#that time is indeed a small chapter in longer more interesting stories

[depressedraisin]

do u ever listen to love is a laserquest and get struck by how they did, in fact, become just some lovers in each other stories

[paulyenvol6]

Byka Atroksia (Chapter 1)

Contains: No trigger warnings really just Rhaenyra being mean and tension between uncle and niece

Wordcount: ~2.68k

Masterlist of this story

You looked out of the window in your chambers in the red keep, watching the approaching ships.

You knew that you should be down there. Like your sister Rhaenyra, waiting at the dock, waving to your uncle and the other people and welcoming them back kind – heartedly in the capital. But you couldn't.

It was too much and you knew if you did what you were supposed to do, you'd feel bad afterwards.

Your sister was three years older than you, 19, beautiful, feminine with full lips and warm eyes. And then there was you. A bit too tall and a bit too thin.

Of course you hadn't always felt that way. But when your cousin Aelon had said that you looked like a boy a few years ago, that had stuck with you. Ever since that day you always had these words in your head and you indeed felt like a boy.

You were 16 now, a grown woman but you didn't have a large chest, beautiful soft curves like a real woman does. Your chest was too small, your hips too slim and your arms and legs were too long. You felt like a fool, a boy… And you knew that a man didn't desire to lay with a boy.

Having a sister like Rhaenyra didn't exactly improve your situation. She was desired by all men in the seven kingdoms. Her grace, her charme and her wide smile had enchanted the grumpiest and rudest lords and knights.

And it had also enchanted your uncle Daemon, you were certain. Daemon Targaryen, brother of your father, Viserys Targaryen. Daemon was chaotic, wild, messy and dangerous. And all these traits had always made him so interesting to you and your sister.

Your father was the exact opposite. Rhaenyra and your mother had died when you were little and your father had wanted to protect you two ever since. Perhaps it was because you were the only two things left of your mother or it simply was because he didn't want to lose what he loved again. It didn't matter, he guarded and protected the two of you as if you were made of glass.

That was probably why your uncle had always been that interesting because he was different. Rhaenyra and you knew him as dangerous ever since you were born. He brought excitement, risk and thrill. When he came around you knew that it wouldn't be boring and you knew that everything would be different to what you expected.

Perhaps that was the reason why you and Rhaenyra had been fighting for your uncle's attention as long as you could remember. It was about who Daemon looked at longer, whose jokes he laughed about louder and who he brought the more special gifts.

You were competing and battling for his gaze and appreciation. Each of you wanted him to like you just a little bit more than the other.

When he made you a compliment you could feel Rhaenyra's angry gaze burning a hole in your back. But when he asked Rhaenyra for a dance on a name day of some distant cousin it was not rare for you to cry your eyes out in your chambers from anger and desperation.

You couldn't even exactly pin point when this competition had started and you didn't even exactly know what it was about. What was the prize, what were you fighting for? It simlpy was like a unspoken game between you, even though game seemed like a word too kind for this battle. You couldn't even exactly tell whether Daemon knew about the battle between you and your sister. At least he had never shown any sign that he did so you were not able to figure it out.

Over the last couple of years though, you had felt like you were losing this very game. When you were 12 you had seen Rhaenyra change. She had been growing and becoming a woman and you had feared you'd lose your uncle's attention.

You didn't entirely, but at the same time you felt as if he liked Rhaenyra better. Perhaps because she was more like Daemon than you were.

She was brave and witty, she made jokes while there were important men with important positions at the table. She was cocky and wasn't afraid to speak up to a lord who was twice her age. Rhaenyra was bold and it had happened more than once that she had gone out for a midnight stroll in the city, something that you wouldn't dare to do.

Maybe you were more like Viserys, you followed the rules and kept your head down. But you didn't do this to impress your father, no, you didn't want to be that way.

You wanted to be special, someone the people were talking about. You wanted your uncle to raise his eyebrows impressed when you told him about your adventures and wanted him to laugh about your quick-witted temper. You wanted him to flirt with you and wanted to be able to answer just as charmingly. But you knew that you couldn't.

Perhaps it was just the way you are, you weren't able to act that way. You looked down when important people spoke to you and you laughed at your sister's jokes instead of making some yourself.

