car, that you need to learn to drive, if we ever want to go out."

Looking into the review mirror, a small smile crept onto my face as I began thinking what would happen if I lose River and Fred? Would they get mad? Would Sebastian get mad? It's only once right?

After debating for a while in my head, Sebastian looked at me as if he knew I was up to something, I needed to do this and the road was clear. Pressing my foot harder onto the accelerator, we shot forward causing him to lunge a little in his seat.

Shooting me a warning glare, "Careful! Slow down!" When I didn't, I heard his growl, "You are going to kill us both!"

Suddenly, Sebastian curses in spanish and struggles to pull his Iphone from the pocket of his jeans.

"What?" he snaps angrily at whoever it is on the other end of the line. "No." he says and glances behind us. "Yes. She is."

What? Briefly checking the rearview mirror, I can't see anything odd - there are just a few cars behind us. The SUV is about four cars back and we're all cruising at an even pace. Panic started to build inside me as I began to wonder what the hell was going on

"I see." Sebastian sighs long and hard and rubs his forehead with his fingers, tension radiates off him. Something's wrong.

"Yes . . . I don't know." He glances at me and lowers the phone from his ear. "We're fine. Keep going," he says calmly, smiling at me, but the smile doesn't touch his eyes.

Shit! Adrenaline spikes through my system. He picks the phone up again. I gulped knowing that something was seriously wrong.

"Okay on the 520. As soon as we hit it . . . Yes . . . I will."

He curses in spanish once again as he slots phone into the speaker cradle, putting it on hands-free.

"What's wrong, Sebastian?" My voice trembled.

"Just look where you're going, baby," he says softly.

Taking a deep breath I head for the on-ramp of the 520, that heads into town. When I glance over at Sebastian but he is staring straight ahead.

"I don't want you to panic," he says calmly. "But as soon as we're on the 520 proper, I want you to step on the gas. We're being followed."

Followed! Holy shit. My heart lurches into my mouth, pounding, my scalp prickles and my throat constricts with panic. Followed by whom? Shaking my head, I looked gently into the review mirror, feeling my hands shake against the wheel of the car, sure enough, a dark Dodge I had seen earlier was still following us. I squint through the tinted windshield to see who's driving, but I see nothing.

"Keep your eyes on the road, baby," Sebastian says gently, not in the truculent tone he normally uses where my driving is concerned.

I mentally slap myself to subdue the dread that's threatening to swamp me. Suppose whoever's following us is armed? Armed and after Sebastian. I know he would have targets on his back being who he is, that wasn't a surprise but for someone follow me.

I have to keep Sebastian safe. I wanted to drive this car, and I wanted to drive it fast. Well, here's my chance. I grip the steering wheel and take a final glance in my rearview mirror. The Dodge is closing on us.

I slow right down, ignoring Sebastian's sudden panicked glance at me, and time my entrance on to the 520 so that the Dodge has to slow and stop to wait for a gap in the traffic. I drop a gear and floor it. The porsche shoots forward, slamming us both into the backs of our seats. The speedometer whips up to 100 miles per hour.

"How do we know we're being followed?" My voice is a breathy, squeaky, whisper.

"The Dodge behind us has false license plates."

How does he know that?

There is no way he knew that. I signal as we approach the 520 from the on-ramp. It's late afternoon, and although the rain has stopped, the roadway is wet. Fortunately, the traffic is reasonably light.

I shrug. "Who could it be?" I suggest, not taking my eyes off the road.

Sebastian sighed, "I'm unsure baby, but in my line of work. There are targets."

"Could it be Thomas?" I shivered thinking it could be my ex.

Sebastian shot me a look, "I'm not sure. I don't want to speculate who it will be, because you will lose your mind."

I weave between the two lines of traffic like a black counter in a game of checkers, effectively jumping the cars and trucks. We're so close to the lake on this bridge, it's as if we're driving on the water.

I studiously ignore the angry, disapproving looks from other drivers. Sebastian clutches his hands together in his lap, keeping as still as possible, and in spite of my fevered thoughts, I wonder vaguely if he's doing it so he doesn't distract me. I knew fire was burning inside of him. The fact that someone was following us through the streets and I am unable to speed up so fast.

"Steady, baby," Sebastian says calmly, though I'm sure he's anything but calm.

"Good girl," he breathes in encouragement. He glances behind him.

"I can't see the Dodge." I felt my stomach drop.

"We're right behind the dodge, Liliana." Deigo's voice comes through the hands-free. "He's trying to catch up with you, sir. We're going to try and come alongside, put ourselves between your car and the Dodge."

"Good. Liliana is doing well. At this rate, provided the traffic remains light - and from what I can see it is - we'll be off the bridge in a few minutes." I could hear the pride in his voice as he spoke to deigo.

"Boss."

We flash past the bridge control tower, and I know we're half way across Theberton. When I check my speed, I'm still doing 100.

"You're doing really well, Liliana," Sebastian murmurs again as he gazes out the back of the porsche.

For a fleeting moment, his tone reminds me of our first encounter when we first met about 4 years ago, my dad had given me the job at the bar. Sebastian was always sweet to me, always winking at me whenever he came in.

"Where am I headed?" I ask, moderately calmer.

I have the feel of the car now. It's a joy to drive, so quiet and easy to handle it's hard to believe how fast we are going. Driving at this speed in this car is easy. He picked out a great car for me.

"Liliana, I need you to head for I-5 and then south. We want to see if the Dodge follows you all the way," Deigo says over the hands-free.

The traffic lights on the bridge are green - thank heavens - and I race onward. I glance nervously at Sebastian, and he smiles reassuringly. Then his face falls.

"Mierda!" he swears softly.

There is a line of traffic ahead as we come off the bridge and I have to slow. Glancing anxiously in the mirror once more, I think I spot the Dodge.

"Ten or so cars back?"

"Yeah, I see it," Sebastian says, peering through the narrow rear window. "I wonder who the joder es?"

(F**k it is)

"Me too. Do we know if it's a man driving?" I blurt out toward the cradled iPhone.

"Unfortunately not, Liliana. Could be a man or woman. The tint is too dark." Deigo spoke.

"Could it be Thomas?" I asked looking over towards Sebastian.

He shook his head, "We can't speculate who it is. Once we are able to get a picture we will." Looking over at me he sent me a warm smile. "Let's discuss this when we're home. Concentrate on what you're doing."

"But it might just be some random car."

"I'm not taking any risks. Not where you're concerned," Sebastian snaps.

He replaces the iPhone in its cradle so we're back in contact with our security team.

Oh shit. I don't want to rattle Sebastian right now . . . later maybe. I hold my tongue. Fortunately, the traffic is thinning a little. I am able to speed over the Mount Ivan intersection toward the I-5, weaving through the cars again.

"What if we get stopped by the cops?" I ask.

"That would be a good thing."

"Not for my license."

"Don't worry about that," he says. Unexpectedly, I hear humor in his voice.

I put my foot down again, and hit 110. Boy, thus car can move. I love it - she's so easy. I touch eighty-five. I don't think I have ever driven this fast.

"He's cleared the traffic and picked up speed." Deigo's disembodied voice is calm and informative. "He's doing ninety."

Shit! Faster! I press down on the gas and the car purrs to 115 miles per hour as we approach the I-5 intersection.

"Keep it up, Liliana," Sebastian murmurs, gently soothing my thigh.

I slow momentarily as we glide onto the I-5. The interstate is fairly quiet, and I'm able to cross straight over to the fast lane in a split second. As I put my foot down, the glorious prosche zooms forward, and we tear down the left lane, lesser mortals pulling over to let us pass. If I wasn't so frightened, I might really enjoy this.

"He's hit one hundred miles per hour, boss."

"Stay with him, Deigo," Sebastian barks.

A truck lurches into the fast lane - Shit! - and I have to slam on the brakes.

"maldito idiota!" Sebastian curses the driver as we lurch forward in our seats.

I am grateful for our seatbelts.

"Go around him, baby," Sebastian says through clenched teeth.

I check my mirrors and cut right across three lanes. We speed past the slower vehicles and then cut back to the fast lane.

"Nice move, baby," Sebastian murmurs appreciatively. "Where are the policías when you need them?"

"I don't want a ticket, Sebastian," I mutter, concentrating on the highway ahead. "Have you had a speeding ticket driving this?"

"No," he says, but glancing quickly at him, I can see his smirk.

"Have you been stopped?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Charm, baby. It all comes down to charm. Now concentrate. Where's the Dodge, Deigo?"

"He's just hit one hundred and ten, sir." Deigo says.

Holy f**k! My heart leaps once more into my mouth. Can I drive any faster? I push my foot down once more and streak past the traffic.

"Flash the headlights," Sebastian orders when a Ford Mustang won't move.

"But that would make me an estúpida."

"So be an estúpido!" he snaps.

Jeez. Okay! "Um, where are the headlights?"

"The indicator. Pull it toward you."

I do it, and the Mustang moves aside though not before the driver waves his finger at me in a none-too-complimentary manner. I zoom past him.

"He's the estúpido," Christian says under his breath, then barks at me, "Get off on Stewart."

"We're taking the Stewart St. exit," Sebastian says to Deigo.

"Head straight to Escala, boss."