So that's why you sometimes considered the competition with Rhaenyra finished. You couldn't even be mad at Daemon for prefering your sister. She was indeed more like him and she definitely had more to offer. Not only a more beautiful face but a smart and funny mind. Things simply were the way they were and you couldn't change them.

~~~~~~~~~~

You couldn't watch everything out of your window but you could see the boats arriving and tiny people stepping from the boats to the ground. Daemon had been at the Stepstones the last weeks fighting a war against the Triarchy. You hadn't seen him in four months and actually were looking forward to have him back at the red keep.

Your ongoing battle with Rhaenyra wasn't everything. You always had a good and exciting time with Daemon and enjoyed spending your hours with him in the gardens or at dinner.

Then after a while all the tiny people had stepped inside the carriages and there was nothing to see anymore. They would drive to the red keep now and then there would probably be a little welcoming and then a big feast in the evening to celebrate the King’s brother's safe return.

You stepped away from the big window and sat down on a chair. You knew you couldn't hide in your chambers all day. You knew you would have to attend tonight's feast and it wasn't like you had to be forced to go there.

You couldn't even exactly say why you had refused to go to the bay to welcome the ships. Because once again, you didn't despise spending time with Daemon at all, it was the contrary. He made you giggle and blush and smile. You just felt like competing with Rhaenyra for his attention took all of your energy and it sometimes could be very exhausting. Now you took the book next to your bed and turned the pages bored. You couldn't really focus on the letters and just wanted time to pass. You didn't even know what you were waiting for, perhaps it was the feast tonight.

You were really looking forward to seeing your uncle but you didn't have the courage to leave your room to make a special entry down in the hall either. That exactly was a good example of how you were different to Rhaenyra because your sister most certainly wouldn't have a problem doing something like this.

You were still trying to focus on your book when there was a knock on your door. "Come in.", you said surprised and then the door opened. "Uncle?!" You couldn't supress a wide smile and stood up.

He had come. He had come to see her shortly after his arrival. He hadn't gone up to his room, hadn't strolled through the gardens with Rhaenyra (at least not for a very long time because some time had passed since his arrival and you obviously couldn't tell what he had been doing since he had arrived), no he had come up all the steps of the staircases to see you.

He wore black trousers and skirts with a red shirt underneath and of course, looked handsome as always.

You fastly walked towards him and wrapped your arms around him. He returned the hug and buried his face in your hair. "My beautiful niece. Wonderful to see you." You smiled softly, which he couldn't see and felt your heart beating faster at his words. You ended the hug and you could see Daemon watch you closely.

"I must admit I was a little disappointed to not see you at the dock.", he smirked. "I'm sorry, I… I wasn't feeling very well earlier.", you lied and Daemon immediately took a step back.

"Do not tell me that you're ill and I'll be walking out of here with the fever.", he hissed with small eyes but smirked. You laughed and crossed your arms over your chest.

"No I'm not ill. It was simply a headache." "I’m glad, little owl."

'Little owl'. That was his nickname for you and you didn't know what to think of it. You found it cute that he even bothered to have a nickname for you but at the same time you were wondering whether or not it once again confirmed your apprehension. Weren’t you nothing but a boring, quiet, night owl to him after all?

Daemon called Rhaenyra little storm sometimes but the nickname definitely wasn’t as established as yours and he only used it very rarely, but you still didn’t know if it was good or bad.

"But how are you, uncle? What are the stepstones like?" Daemon threw his head back. "Let me think, there is…. Bad wine, bad climate and no feather beds. In other words, I’m happy to be back.", he smiled and you couldn’t help but softly smile as well.

You were so happy to have him back after all. "I have something for you, by the way." You looked up to him to meet his gaze and he grinned crookedly.

"Turn around.", he spoke and you did as he had told you. Once your back was facing him he gently moved your hair out of the way. You helped him and exposed your neck and then you felt Daemon reaching around your neck to put a necklace on you. His hand brushed over your soft skin and you could feel yourself getting goosebumps and just hoped Daemon didn’t notice it. His hands were so close and you felt the blood pulsating in your veins.

He had closed the claps and you slowly turned around. Daemon smirked and watched the pendant on your skin.

"Beautiful.", he whispered and you could feel the blood rising in your cheeks again. Then you stepped in front of the mirror to watch yourself. The pendant glistened golden and it had a red flower on it. It was incredibly beautiful and you happily played with it.

"Thank you uncle. It’s lovely." Daemon stepped behind you and watched you as well through the mirror. You could feel his arm against your back and slightly shivered which made you angry. Why couldn’t you just play it cool for once in your life?

"You’ve become a woman, little owl.", he then whispered and didn’t take his eyes off the reflection of you. Your eyes searched for his‘ in the mirror and you didn’t know what to answer. You felt his chin brush against your hair. He was so close to you, you could literally feel his warmth.

"I’m 16.", you said and wanted to slap yourself. That had literally been the worst answer one could think of. Daemon chuckled in response.

"I feel like you have changed in these last four months." You smiled softly. "I don’t think I have." Your uncle smirked and you could feel his hand ligthly over your arm.

"Perhaps I should look at you more accurately then." You could feel your breath fasten and helplessly bit on your lip just to do anything. Daemon looked down to your naked shoulder as you could see in the mirror when he suddenly stepped away from you.

You exhaled loudly and all of the tension was gone. You aimlessly walked around in the room and tried to collect yourself.

"I’ll go now, I have to rest before the feast tonight." Your head turned to watch your uncle still smirking. "Yes, yes. I’ll see you later.", you spoke with a weak voice and didn’t look at him while he left your room.

'What was that?', you thought and tried to get more air to reach your lungs. Had you imagined this or had there been tension between the two of you? You knew your uncle and you knew that he liked to be a bit flirty but this right now…. He had been so close to you and what did he say? He should look at you more accurately, what did that even mean?

You supported your weak body by resting your hands on the desk. Slowly you could feel your heartbeat slow down and after a while dared to stand on your own without the support of the desk. Your hands were still slightly shaking but after another 5 minutes you almost felt like yourself again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two hours later you were finally walking down the stairs and headed to the hall. You had spent the last two hours overthinking every second of your encounter with your uncle and had come to the conclusion that after four months of fighting a war, Daemon had simply wanted to play with her a little and she shouldn’t read anything into it. He probably had just felt like confusing her a bit and it honestly made a lot of sense, considering it was his nature to be a bit coquettish.

You now wore a red gown that exposed your shoulders and collar bones. It fell down to the ground and was tight at your waist. When you were about to step through the door to enter the hall in which the feast would take place you could feel a hand on your shoulder.

"Sister.", Rhaenyra hissed and you turned around. "Rhaenyra.", you greeted her.

"Where were you all day? Why didn’t you come with us to welcome uncle?" You raised your chin, promising yourself to be brave and self confident today. "I wasn’t feeling very well, sister. I prefered to spend the noon in my chambers."

Rhaenyra frowned. "I don’t believe you." "Then don’t, but I’m telling the truth." Your sister took a step back from you and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Is this about uncle?" You chuckled. "What about him?"

"You didn’t want to see him, did you?" You laughed loudly. "Why shouldn’t I?" "Because you don’t like to see him put his attention on any other person who’s not you." Rhaenyra smiled evily and you just wanted to punch that smirk out of her face.

"That’s not true, I told you I simply had a headache." "You NEVER have a headache." Slowly you got angry. "Well I did today and this is none of your business anyway."

Rhaenyra smirked even wider and took another step back. "I’m going to go fly with uncle tomorrow, by the way. On Caraxes. We’re going to Dragonstone and he said he’s gonna show me around the caves."

Your heart was beating faster and you could feel your anger and pain going to your head. With all your energy you tried to make the tears that you started to feel in your eyes vanish but you knew that Rhaenyra had noticed them. "I hope you have a good time.", you pressed and then turned around and entered the hall.

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

At the Dawn There is Rejoicing--a birthday gift for @kmomof4 (Epilogue)

Summary:  Birthday gift for Krystal, @kmomof4. Based on the story of Leslie Moore and Owen Ford in the book Anne’s House of Dreams–the 5th book in the Anne of Green Gables series.  Emma Gold has led a difficult life.  Her brother and her father died when she was a child, and she was then coerced into marrying the odious Neal Gold.  She thought she’d been granted a reprieve when he was believed to be lost at sea–only for him to return disabled and in need of a caregiver.  Killian is a newspaper reporter who is tired of his routine life.  When he falls ill, his editor forces him to take a sabbatical.  What will happen when Emma takes Killian in as a border for the summer? Big thank you to @snowbellewells for making the cover pic set!

Word Count: 1176

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list):

@jennjenn615 @laschatzi @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @kmomof4

@linda8084 @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 

@therooksshiningknight @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree @jrob64  @anmylica 

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @i-will-sing-no-requiem @bluewildcatfanatic @laianely

Other Chapters: (Prologue) (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Epilogue

Neither Emma nor Killian wanted to wait any longer than necessary to be wed, and so a month after his proposal, in the garden of the little House of Dreams, they were married in the church in the harbor.  It was a small, intimate ceremony, only their closest friends present–the Nolans, of course, Granny and Marco (who had only a few days before tied the knot themselves), Captain Nemo, Gideon and Violet, Johanna, and Lance Du Lac.

Mary Margaret and Emma had spent many happy hours working together to make Emma’s wedding dress and veil.  It was a rather simple ensemble, but Mary Margaret thought she’d never seen a more radiant bride.

Emma knew she’d never forget the moment she began her walk down the aisle–on Captain Nemo’s arm.  She’d looked to the end of the aisle and seen Killian standing there, devastatingly handsome in is black tux, his eyes shining with love and happiness.

Butterflies, she thought as she walked.  She had butterflies thinking of spending the rest of her life with this man.

As the two of them said the vows that would bind them together forever, she didn’t feel the panicked, trapped feeling she had at her first wedding–as though her “I do” was a shackle around her wrist, and his was the locking of her prison door.  No, this time, their vows felt like she was given wings and was finally free to soar.

The kiss he’d given her when they were pronounced husband and wife was almost scandalous–how filled with desire and passion it was, right there in the church before God and everyone–but Emma couldn’t bring herself to care.  This was right, this was beautiful, this was as it was meant to be.

After the ceremony, they’d adjourned to the garden outside the House of Dreams for a small reception.  Johanna, who had returned a week before the wedding, and Mary Margaret had outdone themselves with refreshments and a lovely, three-tiered wedding cake.  The afternoon was spent with laughter and joy among their nearest and dearest.

“So, what are your plans, now that you’re married?” David asked.

“I’m selling my house,” Emma said. “There are too many memories there–and aside from the summer with Killian, all of them were dark and dismal.  That house holds too many ghosts.”

“You won’t move far, will you?” Mary Margaret asked quickly.

“Unfortunately we must,” Killian said.  “I’ve still got my job in Montreal.  We’ll take up residence there.”

“Oh what a shame!” Mary Margaret said, clearly crestfallen. “We’ll all miss you dreadfully!”

“Indeed we will,” Granny said with a decisive nod of her head.  “Now Emma, dearie, the two of you must visit often.  On that I absolutely insist.”

“Of course we will,” Killian promised.  “Every chance we get.  My summer on the island was the happiest of my life, and I know Emma will miss all of you.”

“Well, since we’re talking about changes,” David said after a moment.  “Mary Margaret and I have some news as well.  The old Morgan place up in the glen just went on the market–Ingleside, I think they’re calling it–and Mary Margaret and I have decided to buy it.”

“You’re leaving your House of Dreams?” Marco asked, eyebrows raised.  “But you always seemed to love this house so much!”

Mary Margaret sighed.  “We do.  This house has been dearer to me than anywhere I’ve ever lived, and it breaks my heart to leave, but David convinced me it’s the right decision.”

“Between the two of us, Johanna, and now baby Leo, we’re bursting at the seams,” David said.  “You know we’ve always wanted a large family, and when more little ones come along, well our House of Dreams will no longer suit our needs.  The price of Ingleside couldn’t be beat, and so we chose to act.”

“My biggest concern,” Mary Margaret said, “is that the House of Dreams will go to someone who won’t love it and care for it the way we did–or worse yet, that it will stand empty and simply decay.”

Emma and Killian looked at each other for a moment, and then Emma nodded, knowing what he was thinking without him needing to voice it–and completely agreeing with him.  

“We might have a way to allay that fear,” he said. “Emma and I have talked about wanting to summer here on the island–to make it a yearly thing.  What if we bought your House of Dreams for our summer home?”

The suggestion had been met with great enthusiasm by all present, and so they had yet another thing to celebrate on this gorgeous fall day.  

And celebrate they had, until the sun began its slow descent into the west.

Finally, when it was time for Emma and Killian to leave for their honeymoon trip, their friends saw them off with cheers and applause.

Killian had booked them a luxurious private berth on the train for the first leg of their trip, and as the countryside sped by, he and Emma sat together, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder, her hand covering his heart.

“Are you happy, love?” he asked softly.

She smiled, too overcome with emotion to speak.  Instead, she took his face in her hands and brought him down for a long, slow, leisurely kiss.

The verse from Psalm 30 came into her mind then: Weeping may endure for a night, but at the dawn there is rejoicing.

Her long, agonizing night was finally at an end, and the dawn had finally arrived.  Emma couldn’t wait to discover what this new day would bring.

The end!

Notes:

–Thank you all for reading and commenting! (And happy birthday to Krystal!)

–One other change I made from the actual book: In the book, Owen (Killian) brought Captain Jim (Nemo) a copy of his book on his return to the island, and the next morning Anne and Gilbert (the Nolans) found him with a smile on his face, and his book open to the last page.  He’d apparently passed away of old age just after finishing the book.  I, however,  had no intention of killing off Captain Nemo.

–That’s it for this story, but if you’re interested in what happens with the book characters moving forward:  (SPOILERS FOR ANYONE INTERESTED IN READING THE ANNE OF GREEN GABLES BOOKS) Anne and Gilbert move to Ingleside and have 5 more children (bringing their total to 3 girls and 3 boys).  Leslie (Emma) and Owen have two children–the first they name after Leslie’s deceased brother and the second after Persus Ford (Elsa in my story).  They come back to the House of Dreams to live every summer, and their family and Anne and Gilbert’s continue to be great friends.  Miss Cornelia (Granny) and Marshall Elliot (Marco) eventually adopt a little orphan girl who ran away from the orphanage.  Several years later, at the end of World War I, Leslie and Owen’s son comes home from the war and marries Anne and Gilbert’s youngest daughter.  And, of course, everyone lives happily ever after! 

[swanimagines]

The Bastard and the Blood Princess [Chapter 1]

Read it on AO3 | Read it on Wattpad

The world is an evil place, and you have to be even worse if you wish to survive.

That was what your father always told you, ever since you were old enough to understand what words meant when put together. He wasn’t exactly a loving father, nor was he hiding who he was from you. From the very start, you were raised to be like him.

Maybe in your little heart, at times you were wondering if it’s right, if it meets your morals, if it’s really what you want. But you had been taught to shut it down - of course it’s right. It’s all you ever knew, and there was no other way.

One of your first memories had Pekka telling you how your parents sold you to him for money, and when he wouldn’t take you, they had told him to throw you to Reaper’s Barge if not else - that you’re a liability to them and not a son they had hoped. So Pekka had taken you in, and raised you to be the future Queen of the Barrel, ruling alongside Alby - the whole city of Ketterdam would be under Rollins rule, and his legacy could live on for centuries.

You were his most feared interrogator - pulling teeth and fingernails out was tame compared to what you would do to anyone who had been acting suspicious. Any snitch and spy would sing the moment you stepped into the room, which spared them their life. They usually still left the room without at least one body part, but at least they were alive.

You had earned yourself a name, a name that was whispered in the streets as you walked there - Blood Princess. It planted fear across the Dime Lion turf, and soon after you stepped in, Pekka no longer had spies and all of his men were kept straight and in order, never disobeying him.

But during the past years, there had been a growing threat in the Barrel - the Dregs had a new dog, and it was a mad one. It got equal fear in Dregs turf and quickly ate up more playground for them from other gangs, which made Dregs the second largest gang from Dime Lions.

At first, Pekka had been interested in this new Dregs member - Dirtyhands they called him. Maybe if he was offered a nice, thick stack of money, he’d leave the old Haskell and start working for Dime Lions instead. Maybe you’d get a friend to play with, Dirtyhands was around your age and seemed like he was equally willing to do things you did.

The boy had taken the money and burned them in front of Pekka, his eyes so full of hate and despise that Pekka almost would have thought he was indeed possessed by a demon, or that's what he told you. You were more than interested to see this Dirtyhands - Kaz Brekker his real name was - yourself, and a few times you did meet him briefly. It wasn’t a real meeting though, you never talked, only stared at each other while Pekka and Haskell were meeting, doing shallow deals, talking about turfs, negotiating after some fights - who crossed whose turf line. Two sides, you were your father’s right hand and Kaz was Haskell’s, you were mainly there to guard each other from doing any tricks.

But after Dregs had started taking small bits of Dime Lions' turf and claiming them as Dreg turf, Pekka snapped. He immediately summoned you to his office, and had an order for you to execute.

“Go to Kaz Brekker, convince him you want to help him get rid of Dime Lions,” he told you. “Do whatever you can to make him believe you, I know you can do it. Make him dance like a marionette. Then, cut off his strings and throw him into the Barge.”

You smirked, nodding. “I already have a story I’ll tell him. But for that, papa, I need to be beaten up.”

Pekka took in a deep breath and nodded towards his goons, and you followed them to another room where you endured an hour of being thrown across the walls, kicked and punched, until you coughed up blood and could barely walk.

Then, you forced yourself to get up and make your way towards the Dregs turf, towards the Slat.

You had a job to do, and it had to be done perfectly.

—

Something wet was splashed on your face, and you opened your eyes with a groan. You were met with a boot, which had an owner who splashed the muddy rain water on your face to wake up.

“Look, Hog. The Princess herself,” someone said, his laugh echoing in your ears and you rolled to your back with a groan.

Get yourself to the Slat.

“Help me,” you squeaked out. The two men laughed again, and you felt the other man nudge you with your boot again.

“A fancy place you got yourself into, Princess. Right in front of the Slat. Brekker will have fun tearing you apart,” the other man, Hog, said and you heard some shuffling. “Dijks, why don’t you get him?”

“Gladly, Hog.”

Slat. Good.

A few moments passed with you just lying there, before the door opened again and you heard an unmistakable sound of a cane clicking. Then, it was dead silent, just the sound of rain and occasional banter further away, as the three men stared at you.

Then, a raspy voice. Stone against stone, Kaz Brekker’s voice, said, “Bring her in. Tie her in the chair in the back room, I’ll deal with her later. Make sure her bindings hold.”

“Gladly, boss.”

You were hoisted up, and you saw everything in a blur. Brekker walked back inside as you were brought in, roughly dragged by these two idiots, Hog and Dijks.

You made a mental note that they’ll get killed next once Brekker is dead.

They threw you on a chair with more power than necessary, and then you saw the other man in front of you, spitting on your face. “My niece almost got killed because of you.”

Almost? Such a big crybaby.

But you knew you had to keep up your facade. “I’m sorry, I’m so–”

He slapped you. “Keep whining to yourself, maybe you’ll get killed faster.”

You shut up then, just sitting there with your head down, waiting for Kaz to appear through the door. And it took half an hour before you heard him walking towards that small, cold room where you sat tied up, being bruised, wet and dirty.

“Leave,” Kaz growled, and the two men immediately left the room, leaving you and Kaz alone. The crow beak of his cane dug to your chin as he forced you to look at him, and the moment you met his dark eyes, you let out a breath.

“Help me,” you whispered, and Kaz tilted his head. His brows furrowed - he was confused. Good.

Then, he scoffed. “Why would I help you?”

You took in a deep breath, trying to force yourself to sit up straighter. Then, you readied yourself to drop the bomb - you had to make it seem like you meant it, like you wanted it - like you were being honest. And if anything you had heard about Kaz Brekker, it was that he wasn’t easy to cheat, it was even impossible to cheat him, and trying it would only get you killed. But, you had a job to do and backing down wasn’t an option.

“I want to help you in getting rid of my father, Pekka Rollins - and to destroy Dime Lions.”

--

NEXT CHAPTER ->

Taglist: This does not and will not have a taglist, so please don't ask to be added. If you want to get informed about new chapters, I recommend subscribing to the work in AO3. Or adding the story into your library in Wattpad, but I'd recommend getting AO3 account more.

[enkisstories]

Mutiny on the Steadfast - a Star Wars story

I just posted chapter 7 of Mutiny on the Steadfast. Recap: The First Order brainwashed Poe Dameron into thinking he is one of their officers, Rose and Finn are captured on the Steadfast and Hux, who came up with the brainwashing plan in the first place, is on parole after his treason.

I'm going to post the chapter in two parts on this blog, too.

Chapter 7, Part 1, follows Hux, his bodyguard/warden and Poe

“…waterpark right next to Niima. No, really! I’m not kidding you, Eleven. I’ve got this planned out, it’s something I’ve been working on and off for years now.”

Hux was talking uncharacteristically energetic, to the point where FN-11 was expecting the man’s hand to shoot up and start gesticulating any moment. Fittingly Hux had walked with the same fervor up until this moment. Now he slowed down when someone approached from the opposite direction of the floor.

“Greetings, General.”

“Hello, Kandia.”

Kandia’s half-grown assistant added a polite greeting of his own, then the duo had already walked past Hux and FN-11, minding their own business and leaving the other two to theirs.

Hux readjusted the strap of the backpack he was carrying, then tried to fall into his previous step again, from before the intelligence officers had startled him. To him this encounter felt surreal, seeing how Kandia and Lt. Kornsenf had been constants in his life after he had gotten exposed as the mole. Now their spheres were hardly touching anymore, as if all of the humiliations, the provocations and the shows of power in the interrogation chamber had happened in a different life, to different persons. But it had been real, the pain in his left leg was a reminder. Hux hadn’t thought about his injury for two days, as it had went from a constant thrumming to being nonexistent except for the occasional jolt after a sharp, sudden movement.

“A waterpark on Jakku”, FN-11 repeated.

“The ultimate triumph of civilization over nature”, Hux confirmed. “Human ingenuity and modern technology can make it happen.”

“It’s not how I imagined you after we’d have won the war”, the stormtrooper captain, who had known his General since that one had been six years old, admitted. “On second thought, it’s very much in character for you. I just got blindsided by perceiving you as “the General, future Grand-Marshall” instead of as yourself for so long.”

Hux nodded. There was no need for a reply, because FN-11 already spoke on:

“But this once again demonstrates why family ties are a bad idea. Your legacy pushes you towards the military, whereas the First Order would have to gain more from you being in engineering, maybe architecture, permanently.”

“I won’t be so busy anymore after we’ve eradicated the Resistance. There’ll always be conflicts, but I expect those to be small scale, safe to leave to subordinates. We’re no longer the juniors, Eleven, despite the imperials trying their best to keep us down. This is our world now, it’s time to act like it! To shape this galaxy to our vision!”

“Even at the cost of stopping our expansion? Not a challenge, genuinely interested.”

“That’s not a question I could comfortably answer before I’ve run some simulations. There’s a non-zero chance for it to be the case, though.”

It didn’t take long for the duo to run into another encounter, an even more unexpected one than the first: An instructor with a group of eight child cadets of which every capital ship had a few batches of. These particular children were aged five, and as such shouldn’t have been so close to the detention level. Their teacher was Lt. Kornsenf’s age, so hardly a child himself anymore, and shouldn’t have made such a critical mistake. FN-11 therefore presumed that everything was in order, and when he stopped the youth to inspect his credentials, the captain’s body language conveyed that it was just a routine check. Indeed the group turned out to have proper clearing to visit certain parts of this section as part of a field trip.

“Alright, go on”, FN-11 told the young instructor, instinctually smiling at him under his helmet, despite knowing full well that neither his mimic nor his voice would get relayed to his conversation partner. But then again, anything FN-11 would have wanted to convey, the youth already knew himself. This was the First Order, after all, where everyone knew their place and where everyone had a place. That last bit was important. When the world had not just left Trenay behind when he had been a child, but actively tried to remove him from itself, Rax and Hux snr. had swooped in out of seemingly nowhere, scorched Jakku in a major battle and swooped out again, but with Trenay, Archex and a number of other orphans in tow, to a land of regular meals, shelter and lessons in how they could protect their rights to all of that. Unlike FN-11, Hux remembered how wasteful Brendol and later Phasma had been with the lives of recruits – and also how he hadn’t used his power to stop at least Phasma from culling the ranks now and then. Anybody older than five was simply a “unit” to Hux, five being the magic barrier after which the younglings had suddenly learned how to hurt with words. It wasn’t that Hux hated children, but his willingness to engage with them drastically decreased the older they got. Of all of that FN-11 knew nothing; he was unaware of the legacy he had found himself in as Phasma’s successor, a position he was proud of.

One of the kindergarteners looked up.

“Why is the General wearing a backpack?” she asked.

The instructor flinched. Everything had went so well until this moment!

“Thirteen!” he yelped. “Don’t…!”

But it was too late. The General had already locked onto the child, bent down and launched the backpack at Thirteen. At least that was how it looked to the shocked instructor, when in truth the man had taken off his luggage in a perfectly civil manner. The youngling, coded C-13, wasn’t scared at all, and even less was she in danger.

Hux gave a backpack a nudge.

“Try to lift it, cadet!”

Thirteen reached out with both hands, grabbed the cloth and pulled. When that didn’t work, she lowered down, dragged the bag onto her knees and tried to push it up this way. The attempt resulted in a preschooler and a backpack rolling on the floor.

“It’s heavy!” Thirteen exclaimed.

“And?”

“Full”, the child said, a statement that her instructor elaborated on as: “Filled with many, many small items.”

“Many, many, many”, the child confirmed in a somber tone, still looking Hux into the eyes.

“That’s why I wear the backpack, because nobody can carry everything that’s inside of it in their hands”, Hux said, pleased with himself. He had successfully avoided answering the actual question: what the heck was he taking to what place in his backpack and to what end. The child had already forgotten it, wrapped up in the experience of getting tutored by a commanding officer.

The neck of a bottle had slipped out of the bag during the collision. Hux pulled it out completely before firmly tying the string shut again. The bottle contained a thick, yellow liquid, that screamed “I’m sweet” to the universe.

“Here! For being so observant. You’re a credit to the First Order.”

C-13 grabbed the gift tightly.

“And that’s why you know what to do with this, right?” FN-11 added to the General’s words.

“I will… share it with my squad?”

The stormtrooper captain patted the child’s head.

“One trooper’s victory is everyone’s victory. What one knows, everyone knows. We live and function as a unit. Impervious.”

C-13 nodded and then the group continued on their tour through the Steadfast.

FN-11 followed the children with his eyes for a couple of breaths.

“Do you remember the first time we had so much food and drink that we could share? I never expected to be one of the lucky ones!”

“Yes, I remember. After leaving Arkanis.”

FN-11 laughed. “Your mimic betrays that you are as happy about the loss of the bottle as the rugrat about having to share its contents. Really, Sir, the juice is better off in the bellies of our next generation than the originally intended recipients.”

“I told you before and will tell you again, Trenay, this isn’t about them, but about me”, Hux hissed. “Now let’s continue and get this done. I don’t think we’re likely to run into another… Oh. Hi, Poe.”

Really? Hux thought. After his torturers and a morning class they were now stumbling over Poe Dameron? Like, hell? What was this? A three kilometer by one and a half kilometer capital ship or a bloody messenger pigeon coop?!

“Have you somehow managed to get detention… again?”

“Not yet, but probably subconsciously working on it, as that seems to be how you guys remember me”, Poe replied. Then he saw the second bottle sticking out of Hux’ backpack. A juice bottle. A large bag. At the detention level…

“Are you feeding the prisoners out of turn?!” Poe gasped.

“No.”

“I need to check that.”

“Knock yourself out.”

Again the backpack got placed on the floor, and again its contents came under scrutiny. In addition to the bottle containing a juice rich in vitamins, the backpack contained a cooling/heating box for gel pads along with some actual gel pads, rub-on headache drops, basic patches and a small flask containing a skin sterilizer. Only bacta gel was missing from this portable home medicine cabinet.

“Painkillers?” Poe furrowed his brows. “I just passed Kandia on my stroll here. What you’re doing is diametral to her work. I don’t want to use the word sabotage, but…”

“They’re just very weak ones, for minor ailments, okay? Mint oil, c’mon!”

“Still…”

“They are hostages now”, Hux reminded his friend, the rules-abiding First Order General Poe Dameron. “We don’t want them to get infected or otherwise drop in value.”

“Are you also spending time with them? Reading them to sleep?”

“I couldn’t care less for them”, Hux said haughtily. “But they are important to a friend from when I was a spy.”

A friend… a rebel friend? Maybe one of the exact same group who had tortured Poe during his captivity? Anger welled up in the returned pilot and he shouted:

“You have a friend in the Resistance? You’re making yourself more suspicious by the minute!”

“He’s dead, okay? He’s dead and he won’t come back! EVER!” Hux shouted back.

“That sounds as if you didn’t want that friend of yours to come back.”

“We are… were enemies, after all.”

“And?”

“He was the absolute worst. Regurgitated their anarchistic believes with every breath. And yet… There was a bond of sorts.”

Poe could see how making even this simple, almost bereft of content, statement taxed his friend, so he nodded.

“Okay, I won’t press. If this is behind you, then it’s alright. And really, you caring for the pri… hostages is an honorable thing. Some of our peers relish in needless cruelty. I can’t say I find that in me.”

“Your performance at D’Qar begs to differ.”

“Did I hit the rebel-scum where it hurt?” Poe laughed. “I guess that wasn’t needless cruelty, then. Anyway, go honor your friend’s memory as long as you need to.”

With these words Poe turned around and left, his suspicion both confirmed and rendered insubstantial.

“I never saw you attached to another person, and now three?” FN-11 asked after Poe had vanished around a corner.

“I’m not. This is for my benefit, not the rebels’.” Hux shouldered his bag once again. “Having them around makes me feel good.”

“That’s still attachment.”

“If you talk back to me one more time, Trenay…!”

Hux’ hand reflexively reached for where his infamous modified SE-44C blaster should be tucked to his belt, but the weapon wasn’t there anymore, of course. In the following shock second FN-11 stretched out his arm. He grabbed Hux by the shoulder, turned the General half around himself, forced him to take two steps backwards and pinned him against the wall.

“No need to go full on Kylo Ren on me, General. You know I’m glad to have you back, but you must understand that I have to be cautious.”

“Look… I don’t claim that I came out of this unscathed. The rebel trio? Consider them scars that remain from a battle that very nearly led to my death.”

“Alright, that’s fair.” FN-11 let go again. “Are you going to get yourself the droid, too, to complete the set?”

“Maybe I will do that. I just shouldn’t let Poe see BB-8. It could spark memories that better remain suppressed.”

[wolfjackle-creates]

Carry On Chapter 1

Fandom: Good Omens

AO3 Link (Locked to logged in users. I have a few invites available on a first-come-first-serve basis if anyone needs one.)

It didn't take as long to edit as I expected! Only the beginning really needed a lot of work.

Summary:

After the garden, the First Family has to find their way in the wider, more dangerous world. But Heaven and Hell aren't ready to leave them alone so Crawly and Aziraphale tag along. When Cain has the idea to sacrifice the best of his harvest to God, Abel also wishes to sacrifice the best of his lambs. God chooses Her favorite and the First Family is left to pick up the pieces as best they can.

Warnings: It's a story of Cain and Abel, discussions of family death, funerals, no happy endings in this chapter. It is critical of the Christian God and blasphemy abounds.

Word Count: 5.7k

-----

Crawly trailed his hands along leaves and flowers as he walked through Cain’s meticulously tended fields. Aziraphale followed a step behind, eyes up as he watched the birds and clouds.

“They’re amazing, aren’t they?” commented Crawly. “Kicked out of their home and they figured out how to make a new one.”

“Indeed. I’m glad they’ve been able to build themselves a small haven in this world.”

Crawly hummed and flexed his toes to feel the carefully tilled dirt between them. Movement up ahead caught his eyes and he grinned. “Cain! Plants behaving for you?”

“You’d better not be planning anything that’ll affect the harvest,” warned Aziraphale.

Cain ignored Aziraphale’s threat and just grinned at them. “Hey, Crawly! This might be my best harvest yet. It’s so plentiful that I want to thank God for giving all of this to us so I’m going through choosing the best of everything that’s ripe to give as a sacrifice.”

“Oh that sounds wonderful!” exclaimed Aziraphale. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve gathered so far?”

Crawly watched in shocked silence as Aziraphale and Cain talked excitedly over the chosen sacrifices until he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “But She didn’t give anything to you! She took it all away. What you have is in spite of Her, not because of Her!”

“A demon like you could never understand.” Aziraphale managed to look down on him despite being in a corporation that was shorter than Crawly’s.

“No, you pompous, self-assured angels could never understand!”

Cain moved to stand between them. “Enough. Crawly, She’s God; She gave us the world. Of course She deserves a sacrifice.”

“See, foul demon, despite your attempts at corruption, the humans won’t be swayed from their love to the Almighty.”

Crawly had long experience in ignoring Aziraphale when he got all sanctimonious and continued to address Cain. “She cursed you and Abel for something your parents did!”

“She let us keep the knowledge of good and evil. She may have exiled us from the garden, but She still gave us the plants and crops and beasts and soil. She made all of this. Mama and Papa think it was worth it and Abel and I agree.”

“She didn’t make shit. We did. The angels! She just picked through for what She liked and had us put those on Earth and threw out everything else.” Some of those discarded projects had been near and dear to him. He’d either worked on them or been friends with those who had. But they’d been shoved into storage closets and closed off rooms in the Halls of Creation, never to be seen again. Even talking about them became taboo after a time.

Aziraphale shifted to glare at Crawly around Cain. “And She made all of us! Therefore, everything that exists comes from her.”

“Just because She made me doesn’t mean She gets…”

“Enough!” interrupted Cain. “As interesting as it is to watch the two of you debate, it’s pointless here. Crawly, it doesn’t matter if God made everything herself, or if She only decided what was best to put on Earth. She still gave all of this to us. And I want to thank her for it. You won’t change my mind.”

“Fine, fine. Whatever. Waste your food. No skin off my back.” He could at least send a report to Hell to say he was trying to prevent a sacrifice from making its way to God. He had no idea if it would be enough, but his position on Earth was probationary until Hell decided whether or not it was worth keeping a permanent field agent. And he wanted, more than anything, to stay on Earth.

Aziraphale couldn’t resist getting in one last word and said, “Paying homage to the Almighty could hardly be a waste.”

Crawly rolled his eyes and hissed in frustration before leaving as Cain returned to his fields. Why did God get their undying devotion after She was the one to punish them for learning? And why was learning such a big deal anyway? He sighed and pushed the thoughts from his head. He’d already spent two decades questioning it to no end.

Instead, he decided to check on Abel. Crawly let out one set of wings and launched into the air. Abel would be in the grassy plains tending his herds and it was far quicker to fly there than to walk. He flew until he was past Cain’s fields and grass spread out for leagues. There Abel sat and watched his sheep. Crawly let out a loud whistle to get the boy’s attention.

Abel looked up and waved his staff in greeting. “Crawly! Hi!”

Even after two decades with these humans, Crawly was still surprised by how they legitimately seemed to enjoy his company. No one in Hell liked each other. And while he’d had friends and siblings in Heaven, he’d been so busy that no one stopped him just because they wanted to spend time with him. Yet these humans actually wanted him around. “Abel!” Crawly landed and sprawled on the ground next to the man. “How’re the sheep today? Any of them try and kill themselves yet?” So far, Abel had lost three of the beasts when they did something stupid and died.

“No, praise the Lord—” he tipped his head back and looked to the sky, clasping his hands at the brief prayer— “they’re all doing well. Cain had the idea to give God a sacrifice and I’m going to do the same. I’m just trying to decide which of my lambs are the strongest so I can give Her the best.”

Crawly groaned and rubbed his hand down his face. “Not you, too. I was just talking to your brother. God doesn’t need your sacrifice. Dead lambs won’t help Her in any way. But you could use the wool when they’re older. And the leather. Hell, if you’d finally give in and eat meat, which I’ve told you is fine, you could even get food from them!”

“God gave us the plants for food; we don’t need to eat animals as well. And I know She doesn’t need the sacrifice. That’s why I want to give it to Her. It’s a hardship on my part to show my devotion. Everything we have is because of Her. I can at least acknowledge that.”

“Everything you have is because you worked hard.” Crawly gestured to the animals grazing around them. “You gathered and raised these beasts. You kept them alive all winter and helped them deliver their young come spring. You’ve done that. Not God. No need to give Her more credit than She’s due.”

“I know you’ve your own history with God, but you won’t be able to convince me not to do this. Mama and Papa also think it’s a good idea.”

Before Crawly could respond, Aziraphale landed next to them. “I should’ve known,” he said, glaring at the demon. “After you failed at tempting Cain, you decided to try your luck with Abel.”

Crawly hissed in frustration. “It’s not like that. I just think they need the food and wool and leather more than Her! It’s not like She can eat it or anything!”

“That’s not the point of a sacrifice,” retorted Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale’s right, Crawly,” said Abel. “A sacrifice is us giving up something that we could use in order to acknowledge everything that has been handed to us.”

Crawly sat up in frustration. “Can’t you see? She’s turned her back on you! She doesn’t deserve your devotion or sacrifice after that!” Crawly threw his hands in the air. Why did none of the humans understand it? He hated seeing them chase after Mo- God. Once, before time, he’d been just the same. He just wanted to spare them the pain of learning better the same way he did.

“You know that’s not what happened!” argued Aziraphale.

“Isssn’t it?” hissed Crawly, teeth bared. He wasn’t even sure if he was talking about Adam and Eve or the Fall anymore, but the anger boiled in his chest.

“Stop it! Both of you!” interjected Abel. “That’s enough. You know we like having both of you around, but the rules are that you’re both welcome here so long as you don’t let your enmity get out of hand.”

Aziraphale collected himself first, sure in his own righteousness. “Of course, Abel. I apologize for my part in the disagreement.”

“Disssagreement, right,” said Crawly, not holding back on the sarcasm. “Look, Abel, do what you want. But while I may be a demon, I won’t help you kill any of your lambs. Your sacrifice, your kill.”

“Of course. I’d never have expected differently.”

Crawly nodded once before opening his wings and taking off. Some time alone would help him calm down.

---

Within a few days, the boys’ sacrifices were prepared. Cain spent hours agonizing over his selection until he was finally satisfied he’d selected the absolute best of his harvest. Abel spent just as much time second guessing which lamb he’d send to God.

While they were figuring out the details of their offerings, Crawly and Aziraphale had agreed to a truce. Temporary, as Aziraphale constantly felt the need to add. Their constant bickering about God’s nature and goodness had escalated until Eve was forced to set an ultimatum: get along or they both would be sent away until after the sacrifices had been completed.

Cain and Abel had decided on giving the sacrifices atop a tall hill near their home. Crawly sat on the ground close enough he could see the foolish men, but not near enough to hear them. A quiet cough by his shoulder got his attention and he looked over to see Eve. He nodded in greeting, but didn’t say anything.

“They’re nearly done.”

Crawly stood languidly and cracked his spine. “Then I’ll be gone. Can you make sure I’ve got at least five minutes to get away? I’d like to be far enough that Moth… That She won’t notice my presence. Or at least won’t bother to seek me out.”

Eve grinned. “You’ll have more than that. By almost done, I expect it to take another half hour or so. But you’ve been clear about your plans so I wanted to warn you.”

“Appreciate it.” With a last wave, he released a pair of wings and flew off. He was planning on hiding out in a small corpse of trees somewhat close by. As soon as he set down, he began pacing among the trees. This would be the closest he’d been to Her since before his Fall.

“Pull yourself together, it’ll be fine. The Humans are her favorite, remember.”

He continued to pace, unable to stop moving, until a prickly sensation on the wrong side of painful crawled over his skin—it felt like he was walking through brambles. The boys must’ve finally summoned Her to give their offerings. He grit his teeth against the pain and transformed into his snake form, hoping his scales would offer some protection against the Holiness infusing the air.

It didn’t help and he burrowed under the surrounding vegetation, trying to put as much of a physical barrier between them as he could. The sensation eased up somewhat, but it was still an extremely uncomfortable wait. Finally, after what seemed to be hours, the sensation faded.

He gave himself a minute to catch his breath and make sure She wouldn’t return before moving from his hiding place and transforming back into a human corporation. He brushed off any leaves that dared cling to him and launched into the air to return to the First Family.

When he got to the site of the sacrifice, however, he knew something had gone wrong. Eve was wrapped in Adam’s arms and crying into his chest and Aziraphale was looking on, wringing his hands and trying to offer consolations he clearly didn’t understand or believe.

Crawly landed. “What happened?”

Adam looked over and twitched his lips up in a mirthless smile in greeting. “God accepted Abel’s sacrifice, but refused Cain’s. Then chastised him for being upset. Cain ran off and Abel followed him.”

Crawly let out an angry hiss but didn’t say anything. “What direction did they go? I’ll talk to Cain.”

Adam pointed and Crawly made to follow, but Aziraphale spoke before he could. “I should go with you. Reassure both of them of Heaven’s good will.”

Crawly shook his head. “Absolutely not. That’ll only upset Cain more. As someone She’s already turned her back on, I’ll be the best one to talk to him. He might be more receptive to your messages tomorrow or next week.”

“I suppose you’re right. But you better not use this as an excuse to get him to turn on the Almighty completely!”

“Relax, Angel, I’m just going to make sure he’s okay.” He didn’t wait for any further delays and immediately took back to the skies and flew in the direction Adam indicated.

It wasn’t long before he saw the two. They were standing near the edge of Cain’s fields. It looked like Cain had tried to destroy part of his harvest before Abel got to him, but now he was leaving the plants alone in favor of arguing with his brother. Crawly couldn’t hear more than indistinct shouting. But then Cain shoving Abel who fell backwards Crawly pushed himself faster.

Abel didn’t move and a moment later Cain was kneeling by his side.

“What happened?” Crawly yelled as soon as he was in range.

Cain was too busy crying to his brother to respond. “Abel! Abel, please get up! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Crawly was finally close enough to see. When Cain had pushed his brother, Abel hit his head on a rock. Blood gushed from the wound. “Back up! Let me look!”

Crawly might have been a fixture in the Halls of Creation, but he’d been made a Healer first and foremost. He’d be able to fix anything so long as Abel wasn’t yet dead. Placing his hands on either side of Abel’s head, he sank his power into the man’s body to see what was wrong: a fractured skull and bleeding in the brain. He muttered a curse and directed his power to repair the blood vessels and bone.

Only for the stench of burning flesh to fill the air. Cain threw up, and Crawly gagged before he managed to turn off his olfactory nerves.

And then he was aware of another near them. Not Aziraphale or any of the humans, but Azrael, the angel of death. Crawly looked up, Azrael was cloaked in their dark robed, hood pulled over their head and face obscured except for burning lights where the eyes would be on a human.

“Please, don’t,” begged Crawly.

Azrael waved one bone-white hand and time slowed to a stop. “You know it’s not my choice, Raph-”

“Don’t call me that! It’s Crawly now.”

“That name doesn’t suit you, brother.” Azrael lowered their hood, revealing pale skin and black eyes, the opposite appearance of their hooded self.

Crawly shrugged. “It’s the only one I have anymore. Please, don’t take Abel. He doesn’t deserve to die. Not yet.”

“Most who have come to me don’t. But we don’t make that choice.”

“What went wrong? Why wasn’t I able to heal him?”

Azrael’s head dipped in their brother’s direction and they laid a hand on his shoulder. Their expression was regretful. “Demons can’t heal.”

Crawly stared at them gaping for a moment. “No. No! That’s not! I can’t…? No. Please…” he begged.

Azrael knelt besides Crawly and pulled him into a hug. Crawly grasped him back and tried not to sob into his sibling’s shoulder. But they could only put off the inevitable for so long. Azrael pulled away. “I’m sorry,” they whispered as they reached beyond Crawly to gather Abel’s soul.

And then both were gone and time restarted around them. Abel was dead.

Crawly pulled away from the body, his wings limp in the dirt, and stared at his blood covered hands. Was it true? Would he truly never be able to heal again? Just because he dared to question Her plans? Because he expected Her to be more just and kind?

Cain was back at his brother’s side, grasping Abel’s hand. “No. Please. Please wake up. Abel. I love you. I’m sorry. Please. Get up. Get up!”

Crawly felt numb but shook himself. Cain was still alive and that took priority. He wiped his hands on his robes and rested one on the man’s shoulder. “Cain. Let go. He can’t hear you. He’s gone.”

“No! No! He can’t be! He’ll wake up! He has to! He has to…” His pleading tapered off into sobbing and Crawly tried to pull him in for a hug when divinity filled the air for the second time that day.

Crawly screamed in pain as he crawled backwards, trying to get away from the overwhelming sense of Holiness.

“Where is your brother Abel?” asked God.

Crawly screamed louder and slammed his hands over his ears at Her voice; blood and black ichor leaked over his fingers and all he could hear was ringing. It seemed an eternity before She withdrew. Crawly had collapsed in the dirt and was gasping for air as the world around him slowly came back into focus. He closed his eyes and tried to figure out if his ears were permanently damaged or not, but already sounds from the world around were starting to filter in. The first thing he could recognize was Cain’s cries.

Crawly ground his teeth and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, still breathing hard. It took a monumental effort, but he managed to get himself upright, wiped his hands clean on his robes again, and stumbled his way over to Cain. “Cain, what did She say? Her voice… It hurt. I couldn’t listen.” He collapsed back to his knees behind the man.

Cain had his knees pulled up and his face hidden in them, though he was clearly still crying. Crawly reached out a hand to touch his shoulder and the man jerked away. Crawly yanked his hand back. Cain tried to catch his breath. “She… I’m banished. C-can never come b-back.”

Crawly hissed, his incisors lengthening somewhat. Banishment. Of course. She was predictable. Banish the bad angels. Banish the humans from the garden. Banish Cain. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists to stop them shaking. “Cain…” he started, but he had no idea how to finish the sentence.

Cain shook his head. “I can’t grow plants anymore. And I have to wander for the rest of my life. No one will be able to kill me.”

Crawly felt his fangs lengthen and scales manifest over his back and down his arms and legs. He hissed again. So She had gotten more creative this time. Cain flinched at his hissing, and Crawly forced himself to stop. He closed his eyes and focused until his incisors shrank to just barely larger than a human’s and his tongue widened and the tip merged. He forced the scales back until none extended past the edges of his robes. “Sorry,” it took every bit of restraint he’d learned in Hell to keep the ‘s’ short. “It’s not right or fair what She’s doing.”

Cain was shaking back and forth. “No, it is. I k- I killed Abel. I’ll never make up for that. I don’t even know how. He’s my brother. Was. Was my brother. Wh-where do I even go from here? What do I do? Mom and dad. How can I face them again?”

Crawly opened his mouth, but then closed it again. He had nothing to say to that. Instead, he reached for the distraught man and pulled him close. Cain fisted his hands in his robes as sobs overtook him once more.

He was just starting to get himself under control when Crawly saw Adam, Eve, and Aziraphale approaching. Cain must have noticed some change in the demon because he looked up. His dark skin took on a yellowish tint and his eyes went wide. He backed away from Crawly and turned around so he wouldn’t have to see his parents.

And that was when Adam and Eve must have noticed Abel, because they started sprinting towards the group and Crawly could hear their distressed cries. Both fell to their knees by their son’s body, and Eve gripped Abel’s hand. “Abel? Abel! Wake up!”

Adam wrapped his hands around his wife, already crying. He closed his eyes and tucked his face into her neck, shoulders shaking. Aziraphale stood behind them, his hands over his mouth and eyes wide.

“What happened?” asked the angel.

Eve stopped begging Abel to wake up and she and Adam looked up at Crawly, silently begging him to make it better.

Haltingly, Crawly explained. “They were arguing when I approached. Cain, he pushed Abel. Not hard or viciously. But when Abel fell, he… He hit his head. I was too late to stop the injury, but I knew I could…” His throat tightened and he couldn’t look at Adam or Eve anymore. He looked at grass by his knees, eyes unfocused. “I should’ve been able to heal him. I tried, but it… I can’t… It didn’t work. I couldn’t save him. Then God came. I couldn’t hear Her voice. It… hurt. Cain said. He said She banished him. And cursed him to wander for the rest of his days. And he’ll never be able to farm again.”

Eve broke down into loud sobs at the end of his story. “No, no! Not my sons. Not both of them! Lord, please!” she begged through her tears. Adam hugged her close to him, crying himself. Their grief left an acrid taste in the back of Crawly’s mouth.

Aziraphale was silently crying as well. “Did you… Did you really try and heal him?” he asked Crawly.

Crawly looked up, confused. He couldn’t make out what Aziraphale’s expression meant. Grief, of course, but something else was there, too. “Yeah, of course. Back before… Well, I used to be good at it.”

“I see…” said Aziraphale.

At that moment, Eve broke free from her husband’s arms and rushed to Cain, hugging him tightly from behind. “Please don’t leave. Don’t go.”

Cain just seemed to curl even further in on himself and didn’t respond to his mother’s pleas. Crawly glared at the sky. This was all Her fault. She didn’t have to do any of this. But he didn’t say anything. Nothing would change and it wouldn’t make any of the humans feel better.

Eve was still talking to her son. “I-I’ll make you a bag. Blankets, food, tools. Everything you could need.” She turned to Crawly. “Will you go with him? Please? I can’t… I can’t lose him, too.”

Crawly was already nodding. “I was planning on it. I’ll stay by his side; I promise.”

Aziraphale startled at his statement at stared at him, mouth open. Crawly ignored him. He had no idea what was going on with the angel and now was not the time to try and figure it out.

Adam, still crying, hugged Crawly. “Thank you.”

Eve looked over to Crawly and Aziraphale, still holding onto her remaining son. “How long before he has to leave?”

Crawly shrugged. “She didn’t say.”

Aziraphale worried at his lip. “Likely by nightfall. That was the order for you and Adam at Eden.”

“If you’ll allow it, I’d like to see Abel’s funeral,” said Cain, voice tight with grief and tears.

“Yes, of course you’ll see it,” said Adam as if the idea of anything different was impossible. “Come, we’ll dig the grave together. I think he’d like to be buried in his pastures among his sheep.”

“I’ll help you,” Aziraphale said as he followed them.

Cain stood, hugged his mother, and started walking in the direction of the pastures without another word. Aziraphale collected the body, turning down any assistance from Adam, and they followed Cain.

Eve looked at Crawly, “Will you help me gather the things he’ll need? I want to give him as much as we can.”

“Of course.”

---

Eve packed and unpacked the bag a dozen times over the next two hours. Crawly tried to help guess what would be most useful for him and Cain. He also made sure the bag would remain light and could hold more than physics should’ve allowed.

At one point, she spotted her bone flute. Adam had carved it for her shortly after they’d left the garden and its music had comforted the First Family for many nights. “Will you take this? And play it for him? So he can remember us and know how much we love him?”

Crawly gently took it from her hands. “I’d be honored to.”

She nodded and returned to packing. It wasn’t until Aziraphale returned to announce the grave was dug and it was time for the funeral for her to admit she’d done all she could.

They started walking towards the designated place and it took a few moments for Crawly to realize Eve wasn’t following. He stopped and looked back to see her frozen to the spot, face pale, and clutching Cain’s bag tightly to her chest.

“I can’t. I can’t go. He’s my son. How can I bury him?”

Aziraphale tried to placate her. “My dear girl, I know it’s hard…”

Crawly, however, just walked over and pulled her into a hug and let her cry into his chest again. “Cain needs you, Eve. Be strong for just another hour or two. Cain needs to know you’ll be okay and once he and I leave, then you can fall apart. Can you do that? Just an hour or two?”

She tried to catch her breath and nodded before loosening her grip and taking a step back. Her face was determined. “Two hours. Yes. I can do that. For Cain.”

Crawly kept his arm around her shoulders as the three made a silent trek to the pasture where Abel was to be buried. Once there, Eve left Crawly’s embrace in favor of her husband and son. Cain stood between his parents as all three cried and leaned on each other.

Aziraphale used a miracle to gently lower Abel’s body into the earth and spoke the eulogy. Neither Adam nor Eve was collected enough to speak and Cain apparently hadn’t spoken a word since asking to be present for the funeral.

In what seemed like no time at all, they were filling the grave back in with dirt. Adam and Eve were telling Abel how much they loved him and would miss him with each handful. Crawly thought he could read apologies on Cain’s lips, but if he spoke aloud, the words were too quiet to be heard. Crawly whispered his own apologies into the grave for his part in the incident. Aziraphale worked in silence.

And then it was all over. As some time still remained before dusk, Crawly and Aziraphale walked a short distance away to give the family some privacy in their last hour together.

“Why did you try to heal him?” asked Aziraphale as they observed the tableau of grief.

“What? I can’t like people just because I’m a demon? I’ve known Abel practically since his birth. I didn’t want him to die.”

“But I can’t imagine Hell would’ve been happy if you’d succeeded.”

Crawly waved a hand in the air. “I would’ve figured something out.”

Aziraphale hummed and Crawly wasn’t sure if he believed him or not. Crawly wasn’t sure if he believed himself either, to be fair. Hell wasn’t big on good deeds.

“Why didn’t She accept Cain’s sacrifice anyway? No one’s said.”

“It seems, as they were presented together, She considered them to be an either-or sacrifice. And Abel’s was more pleasing to Her.”

Crawly’s mouth fell open. “But that makes no sense!”

Aziraphale shrugged. “It is not for us to question the Almighty. I believe you should know that much.”

“She’s a conceited, demanding, mercurial slave-driver who needs to take a step back and think about other people from time to time.”

“How can you say something like that?” demanded Aziraphale, scandalized. “She’s all that is good and just in the universe.”