I slow, check my mirrors, signal, then move with surprising ease across four lanes of the highway and down the off-ramp. Merging onto Stewart Street, we head south. The street is quiet, with few vehicles.

Where is everyone?

"We've been damned lucky with the traffic. But that means the Dodge has, too. Don't slow down, Liliana. Get us home."

"I can't remember the way," I mutter, panicked by the fact the Dodge is still on our tail.

"Head south on Stewart. Keep going until I tell you when."

Sebastian sounds anxious again. I zoom past three blocks but the lights change to yellow on Yale Avenue.

"Run them, baby," Sebastian shouts.

I jump so hard I floor the gas pedal, throwing us both back in our seats, speeding through the now red light.

"He's taking Stewart," Deigo says.

"Stay with him, Deigo."

A quick glance and I can see Sebastian glaring at me as if I'm crazy.

"Eyes on the road!" he snaps.

"The unsub is heading down Stewart, sir. He's really picking up speed," Deigo spoke

"Go, Liliana. Less of the fucking chitchat," Sebastian growled.

"We're stopped at the first light on Stewart." Deigo informs us.

"Baby - quick - in here," Sebastian shouts, pointing to a parking lot on the south side of Boren.

[christas-museum]

The Child Manuela: Mädchen in Uniform book (new translation)

CHAPTER 2: V

For more parts (updates are at least once a week), click #The Child Manuela translation

The next morning came. Lela had held back during the big break. Arm in arm with Jeanne Amos, she walked around the playground, peacefully chewing her bread as if nothing had happened and as if nothing should happen. She watched Eva secretly. Eva—with an apple in one hand and a book she was reading in the other—had stepped out of the door slowly. Now she was leaning her back against the wall, standing on one foot, one knee bent, leaning against the wall. Eva was reading and saw and heard nothing. From time to time she bit into the apple. Every time Lela passed by, she had palpitations. When children ran past and obstructed her view of Eva, she became reluctant. Eva had a red dress on with a short pleated skirt and a white boy's collar. Her soft blonde hair fell over her face as she read. Her hands were white and her fingers were pointed. Lela knew Eva's way home. When the bell rang at twelve o'clock, she was the first to run out of school, having prepared everything well. Not home; because she turned the corner to the right and ran a couple more houses, where she knew about a wide house entrance. There she tore the hair bow from her braid and loosened her hair as if it had come undone while running. She hated her hairstyle. She threw her school bag to the ground and grabbed her hair with both hands. Then she shook herself like a dog fixing their fur after a caress and put her sailor's cap on again.

Now she was peering out for Eva, who was really coming along alone, swinging the briefcase. Lela's heart was pounding in her throat. But she approached Eva bravely and asked modestly, "May I carry the briefcase for you?" She blushed and was hot. Without looking at Eva, she grabbed her briefcase and walked beside her.

Eva laughed.

"Where did you come from? Have you been waiting for me?" She said, obviously flattered.

Lela could only nod. The briefcase was heavy.

"You see," Eva said, "that's what you get out of it! Why do you have a crush on me too? You'll get yourself in trouble now."

"I don't have a crush on you at all," Lela said defiantly.

"So, well, let's see!" Eva made a move, so that Lela got between her and the wall of the house, she pushed her up to the wall, so that Lela couldn't get out of the way. Eva's hands were on her shoulder and she steered them backwards until they touched the wall of the house.

Lela had a schoolbag in each hand and was completely helpless. Slowly, Eva let her hands go up Lela's neck and play with ears. Lela had never fainted. Tears of fear stood in her eyes.

"Look at me! Right in the eyes!"

Lela didn't; in the most insane shame she threw the books to the ground and grabbed Eve's arms.

"Well, you want to defend yourself?" laughed Eva. "That would be the very last!" And she gave her a light slap. "You Indian girl!"

Lela felt her knees wobble. Then Eva let go of her." Well, all right, if you don't want to, then don't! I can live without you, my child."

She picked up her briefcase from the ground and prepared to leave. "Adieu," she said, but Lela could not return the not at all friendly greeting; because she was choking on something in her throat.

So, now everything was spoiled! Now Eva would never, ever talk to her again! Why had she been so stupid? Brooding, head hanging, eyes on the ground, she slowly trotted homewards.

Of course Berti was already waiting for her. Berti was tall for his fourteen years. Although Lela was also the tallest in the class, she always felt small compared to Bert.

"Well, have you talked to her? What happened?" he asked quickly and quietly and went into her room after her.

Manuela got rid of her clothes calmly. "Do you really have a crush on her?"

Bert was outraged.

"Crush, that's what girls have; I admire her."