Crawly scoffed. “Hardly. That’s just a mask she wears to make the angels, and humans now, I guess, do what she says.”

“Well, if that’s how you feel, it’s no wonder She made you Fall.”

Crawly remembered the flash of a sword and the hard shove that preceded an endless Fall and snorted. Her actions may have pushed him away, but She wasn’t responsible for that final push.

Crawly sighed and rested his head in his hands. The scent of burning flesh still clung to the back of his nose and the grief of Abel’s death was too near to want to argue any more. Aziraphale must’ve felt similarly as he made a noise of resignation and settled down with him. The sun made it’s way closer to the horizon. When the shadows were long, the two supernatural beings got up together and made their way to the family.

“It’s time, Cain,” said Crawly, solemnly.

The man let out a sob and hugged his parents tightly before slowly moving away.

“Stay safe,” said Adam.

“Be happy,” added Eve.

Cain said nothing but his gaze lingered on his parents before he turned away and walked into the unknown, Crawly following a step behind.

---

Cain kept walking well past dark. If he tripped or fell, he just pushed himself up and kept walking. He never uttered a single word.

After a few hours, Crawly tried to pass him a waterskin. “Why don’t you have a drink?”

The man ignored it and kept walking.

“Are you hungry? I’ve got plenty of food for you.”

Again, no response.

Crawly could taste the despair wafting off the man and his determined silence was unnerving. Cain was always such a talkative person. Even as a baby, he’d babble at anything that caught his eye. Never had he been silent for more than an hour unless he was sleeping. Even when he was alone working the fields he’d be singing or talking to the plants or something. But now Crawly would be surprised if he’d said more than a few dozen words since God laid down his punishment. “It’s gotten late. We can’t even see where we’re going. Why don’t we settle down here and we can continue in the morning once the sun’s up?”

Cain continued to ignore him, but a few steps later tripped again and fell to his hands and knees. A sob escaped him and suddenly he was crying uncontrollably. Crawly took a blanket out of the bag he was carrying and draped it over the man’s back.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Crawly said. It was his fault he’d been unable to heal Abel. Cain had barely been around two and a half decades. Lucifer acted more rashly and he’d been the second oldest angel after Azrael.

Cain let out a hysterical laugh. “Whose was it, then?”

“It was an acc—”

“No! I did it! Me! I k… I killed him! My brother! Abel! We’ll nev… Never race or swim in the lake or anything ever again. And its my fault!” He lost his breath in sobs again as he curled up on the ground beneath the blanket.

Crawly really could think of nothing to say to that. Abruptly, he spun on his feet and stomped away from the man. A quick flick of his fingers ensured Cain wouldn’t hear him and he let out a wordless scream and punched a tree. Then he did it again. Over and over until he could feel the blood run down his arms. He collapsed to the ground and held his head in his hands, breathing harshly. He couldn’t fall apart. Cain needed him.

A thump sounded next to him and he looked over to see a stone tablet. A message from Hell. With trembling fingers, he picked it up.

To the demon Crawly, Your efforts to sow discord among the First Family have been noted. Our Lord is very impressed with the results of your labors. We look forward to the day the First Murderer joins our ranks and are already preparing his welcome. Due to your successes in Eden and with Cain, Our Lord has decided to grant your request and has made your position on Earth a permanent one. Continue to promote Hell’s interests or you will be recalled and punished accordingly. Keep up the evil work. Hail Satan, Beelzebub

Crawly stared at the tablet. He scrambled back to his feet, gripping it tightly, and frantically looked around. There! He rushed over to where he could see a boulder sticking up out of the ground and slammed the tablet into the stone. It started to crumble. He repeated the action again and again until he was holding nothing but gravel.

He screamed wordlessly again. “Why did You let this happen?!” he shouted to the sky. “Do You realize how hard Cain worked to get You the best of his harvest? He sacrificed enough food to last them a week! And he did it unprompted! You didn’t ask for it! He did it because he loved You! You could have accepted both offerings. But no, You always have to have Your favorites! Well this time playing those games killed Your favorite! Are You happy now? Cain was upset and pushed his brother. So fucking what?! He wasn’t trying to kill Abel! Anyone could see it was an accident! And if you hadn’t taken my powers away from me I could have fixed him!” His voice broke on the last word. In barely a whisper, he repeated, “I could’ve fixed him.”

Crawly fell to his hands and knees and choked on a sob. Pieces of gravel fell from his hands as he clenched them into fists. His eyes burned, but he bit his tongue and didn’t let a single tear fall.

-----

Next

And that's the end of chapter 1! I'll share chapter 2 in a week. Let me know what you think. This one hit me hard as I wrote it, so I can only hope it holds up as a reader.

[canmom]

continuing to read Worth the Candle, circa ch43.

this continues to clear the bar of being an actually interesting litrpg isekai and also (sigh) ratfic, which I didn't realise at first, but i saw an article on the author's blog which named it as such - which mostly seemed to mean 'fiction which spends a lot of words on thought processes' - but now a little of that bayesian stank is getting in there. but nevertheless, well first it's About Grief in a way that's written in a way that feels raw and genuine enough that it resonates; chapter 42 in which are shown how the protagonist went to pieces has some particular insights on what it's like, thinking particularly of

Looking back, I have to wonder how much of Reimer being a dick to me was just him trying to process the grief in his own way, in the same way that I started to lash out at pretty much everyone around me for every little slight, or anything that could possibly be interpreted as disrespect to Arthur. I was his best friend, and he was mine, that was how I saw myself after his death, and I applied as much paint to our relationship as possible, until it was sometimes hard to remember that I’d been anything but a perfect friend.

and it makes me think like. i wasn't one of Fall's closest friends by any means, indeed for most of this year she wasn't speaking to me for complicated psychosis reasons, and although we'd started to rebuild things at the end and i was really looking forward to spending more time with her, the huge public show of grief I made - it was genuine, but i was certainly partly grieving that i hadn't done a better job of being "Fall's friend" when she was alive.

and second is the author has clearly spent many years reading the same sorts of D&D board I grew up on, so the metafiction aspect builds on a familiar suite of concepts and is thus quite compelling. the author's game design digressions are on point.

and third, or I guess continuation of second, I'm in a very well run D&D game at the moment which is like, highlight of every week no question, so it's on the brain. this is unapologetically a self insert story, but that results in the author/MC's D&D games and the thought and passion he puts into them ringing very true.

it's way longer than it needs to be, I think, and puts little attention on prose styling - it's perfectly serviceable, and does have a recognisable voice, but mostly just 'gets the job done'. the ratfic angle means a great deal of time is spent analysing, planning and deliberating in enormous detail, which doesn't stop people whining in the comments.

but the virtue its prose does have is that it's frictionless. I'm like a little under a fifth of the way in, which means I've read about a sizable novel already, but it really doesn't feel like it.

speaking of which, I've never seen a more condescending set of AO3 commentators. it seems like litrpg attracts a certain kind of reader who isn't shy about saying they think the MC is unbearably stupid, and then backseating the writing in general and the character's build decisions, which seems an absurd thing to get hung up on.

the way this kind of thing works, you've got the small scale series of arcs - 'how will the character solve this problem' - and the longer mystery arc - 'what is revealed about the System underlying it all' - but all of that is just kind of arbitrary really, because what it's really about is the gradual unfolding of theme and character.

why does Juniper have to fight a unicorn? because his reasons for designing 'unicorn as possessive, controlling man with timeline alteration' gives insight into his relationship with Tiff, and more generally serves as an illustrative example of the reasons we play D&D and write fiction. because that's one of the things the story is quite overtly talking about. oh, but you'd better write another post about how the protagonist is unsympathetic because he didn't put a point in luck lmao

anyway i think this is kind of what Baru Cormorant might look like if Seth was less ambitious and of course a less ruthlessly demanding editor. this might seem like an odd comparison because Seth's prose is punchy, poetic and rich with information and Baru is a grand epic about imperialism etc. with a highly driven protagonist, while the characters in WtC spend most of their time trying to solve the problems their last adventure caused and it's a more personal story. but the reason I draw it is that both wear their themes on their sleeves, both seem to be written by caring and passionate people with 'approximate knowledge of many things', both are shaped by desires to write fiction which approaches character in a certain way, both prefer to communicate directly rather than dissemble through subtext and implication... maybe it's just that the image of each author i receive through the text is someone i think i can understand.

anyway no more tonight i must sleep.

[tzeetzeethirteen]

Planning #26 - Uhm 3: The End of Uhms

Here we are.

Sorry about the extreme delay. While I understand not many people are following me on tumblr and most people interested in my stories simply follow/subscribed to my stories on FFnet and AO3, I think that a more elaborate post describing what's going on right now should serve as a nice point of reference if you happen to see or check this blog at some point.

I have the usual attempt at explaining myself below the ‘keep reading’ line - but before that I'd like to show some actual plans first.

Priorities have shifted only a little bit for my WIPs. My plan is to resume posting new chapters with this order from higher priority to lowest:

The Butterfly Bane (SVTFOE)

Time Woes with a Pinch of Frogs (Amphibia + AHIT)

Pacifica over Yonder (GF + WOY) - hiatus

The Powerpuff Legacy (PPG OG) - hiatus

While only 'The Butterfly Bane' will likely receive new updates with some semblance of consistency in timing, resuming updates is something I would like to do for all of the stories above, including those on hiatus, and as soon as possible.

I may also churn out a one-shot or two. I have multiple ideas in the oven on that front and I don't want to mention them too much since some may never see the light of day. For now, just keep in mind that the stories I mentioned in previous posts -- the crossover 'Role Models', as well as the next story in the Tales of the Queens of Mewni series, 'By Your Side' -- are still planned to be posted at some point.

Now, about the lack of updates for more than a year from me, you can check below for more info if you care about that.

Long story short, a lot has changed in my life lately in the last 13 months and I lost all traces of writing bunnies or even just willingness to sit down in front of a word processor as a result - indeed, it’s been a year or so since my last update to any of my stories, and a few of my stories or series haven’t gotten updates for much longer than that. The little I managed to write didn’t satisfy me, either, which led me to thrash two one-shots while I was writing them (for new fandoms) and some content for my WIP multi-chapter fics.

Now, I am not saying that this situation has improved: it's still very hard to find the time to sit down and write, and to keep my focus while I do it, due to my current IRL occupation and other problems. However, I will still say (stubbornly if you will) that there's no way I'm leaving my stories unfinished, no matter what. All of them (and I’m counting the SvtFoE one-shot series in it too, despite its nature as a collection of partially self-contained works) will be finished, sooner or later, even if it takes one little step every odd month to do so. And, even in this new situation, I would like to keep writing fanfiction for quite a while.

So, with all that said: for the time being I just hope that I’ll recover most of the writing juice back. With it, I'll try to resume updating my unfinished works and posting new ones over time, and if that proves too hard, then I'll try to keep writing little bit by little, bit by bit, to keep my projects moving forward one small step at a time. It likely will take a while, but I'll try not to stop!

[everythingsinred]

Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Mikan (pt. 38)

Yeah, yeah let's just commence with this so we can get the ending over with and I can forget these last chapters ever happened again in peace. There's not much of substance to analyze here anyway since this ending is so sloppy and devoid of meaningful resolution.

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Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Three

It’s Hotaru’s time for a farewell.

Mikan leaps out of bed to embrace her best friend, instantly in tears. She’s been worried about her for weeks so she’s relieved that Hotaru seems to be in a healthy state, finally there to say a proper good-bye. She instantly asks about Natsume, too, who Hotaru left to take care of. She pleads with Hotaru to take her to Natsume, but Hotaru regretfully tells her that she can’t tell her anything. She still promises that Natsume will find her again someday, and not to give up her belief in him. 

It all just doesn't mean anything. I'm so tired.

She’s here to say good-bye, because she knows everything already.

I think Hotaru’s holding back of information here is reminiscent of Narumi’s back in the beginning of the story, when he couldn’t tell Mikan much about her situation but still requested her faith and trust that he had her best interest in mind. She chose to trust him and he did indeed work for her best interest. The same is true of Hotaru here, who can’t tell her what’s going on but is still doing her best to help Natsume.

She tells Mikan to be strong and to accept this hard fate, because it isn’t so bad. She promises Mikan that even if she forgets, even if they never see each other again, their bond is eternal, like it’s always been. 

Mikan is disturbed by that comment, though, arguing that Ruka promised he’d find her after graduation so Hotaru shouldn’t give up on her so easily. Hotaru pretends to be sleepy and instead insists that chasing is more of Mikan’s thing, that she herself doesn’t like to make promises she can’t keep. Thus, seeing each other again is on Mikan again. Mikan argues and complains about this, but she’s still in high spirits. Even if Hotaru is being mean, Mikan has always understood her friend better than anybody else. She knows that Hotaru is just like that sometimes. She’s just happy to be reunited after so much worrying. 

So she decides that this can be their own lesson in memories. Mikan can’t choose a favorite memory, so she brings up a whole bunch of precious memories together, moments she will soon forget. No matter what, Hotaru has always been there for her, and she’s happy that that’s still the case, that Hotaru came back to say good-bye. 

It's so hard coming up with captions when I'm just not vibing with the content. I'm not funny right now, just bitter.

“We’re two hearts beating as one,” she says. Hotaru has always been one of her most important people, someone she’s always willing to chase after, to go the extra mile for, to defend. She believes Hotaru that their bond is eternal, that it won’t be shattered by something as insignificant as erased memories.

And Hotaru finally shares her favorite memory of Mikan--when she found out Mikan had followed her to the academy, her happiest memory. Mikan is--again--touched and saddened by this. She doesn’t want to say good-bye, to be parted from her best friend. So she hugs her and cries, until Hotaru knocks her out with an invention.

Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Six

Mikan wakes up alone. She has to leave the academy and say good-bye to everyone she knows and loves and forget them forever. Today’s the day. 

Hotaru is no longer there but Mikan is intent on finding her before leaving. But that’s not a possibility. Time has run out and it’s time to go.

Still no Hotaru.

Still no Natsume.

She wanted to see them just once before forgetting everything, but it seems like even that small dream has no chance of coming true.

It’s not entirely a sad event though. Almost the whole school is gathered in the courtyard to say good-bye to her. Though I think it’d be bold to claim Mikan made a personal difference in everyone’s lives, I think her grander sacrifices, like when she agreed to be locked up in the labyrinth to save the school or when she stole Luna’s alice from many students’ bodies, made an impression. She did do a lot of good here. She’s certainly not the only one, but things wouldn’t be the way there are now if she hadn’t made those choices, which we know weren’t really choices at all. Mikan always does the right thing, on instinct, because it’s the only thing she can think to do.

This is also meaningless. Yes, I'll explain in the next part. Even everything in these few chapters leading up to her losing her memories is pretty much meaningless. Nothing matters at all and these chapters are a waste of time.

The whole school promises to remember her, to keep her memory alive no matter what. She thanks everyone for all their help and support and friendship. Even despite her tears she swears she loves them all. She promises the tears she’s shedding now are tears are happiness, not fear or sadness, though she undoubtedly is feeling that too. Mikan is choosing to focus on the positive right now, on saying a heartfelt good-bye even though none of this went the way she wanted and dreamed.

She’d wanted to spend her school years with her close friends, friends of the quality she’d never had before. Mikan doesn’t remember her village friends, and I speculate she hadn’t been too close to them to begin with. Her first real friend was Hotaru, but joining the academy led to making many new special friends, people she truly loved and connected with in a way she never had. She genuinely does love them all (though the last chapter disagrees and ruins everything).

Narumi tells her this is a graduation day for her, that he’s proud of her, that he has faith in her that she’ll thrive even after she leaves these gates. “Congratulations,” he tells her, “on your graduation from Alice Academy.” Mikan embraces him and he implores her to smile, to think of this as a happy occasion rather than a sad one. Kazumi also swears to always watch over her as her uncle and relative, and Shiki promises the same as her guardian. When they meet again, they won’t say good-bye. 

Uh huh. For now.

The only person she hasn’t said good-bye to (other than the dead kid) is Bear, who stubbornly shunned her and now hasn’t even bothered to show up at her farewell. 

But he is here, packed away in her suitcase, waiting to leave with her. He didn’t want to say good-bye because he wasn’t intending on being parted with her to begin with. Kaname left a note with him that he is gifting Bear to her, to watch over her after she leaves the academy, so that she will care for him. 

Mikan starts to cry, loathe to say good-bye too, but regrettably reminding him that she can’t take him with her. She hugs him and he finally lets her. Their relationship has been as consistent as any other, a bond lasting since the very beginning. Just like with Natsume, Mikan had to put in a lot of effort into getting to know Bear, to seeing the sweetness that lies deep inside. Bear is her precious friend now, someone who kept her company when she had nobody else in the labyrinth. 

But Kazumi has Bear swear to not reveal that he’s not an inanimate object to others from now on. He cannot move in front of others but will always be a loyal friend to Mikan. Can he keep that promise?

Bear nods.

Perhaps the saving grace of these last chapters is Bear's development, which is consistent with previous chapters and showcases the growth of his relationship with Mikan. But I don't know... everything else seems meaningless and every time I read these chapters I cry a little less. But never any less for Bear's scenes. They still feel just as powerful each time.

Mikan won’t be leaving this place alone. She’ll have someone to stay by her side, to act as a reminder of her time here, even if she forgets it all. 

Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Seven

It’s time to leave.

She still hasn’t seen Natsume or Hotaru.

She’s nervous about leaving without seeing them again, but her time is quickly running out. She can see the person who will take away her memories at the gate now. Her only hope now is that they will appear at the last moment to alleviate her grief and worry, but they never show up. Each passing second concerns her even more, but she can’t stop the inevitable from happening.

Some students have put together a graduation ceremony of sorts for her, singing the Alice alma mater, with Sumire leading them with her violin. Apparently, this was all her idea, to give her the special graduation she’d been so excited about experience with everyone else before. Sumire has tears in her eyes and an angry expression on her face, but even that can’t hide the love in this act.

The reason I hate these chapters so much is because I might actually like them if the last three chapters didn't exist. These chapters demonstrate how many people love Mikan and how much Mikan loves others, how important all her school bonds are, what a difference they've made in her life. In these chapters, classmates like Sumire and Koko and Iinchou matter. Her bonds with Natsume and Ruka and Narumi and Tsubasa matter. The last chapters completely undermine that and as a result these chapters are cheapened.

So she cries.

And everyone cries.

And I cry.

Maybe you cry too.

Mikan smiles. It’s time to go. She’s led to the gates and Ruka cries out that he will definitely see her again. She grins at him and thinks back on Hotaru’s words, her reassurances that she will see Natsume again, and even though Mikan hasn’t seen either of them today, she chooses to have faith in her best friend one last time. She will see them both again, for sure.

She’s ready to go, now. So she waves and beams at the crowd. “See you!” It’s not forever. Love doesn’t die, surely.

She goes through the gates with a smile, accepting her fate like Hotaru told her to. She never even sees the face of the man who takes her memories, but she doesn’t fight him. She closes her eyes and trusts, accepts her destiny. 

Sigh.

Good-bye, Mikan.

Conclusion

Isn't it funny how this "saying bye to Mikan" arc lasted some nine or so chapters, all ramping up to her losing her memories, just to have the last three short chapters undo all that and tell us that nothing we just read mattered at all? Why did Mikan have to lose her memories just to end up getting called back anyway? Her memories were erased for her protection and yet she still ended up in danger, something the Academy staff should have predicted because to not do so is idiotic. So what was the point? There was no point!

This final era of Gakuen Alice sucks so much because it's all about bringing out cheap emotions in the audience, making them sad about Natsume dying or Mikan losing her memories or Hotaru getting lost to time, and then shrugging and ending the story without any character resolution, just a bunch of characters smiling on a beach we didn't even know was a hope until recently. It's all just so sloppy, both in concept and execution. Boo!

We all deserved a better ending, one that is maybe a little less insulting. Too bad!

In any case my family just finished watching Never Have I Ever and I'm really psyched to continue writing my fic subjectives because of the rivals to lovers inspiration! If you know that show, feel free to guess my lane... I feel like it would be pretty obvious.

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[amor-immortalem]

Goodbyes are Forever

A/N: this has been rotating and marinating in my mind since I posted Max’s birthday card back in November. I just haven’t had the time to write it. I hope by writing smaller chapters and not worrying about word count that I’ll kick this lack of motivation to write

・・・〆・・・

Goodbyes are forever. That’s just the way life goes. Special people come into your life, stay for a bit, and then they have to leave. Max knows this. She knows she should never have let herself get so close to Azalea and her family. Not when she knows the reason she was sent down here. Nothing in life happens by chance.

It was no coincidence that Max would meet Solomon while she was supposedly living on the street- no coincidence that he would be able to sense the raw magical potential residing within her and take her under his wing as his newest apprentice. No, all of that had been meticulously planned.

The story Max has always told everyone from day one is that her parents had disowned her and kicked her out because she refused to join the cult they were a part of. It was just that- a story. A story bathed in deceit. Not only had her parents not disowned her, she was indeed a member of the Anti-Harmony Movement. Although Max can proudly say she doesn’t exactly share their feelings against Demon-Human relationships, she did share their feelings that the human realm should stay separate from the likes of the Devildom and the Celestial realm. Humans were never meant to mingle with the supernatural on the level Diavolo and Michael were pushing for...

And that was the Anti-Harmony Movement’s goal: to keep the human realm free of the divine and the depraved. And to accomplish that goal, Max allowed herself to be used and to use others in turn. Four years... for four years, the human played her role flawlessly. She’d played them, gotten close enough to know the inner workings of Diavolo’s plan for harmony, and now it was time to leave.

In a way Max does feel remorse- as small as it may be- for how she had tricked her ‘girlfriend’ into believing that she ever loved her. She knows Azalea would be crushed to find out that truth, but the human isn’t interested in keeping up a façade any more. She has people waiting on her in the human world- a partner, a family. Max can’t wait any longer. She has what she needs.

Still, the human can’t help but leave a note for the half-demon to find when morning breaks. The note is brief but concise. It’s only a line long, reading: I lied. About everything. I’m leaving. Max slips it under Azalea’s door, knowing at this ungodly hour not even the overly-studious half-demon would be a wake to receive it until Max was long gone. The black-haired human leaves immediately after that.

When morning does arrive all too soon, Azalea finds the note. She doesn’t read it right away, her mind too foggy with the pull of sleep to realize what exactly is in her hand at first. It isn’t until her twin brother asks about it that the half-demon even bothers to unfold the parchment. The air is quiet between them as Azalea just stares and stares at the words.

Once the words actually process, she’s crumpling the paper in her fist before taking off for what used to be Max’s room. The freckled half-demon kicks open the door ready to scream at the top of her lungs about how if this was a joke or a prank, it wasn’t funny, but the room is barren except for the furniture that it came with.

It’s then that the full gravity of the situation hits Azalea.

“Aurelius, call the entire family ‘n wake ‘em up. We got a big problem on our hands...”

・・・〆・・・

To be continued...

[alchemist-of-thebes]

Weekend Story Snippet #8

It feels a bit misleading to keep calling it a "weekly" story snippet when I've been missing so many weeks this past month. I've still been posting my chapters (mostly) on time, but have just felt too burnt out to do much more.

This week I've posted Chapter 16 of my in-progress KH/FFXV fic "Return to Eos", following my character Velcia. With this chapter now uploaded, we are two-thirds of the way through the story. I have to admit, it is getting harder for me to find small snippets to share. There are lots of small little things that might be fun, but I was mostly wanting to do this to share my favorite parts - and this late in the story most of my favorite parts that aren't heavily spoiler-ridden are just a little bit longer than what I was hoping for. So I guess this is when I should start making use of that "after the break" thing I've been informed of. So, after the break, here is a somewhat longer snippet in which Velcia is traveling through Lestallum to reconvene with her party but ends up meeting someone else entirely.

--- As she came past one of the side-alleys a large figure suddenly rushed out and crashed into her, the pair of them tumbling to the stone-paved street in a frenzied confusion. Velcia sat up quickly, rubbing her head as she looked towards the strange man who'd run into her.

He sat up slowly with an embarrassed expression, picking up his dark-black hat and placing it back over his brown, scraggly hair.

"Ah, terribly sorry for the trouble, madam," he said hastily as he scrambled back to his feet. He leaned over, offering his hand to help her back up.

Velcia looked up at him, noting his odd attire. He wore a long gray trench coat over what appeared to be suit pants, with a pair of scarves around his neck. It was a complicated and flamboyant looking affair, but his earnestly apologetic expression won her trust and she reached up, taking his hand and regaining her footing with a refreshing ease.

The man gasped as she stood, motioning towards the charm around her neck. "I am so terribly sorry, such carelessness on my behalf is inexcusable in any circumstances, but to have so inconvenienced an Acolyte of the Oracle-!"

Velcia, who'd been brushing the dust off her clothes, lifted her head to him with some confusion. "A what?"

"Excuse my presumptions," the man said with a respectful and deeply humble bow. "I couldn't help but notice the Tenebraen rune adorning your chain. As it is a symbol associated with the Oracle, I naturally assumed an affiliation."

Velcia glanced down to the charm around her neck. "The Oracle… Oh, do you mean Lady Lunafreya?"

"The one and only," the man told her. "Pardon my fascination, but am I correct to presume some connection between you?"

Velcia smiled at the curious man. "Well, of a sort. I have yet to meet her in person, but she has been helping me work towards a mutual goal. I'm afraid our relationship isn't any more than that."

The man's eyes lit up with interest. "Ah, I see. Well, the more people Eos has working towards the end of the darkness that plagues us, the better."

Velcia nodded. "Indeed. If you don't mind me asking, who are you?"

He chuckled softly. "I assure you, I am a man of no consequence. A traveler, passing through on a journey to see the world before it ends. Though, perhaps with help such as yours the world may yet live a while longer."

Velcia tilted her head curiously. "That is the hope."

"Well, don't let someone like me keep you," he said, bowing earnestly and removing his hat, flourishing it out to the side. "You've got a lot of work ahead of you."

"Y-yes, I do," Velcia said, her mind spinning. Her skin felt clammy, and though everything about the man in front of her seemed friendly enough, the longer they talked the more she found him deeply unsettling.

"Another time, then," the man said, spinning around on his heel and beginning to walk away.

Velcia shook her head and turned around, back towards the market.

A low voice spoke, as if right beside her ear. "Time's running out."

Velcia's hair stood on end and she whipped quickly around to see who had said this, but there was nobody in sight.

--- Of course, I would hope that anyone familiar with FFXV should be able to guess who this odd yet somewhat menacing figure is. Though not the primary antagonist of this story, Ardyn's influence is pivotal to the plot and his actions have surprisingly far-reaching consequences for someone who downplays himself so heavily. If you would like to read more of this chapter, or this story, here are links to where you can do so! Archive of Our Own - Chapter 16 Fanfiction.net - Chapter 16 Thanks for stopping by!

[belladonna-wright]

Let's Misbehave

As Time Goes By - Chapter 9

New York, 1923.

When 'Alice' met 'Adam.' @wilde-fun

Jessie: 

 Oh yes, this was more like it. Chatter filled the air as she stepped into the high-ceilinged ballroom. Light glittered off the chandeliers. Trumpets made muted wails from the little stage set up at one end of the room, and shrieks and whoops rose up from the dancers.

You looked around here, the whirling dresses, the sparkling jewellery, the flashing smiles and shining brill cream, well polished shoes, and the mud and the rubble-dust and the guns seemed like stories of a different universe. Yes, Jessie could enjoy getting lost here for a while longer. That was the joy of New York, you see. So much life, so much vibrancy, even as the bones of the city she had once known seemed to crumble every day. 

Now she wanted to forget the past, she didn’t mind so much.

Greeting several friends of the hosts she knew, by a faint acquaintance, enough to get herself invited, Jessie’s keen eyes followed the flash of a bracelet in the middle distance. Ah there she was, the oil heiress with the spectacular new diamond bracelet she had heard so much about in the society pages. It was like waving a plate of meat under the nose of a dog. How was she supposed to resist?

Glad-handing her way across the room, Jessie paused here and there to greet people she knew, or to take introductions and make chatter, all the while keeping one eye flitting towards their hostess. 

She was hearing all about Mr Richards’ new shipping venture to South Africa when she saw a stranger pass across her eyeline, dark hair and broad shoulders, blocking her view for a moment. No doubt some heir to a law firm, or perhaps a trading company, he had something of the look about him, the uncanny confidence. She paid him little heed. 

Until she came closer… and stopped. Before she could reach her. The tell-tale glint on her wrist was gone. Jessie glanced first at the floor, nothing there. She glanced left and right, and caught a glimpse of the dark-haired young man disappearing into the crowd and… a flash slipping into his pocket. One corner of her mouth twisted into a smile. 

Oh. Well now this could be interesting indeed. 

Nick: 

Nick liked New York. It was a city that was constantly shifting, fighting itself until it had someone else to fight and then it would band together only to fracture again. No one seemed to be from here, yet everyone claimed it with a ferocity that was impossible to dispute. It was a world away from the memories that haunted him and the life he’d left behind, and that was exactly how he liked it. 

He might have come over in 3rd class on a steamer, but a few small jobs and he’d been able to get himself the wardrobe he needed to move among the upper crust again. Even better, he’d been friendly with enough American expats in Paris to have gotten himself introduced to some of the people here in order to secure the invitations that would allow him to move freely among them. 

He could have snuck into any of the parties, sure. But if he wanted to stay welcomed among them, it was better for his place to be genuine. And he had a feeling he would be here for quite some time. 

He greeted the hosts, greeted the guests he knew, and began to make his way around. It only took a quick scan to let him know who he should be talking to and where to focus his energy. After all, he might have a place to sleep for now, but it was always good to have a backup, and there were plenty of sharp eyed women looking for someone to satisfy them on the side. But he had a different goal first. 

In a way, she was too easy. A little bit air headed and a lot romantic, the oil heiress was showing off her new bracelet to everyone she spoke with. It only took a moment to loosen the clasp slightly. 

After he’d left the conversation, he waited for her to have another conversation with someone and leave that behind, creating the space that would create the gap in her memory, and then he slid the loosened bracelet off her wrist and into his pocket while she was in the process of turning the other direction. 

As he slipped it into his pocket, he made sure to disappear into the crowd and lose himself in a different conversation so that he would be remembered as being nowhere near the girl whenever the loss was discovered. 

Jessie: 

Jessie was annoyed, as she tried to follow the back of the man’s head as he headed through the crowd. She had been setting up this lift for weeks now, weeks! Making sure she could get herself an invite, making sure it seemed so natural that nobody would question her presence as a relative newcomer or wonder why she was here. Weeks of work! Only for some man to come along and steal it? Well she wasn’t having that!

She tracked him through the crowd, striking up a polite conversation about an opera that was on, but keeping one eye flitting towards him. 

Now she made her way after him as she saw him lingering not far from a doorway. Perfect. He was almost good looking, with his square jaw and dark hair, but right now he was a puzzle, a game to play and to try to win, which was infinitely more attractive. As she approached the doorway, Jessie slowed her walk a fraction, just so she could dance awkwardly around the trio of men who were coming in, as if she were struggling with her shoes.

She stepped to the side, crowding into his personal space just enough to unsettle. As she did, her hand slipped - quick as a flash - into the man’s pocket. Then she was off, sidling past with a muttered apology and a grumble about good manners. 

In the drawing room, she risked a brief glance at the bracelet in her fist. She smiled, slipping it into the pocket sewn into her dress, and fetching herself a drink. 

Nick:

With the main goal of his evening successfully accomplished, Nick felt that he could relax. He knew how to make himself charming enough to fit in without ever standing out, and he made use of the skill. Told a joke here, gave a flattering compliment there, and moved himself skillfully around the room to the opposite side of the heiress. 

He paused by a doorway for a moment to catch a quick breath and see if there were any good side pieces he could take advantage of while he was here. That was when he noticed her. 

She was beautiful in a way that was understated among the made up glamor of New York’s elite, but was all the more compelling for it. There was a laziness to her smile he recognized as someone comfortable with the fact that they had all the time in the world and they planned to spend it exactly as they pleased. For a moment, he wondered how he’d missed her as she came up to stand next to him. Idly, he thought about finding her a little later, after he’d had a chance to ask around and find out a little bit more about her. 

As she walked away, he slid his hands into his pocket, letting himself appreciate the sight of her walking away. Only to realize that his pockets were empty and he caught a glimpse of a muted sparkle between her fingers. 

“Well, damn. Brava,” he muttered to himself. 

Jessie: 

Now the ‘work’ portion of the evening was over, Jessie could give herself over to enjoying the delights of a party that clearly had cost a small fortune. She was sitting at one end of a couch in the drawing room, a cigarette holder balanced between her fingertips as she made eye contact with a handsome young man who was standing by the fireplace. He looked vigorous, there was a certain innocence in his blonde curls and a certain depth in his eyes that promised what could be a very entertaining evening, once he plucked up the courage to say hello. 

For now, she made polite chatter with some of the gals. They were comparing dressmakers. It was all useful information to know - who made the finest, but more traditional, garments, who cut corners for cheaper items, who was willing to create something daring - that she stored away for later, even if she wasn’t really paying attention. 

She raised her glass to her lips as she spotted the dark-haired young gentleman from earlier make his way into the room. She tried not to watch him, to not give away any sign that she might have memorised his face, but could not help the reflex to move her bag a little closer to her side.

Knowing there was another hunter after her prey made a woman protective.

Nick:

Nick made sure not to make it too obvious that he was following the woman into the room. He was sure that she would be aware of him. After all, she’d discovered his theft, and instead of reporting him to anyone had stolen the bracelet in return, so there was no way she didn’t know who he was (even if she didn’t know who he was in the same way he didn’t know her identity either). 

But that meant this had become a different game. He wasn’t willing to let go of a score like that, not with all the work it had taken to get it in the first place. But stealing from a thief was different from stealing from a mark - and somehow he had to do it without anyone at the party catching on to what was happening. 

It wouldn’t be any fun if he ruined the game for both of them, now would it?

He waited until he caught the eye of one of the pretty things in the circle around her, and when she gestured him over, he went gladly. “Katharine you look positively radiant.” She giggled and waved away his compliment. 

“You never change do you, Adam?”

“Why would I when you like me so much?”

“Do you know everyone else in this circle? Here, let me introduce you.” He paid polite attention as she started to go around and tell him the names he already knew, making sure not to give his quarry any particular attention. 

Jessie: 

Well he wasn’t short of balls, she’d give him that. Jessie locked eyes with Adam as she offered her hand, briefly, and smiled politely. “Alice,” she introduced herself. “Charmed.” But her eyes were offering a challenge. What? Did he think he could come and take back the prize? Well good luck to him. 

Although there was a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that told her that of course she should have just left once she’d got the jewellery, knowing there was another thief on the premises, she knew. But for all her planning and preparation, which had been fun, would that have been too easy? To swipe a bracelet from an unsuspecting naive young socialite who wouldn’t even really be that upset to lose it? Now this, this was an excellent game, potentially. 

But for all that she knew that she wouldn’t be able to use her actual speed or strength if it came to it, so she would have to keep her watchful eyes on this Adam. She settled back on the sofa, her purse close to her leg, her gaze flitting back to him whenever she could.

Nick: 

Alice. It was a perfectly inoffensive name which matched the inoffensive smile that she gave him. He’d bet the bracelet they were both trying to steal that it wasn’t the name she used outside these circles. But inside, it matched in the same way Adam did. 

It was only her eyes that gave her away, and only if you looked closely. No one else around them thought to do that - which was a bit of a shame. 

For a few minutes, they all chatted about the kind of nothing that socialites loved to discuss. He made sure to say the right thing at each break, scattered compliments around to each of them, and every now and then would make a reference to his time in France which would get them started on a new conversation about all the expats living over there. 

When they were excited enough not to be paying him too much attention, he looked up as if someone had caught his attention and gave a small wave. Quietly, he excused himself and received an absent dismissal in response. 

He walked into the crowd, making sure he was out of sight. It was then he cast a quick illusion to make himself invisible before moving silently back into the crowd, navigating carefully so that he didn’t bump into anyone in a way that couldn’t be easily explained. Only when he’d gotten to the couch and the purse waiting there did he move quickly, sliding his hand in and out with a speed that wasn’t quite human. 

Bracelet safely back in his pocket, he slipped away into the crowd and around the corner before dropping the illusion. He wondered how long it would take her to notice and come after him this time. 

Jessie: 

Jessie kept her eye on Adam, even if Alice supposedly didn’t, watching his reflection, stealing brief glances for half moments as she looked to someone else who was being pointed out, even after he’d left their little circle. 

The second he did, the clock began to count down. How long did she leave it before she made her excuses and left. She had to make sure that her leaving the party was so credible, so unbelievably unremarkable that even once the bracelet had finally been discovered missing, nobody would think of her at all. It was all a critical part of being ‘Alice.’ Being invisible in the skin of someone who was just utterly average. 

Once she began to leave, she was marvelling, really. How did someone own such expensive jewellery and then seem not to notice at all that it had been stolen? Or had she noticed and been convinced that she would just have dropped it somewhere and they would find it at the end of the night? Or were they busy lining up all the staff to inspect their pockets before they dared accuse a guest? 

Either way, in the atrium, Jessie reached into her purse, ready to slope away. 

Well damn. 

How in the hell had that sneaky little bastard managed to get it away from her? Either he was a master of misdirection, or he had some trick up his sleeve she hadn’t known about. Either was, she was furious. 

Not that you’d know it, from the way a smile was inching across her face. 

A challenge. 

Well. Now she and Adam were going to have to have another meeting, weren’t they?

Nick: 

This time around, Nick knew better than to risk letting Alice get close. Honestly, the same house might still be too close, the same room definitely was, and if she was within 10 feet of him he had screwed up somehow. 

He didn’t know if she had magic to help her. But considering he did and made use of it liberally, it was always smarter to plan as if everyone else had at least the same advantages as him, if not better ones. Assumptions like that meant his plans were better and he was still alive to talk about them. 

It was almost a shame. He hadn’t met anyone else this good, certainly not working the upper crust like this. He wished he could have gotten to know her better. 

But he wanted the money from this bracelet more, so that came first. 

He made sure to touch base with a few other people, but the countdown clock in his head told him he should already be heading out if he didn’t want to run the risk of getting caught. So he started to make his excuses to the few people he knew and began to edge his way out. 

Jessie: 

It was harder this time, of course it was. He was alert, this Adam, she could tell that he was also trying to play it more carefully now. She absolutely should have left when she had the chance, but this was more of a rush than any of the thefts had been lately. Every time she got into his periphery she could see how he got alert, how he was beginning to head for the door. 

She had to play this wisely, and quickly. 

Jessie looked around herself. What were her options… to try to use her speed to just grab it off him before he had a chance to react? Efficient perhaps but boring, predictable, sure to make sure she wasn’t going to get any sort of invite back if anybody spotted her movement. Or… she needed a distraction. 

Her eyes darted back and forth, watching as Adam got closer and closer to the door. Now or never. 

Jessie stuck her foot out. The sturdily built young man coming into the room never stood a chance - stumbling forwards and crashing into the waiter coming the other way, sending the whole tray of empty champagne flutes crashing down, the platter ringing loudly on the floor. All eyes fell to the scene as the waiter scrabbled about, apologising profusely. She felt a touch guilty, but once she had her jewels, she could slip the boy a tip. 

As it all went on, she turned her attention - in less than an instant - to her target.

Nick: 

Nick could practically see the door and his escape route. Not that it was some magical portal that instantly meant safety - after all, being out on the street with a score like this in his pocket presented its own difficulties if any bright eyed pick pockets tried to get the jump on him. But out in the street, he knew how to disappear more easily. It was the safest he’d be until he sold it. 

When he heard the crash behind him, he hesitated for a split second. It was too convenient, too obvious, considering everything else going on. 

But not turning to look carried its own dangers if anyone noticed. Looking was natural. Curiosity was natural. So even as he took a step forward, he turned to look at the shattered mess of glass and liquid and the people complaining about the effect this had on their clothes. 

He murmured to the person next to him, “Such a waste,” and tutted agreeably as he continued to ease back towards the door, glancing around to see where Alice might be. 

Jessie: 

For even the quickest of human pickpockets, it would have been impossible - but she was one to worry about little things like a level playing field. So she moved like a blur through the side of the room, half hidden by the dark wood panels where shadows always danced, and half by the crowd of people turning to look at the ensuing chaos as the platter danced on the floor. 

Before it even stopped rattling, she had pounced - her hand darting into ‘Adam’s pocket and out again as she kept on her way, not stopping until she reached the relative safety of the shade below the stairs, where few would think to question how quickly the darling Alice had appeared from where they could have sworn she wasn’t a moment before. 

But in speed, she knew, she had sacrificed subtlety. None of the art of the first pick, none of the delicacy, if he hadn’t noticed the way she bumped into him (even if he hadn’t known who it was) he was a fool. 

Jessie kept her gaze fixed on him, holding up the bracelet to let the gold flash as she grinned at him, waggling it for just a second before she stowed it back in her pocket. A risk, of course, but with eternal life, came the excitement of knowing that there were very few situations you couldn’t find your way out of.

Of course, the common sense voice in the back of her head (it sounded a lot like Pete, so her distaste) said she should have taken the opportunity to speed straight out of the door the moment she had the bracelet - he had been practically there, she could have been home before he even realised it was gone… but it wasn’t about the bracelet any more. She could almost feel adrenalin, that aliveness that came from not knowing how this would turn out, waiting to see his next move.

The game was afoot, and all that. 

Nick: 

Nick was fast when he wanted to be. But there was fast, and there was whatever the fuck she had just been up to - and there could only be one She at this point. (No, he wasn’t actually going to make this an Irene Adler reference, even in his own head. But also…you know he could.)

Regardless, it didn’t matter how fast he was because she was clearly faster, stealing the bracelet and gone again in the time it took him to turn back towards the door. 

It was the flash of gold in the shadows that had him smiling for a moment. Not an Adam smile, charmingly polite and endearing, designed to make people trust him and enjoy his company. No, this was a Nick smile with its sharp edged appreciation. If they had been somewhere else, he might have applauded. In the background, he had the thought that in another time or place, they could have even been friends. But he set it aside. People like them didn’t really make friends, did they?

That didn’t change the fun of the game in the moment. It probably would have been smarter to cut his losses at this point and let her have the bracelet, but where was the fun in that? The party wasn’t over just yet. 

So, this time he took a risk. Still watching her, he stepped back into the shadows near him and gave a quick wave. In the next moment, he was gone from her sight as the illusion hid him from view. He watched to see what she would do next. 

Jessie: 

Well you didn’t see that everyday … or didn’t not see that every day. An eyebrow lifted, and she couldn’t help but smirk a little. Oh, yes this was turning out to be a much more interesting evening than she’d anticipated. 

Ok, well, she couldn’t stay here, could she? If Adam had the power to simply disappear at will, or appear to, then she needed to be away from these crowds. It would be far too easy for someone to make her way through all of this space and bustle, unseen, and find her. It would be hard to spot someone coming until it was too late amid all of these people. 

So she slipped away, trying to use the crowd to her advantage and timing her movements to seem to disappear. She should have gone out of the nearest window of a quiet room. Instead, she made her way out towards the gardens. It was cooler out there at the rear of the house, quieter too, with only a few people standing gathered around on the patio sipping their drinks and congratulating themselves on being so frightfully original and deep as to avoid the main ballroom. But where the dappled light meant that shadows danced, and water burbled in a fountain, it was relatively quiet. She stepped onto a gravel path. Yes, good luck sneaking up on her on that, Adam. 

Nick: 

It wasn’t a true invisibility, and there was always a risk of bumping into someone since he couldn’t make himself any less solid. But as Nick moved around the edge of the room and kept an eye on Alice, he was confident that he’d gotten away with his little trick. After all, none of the rest of the guests here knew he was a Magick of any kind, and he preferred to keep it that way. They’d trust him less if they knew even the portion of it he did discuss. But there were no gasps, no screams, no sudden increase in gossip. It left him free to move and disguise any of his own small brushes with humanity in the large crowd. 

Even with his attention fixed on her, there were a few moments when he nearly lost her. She knew tricks for blending into crowds like he’d never seen before, and it was straight up luck that put him in the right position to see her slip out of the house and into the gardens. He wasn’t right behind her, but it didn’t take him long to follow her out. 

By the time he’d made it out, she had already stepped onto the gravel path, and he had to stop himself from applauding. Smart move there. Normally he hated a smart mark because of the risk involved, but he’d make an exception. 

He was able to handle two illusions at once, so for the moment he stayed where he was. But he created an illusion of footsteps on the gravel coming in just behind her. 

Jessie: 

Jessie wheeled towards the footsteps the second she heard them. 

The first time it was just a couple, stumbling their way back up the path after clearly stealing a quiet moment in the gardens. She snorted softly to herself, but said nothing as they made their way past her, the young man mumbling some excuse about admiring the roses. 

It felt agonising, waiting for the next set of footsteps. Voices trickled out through open windows and patio doors, the light drifting as people moved around inside, and yet all was quiet. She thought she heard a bird,at one point, singing to itself in a shrub somewhere not far off, but nothing suspicious. 

Until the gravel crunched again. Slowly, cockily, Jessie turned around with a smirk on her face. “Nice tr-”

She fell silent as she saw thin air, and blinked. 

Nick: 

Where he was standing, he had a perfect view of her baffled face when the footsteps echoed and there was no one there. Damn, he’d almost forgotten how fun his magic could be sometimes. So often these days, he only ever used it for stealing or for protecting himself. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to just play. 

He dropped the illusion of invisibility and shoved his hands in his pockets, walking straight towards her with a smile on his face. Why not?

“Thank you for the compliment. It’s not often these days that people appreciate real craftsmanship. You look stunning by the way, I don’t think I mentioned that inside. I wouldn’t want to cause a scene.” 

Jessie: 

If she had known how very stupid she looked in that moment she probably would have broken something. There was nothing she hated more than being made to look like a fool (even when she was the one to blame, her cockiness, her ego, her pride). Then she heard another crunch behind her and she wheeled, practically snarling this time only to see Adam standing there, bold as brass. 

Jessie composed herself, quickly. Most people wouldn’t even have caught it, but then, it seemed ‘Adam’ was not most people. Most people couldn’t appear out of thin air. Even she couldn’t do that. 

“Well,” She fixed her gaze on him, taking a single step. “Talent is hard to come by. One should always try to recognise it in others.” The compliment slid off her - he might have a pretty face, but she was done letting men with pretty faces get under her skin. “Tell me, what was it that set you after the bracelet-” she withdrew the pretty little thing and held it, where it twinkled softly in the night air. She assumed he was not simply an opportunist. 

Nick: 

Nick did catch that flash of expression in a way that had every ‘danger’ signal lighting up bright red in his brain. This was maybe a game he shouldn’t be playing and a person he shouldn’t be messing with. He was the new guy in town after all, and he was well aware that there were dangerous people around. He couldn’t make the sale if he didn’t live to do it. 

Then again, he wasn’t very good at listening to those warning signals in his brain if he was curious. And he couldn’t deny he was that. 

He couldn’t stop the way his eyes drifted towards the bracelet as it appeared. Which meant he wasn’t the only reckless one of the two of them. “I like to keep my ear to the ground. She hasn’t exactly been quiet in her bragging, and there’s usually a lot less competition at this level of the circuit. High risk, of course, but pretty high reward. And oh so satisfying, don’t you think?” 

He could steal from his fellow poor people when he needed to, but marks like this were better. Not only could they afford it, they were usually part of the reason his neighbors were poor. He liked the symmetry of it. 

Jessie: 

A smile tugged at her lips. “She did make it so tempting-” Jessie conceded. For a long moment, she regarded the man. 

The trouble with this business was that you never knew who you could trust. Or rather, you knew that it was a fool’s game to trust anyone. People, usually who had never met a true criminal themselves, liked to write about the bond between rogues. Outlaws bound by their common rebellion, some romantic notion that such people could have honour amongst thieves. 

The reality of course, was anything but. Like hounds fighting for scraps they could turn on one another in an instant and destroy everything you built. That was why she worked alone, why she had worked alone ever since the Round Up Gang had mounted their horses and splintered in different directions. 

You couldn’t trust others. But then they couldn’t hurt you either.

So maybe this was a huge mistake. 

Jessie flicked her wrist, tossing the bracelet to the man. Let him have it, she reasoned to herself. He looked like he needed a win more than she did. 

“You know there’s a coffee house down the street. They do a good pastry … tomorrow? Eleven?” 

Nick: 

Even surprised, Nick could trust his reflexes so he caught the bracelet easily when she tossed it his way. 

It made him suspicious. What was her game here? After all the effort back and forth, why would she suddenly hand it over to him? She could be planning to steal it back later, of course, or she could be planning to turn him into the cops to secure her own position or….well there were probably other possibilities. He should give it back. Show that he couldn’t be so easily bought. 

But. Well. The sale of this bracelet would be enough to finally get them out of the crappy apartment they were in and into one that was slightly better. It’d pay for Graeme’s new coat and Della’s new shoes, and still leave him with enough to set up for the next job.

With the thought of the kids on his mind, he couldn’t afford to be proud. He nodded and slipped the bracelet into his pocket. 

The question did have a smile growing - and this one was different than the other smiles. It wasn’t charming and playful, part of the character of Adam, or tinged with victory as Nick’s had been. It was simple. “Yeah, I could do with a coffee. I’ll be there.” 

[thetallowman]

Hmm. Many clues indeed. Many clues, and many more questions.

Louise has chronic health problems, cries tears of blood, and can perceive past the Seal. Did she have a run-in with an Other? Or do the meds make it easier for her to see past the veil? (Because she can dismiss the bleeding moon as a hallucination?)

Is the town dark and silent because it's night, or because someone wants it to be? To keep innocents out for the way? I remember the Duchamp's(?) did something similar near the end of Pact, before Hillsglade House got slam dunked.

Kids at a gas station. Not enough description to make me think they're relevant. (Maybe one of our unaware protagonists is among their number?)

Louise meets her first(?) Others. They're small, crouched, and there's multiple - I'm thinking goblins. Did they try to murder her by tripping down the stairs? Also suggests that her previous hallucinations might in fact have been real.

And other people seemingly can't see the blood on her face. Interesting. (Unless the restaurant people are practitioners choosing to leave well enough alone?) She feels guilty as she leaves - did she somehow enable the goblin to mess with them/their van?

And here's the town hockey stadium to remind me the story's set in Canada. Innocents definitely can't see the blood on Louise's face. Lincoln seems normal, except he avoids making a speculative statement about Louise's state - could be politeness, could be a practitioner talking around things by habit. Seems to be a bro either way.

Moon's stopped bleeding. Does that mean the beast is fully dead and no longer bleeding? Or was it the mark of whatever wounded and/or was chasing the beast, which has departed after finishing the job?