Lela said calmly, "So?" And remained silent. He couldn't get any more out of her for today also and ended the discussion by saying that she was just a unobliging and stupid person who didn't understand anything, and that was the last time he had confided in her.

The door was shut with a bang. Lela remained strangely unmoved. Usually, when Berti quarreled with her, she had regularly cried heart-wrenchingly. But something had changed today. Almost cheerfully, she went in to the table.

[jreynoldsward]

It's been a week. I'm surprised at what I've been able to accomplish, given that we had one power outage, I had multiple Zoom meetings this week, there was a farrier appointment where I ended up holding someone else's horse as well as mine, and oh, I don't know, a further continuation of the Month of Dread going on.

One of the Zoom meetings was pretty useful--a organizational class aimed at writers that was, for once, created by a neurodivergent person using some useful notions and structuring that differ from the neurotypical "this is how you get organized" structure. The others were either hosting or organizing a monthly podcast.

The organizational class had several good things that stood out to me. First of all, this person (Paulette Porhach) redefined "getting organized" as self-care. Instead of saying "I'm organized," she suggested saying "I am taking care of myself by being organized." I thought about it a bit, and wished I had that perspective when working with some of my ADHD middle schoolers. I think that reframing might have made organizational structures more palatable to them. But she also was talking about focusing on the future, biting tasks off into smaller chunks (that's not new), working backwards slowly (that's new) and other good things, including creating central electronic and physical locations for organizing information, making it easier to do next time around, creating systems that YOU can trust, not being afraid to adjust and replan when life strikes, and having a weekly executive meeting with yourself.

Interestingly, that last bit was something I had tentatively already started to do, beginning last week. I had decided I needed to do a weekly publication progress plan. Today, I expanded it further to taking notes in my spiral notebook about what did and didn't get done this week, plus forming a plan for the week ahead. I already do that somewhat in my weekly planner, but writing it down really helps. I also am thinking about writing an updated resume for myself. Not because I'm looking for work, but because I think it will be useful for me as a sort of psychological boost to chronicle everything I am doing to help my assorted communities.

One thing I stumbled across is that when I did my revised 2023 long bio, I separated it into several widely spaced paragraphs. This became useful in a couple of instances this week when I needed to use portions of the full bio but not the whole thing.

So. What did I accomplish in the past week?

--Began drafting Federation Cowboy and finished a five-episode first chapter. That gives me almost two weeks worth of episodes (posting 3x a week). However, the story has changed somewhat and I needed to redraft my working outline. Otherwise, I might have been able to start uploading this week (I prefer to have a two-week lead on serial publishing, just in case something happens). That said, another chapter will give me that cushion, so I hope to start uploading toward the end of the week. I already have a Vella cover. I may tweak it some more, but for now, it's ready to roll.

I am discovering that phenomenon when writing in a new world, where I have to stop and think about the worldbuilding and just how much information to feed into the work. I've been spoiled by working for three years on the Martinieres, where I had easy access to what I knew about the world. In this far-future world with Converted (raised to sentience and cross-species communication) species, I had to stop and think. What kind of names would birds give themselves? Cattle? And then I had to cut out a whole section of writing because while it was useful and helped me understand the world, it just. didn't. work. for the story. Oh well.

--I finished the production of A Different Life: Now. Always. Forever. ebook and print interiors. Now I just need to write the final blurb, create the paperback, create the promotion campaign, and get it uploaded for preorders before the February 7th release.

--I backed up almost all my photos (forgot to do the promotional photos on the desktop itself) and Dropbox files onto my new external hard drive that is compatible with the MacBookAir's USB-C ports. For the first time, I actually can access my current photo catalog on a laptop. That's huge.

--I revised and submitted a new short story (which has received its first reject, from Clarkesworld, which is not surprising--they're fast and it was a long shot to get sold there anyway). I now have eleven short stories in circulation.

--Both of my other meetings were productive and useful, and I'm glad I've started note-taking for a lot of this stuff in a spiral-bound notebook. I have a lot of these, left over from teaching days and my own college days in the Master's program. Some kids kept their spirals that I provided for journaling, others didn't. Rather than throw them out, I discarded the kid writing. I can write what's included in the notebook on the front cover when it's done, and meanwhile, recent stuff is handy where I want it. That's where I did my executive meeting notes.

What didn't get done?

In one word, PROMOTION. That's the biggest hole in my writing business. I did small things, but I did not get a lot of the visibility work completed that I need to do to promote my backlist. Or what I have coming out.

I have some notes about what I need to do on that front this coming week. Fortunately, I don't have as much to do with meetings and horse stuff. Farrier always eats up my entire morning, no matter what.

Life is...busy. We'll see how this week goes.