Louse feels heartbroken after losing the beast's trail - was it calling her? Hoping for someone to witness it's final moments? Tom and Arnold are probably innocent - they seem in a hurry to leave, likely driven away by the beast's arrival.

Ah, it gets interesting. The beast is dead - a neck wound? Did it seek out the snowpile for a reason? Also an inordinate amount of blood - is the beast being used as a sacrifice somehow?

More characters - these ones undoubtedly plot relevant. A faceless woman (the Faceless Woman? My friend the Faceless Woman from Pact?), a bright-eyed woman, a hunting shop man, and two children (one musically inclined).

They spot Louise. Hunting shop man - Matthew - tries to figure out if she's awakened - then why she saw the beast. Faceless woman refers to her as a witness, and the whole group seems to be concerned about outsiders coming in. The beast was important somehow? The Lord of Kenneth, maybe?

And then Louise makes a deal without reading the fine print, goes back to being innocent, and lives through the end of the chapter. I'm legitimately surprised - I thought the killer would off her in classic whodunnit that-was-our-only-lead fashion. Matthew doesn't seem to think she'll live too long either way- which implies that once she dies he's off the pain-sharing hook. (But in the meantime someone could kidnap her, threaten to torture her, and use that as leverage over him?)

Character-wise, I'm confident Matthew's a practitioner. (Possibly a chronomancer? He says he'll giver Louise "more time," but that's a longshot guess.) Bright-eyed woman - Edith - could be Matthew's girlfriend/wife, but the specific phrasing of "life partner" makes me think she's his familiar instead. (A Faery maybe? She describes him as "fragile," which could mean a lot of things.). Faceless woman could be an enchanter - pushing away connections to avoid being identified - but my money's on her being an Other. The kids are seemingly a unit - could be the Hungry Choir? They're providing background music, which would fit.

Almost seems like a happy ending for Louise. Lessened pain, reconnecting with neighbors, and only an undercurrent of that recurring word "tragedy" to dim her mood. Amusing when compared to the tone at start of his other works - it's just a question of how long it lasts.

Read pale

It's on the list. Might be next week, might be next year, depending on how the holidays go.

[gamerkats]

The Night Before Boxing Day

This is a random story from a writing prompt Tumblr post found here.

The prompt is two Hallmark movie "bad guys" on Christmas who get dumped by their blonde ex-girlfriends, and meet at the airport on their way home to New York, and subsequently fall in love.

So long as there's interest in this we'll keep writing new chapters. This has been tagged by us as mature.

Warning: Sexual Themes, Mature Themes (mention of things like Drugs, Abuse, Alcohol, Rape etc.), Mature Language, and at some point Graphic Sex -- Reader Discretion is Advised. Minors DNI

The Night Before Boxing Day Chapter 1

Words: 2,000+

Tap, tap, went the cigarette upon the silver engraved holder it once belonged to. He hadn’t smoked in years; having given up the habit to climb the corporate ladder without getting winded by addiction. Smoking made him look weak, undisciplined, pathetic; all the things Amber had said only hours earlier. But he wasn’t smoking then; those were the colorful little traits she shared when he asked, “What’s he got that I don’t?” Not his best turn-a-phrase, but it seemed rightly scripted at the time.

Weak, undisciplined, pathetic. In Amber’s eyes, not a man.

Tap, tap.

He didn’t know why he kept the cigarette all these years in his silk-lined jacket pocket. Perhaps it was so he didn’t have room to keep a flask, and could avoid another habit that would likely result in him falling from the top rung he’d climbed to. But it was an unusual comfort now. His last one. The unsmoked. Before it was a bane, then became a reminder, a motivation, and now, it felt like the only light left on his tree. Well, it would if he actually had a light.

“Need a match?” A graveled tone sauntered up behind him in a pair of leather shoes that rivaled his own in expense. No, not graveled, there was an ache reflected in his words that could better be described as rubble. Something had ruined the newcomer, it would be the only explanation for coming to the airport on Christmas night.

Turning his piercing blue eyes to the unexpected company, he found that the ache and shoes were not the only thing he seemed to mirror. Italian three-piece suit, manicured nails, navigator gold and silver wristwatch, tight trimmed stubble beard, and carefully combed hair shaped like a perfect power wave a few degrees below being called a pompadour. Not at all the right attire or look for the small farming town of Christianville, Virginia.

What a silly duo they made; practically screaming, ‘out-of-towner who’s never done a hard day’s work in their life’. Here stands a college boy, looming lord of the corporate world, and crusher of boonie dreams. Sex in a suit that still can't get the girl.

“No thanks,” he finally replied, after finishing his visual assessment of company, “I quit, actually. This just reminds me why.”

“Oh?” A jovial lilt crept into his outrageously beautiful features, “Mind if I ask what that might be? I’m in need of a little positive motivation myself. Eight years sober. Cold turkey. Never looked back. But tonight…” Deep brown eyes looked off into the frosted night of the tarmac, as if his thoughts were still being loaded into the baggage carts below.

“Tonight you’re starting to feel the turn of your head,” he finished the newcomer’s sentence only to see a small nod of approval.

Yes, what a silly duo they made indeed. Weak, undisciplined, pathetic.

A silence drifted between them; their gazes fixed into the night when not upon each other’s reflections. They were alone. Only the gentle clicks and clacks of the nearly empty airport to create an ambiance other than the Christmas Sulk track they had been mentally playing.

Yet, the longer they stood together, awaiting either a delayed or now boarding sign to appear, the more comfortable they both felt. Perhaps it was simply because they were the strong, silent, standoffish type, and the cool business class air felt familiar between them. Or maybe it was that they could swear they’d seen the other on the cover of, Richest and Most Eligible Bachalors, at least twice. Either way, their shoulders began to ease as each moment lessened the weight upon their hearts. In the very least, what was left of Christmas wasn’t being spent entirely alone.

“Does the bottle have a name?” He finally asked, turning his stance so he could more effectively see his companion. In doing so, he absentmindedly returned the cigarette to its silver case, and slipped it within his inside jacket pocket.

“Sarah,” the man answered before darting his eyes to the cigarette case and back to those piercing blues, “what about you?”

“Amber,” he replied after a pause, watching as a sexy grin of acknowledgement crossed the man’s face accompanied by an understanding sound of, “Ah.”

“I’m Chad, Chad Winters,” the man introduced, extending a perfectly practiced hand.

“Tyler Walker,” he answered with an expert grip of his own.

“Tyler Walker?” Chad raised a brow, “Of Walker International?” Seeing Tyler give a smirk for an answer, he went on, “Small world. What are the odds?”

“Why do you say that?” Tyler asked as they both reluctantly let the other’s hand go; a feeling of chill replacing the warmth they briefly enjoyed.

“I own Salty Seaport Acquisitions,” Chad revealed to the widening of Tyler’s gaze, “you and I have a meeting next week about our company’s massive merger.”

Bitterness seeped as tea into Tyler’s ridiculously gorgeous features, staining all good nature that had once been forming. Taking a step back, his words came out as angered razors, “You. You’re the reason I’m here!”

“At the airport?” Chad asked in a characteristically-Chad fashion, which only fueled Tyler’s fury further.

“Yes! If you had just signed the papers, I wouldn’t be in this mess! But no, I spent the last three days on the phone with my business partner, Jacobs, trying to make a deal with your company. When I should have been showing Amber I really have changed!”

“Wait, you’re mad at me because I didn’t sign papers that would undercut my grandfather’s legacy?!” The steam of Chad’s frustration began to pipe through his perfectly muscled form. “If you had just seen the value that my company was bringing, you would have seen that 50/50 was an equitable agreement! Your terms would have put families out of work!”

“My terms? My terms?! My terms were trying to keep families IN their jobs! You’re the one trying to put them on the streets. And what about all of the sub-clauses where your company gets to pick and choose internal advancement? That kind of discrimination is something I absolutely won’t stand for,” Tyler clenched a fist, uncertain if he was going to find it a new resting place in the side of Chad’s face.

Yet, his fingers began to ease as Chad calmed asking, “Wait, did you say, Jacobs?”

“Yes, why?”

“Over middle aged, average height, rotund, looks like he could have been a Bond villain in another life, and always says, ‘Don’t worry –’”

“ – I’ll handle it.” Tyler finished with a sharp nod, “Yes, that’s him. Again, why?”

“Jacobs...works for me too,” Chad revealed to the astonishment of his rival companion.

Quiet floated like a feather, wafting back and forth between them as they both pondered on the previous events. Jacobs had been the one they’d both tasked with making all the important arrangements. The merger was far too large for either Tyler or Chad to close on their own, despite having closed countless business dealings before in their earlier years—the years that contained Amber and Sarah.

“I think we’re both getting taken for a ride,” Tyler finally blew the silence away with softer spoken words.

“And not the kind of ride I like,” Chad sighed heavily, rubbing a hand upon the back of his neck. “Who knows what other kinds of dealings he’s underhandedly dealt for me.”

“And me,” Tyler agreed, deciding whether to call Jacobs that moment and force him into the truth, or wait until he was back in person to let the police do it for him. “Well, I suppose since we’re both here, we could simply go over with a topical glance of the details that we both remember. Maybe even come to an old fashioned handshake agreement.”

 “I wouldn’t mind that,” Chad shrugged with little care, “but I prefer making decisions over dinner. You’d be surprised how a little gravy helps the big thinking go down.”

Tyler gave a genuine chuckle, a sound that pebbled Chad’s nipples beneath his expensive button-down. “Oh,” Tyler grinned, “I know well the power of the breadbasket. But I’m not sure anything is open at this hour. Would you settle for a grand display of my financial power at the vending machines?”

“Well, if you’re buying then I won’t hesitate to pick the most expensive of items,” Chad dared as the two began to walk in near step with one another. “I’m a D through E choice kind of man.”

“Oh?” Tyler teased with a small laugh that Chad was beginning to crave in his ears, “And I give off an A through C vibe, do I?”

“I’m not sure what kind of vibe you’re giving off,” Chad gave a smoldering look that singed warmth into the broken edges of Tyler’s heart, “but I’d like to find out.”

“We are talking business, are we not?” His voice tried to hold as much professionalism as possible, but the way Chad was making him feel was beginning to breach his corporate walls.

“What if I said not?”

The question made Tyler’s ears feel hot as he cleared his throat in an effort to clean his dirtying mind. What was he doing? What was he thinking? Amber had been his world, his reason. Amber had been everything to him. Enough so, that he was willing to travel all the way from New York at last minute Christmas time—eight connecting flights, nineteen phone calls with displays of power and threats to get tickets, crushed knees in whatever available seat he could get, and thousands of dollars in lost luggage—just to make sure she was okay.

Tyler might not have been her first, not like family farm working Brandon whom she’s picked over him, but she was in fact his. And that echoed through the cavernous hole where his love used to sit. Where the cold began to creep its tendril frost over the emptiness Amber carved open.

Christmas might have been Amber’s favorite time of year, but it was never Tyler’s. Christmas meant New Year’s, and New Year’s meant a new calendar fiscal year. It meant that all the employees that normally worked would be at home with their families, but someone would still need to be in the office keeping the coal burning. And true leadership was being the one with the shovel.

Christmas also meant that good judgement would be down, and drunk driving would be up, that impoverished children would be expecting a Santa that would never find their address, and that in order for all the Amber’s of the world to enjoy their carols and eggnog, someone else would be working overtime to keep the lights and heat on.

No, Tyler never saw Christmas like Brandon or Amber did. This wasn’t a time of year for good cheer and good will toward humankind. It is simply a time where the poor are reminded of what privilege truly is—the ability to be with your loved ones over the need of a paycheck.

And yet, right now, as he happily pushed in buttons on an old machine that cracked and groaned with cold gears, it seemed that winter was heating up. There was a way about Chad, perhaps in how he dipped his clean fingers into the drop-box where their packaged dinner awaited, that made Tyler want to find out exactly what Chad would sound like beneath his own touch. What would make him blush or groan. What exactly would make Winter shiver.

And by the look Chad was giving him, holding an armload of colorful nutritionless calories, he was thinking the exact same thing. There was a different kind of hunger in his eyes, one that wanted to learn exactly how to make Tyler’s mistletoes curl. An electricity between these powerful men that charged their hearts with desire and hope, that gave them grins with thoughts spinning yarns of ideas.

Santa Claus might not have been coming, but between Chad and Tyler, each hoped the other would soon.

Chapter 2 Link Below

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

How to Kill an Immortal - Chapter 8

Pairing: Marcus Pike x OFC, with flashbacks of Marcus x other OFCs & OMCs

Rating: M (mature themes, non-explicit smut)

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: Teresa Lisbon (gets her own warning), lots of feelings, BIG feelings, bittersweet ending.

Summary: “I know you’ve gone through a lot of pain,” Evelyn says beside him. “A lot of loss. I know you’ve asked yourself what it was all for, why you had to go through it all. I thought, maybe… this might help answer that, or at least bring you some peace, knowing it wasn’t all for nothing. That you brought a lot of happiness into the world, and it was better off for it.”

A/N: I want to take a moment here and let everyone know that the ending is BITTERSWEET. I want you to understand that fact going in. You can ALWAYS DM me if you are unsure or worried and would rather know beforehand. I cried twice while writing this, but I couldn’t be more pleased with how it all turned out. Biggest of thank-you’s to @outercrasis who, as usual and as always, has been a huge beacon of support and encouragement for this story and has endured me sending screenshots and screaming at them all week. This was a hard one to write and probably the longest I’ve taken to finish a fic, because of both the research involved and because writing Marcus’s POV was HEAVY. Being in his head was difficult, mentally, especially when “real life” is far from perfect and writing is generally my escape. I want to thank everyone who’s left a kind comment on this story. I’m really, really proud of this one, despite it having nowhere near the popularity as any of my other fics. I put a lot of hard work into this, and I hope it shows.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Chapter 8 - The Future

York, England. 2059 AD.

“You’re peeking!”

“I’m not,” Marcus insists, putting on a tone of mock-offense. “I’m looking at my feet. I’ll be damned if I’m going to break a hip on this uneven ground.”

“Oh, shut it, old man,” Evelyn teases. “I’m not gonna let you slip on something. Just a few more steps, here…”

Marcus squints his eyes until his feet are blurry shapes and allows Evelyn to pull him along with hands that are weathered and age-worn.

Just like his.

It had taken quite some time to affirm, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Marcus was indeed aging. One gray hair can certainly be written off as inconsequential. Two gray hairs, a fluke. When does a singular phenomenon become a pattern? Three gray hairs? Four? Fifteen? Each solitary incident had been noted with growing interest and curiosity by both Evelyn and Marcus until, before they knew it, his hair was flecked all over with silver.

When is a gray hair not just a gray hair?

It had certainly seemed as if Marcus was beginning to display all the classic signs of aging–something that had never once occurred during his centuries-long life. The little laugh lines around his eyes grew deeper and more pronounced. His joints began to protest loudly in the morning–creaking and cracking whenever he would get up. His stomach became softer and fuller, his skin more weathered. 

Marcus and Evelyn had watched the slow march of time show on his features with morbid fascination and curiosity. Finally, when it could no longer be ignored, the two of them had sat at their little kitchen table, coffee cups in hand, and Evelyn had finally given voice to what the two of them had observed wordlessly for nearly a decade.

“So,” she had said, setting her mug down with finality. “What’cha getting old for, then?”

Marcus had given her a small, disbelieving smile. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t think the—the dreams, the fact that I look exactly like that witch you encountered…” Evelyn had trailed off, staring out the window, deep in thought.

“I’m not sure there’s any other explanation,” Marcus had offered. “I have to think it’s all connected somehow. It’s just–I don’t know why, or how, or–” 

“It feels like the universe has been pulling us together all this time,” Evelyn had whispered.

“For seven centuries? Why?”

Evelyn had pursed her lips, looking down at her coffee cup. Marcus knew what she had been thinking, although she never again gave voice to it since the very first time she had asked. Soulmates. Two people, pushed together by strange, unexplainable magic, and when they finally collide… 

Except, Marcus had spent the past seven hundred years receiving proof–over and over and over again–that he was not destined for one person, and one alone. The bond he now shares with Evelyn is strong, but so was his bond with Alice. With William, Caroline, Madeline, Isabella–

Even so, Marcus could not deny, as he had looked into Evelyn’s eyes and taken in all the beautiful signs of aging on her own features, that something was different between the two of them. Neither Marcus nor Evelyn could–and still cannot, several decades later–provide any explanation for their apparent supernatural, fantastical connection.

“What do we do?” Evelyn had asked in hushed tones.

Marcus had shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

“They’re still open,” accuses the now seventy-eight Evelyn Croft as she guides her husband to some destination that she’d kept tightly under wraps for months. All Marcus knows is that it’s a birthday celebration–by his best estimate, he’s turning seven-hundred and fifty years old this year.

“No, they’re not,” Marcus says as he closes them again.

“Doesn’t matter, we’re here.”

Marcus blinks his eyes open, then looks to Evelyn in confusion. “West Bank Park?” he exclaims with a little laugh. “We take walks here every weekend, love.”

“Patience,” Evelyn scolds. “I have a surprise planned.” 

“Lot of people here,” Marcus grumbles to himself as they walk by a long line of cars parked on the side of the street. 

“Yes,” Evelyn agrees, but doesn’t say anything else.

Arm in arm, they walk through a grassy field towards a large collection of tables under a tent. The unusually high number of visitors seems to be concentrated here–every table is occupied, there are children running around outside of the tent, and Marcus can hear their excited shrieking from here. There must be hundreds of people here. What–

“What are you up to?” he asks Evelyn with an affectionate smile.

“Remember when I said I was volunteering at the library?” she begins.

“Of course.”

“That wasn’t… entirely accurate. I was actually there doing a massive genealogy project,” Evelyn explains. “Everyone here is a result of that work.”

“You volunteered there for several years, right?” Marcus asked, incredulous. “What–what is all this?”

“It was a pretty big undertaking,” Evelyn remarks quietly. “I tracked down every living descendant of one Marcus Pike.”

Marcus stops in his tracks, his mouth falling open in shock or disbelief or confusion or–

“Hey,” Evelyn says gently. “You okay?”

“D-Descendants?” Marcus repeats.

“Emma Pike had three children–Samuel, Curtis, and Lily. Samuel had four of his own, Curtis had two, and Lily had five. And so on, and so on,” Evelyn recites. “I traced as many lineages as I could, and I tracked down all living descendants I was able to identify.”

Marcus’s wrinkled hand comes to his mouth as his eyes sweep the crowd. People of all ages are here–men and women, families, couples, children, a little baby held in a cloth sling–the park is full of vibrant life. Some of the attendees are beginning to notice the two of them approaching, and are turning to look. One woman points excitedly and then starts to wave at them. Several people around her start applauding. 

Evelyn continues. “Caroline Pike had one daughter, Charlotte Pike, who went on to have six children of her own–David, Elias, Eleanor, Virginia, Robert, Josiah–” 

“Oh, my God,” Marcus breathes, “I–I have to sit down.” 

Evelyn leads him to the nearest chair and he sinks down into it, a shaking hand still covering his mouth in an attempt to stymie his overwhelming emotions. He looks over the crowd again–watching the children laughing and playing here, a group of people chatting there. There’s a long table full of food, and he watches in amusement as a child looks both ways before grabbing a cookie in each hand and running away, giggling. Everyone is so… happy. Marcus finds himself blinking back tears.

“I know you’ve gone through a lot of pain,” Evelyn says beside him. “A lot of loss. I know you’ve asked yourself what it was all for, why you had to go through it all. I thought, maybe… this might help answer that, or at least bring you some peace, knowing it wasn’t all for nothing. That you brought a lot of happiness into the world, and it was better off for it.”

Marcus nods numbly, the tears he had been holding at bay finally spilling down his cheeks. “How… how many?” he manages to ask.

“Mathematically speaking,” Evelyn begins quietly, “someone born in the fourteenth century should have around one million descendants alive today. Using the tools available to me, I identified twelve thousand, five hundred and twenty. Of those twelve thousand, I was able to contact around six hundred and fifty people, and of those, two hundred and ninety-seven people were able to come here today.”

“T-two hundred and…” Marcus trails off.

“Almost three hundred people are here to wish you a happy seven hundred fiftieth birthday, Marcus.”

A crowd was starting to gather around him–several dozen smiling faces, all looking at him with amazement, understanding, and kindness. His eyes flick from person to person, too overwhelmed to speak.

“Hi,” says one woman. “I’m Dianne. I’m a direct descendent of your daughter, Emma.”

Marcus nods through his tears, extending a trembling hand to shake hers, and manages to find his voice. “It’s nice to meet you, Dianne.”

This action is repeated over and over as more people come over and introduce themselves and shake Marcus’s hand. Gary, Francine, James, Katie, Joanne, Keith, AmandaKimJosephDavidCareyBrittanyMelissaKennethPhoebeThomasMitchellBrianMorgan…

Names and faces blur together, but it hardly matters. Marcus meets almost three hundred people who are here on this Earth because of him. Three hundred people with lives and families and hopes and dreams, people who have undoubtedly loved and lost–but none on such a large scale as Marcus has, and oh, he is grateful for that. Marcus shakes their hands, talks to them, eats dinner with them, holds babies, tells stories, laughs, and cries.

The party continues until the last rays of light leave the sky. In Marcus’s long life, he's had so many moments of happiness despite his pain. But here, underneath the stars with three hundred relatives–family, if only in a distant sense of the word–Marcus realizes he's never felt more joy, or more peace.

It feels like closure. Like he can finally rest. 

Austin, Texas. 2014 AD.

Marcus stared down at the notes he had written down in the margins of a leaflet from the case file that was spread out in front of him. He liked this part–each little scrap of information was like a piece of a puzzle. If he put them all together in the right configuration, the full picture would appear.

“Mrs. Hennigan, why was your husband trying to save this painting, in particular?”

“That’s me,” the woman replied. “John painted it years ago when we first met. We fell in love while he was painting it.”

Marcus frowned down at the photograph of the painting in question, and tried to keep his face neutral. It wasn’t very good. The shading was terrible and her face–well, it didn’t look like her in the slightest. 

“It’s not worth any money,” she went on, “but it’s worth a lot to us. To me.”

There it was–the reason Marcus fell in love with this job.

This past decade had been a breath of fresh air for him. Marcus couldn’t remember a time when he was more invested in or satisfied with a job. In 1993, just three years after reading about a high-profile museum theft that had sparked his interest, Marcus was a graduate of Quantico and a newly-minted FBI Agent in the Art Crimes Department. 

He loved the mystery of it all–every day was different, every case a unique situation. He found it endlessly amusing that it had taken him almost seven hundred years to find his true calling. 

Marcus did it for the love of art, but also for the love of helping people, talking to people, and working with them. He’d lived such a solitary life, and immortality was such a lonely condition. It was refreshing to be doing something like this–something that benefited others and also made him feel like he was part of society and not just drifting along, watching other people live and change while he seemed to be doing neither.

The job had given him a zeal for life he hadn’t felt in centuries. For the first time in a long time, Marcus felt comfortable in his own skin. He felt confident, at ease. For the time being, at least, he felt as if he was right where he needed to be.

“We’ll do our best to get it back for you,” Marcus assured the woman, and he meant it. He knew it was considered unwise to take every case that came across his desk personally, but he couldn’t help it–he invested all of his time and energy in each one, every time. Honestly, it was the only thing keeping him sane after those few disastrous years following his divorce with Trish. This job was something he could care about without getting involved with another person. Instead, he’d directed all of that drive towards the work, towards solving each and every case he encountered.

As a result, Marcus was damn good, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it, but this had been a difficult case. He and his team had been chasing the gang that did this for quite some time, and they were frustratingly good at what they did. Marcus wanted more than anything to pin them down once and for all. So much, in fact, that he found himself allowing an outside party to aid his team in their investigation.

Marcus did not immediately take a liking to Patrick Jane. He was overconfident to the point of being downright arrogant, a trait Marcus didn’t appreciate. He commanded attention in every room with a practiced bravado that Marcus found grating. It seemed like a false front–although Jane did seem to have the intelligence to back up his boasting, it still felt as if the man was hiding a deeper insecurity.

In Marcus’s experience, people who had to constantly tell the room how brilliant or clever they were, were typically neither.

Still, any help was welcomed with open arms. Marcus cared more about solving the case than he did about preserving his ego. He was seven hundred years old, for Christ’s sake. Nothing in Patrick Jane’s short life would ever come close to the breadth of experience Marcus had simply by means of existing.

The next thing Marcus knew, he was presenting the case to Jane and his team. He had just been introduced and was about to open his mouth and speak, when one more person entered the room and sat down–a gorgeous woman with her hair pulled back. Their eyes caught for a split second, and Marcus could feel a little spark of electricity between them. He was taken off-guard for a moment, and had to take another steadying breath before he began. 

“Art thieves used to be about sneaking, nighttime break-ins. Not anymore–the new generation prefers guns.”

Marcus went through the details of the case, aided with the slides one of the department’s interns had put together, but the entire time, he could feel the woman’s eyes on him. She was attentive and sharp, and asked him quite a few questions–and he could feel himself starting to enjoy her quick wit. 

Patrick Jane, in contrast, was sitting on a couch off to the side, leafing through a file and seemed to be giving off the impression that he was apparently above listening to the presentation. He remained aloof until he found it in himself to interrupt Marcus’s meeting, boasting that he already had a plan.

Marcus bit the inside of his cheek as Jane rose from his seat and swaggered to the center of the room.

“Well, as you know, Agent Lisbon, the key to a good con is always making the mark feel that he is in control,” Jane said with a smirk. 

As the man launched into a convoluted explanation of his idea, Marcus was learning that Patrick Jane prescribed to the school of thought that ‘being smart’ meant using a bunch of highly specific lingo that he knew damn well no one else would understand, rather than actually being able to explain your reasoning to other people. 

“I don’t know what any of that means,” Marcus began, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“You’ll get used to it,” the woman–Agent Lisbon?–interrupted with a cute little smirk in Marcus’s direction, and he felt his defensive mood thaw out a little.

“...But if you want art, I got art,” he finished. 

Marcus met the two of them by the elevators after the briefing to take them downstairs to the Cave, the department’s repository of stolen art. Patrick Jane was still talking to another Agent on his team, but Agent Lisbon was already walking in his direction with a little smile on her face and a glimmer in her eyes.

“Agent… Pike?” she greeted him. 

“Marcus, please,” he replied, sticking out his hand. “Good to officially meet you.”

“Good to meet you too,” she said, and her smile widened. When she clasped Marcus’s hand, neither of them seemed too eager to let go.

“I’m Teresa.”

York, England. 2059 AD. 

Evelyn Croft looks down at the little bundle in her arms with a soft smile. She'd never had children, not able to stomach the idea that Marcus would live to see them grow old and die. By the time he had begun showing visible signs of aging, it was verging on too late–and she still didn’t dare take the chance that he might outlive them, anyway. Besides, the two of them had lived a full, exciting life and she'd never slowed down enough to consider if she'd missed anything.

Evelyn had retired early from her career at the museum to dedicate her life to adventuring with Marcus. At first, she had been hesitant. "Where on earth are we going to find the money to travel the world with neither of us working?" she had asked him.

Marcus had pressed his lips together and gave her a hesitant look. 

"Spit it out, Pike," Evelyn had commanded, raising one eyebrow and giving him a playful grin.

"I might have a bit saved up," Marcus had admitted. "I bought a lot of stocks in the 'eighties."

"Stocks? What kind of stocks?" Evelyn had asked. 

"...Apple, mostly," Marcus answered. 

"Apple?" she had shrieked. "You bought Apple stock in the 'eighties? Good Lord, how much is it worth now?"

"A-Almost four million," Marcus had whispered. "I don't know what to do with it, it just sits in an account somewhere. I forget it exists, honestly."

"You knob!" Evelyn had smacked him playfully on the shoulder. "When were you going to tell me, hmm?"

"I had forgotten," Marcus had insisted.

"You forgot you had four million dollars," Evelyn had repeated, both eyebrows raised this time. 

Marcus had looked down at his hands, distressed. "I don't think you realize what seven hundred years does to someone's brain. I remember some things, but forget others. I remember the layout of my childhood home in York, but I can't think of the name of the town I had lived in when I was in Japan. I forget, sometimes–even the important stuff."

Evelyn had softened immediately, taking Marcus into her arms and burying her face in his broad chest. "Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm not mad. I was just surprised, is all. You don't need to remember everything. I promise. You're okay."

Marcus had smiled gratefully and lowered his head to give her a sweet kiss. 

"Surprise," he had teased with a weak laugh. 

"Apparently it's a surprise to you, too," Evelyn had joked back, palming his jaw and rubbing her thumb against his cheekbone, letting him know it was all right.

They'd seen the world, the two of them. They'd always loved to travel, but once they'd realized that Marcus might have an expiration date, they’d redoubled their efforts, going anywhere and everywhere their hearts had desired. They'd visited the little beach in Brazil where Marcus and William had made their home, the street where he had lived in Paris, in Quebec… They'd even journeyed to the one place Marcus had never been–packing their heaviest parkas and boots and traveling to Antarctica. They traveled until it became impractical to do so–until Marcus’s back protested being in an airplane seat for hours and Evelyn’s knee became too weak for long periods of walking.

Evelyn has never seen anyone so ecstatic to be aging as Marcus. Even the unpleasant signs–sore joints, bad backs, liver spots–are all met with a quiet, soft excitement. Of course, it helps that Marcus has aged frustratingly gracefully, keeping his boyish good looks until the very end, or so it seems. 

Now, at seventy-eight, Evelyn and Marcus have finally settled down for good in a little cottage just outside of York. They live a modest and quiet little life, tending to their garden, taking long walks around the city or in the park, and most evenings, they play cards together. It seems, for the first time in his long life, that Marcus Pike is slowing down. He walks at a more leisurely pace, now–usually arm in arm with Evelyn–with the slightly unsteady gait of someone whose joints aren’t what they used to be. He’s content to spend his days reading or doting on their rosebushes, and spends his nights curled around Evelyn, always pressing a gentle kiss to her temple right before she falls asleep. 

Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Evelyn comes to the little neonatal unit at the York Hospital for a few hours and reads to the premature babies while they lay in incubators, or some of them, on her chest. 

"Chapter eleven," Evelyn announces, clearing her throat. She'd been reading for some time now, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of the little infant's ribs as she takes those rapid little breaths. 

"The–" Evelyn had barely gotten the first word out before her phone began to ring. "Oh, for crying out–hang on a second," she says to the baby. "Hello?" she addresses the unknown caller.

“Is this Evelyn Croft?”

“It is,” she answers brusquely.

“Mrs. Croft, we regret to inform you that your husband was admitted to The York Hospital after suffering a heart attack at the store.”

Evelyn nearly drops her book, but she manages to gently set it down on the side table with a shaking hand before clamping it over her mouth. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Marcus Pike was admitted after a serious heart attack at Waitrose and he's currently in A&E at York Hospital in–"

"I'm at York Hospital," Evelyn interrupts. "Hang on, I'll be right down."

Evelyn signals for the nurse and helps him collect the little newborn and lay her back into her bassinet. Then, she hurries as fast as she can to Marcus.

She had dreamed of this. Oh, God, she had dreamed of this. The dreams never showed her how it would happen, but when she had begun seeing herself alone, she had known. Truthfully, it had been the dreams that had finally made Marcus’s aging real to the both of them. After seven hundred years of living, it was easy to doubt that it was happening, even after seeing it with his own eyes. 

Evelyn had been scared to tell him, at first. Whether it was out of her own fear, or fear for Marcus, she wasn’t sure, but it had taken her nearly a month to say anything. When she finally did, Marcus had looked at her with an overwhelming empathy in his eyes before drawing her in for a hug and a gentle kiss on the forehead. 

“I’m sorry,” he had murmured into her hair. “I wish you didn’t have to go through it.” 

“Oh, Marcus,” Evelyn had replied, shaking her head with an amused half-smile. “You don’t know how glad I am that it’s this way, and not the other way ‘round.”

Nothing significant had changed, afterward. If Evelyn had started to hug Marcus just a little harder, or look at him just a little longer, neither of them acknowledged it. She knew, deep down, that Marcus was, above all else, relieved. 

—-

“How is he?” Evelyn asks breathlessly, when she arrives outside of his room.

The doctor on duty shoots her a sympathetic, solemn look. “He’s in critical condition, Ma’am, I’m sorry. We have him on life support, but he won't–.”

Evelyn blanches. “Life support? No! He’s supposed to be DNR. He’s got a medical card in his wallet,” she sputters indignantly.

Oh, God, he’s going to hate this. Marcus and Evelyn had decided early on, once they realized that he was, indeed, aging regularly, that they wouldn’t take any interventions in the process. Once it was time, Marcus had told her with a soft smile, it was time. 

The doctor apologizes profusely for the mistake, but Evelyn waves her off, shaking her head. “It’s fine, it’s–it’s fine. It… it gives me time to…” say goodbye “talk to him,” she finishes.

Steeling herself, Evelyn takes a steadying breath and enters the room. Her heart immediately breaks, seeing him surrounded by machines and wires. It wasn't supposed to be like this. 

“Hey, you,” Evelyn says with a watery smile as she approaches the bed. "I know you're probably pissed as hell in there. The doctors made a mistake, but I've been told once the machines are turned off, it'll happen quickly. Peacefully," she adds, hastily. She sinks down on the side of the hospital bed and covers Marcus’s hand with hers. 

"Who would've thought that something as routine and boring as a heart attack would be the thing that takes down the oldest living person, huh?” Evelyn jokes through the lump in her throat. “I'd say I’m sorry for not killing you when you asked me too, but that would be a lie,” she confesses softly. “I hope you don’t regret this little blip of time you didn’t plan for. It’s funny, you were given way too much time for any one soul to handle, but I feel like I didn’t get enough.”

“I know it was overwhelming, experiencing things on the scale that you did, and I love that you stayed so curious, so energetic, and so…” Evelyn swallows thickly, “so full of love to give, for almost eight hundred years. I’m honored that you shared just a little of that with me.”

“I know you’ve maintained until the end that there’s no such thing as soulmates or fate,” Evelyn murmurs, “but I want you to know that I’ll always disagree wholeheartedly, because you were it, for me. This has definitely been the adventure of a lifetime and I wouldn’t have wanted to have it with anyone else.”

“So,” Evelyn says, forcefully chipper, “that’s my little speech. I won’t keep you here listening to me prattle on, I know how desperately you want to go.” She leans over and gives Marcus a soft kiss on the forehead. “I’m gonna unplug these machines, and we’ll get all of these stupid tubes out, how’s that sound? Then we’ll just sit for a while, you and me.”

Evelyn presses the ‘Call’ button for the nurse, and stands, blinking back tears. 

“Mrs. Croft?” the nurse asks, entering the room.

“We’re ready,” Evelyn announces, swiping her arm quickly across her face. 

The click of the switch, when Evelyn presses it, is deafening in the quiet room. She turns to look away as all of the awful tubes and wires are removed, leaving one solitary patch on Marcus’s chest, monitoring his heart. He already looks so much more at peace, and Evelyn sags with relief at the sight.

“That’s better,” Evelyn chuckles. “Much more handsome this way. You’re still so pretty, for an old man. Lucky bastard.” She sits beside him on the bed again, listening to the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor. She tucks a stray silver curl behind his ear, then brushes another off of his forehead, just to touch him.

“I guess I got to keep my promise after all, huh?” Evelyn says quietly. “What was it that the witch had told you? ‘Your death must come by the hands of another?’ I wonder if she saw this moment, and didn’t understand what it meant.”

The beeping starts to slow slightly, and Evelyn takes a shuddering breath in. “There’s a little preemie I was tending to, when the hospital called,” she tells him conversationally. “She wasn’t even two kilos, the sweet little thing. The nurses got her all wrapped up in blankets and wearing this ridiculous crocheted hat with Yoda ears on it, and she laid on my chest while I read The Little Prince to her. Have you ever read that one? Hang on, I actually wrote something down…” Evelyn fishes in her purse. “Here it is. ‘One day, I watched the sun setting forty-four times… You know… when one is so terribly sad, one loves sunsets.’ It made me think of how short a time forty-four sunsets would be for you compared to that little baby. In forty-four days, she’ll have grown and changed so much and she’ll probably be ready to go home,” Evelyn says. “Forty-four days is an eternity for her and nothing to you.

“Speaking of sunsets, do you remember that time we were in Greece?” Evelyn asks, squeezing Marcus’s hand. “And some arsehole on the train managed to steal my cell phone right out of my purse without either of us noticing? We were on our way to Sounion to see the Temple of Poseidon, and I was so pissed about losing my phone that I took off all my clothes and went skinny dipping in the Aegean.” Evelyn begins laughing. “You were so shocked, but I made you come in, too, and we swam together as the sun went down. I remember the sunset was beautiful, and I remarked that I was upset that I couldn't capture the memory on camera.” She smiles softly, remembering. “You waved your hand dismissively and scoffed, ‘No cell phone can capture this feeling.’ And you were right. I still remember it as clear as day. The feel of your skin against mine and how silly we felt, naked in the water, and how we laughed, laughed, and laughed…”

Evelyn’s reminiscence is interrupted by a jarring computerized tone as Marcus’s heart monitor becomes a static, unchanging line. Without speaking, she slowly pulls the blue handkerchief that she had carried on behalf of Marcus for over forty years, lays it on his chest, and places his hand over it. 

A single tear rolls down her cheek. “This isn’t a sad day,” Evelyn announces resolutely to the room. “It’s the conclusion of a very long journey.”

—

Life has a frustrating habit of continuing to happen. It seems, to Evelyn, that the world should stop, for just a moment, to acknowledge the overwhelming loss. When she walks out of the hospital, however, she’s greeted by activity. Cars pass by on their way to and from work, children ride by on bicycles, people walk down the sidewalk. Every person she can see has their own story, their own joy, and their own pain. She will never know theirs, and conversely, they will never know hers. 

Even more insulting, her own life refuses to pause. They’re out of milk, so Evelyn stops by the store on the way home. The garbage disposal is on the fritz, so she makes a call to a repair company. In the mail is a letter regarding a cable charge that Evelyn does not agree with, and she grouses out loud to an empty house.

Every simple, routine task is unbearable for a while–until Evelyn tries to imagine attempting to operate in this way for seven hundred and fifty years. Marcus had been operating with all of these losses piling up in the back of his mind since the fourteenth century. What had kept him going? What made all the pain bearable? Evelyn supposed it was his strong ties to others, to humanity. Through everything, Marcus loved people.

“You’re right,” she announces out loud one day at the kitchen table that now holds only one mug. “I should take a leaf from your book, hmm?”

She huffs a little laugh, and takes another sip of tea. “There’s no one quite like you, though, is there?”

Evelyn is silent for a while, sipping her coffee and watching the birds at the feeder just outside the window. The table is littered with paper, today, the result of some additional genealogical work. Evelyn had developed a taste for it after her long project to find as many of Marcus’s descendants as she could.

“You don’t need to worry,” she says, as if she’s picking up the thread of a conversation that hasn’t actually happened. “I’ve got plenty of time left.”

Evelyn looks down at a photocopy of an ancient census record, at the faded calligraphy that reads “Sabine Evanora Payne.” Her eyes flick over to another, more recent record, to read the name Allegra Evelyn Croft–her own Great Grandmother–for the hundredth time that day. Evelyn understands that the fact that she can trace her matriline back to Marcus’s witch doesn’t really explain anything about her connection with him, but the knowledge still causes the little hairs to rise up on the back of her neck. There is a strange magic about you. The words seem to echo in her head, despite never having heard them out loud.

“Plenty of time,” Evelyn repeats. “And I intend to make the most of it.”

*

Notes:

A person born in the 1400s would, in fact, have a living descendant count in the low-to-mid millions, mathematically speaking. (I was WAY OFF in my first draft!!) I’m making an assumption on how many of those would be identifiable with the records available today. 

The end of this story is a love letter to my dad, who passed away surrounded by laughter as my mom and I explained several silly inside jokes related to board games we used to play to a very understanding Chaplain. It is my dying wish that he heard us.

Thank you to everyone who’s loved this story. I know the ending is sad, but I couldn’t end this story without giving Marcus the true closure and resolution that he needed.

[57greenstreet]

Gossip Guy podcast with Willem De Schryver

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYjtRYOGS00

translated by @jackfrostsander @bruisingknees @lblogss @yousmina and me :)

-

E: I do have another present for you.

W: Oei oei oei, presents.

E: I do that every week. I give something to my guest of the week.

W: Oei oei oei. Do I slide it?

E: Here in the front is a flap that you have to fold upwards…

[Intro]

E: Wassup people, welcome to a new episode of the Gossip Guy podcast. My name is Ender Scholtens and today I’m here with Willem De Schryver. Everything ok?

W: Sure sure (In Dutch sure is used as a confirmation to a question).

E: Is this your first podcast?

W: Yes, this is my first podcast.

E: Stress?

W: No, it will be fine, right? Relaxed.

E: I don’t know… (laughing). For the people who don’t recognize you, from where could they know you?

W: Hmmm, probably from the youth series WTFOCK where, in the third season, I play the role of Sander.

E: And we are allowed to talk about it in this podcast.

W: Yeah I also heard that. Yes, it’s over.

E: Was it a difficult chapter of your life to close?

W: Yes, I still clearly remember the last moment… Like really the last last scene at the sea… That was an emotional moment because you went through a lot as a group, you did a lot together, and emotional scenes, intimate scenes. But yes, I think, if I speak for the whole group that it was a goodbye to the series but not a goodbye from each other. We still keep in contact. Mainly through WhatsApp.

E: Yeah, the end of the series was beautiful. I sat next to my girlfriend when it just came online. Because there were a few scenes that we hadn’t seen yet and we were just watching them… And we refreshed and the last episode was online… The last piece was online… So, I thought… I really cried… It caused quite some emotions.

W: For many people… Also under the cast and even the extras that were present for that last scene… Even among them. I can remember that they got emotional because it really was over over. I think that we, WTFOCK, have been able to impact a lot of young people in Belgium. So, it’s beautiful… We closed it beautifully…

E: I don’t doubt that. I really liked the end. What is your favorite memory from your whole WTFOCK experience?

W: Hoh, hmmm. Do I have to choose one? Difficult to choose one… I think that the most enjoyable moments… At the end of each series… Almost… We were at the sea or in the Ardennes, as a group, for a vacation. Away together. And those moments… Away with the whole cast and crew… Being away for a whole weekend. And in the evening, talking late into the night and that creates a special connection and I think that, in general, was the most enjoyable… Yes, it affects me… You share, as a young person, a common dream or something we want to realize as an actor to succeed and everyone who works so hard for that… That’s nice to see.

E: I recently talked to Veerle and I know that if she sees Nora, like somewhere, say at a party… Then they stay together for the whole evening… Do you have that? With who did you have the best connection throughout that whole experience?

W: Yes…

E: That doesn’t mean that the rest is not chill or so…

W: No the rest is all stupid… There’s only one person… I hate you all! (joking) No! Yes, hmmm, I think that I definitely have the best connection with Willem. Just because we have been through a lot… I always compare the WTFOCK crew a bit to my own friend group, aside from the cast. I mean, I know to whom I can go for what. I know I can go to some if I feel sad, to talk and I know who I can go to to have a laugh. And who I can go to to have a general chat. And everyone has their qualities or like their own aura around them… Where I love to hang around. So, it differs from person to person. So, it’s hard to choose one person but Willem then in the sense that, if you jump naked together in a swimming pool and if you have intimate scenes together… That creates a connection, of course. So, yes, if I have to choose one person…

E: Is there a barrier that you have to overcome to play such scenes? Because they are very intimate, indeed. And I, personally, couldn’t imagine… I can’t act… But, to empathize with a role… To play such scenes… Is that difficult for you?

W: Huh, yes, that’s a question I get often. I mean like… Yeah and you have to empathize with that character… But yes, you step into that project with a certain professionalism and you say “okay, we are going to create a story and bring it to the public with certain values and that we want to tell something and show something” …So, yes, you don’t really think about it. So, it’s not like I thought “Ooooo, I am kissing with a boy but I am interested in girls”. That was not a problem for me because it really is about telling the story and making that together and if the story requires that then you just completely go for it.

E: That’s cool. What are your future acting ambitions? You now have played in a series, is that something you want to do more in the future or do you like theatre more or movie or…

W: I find it difficult to choose between theatre and film, for example. After WTFOCK I played in Déjà Vu, which you can see on Streamz and later this year on Channel 4… And I study theatre at KASK. And I notice the difference, due to the recordings, I am really in the field and I am busy and I work, while at school I learn new things about theatre… So, in my opinion I have more experience in television work because I actually have done projects for that and I haven’t yet for theatre, which is still school and learning. So, I think it’s currently hard to choose but I think, maybe it’s a cliché answer, but the combination is maybe ideal, of course. But I am still exploring and I will see how it goes…

7:02

E: What is your favorite food?

W: My favorite food?

E: Yes.

W: Hmmmm, in the past I was really a basic guy… Like spaghetti bolognese or so… But now, generally after my exams, I go to a restaurant with my grandma. She always buys. That’s always amazing. I am a fan. And I always take steak tartare with fries. That remains a bit of a guilty pleasure.

E: How long, do you think, would it take you to eat five full plates of spaghetti bolognese?

W: Hoh, hmmm. The thing is, my stomach is rather small…

E: Small?

W: I think that I would have to schedule in… Okay, after a certain time I would have to throw up and then eating further…

E: You’re allowed to take a break. You’re allowed to say… Okay, I take a few days…

W: No, no, not that…

E: You’re going to do it in a day?

W: Look, two plates… Three if I really push…

E: You get preparation time so you know like a week before… So, you can like…

W: Train yourself?

E: Yes, train…

W: Hoh, alee say about four hours…

E: Four hours?! Five plates, he? Like five really big plates…

W: Yeah but yeah, four minutes… I am exaggerating… Let’s say a day… In a day five plates…

E: Ok, that should work. Then you basically have every meal… Breakfast… Lunch… Dinner… and in between… pasta…

W: Pasta as breakfast…

E: One day should definitely be feasible.

W: Yes, indeed.

8:49

E: What is, according to you, the reason you were placed on this planet?

W: Fuck (laughs).

E: Existential crisis, okay? Have you never thought about what the purpose of life is and what…

W: Yes, certainly… Hmmm, I'm someone who worries a lot. When I'm in bed in the evening I start to think about questions like that and then I think “what am I doing? Willem… where do I want to go to and…” Hmmm, why was I put on this planet? Hmmmm… (speechless followed by laughing). This is really bad… It’s like I don’t value myself…

E: Noooo, but I didn’t expect a deep philosophical answer. Well, if you had one… really good but…

W: Okay I’m going to think about my philosophical answer… but no. If you want… No! Yes, now I'm really going to sound philosophical but… (crosstalk) Everyone who is on earth has a certain reason to be here and everyone… I for example have that… I really feel that… I never liked going to school. Especially, in lower and high school. I… I actually, on purpose, put my fingers in my throat in the morning to throw up…

E: Wow, that’s heavy…

W: And then going downstairs to say “papa I’m ill, can I stay home?” I don’t know why but that whole system… Sitting behind a desk all day… And those classes… that was not for me. And then I discovered my passion for acting and discovered that it really suited me. And that’s the thing… A lot of people often ask me like “how did you start?” and “I also would like to do that and where do I start and I have been rejected does that mean I am not good enough?” but I think that sometimes you shouldn’t rush to find your passion. It can take longer then you would like it to take. I think that if you too intensively search for "what am I good at?" and “I have to find something that I am good at” and… For me that’s happened unexpectedly. I did take acting classes on Wednesday afternoons after school and I kind of got into it like that… I think it differs for everyone and that everyone has their own purpose here on earth.

E: And would you say your purpose is acting?

W: Yeah…

E: There isn’t a right answer but how does it feel for you at the moment? Is that the thing you love doing the most or do you see yourself doing for a long time?

W: The thing is… I’m a person who gets tired of things very quickly. I’ve had a lot of hobbies.

E: So maybe next week you want to garden or something?

W: No, no I wouldn’t say that. No the thing is, with acting that isn’t the case. Since I was twelve… well first on amateur level…

E: How old are you now?

W: 19.

E: Oh wow I thought you were my age. 19… damn bro you’re three years younger than me.

W: 2001 represent.

E: That’s literally… you’re the same age as my brother! What the shit. Alright, no okay.

W: In November so almost 2002. I’m really a latecomer.

E: What?! You look like you’re the same age as me and everything.

12:14

W: But that’s honestly – thank you for saying that! I always used to be the “little guy.” None of the girls wanted to be with me cause they just thought I was cute.

E: I see.

W: And they came to me to talk about their love lives.

E: Oh, okay.

W: So I was always that guy who was like: “I’m in love with you.” “Oh, how cute! You’re so cute!” So I was always like: “Okay then, I’m never going to find anyone, I’m always going to stay… short. I’ll be all alone.” And then all of a sudden I –

E: Do you think height matters in regard to your chances with certain… people?

W: At this age I don’t think it does anymore, but I do think that – I think at – I just remember in high school that the romantic idea of what love was supposed to look like was very: a boy and a girl, and the boy has to be taller and stronger and bigger than the girl. But I think that now it’s more… I mean, at my age I’m convinced it’s more fluid than that, and it doesn’t have to be that way. So it doesn’t have to be an issue anymore.

E: But still, when you go on Twitter, short guys are still –

W: Yeah.

E: Totally annihilated.

W: I have notice – I have noticed – Yeah, it’s still… It’s still this… general thing that people get stuck on. Like: “Oh, a short dude. That’s not okay.” Or whatever.

E: Or like the guy has to be taller. But no, we’re – we’re – not… not all relationships… we’re really generalizing here. But I get what you mean.

W: Yeah.

E: No, it’s – I do think it’s still important. I think that when you’re, and this is really harsh, but that a lot of people look at you differently when you’re taller. I have this dude in my friend group, Louis Ledegen, and he’s close to 2 meters tall, and just some girls look at him and they just think that’s so… attractive or whatever. And I just can’t even imagine.

W: I don’t get that either.

E: That that makes them go like: “Wow!”

W: I was in the train just now and this dude walked by me and he was honestly like 2 meters tall and I was just thinking: “When you’re that tall, and you’re with…” I mean, the girl almost has to get on a stepping stool to reach him for a kiss! And girls are like – I mean, I’ve heard before that girls think it’s attractive when a man is really tall.

E: Yeah.

W: And yeah, I don’t know… I don’t totally get it.

E: No.

W: Maybe it’s cause I’m not that tall myself, that I’m like trying to protect myself and be all: “That’s not necessary!”

E: Yeah! If anybody knows the answer, do we, being shorter guys, have less of a chance?

W: Let us know, please.

14:53

E: Please let us know! We need some answers! Now in the show, wtFOCK, your hair’s a different color.

W: Yeah.

E: Yeah. Is that something… So that was actually – it wasn’t really blonde?

W: It was completely bleached.

E: Bleached.

W: It was more to the… But the thing is that they had to do it twice, cause the first time… I got there, for the first table read with the director and Willem [Herbots] and they were like: “Hey, Willem. We wanted to ask you something. We’d like to bleach your hair for the role.”

E: Yeah.

W: And I was like: “… Okay.”

E: Okay.

W: “And why?” No. “Just for the character and stuff.” So I was like: “Okay. That’s fine.” The thing is I had to be at the hairdresser for 4 hours for this.

E: Oh wow, heavy.

W: It was like this and this product, and it had to sit for a long time. It had to be bleached all over. And I got out of there the first time and I was completely yellow – but yellow like an egg.

E: Oh, shit!

W: And I… My mom dropped me off, and I texted her: “I’m done, will you come get me?” And I saw my mom approach and she just passed me by.

E: Oh wow.

W: She didn’t – she almost didn’t recognize me anymore. Like halfway - she was like – and then she was like: “Oh! Willem!” Like she hadn’t seen –

E: Oh shit.

W: That it was me. That I looked completely different. And then I arrived for another table read and Tom [Goris – director] was like: “Yeah… We’re not gonna go this route… This is too yellow.” So then I spent another 4 hours at the hairdresser. After that I had to be there for four hours almost every month. I did think it was cool to have bleached hair, but… You have to be at the hairdresser for so long, so that really wasn’t… my thing. I mean, I had some really cool moments with Mitch [Fabry – hair & make up wtFOCK]. Thanks, Mitch.

E: Would you ever dye your hair again?

W: Uhm.

E: Maybe another color?

W: Yeah, I don’t think so. I’m quite happy with my hair color, actually, I don’t know.

E: Alright.

W: Now it’s also like… Everyone always asks me: “So this is your natural hair color?”

E: Yeah.

W: And then I have to tell them: “Yeah.” And it’s like: “Oh, okay!” It’s this switch. But no, I’m happy with my hair. It’s fine.

17:03

E: I can also tell that you’ve got an earring? You can’t really tell on camera, but –

W: I’ll come a little closer [to the camera]. Yeah, I only got it recently, four weeks or something.

E: Yeah. Was it an impulsive, drunken decision, or something you wanted… for some time?

W: I’ve wanted it for a long time, but I was a little anxious about it like: “It’s not gonna look good on me,” and then after a while, a couple of months ago, I was like: “Fuck it, I’m just gonna do it.” And if it didn’t look good I could still just take it out, so it doesn’t really matter. But all in all I was pretty happy with it. My father, my parents – my mom: “Oh, so nice!!” And it was like – at first they give you a stud and then after four weeks you can change it to a hoop. And I really wanted a hoop, and I even asked the people in the (piercing) shop: “Can’t I please just get a hoop straight away?” And they were like: “No, sorry, it doesn’t work like that. For hygiene reasons that’s not okay.”

E: Okay.

W: But okay, so I had to wait four weeks and then eventually I could change it to the golden hoop. So I get home and the first thing my father said was: “Wow, you look like a douchebag.” That was the first thing out of his mouth, that I looked like a douchebag.

E: Is that the look you were going for?

W: No, not at all! Not at all!

E: I think it looks cool.

W: Thanks.

E: Cause a little while ago I wanted one, and so I put on my girlfriend’s earring – because even if your ear isn’t pierced it sticks a little –

W: Yeah.

E: And so I just put it on there for a day or something, and then I was like: “Okay, that’s quite enough.” I don’t know if I’d want it for longer than that. Recently I’ve been getting into rings and stuff though.

W: I wore rings for a long time, but I don’t have any anymore. I actually want – I like them too. But I have to –

18:47

E: If I’d known, I would’ve brought you a gift!

W: Go shopping. Goddamn!

E: I did bring you another gift though!

W: Another gift? Oei oei oei, gifts!

E: This is something I do every week,  I give my guest of the week something.

W: Oei oei oei. 

E: It’s just…

W: Do I just slide it –

E: There’s a little hatch over here, that you have to lift, and then you can just lift it like that. There we go.

W: There we go.

E: White hairspray.

W: If I’d want to go back to – there we have it. Too good.

E: It can be washed out really easily as well. So this way you don’t have to be at the hairdresser for like four hours. And then when you’re sick of it, you can just get rid of it again!

W: That was the thing… Thank you, by the way.

E: You’re very welcome.

W: Now I can go back – Now I can go back to my past life. No, that was the thing as well. People who – people who - after wtFOCK came online, people really recognized me with the white hair. I mean, it’s pretty noticeable, when I’m walking through Ghent station – if someone with bleached hair. I mean, if you watch the show, I can imagine that when you see someone with bleached hair, you immediately connect the two and think: “Oh, that could be him.” And then you run in to some people who ask for pictures. After that my hair was really short, cause the people from Déja-Vu were like: “We’re not gonna do this, just go back to your natural hair color.” So I cut it all off, and there was this time where… nobody came to talk to me anymore. I was able to just be myself again. It was as if – looking back on it, it was actually really nice that for wtFOCK I was able to completely get into a different character with different hair. And the first time I got rid of the hair I really noticed that was no longer being associated with the character.

E: Hannah Montana vibes! Your hair changes color and nobody knows who you are anymore.

W: “Who are you?”

E: “Who the fuck are you?!”

W: “Does anybody want to take pictures with me? It’s me! It’s me! I swear!”

E: “I’m that dude from wtFOCK! I’m that dude from wtFOCK!”

W: So if people don’t recognize me anymore I can just… *pshhht* in the morning.

E: Exactly! If you want to take some more pictures, you can just…

W: No, no. That’s fine. No, yeah.

E: It’s kind of crazy, actually. Because, honestly? The very first time I saw a flash of you, with this hair color, I also thought: “I recognize you from somewhere…” But I think I’d already gotten in contact with you through social [media] and I didn’t put two and two together that you…

W: Yeah.

E: “Aaah!”

W: “Aaah! You’re that guy!”

E: Yeah, so…

W: But that’s the whole thing. If someone recognizes me, which doesn’t happen that often by the way, it’s always – I think it’s funny to be like: “No, that’s not me.”

E: No.

W: People really start doubting themselves, it’s very: “Uhm, can I ask you a question? Are you that guy from wtFock?” “Me? No.”

E: “No!”

W: “That’s not me.” And people will often be like: “Oh? What? But I recognize you…” That doubt on their faces is pretty funny but yeah, then I tell them it’s me.

E: Just the reaction of someone being like: “Huh, do I know you from somewhere?” “Do you watch porn?”

W: The confrontation.

E: “Oh… qmdkjg.” And it’d be even better if the parents were right there as well. “Argh!”

W: “Yes, Jürgen, care to explain yourself, young man?”

E: No, it’s just funny to joke about. But you’ve never – Do you just get: “Hey, are you that guy from wtFOCK?” Or have people also asked you: “Do I know you from somewhere?” Or: “What do I know you from?”

W: Yeah, it depends. The thing is – I go to school in Ghent and when the [popular place where college students go out] was still open before Covid-19, not that I went there often because I didn’t really like it there –

E: No.

W: - in the sense that the combination of young people who –

E: Watch wtFOCK.

W: - watch wtFOCK and alcohol – and people who’ve had alcohol to drink –

E: And are horny?

W: - their limits or boundaries are just gone. “Oh my god!!! You’re that dude from wtFOCK!! Can I kiss you??” Things like that!

E: Oh, fuck!

W: And I was really like: “Okay…?” I’m just a regular dude and I’m trying – and I actually thought it was less annoying for myself, but I thought it was more disruptive for my friends. Like even when we were just walking down the street, we got recognized a couple of times, and I was just like: I just want to have fun with my friends, and not have to spend too much time thinking. That’s another thing I was subconsciously thinking about. Imagine I drink way too much.

E: Yeah.

W: And I end up in the gutter somewhere, and people start filming that… So yeah, that made… So because of that I spent more time in friends’ dorm rooms just having dorm parties.

E: And since your bleached hair is gone, have you gone to a party?

W: When my bleached hair was gone corona was already a thing so I haven’t been able to enjoy it. But it’s starting to come back [the parties] so that’s nice. I’m looking forward to… tomorrow I’m going-

E: Are you going as well?

W: Are you going to Plein Air by Fuse?

E: Tomorrow I’m going to Jaimie Lee who-

W: …Is going to DJ at three festivals.

E: Yeah at three festivals and I will be backstage I guess.

W: Okay.

E: One of those festivals?

W: Yeah I don’t know. I have tickets for Fuse Open Air in Brussels.

24:19

E: I honestly have no idea where I’m going. Anyway, I’m excited. And I always asked, what’s the first event you went to ever since it’s allowed? Did you go to We Can Dance festival?

W: No I was studying.

E: Was today your last exam or yesterday?

W: Yesterday was my last exam in the morning. I was stressing so much, because I thought I would fail, but eventually I think it went relatively well. If you’re watching professors, let me pass please. No I think it went well.

E: Are you someone who is stress resistant?

W: Uhh no.

E: No?

W: I let it take over my body.

E: You get physically unwell?

W: I will be laying in bed and I’m tossing and turning and sweating. And I think about how I’m not gonna pass tomorrow. And the combination with my worries is really not good. It makes me stay up really late. The thing is with stress resistant, I for example made my own play at high school about a kid with divorced parents for my final work and the whole audience was filled with my family and my parents. That’s pretty confronting to tell a story that’s also a little bit of their life and is pretty personal. I’m always stressed for things like that. Then it’s weird – from the first word I spoke I had a lot of stress and worries and the first sentence that I said was something like “I don’t know what to do”, and then it’s all of a sudden poofff. The train has left.

E: You said you didn’t really know what to do now.

W: That’s the first sentence of the text that I wrote and the moment I said that sentence I thought in my head “the train has left, there’s no way back now” and then the stress disappears automatically. But before the final rehearsal there was a moment that I was moving around heavily and I was throwing with chairs. And afterwards I had to pack moving boxes, which was okay. But from moving around and the combination of stress it made me almost gag in the box from the stress so I almost puked. So at these moments it gets pretty heavy.

E: Did other people notice or were you hiding it?

W: Yeah the final rehearsal was luckily not with an audience, but my teachers were like “Everything alright?” and I was like “Yeah I’m good. It’s a bit much”. But when it comes to stress, a lot of people always say – I’m even a little stressed right now actually.

E: Really?

W: Podcasts, oh no no.

E: Oh shit. You have to be (stressed)

W: A lot of pressure on my shoulder here. No, but a lot of people say that it doesn’t look like that I’m stressed even though I really am dying from all the stress.

E: Only now you can hide it really well. You should become an actor.

W: A lot of people have said that to me often, but it’s not my interest. Also not much work in the field.

E: That too, fuck. Are you someone who constantly pretends like you’re okay?

W: Yes.

E: Even when you have a lot of shit going on in your head and you’re processing other things?

W: I'm one person. One person?

E: "I'm one person" [laughs]

W: I am one person. No, but I'm someone who often keeps their stuff to themselves, so that I can listen to what others need.

28:15

E: That was my next question. You listen more to other people’s problems and you’re the person people come to with their problems?

W: I think, at least I hope, that a lot of my friends do know that they can always come to me for a talk or a phone call. I'm someone that will shove away their happiness for someone else, which isn’t always positive of course.

E: It is a beautiful characteristic, but it shouldn’t take over indeed.

W: In the past it has happened that I was falling apart, but I kept pushing it away, because I wanted to take care of someone else. I noticed this a lot during the divorce of my parents. My parents had a hard time with the divorce and I remember that I came home as a little boy and I saw my mom sitting and I felt the duty to comfort her and to be there for her, even though I was 8 or 9 years old. That’s not something you expect to do or think from an 8 year old. It really broke me and now I can openly speak about it, because I have had enough conversations with my parents about it, about how it was for me. And I made a play about it, as I told earlier, so it’s been a whole process and that has scarred me till at least my 16th. My parents got divorced when I was 5 or 6 years old. It took me a long time to open up because of that. I notice it a lot in previous relationships, that I walk away from fights, because I would find the confrontation too heavy to get into a fight and to discuss. The divorce and fights with my parents scarred me so hard that I didn’t want that again. I wanted everything to be rainbow and sunshine, but life doesn’t work like that. And that was partly a misconception from me, that I thought that a relationship had to be perfect, if there is a fight, then it’s not going well. Now I realize that fights are part of a relationship. And also part of steps you take into accepting each other, listening to each other and understanding each other. It’s needed for a stronger connection. You can’t, well you can, but in my eyes you can’t be with someone for a long time without ever having had a conflict. Even if it’s a discussion, because then you’re adapting too much to the other, and then you say okay, I’m adapting to the demands of her and I suppress my own things or things I want to do, only to avoid the discussion, and that’s something I learned. And that’s how everyone learns their own things along the way.

E: You still see it in the youth, those romantic movies, where everyone is so in love and it always ends with a kiss or something and it’s always good and then you think, this must be the case in real life. Why can’t I find Gabriella Montez for my Troy Bolton. Even though that was a shitty relationship too, they were constantly fighting. No, but that gives a wrong image about relationships and for other things because of movies. And the reality is just different.

32:16

W: Yes. I recently for the first time -this is kinda embarrassing because it’s a must see- watched The Notebook.

E: Me too! What did you think?

W: It has been a few weeks ago. Or a few weeks, maybe 3 or something.

E: I watched it last weekend.

W: I almost cried.

E: Really?

W: I’m a really emotional person. I can really cry. I can really get lost in a movie. “No not the puppy, why?!” Those things, where I think "Willem, act normal". But no it was a beautiful movie.

E: Yeah I have a different opinion, because I just fell asleep. I fell asleep, because it all went so slow, it started so slow. I didn’t even watch the kiss in the rain scene.

W: The moment. It’s in literally every romantic movie. In the rain, it happens everywhere.

Ender: Yeah mate, it’s such a cliché actually, but yeah.

W: I bet you that they’re just standing there with a garden hose.

E: Definitely.

W: It can’t be that they’re waiting, “is it gonna rain today? We need to do that scene now”.

33:27

E: Checking the rain alarm while everyone is inside. There are definitely sprinklers there. It’s in a lot of romantic movies. Now that we’re talking about it, the filming you did with wtFock, you sometimes had scenes outside. Here we have those (light) spots, I assume that you don’t carry them outside. How do you guys do that?

W: Sometimes we do have spots outside, but as long as the light from the sun is okay – with a binocular (telescope), well it’s not a binocular, it’s a round thing you can look through and with it they can determine the brightness of the sun and if the sun is too bright for the lightning they need, then it gets shielded, the same that is in front of your lamps. With that they can dim the lights. Or when there is not enough they use isomo plates, that’s really weird. Sometimes there are really intimate scenes in a series where it looks like it’s really close to the skin of the actors. There is a camera with a plate on it and a stick for the sound above it, it sometimes made it really hard for me to focus, because everyone is sitting there and the director and I’m like “yeah, okay okay”. So it takes a lot to get it all professional.

E: Was there a crazy moment where you forgot your lines? That you’re laying in bed and you’re like “which sentence do I have to say now?”

W: Yeah we’ve definitely had a lot of bloopers. Yeah forgetting lines or.. the thing is, as long as the director doesn’t say cut, you have to keep going. It’s a matter of "how do I improvise myself around this scene to get to the point we actually have to get to", because you have a scene and you have your lines, but if you forget something, then you do know the main lines of where the scene has to go to. You know the scene will end in a kiss or something and these subjects will be spoken about in the conversation, so when you forget your lines, you try to work your way through it as best as possible. And when the director says it wasn’t good, then we’ll do it again. I’ve had a lot of moments where I forgot my lines and I was laying in bed with Willem and we would look at each other and we’d know that I had to say something, but I was stuck, so there would be a 10 seconds silence, hoping for them to say cut. Yeah so those kinds of moments a lot or moments where I… I also had that with Déjà Vu. I remember… by the way it was amazing to work together with such big names as Natali Broods and Koen De Graeve. And Koen, lovely person, was kind of the father figure on set and we had a scene, next to the bed, a quite emotional scene. And the camera was focused on me, close up on my face. And I still remember that, the sound was going, everything, and Koen had just told a joke, or made a face that made me laugh. So, I had to laugh really hard, but I had to act very sad. It was an intense scene of goodbyes. All the time, starting to laugh about everything. I still remember for wtFock we made a video with bloopers and those are very fun to watch back.

37:03

E: Are those bloopers ever published somewhere online?

W: I don’t think so.

E: I think if you’d be able to release them somewhere that a lot of people would be interested in them.

W: Yes, yes. I don’t know why, indeed. The fans would be happy with those.

E: I think a lot of people- because we were just talking about your biggest fan.

W: My biggest-

E: Your grandma.

W: My grandma, yes. Big shout out to my grandma.

E: Do you think she’s watching right now?

W: She’ll definitely watch, I hope so.

E: What’s your grandma’s name?

W: Micheline.

E: Micheline, thank you very much for watching Micheline.

W: Micheline.

E: I appreciate it.

W: Women in power. She deserves a special place. No really, she follows all the fan accounts of wtFock. And then sometimes, or very often, we call and she gives me an update of what’s being said on the internet. Or yes, I also remember, when scenes come out and there’s things being said and she’s like "Willem, is that true, what are they saying?" And I say "Grandma, it’s nothing, it’s all from the show." "Ah okay, okay." So yes, very sweet grandma. She’s like the grandma where everything was allowed. I think that’s the same for everyone. At home, there are a lot of rules, and then you got to sleepover at your grandma’s and it was like: "Oh, I get to stay up later, and she made pudding for me." Her vanilla pudding-

E: That good?

W: Grandma, if you’re seeing this, please make some vanilla pudding when I visit.

E: Dude, everything’s falling out of my pocket.

W: You’re letting everything fall out of your pocket? Maybe you need to buy another pair of pants.

E: The chair is too comfortable that I’m kind of sinking in it, and now I constantly get-

W: The conversation’s too comfortable-

E: It’s just my phone, it’s vibrating, I think it just vibrated out of my pocket. So, silent, great. Eh, what were we talking about? About your grandma.

W: About my grandma.

38:46

E: Now, totally different subject. If you were a fish, what color fish would you be?

W: A fish?

E: Which color do you identify most with?

W: Eh.

E: And you’re a fish too of course.

W: Identify with which color. The thing is, I’m in the scouts. And in the Jins, that’s the last year before you become a leader, we were given a color totem, and the whole group decided on a color that fits you.

E: All right.

W: And mine was mango orange.

E: Wow, that’s cool.

W: Yeah, I thought it was cool too. And it means, if I have to think back, mango has quite a hard peel, relatively, but the fruit itself is quite soft. And that refers to my personality. I’m someone that lets people in fast, around me, but in the beginning, suspicion is a little strong, but kind of like, testing. Let’s say that. But once- From the outside I might look a bit hard. A lot of people say that when I have my straight face-

E: Resting bitch face.

W: That I’m angry. I was once told on the subway by a dude, and I was just listening to music, staring in the distance, and I think, suddenly a dude comes up to me, in French: "C’est quoi ton problème, heh, tu regardes come ça, c’est quoi ton problème." And I was like: "I’m sorry". Apparently, I was looking in his direction with my-

E: Bitch face.

W: Bitch face. He must have thought I was looking for problems. So yeah, that’s why the mango, a little hard on the outside, but once you get to know me better, a soft, sweet boy. So that’s why, orange. So, an orange fish then.

E: A little bit of Nemo vibes.

W: Yes, Nemo then. But let’s, what’s that theory. Did you hear that?

E: Theory?

W: About Nemo.

E: What’s the theory?

W: Haven’t you heard that? I keep seeing that online. I’m having a crisis. So the thing is, your childhood will get ruined.

E: Fuck man.

W: The thing is-

E: But there really are, no keep going, I have something I want to say afterwards.

W: The thing is, I’ve heard, that Nemo is Latin for nobody, and that the father is imagining that he still has an egg left, but that that fish doesn’t actually exist.

E: Oh fuck.

W: And that Dory joins him, and he sees, we’re actually not looking for anyone, but because he has memory issues, he constantly forgets that they’re not looking for anyone. So, they’re actually looking for nobody. And I saw that online and I was like.

E: Damn, so all the eggs are eaten, but he imagines that someone still has to be there.

W: Yes, something to keep living for.

E: Fuck man, that’s very brutal. That’s very fucked up.

W: Sorry to everyone for who Nemo is ruined now.

E: There’s a similar theory about Phineas and Ferb, and then Candice, their sister, is based on a true story about a girl that lost her brothers and still imagines that they're still doing stuff in the garden. And she keeps telling her mom: "Look, look, they are still here, they’re doing that." And that the mom says: "They’re not there." And that’s why she can never see that. You get it? Brutal right?

W: My whole childhood is ruined. Fucking hell.

E: That’s going to be the title of this podcast.

W: Childhood ruined.

E: We’re ruining your childhood.

42:17

W: We’re ruining your childhood. No but that’s good because, thankfully, I have a half-sister, but I say sister because I think half-sister is an ugly word, of seven years old. She thinks she’s 16. She’s a real diva.

E: Oh wow, okay.

W: She’s very, I’ll tell you a story later, but the thing is, I experience all those things with her again. In the beginning it was like, turning the tv on, Bumba, again. And I could secretly watch with her without feeling guilty. I was like, I’m watching Bumba and secretly I’m enjoying it, but sssh, I’m just watching it with my sister.

E: That exactly.

W: And now it’s Ketnet, like Hoodie, those series that she’s watching. And yes, I notice that because of all the technology today, she has an iPad, she’s on YouTube, she’s watching those self-made crafts.

E: 7 years old?

W: 7 years old, yes.

E: Wow.

W: She watches those- where people are playing with Barbies and they make a little play with them online on YouTube and they do stuff. Yes, a tablet. She has an iPad that’s bigger than her head. That makes me think- well, an iPad is usually bigger than everyone’s head. Or well, almost.

E: Not if you have a mini of course.

W: Her head isn’t that big.

E: Okay.

W: She’s on it a lot though. But she’s a real diva. I think the best story I have, there’s multiple. I remember the story, we were sitting at the table and she was having another moment of "I’m the princess, and everyone can leave because I do what I want and fuck you all". But the thing is, there’s five kids at home. I have a brother and two stepbrothers. So, she has four brothers, and she knows very well that she has four brothers. And that makes her feel even more like she’s the princess at home. So, we were sitting at the table. And she kept staring at my dad like this while throwing her cutlery on the ground. Like "what are you going to do". And my dad was like: "Liv," because her name is Liv by the way, "stop that."

E: That wasn’t nice of Liv. (Liv sounds the same as lief which means nice in Dutch.)

W: No. Not nice of-

E: Haha. Sorry.

W: Badam pam ts. Can’t we put that under here. Yes.

E: No, sorry, keep going.

W: So, he was like: "Liv, stop that, stop that." He started to get annoyed, because she kept going. "Liv, what is so hard to understand about no." And then it got silent at the table so I thought, okay, it’s done. The o.

E: Oh wow.

W: 7 years old and she drops that.

E: Oh wow.

W: And I thought, okay.

E: Damn bro.

W: The o. That she even dares to say that. Yeah, and she has those moments. She was sitting at the table, with her mask on, eating. So, she pulled her mask down to eat, and then she was chewing with her mask on. And then I asked: "Liv, why are you wearing your mask?" "Yes, you came back from Ghent, you’re not in my bubble."

E: Okay, okay.

W: So, then I said: "Okay, that’s fine." It’s crazy how that goes around among young children. Because my sister came back home from school crying once. And I asked her: ‘Liv, what’s wrong?’ "Yes, my friends didn’t let me play with them." So, I was like: "Why?" "Margot says I’m not allowed in her bubble."

E: Oh wow.

W: See, that’s becoming the new- we played with Pokémon cards on the playground and now it’s about playing games in bubbles because it’s so-

E: Damn.

W: Yes, you’re only allowed to have four people in your bubble so we don’t play with more than four.

E: Oh wow.

W: So I found that kind of crazy, or confronting that it made me think like, even at such a young age it has an impact. And I know that the-

E: That it leaves an impression.

W: Yes, and I know that my dad-

E: It’s sad that children have to think about it.

W: Yes, exactly.

E: Well, it’s not that- everyone should think about it of course.

W: Yes, yes, of course. It’s also that I know the way my dad feels about raising, that he tells Liv straight up about things that are happening in the world. He doesn’t make things seem nicer, or saying, eh, yes, no, but that’s- The classic story of how babies are made, with the cauliflowers, and what not.

E: I also just think-

W: How am I going to explain that to my kids?

E: If you don’t make it a taboo to start with, is it that bad? It’s just- it’s just. Oh well, that’s a whole other conversation.

W: Yes, no, definitely.

E: But straight up just telling what’s going on to your kids. I think I would prefer that to making up a story about the flowers and the bees.

W: Yes, yes.

E: Because the story about the flowers and the bees, I don’t even know how you actually- pollinating and stuff, is that what that means?

W: You do it like this, pollinating.

E: Yes, no, exactly.

W: Yes, but well, children, that’s still a long time from now.

E: Do you want kids, you think, later?

W: Yes, please.

E: Do you think you would be a good father?

W: I hope I would be a good father. Despite my parents’ divorce, I really do… I do look up to my parents. I’m proud of the way they raised me. So yeah if I would be a good father… sometimes, but maybe that’s the age, kids frustrate me. I’m a leader in the scouts for the Welpen and Welpen -great guys- but they can also be annoying and say “I’m not participating” and “that’s a stupid game, can we do something else?” and I’m like “we invest so much time in this and so much preparation, please participate” so sometimes that bothers me. But I would prefer not to have just one (child). Certainly more than one because… are you an only child?

E: No I have a little brother.

W: Yeah only child… with all due respect to people who are only children but sometimes I think… for example, I’m very happy that I have a brother. Not that it wouldn’t be fun without a brother per se, but I don’t know, the contact I have with my brother is nice.

E: The thing is, you don’t know what you’re missing so it’s hard to miss it I guess. But I do think that my brother has been a great added value to my life.

W: Yeah, yeah.

E: In the same way, I never really had grandparents. They all died before I was born and the grandfather I did have was quite old when I was actually aware that I had a grandfather. So I’ve never really had the grandparents experience that you see with family gatherings and stuff. But I don’t feel like I’ve missed anything but I still know how much other people benefit from having grandparents. Also what you just said about how often you call each other and stuff. I think that’s the same with being an only child. If you don’t have any brothers or sisters, you don’t know what it’s like to have that, what you’re missing. But if you do have it, it’s an added value I think.

W: Yes, exactly. No that’s true. My brother is very helpful to me now. I know that I can count on him.

E: Older or younger by the way?

W: Older.

E: A lot older?

W: 21.

E: 21.

W: Oh boy I had to think about how old my brother is. Embarrassing. Love you man. No but we had - maybe you had that too – but when we were younger, we really fought.

E: Physical?

W: Real fighting. Yeah, it’s has now gotten much better. I think we understand each other a lot better, but it used to be real… we had Catch WW on the Wii and we reenacted that on the couch so that was… “In the right corner Ramy Stereo” and we were bare-chested and both had one boxing glove on and fighting each other until one of us cried, bled or gave up. Usually it was me.

E: That’s just the fate of the little brother.

W: I always went… I’ve never admitted that actually, [whispers] it’s a confession. I’ve never admitted it, but afterwards I always went to my parents and cried “Kwinten hurt me”.

E: That’s really… that’s the moment, you feel it coming and you think “ah fuck no, if I hit again it’s probably over but I want to…” [cross-talk] “no no no don’t tell mom! Don’t tell mom!” I think I was a pretty nice big brother. We often did shit together. We were at home playing on the couch together and Olaf bumps into a large box that was standing there and the box, bigger than Olaf back then, fell down on his hand.

W: Oh shit.

E: So Olaf broke his hand. And I thought “I made him jump over those chairs” and then you have to say “sorry sorry don’t tell them, don’t tell them!” but yeah if your hand is fucking broken, you’re not gonna stop crying because your big brother says “don’t cry”. Yeah, that are…

W: Yes, but the relationship [between Willem and his brother] has improved. Okay we still have our discussions but... I think moments like when we’ve both been to a pub or something and we come home at the same time and we’re always hungry and standing in the kitchen making sandwiches. Those are great moments. I don’t necessarily need to have emotionally heavy of deep conversations with my brother to know that he’s there and that I can have a good time with him. So I think that’s the added value of having a brother or brothers in general.

E: Do you guys also have a specific sense of humor? Or like those moments when the two of you are laughing and your parents or people around you think “what the fuck is going on?”

W: Yeah we speak some slang to each other for fun. Like “stu stu” and [my slang knowledge is very limited so I have no idea what he’s saying here lol], those kinds of things. Typical slang from Brussels and Leuven. It’s funny because my parents are always like “why are you talking to each other like that?” and recently, I was leaving and my mom said “stu stu!” so they are adopting those words and then my brother and I can’t stop laughing.

E: Also if your mom suddenly says “are we going to chill later?” and I’m like [laughing] “what? Mom!”

W: “Okay??”

E: It’s kind of cute. Yeah it’s fun. And what are… I almost want to go deep like…

W: That’s okay.

E: Is there a particular interaction or experience you’ve had with your brother that sums up your relationship right now? Or are those the moments when you’re laughing and eating at night? It doesn’t have to be a super deep or emotional moment.

W: I think it’s an accumulation of those moments and emotional moments too. For example, after it was over with my ex. I was really down back then, it hit me pretty hard. Those are the moments when I can walk into my brother’s room in the middle of the night and he’s there for me. I know that dude is always going to be there when something’s wrong, no matter how much we argue or how much we shit at each other. I just know, and I hope he does too, that I can call him 24/7, walk into his room 24/7 and he will be there or ready to listen. I think that’s just something… the fact that we know that about each other, that creates that bond. And the thing is, if only he would do his best and go to work, earn real money… because we went on holiday together and he still hasn’t… he still has some work to do but we’ve already planned something. I’m really looking forward to it. We’re planning to go surfing in Portugal together. Those are moments I just know I can go somewhere with him and have the time of my life without-

E: …That you can remember for the rest of your life what you did together.

W: Yeah, absolutely. Those moments that I want to cherish or want to keep or experience.

E: My little brother is also just the most annoying dude on this planet who I love the most.

W: Exactly that combination. Annoying, but you love them.

E: Of course. The cameras are back on. That means we’ve been at it for over 50 minutes.

W: 50 minutes? It feels like we’re chatting for 20 minutes.

E: Exactly.

W: Pleasant.

E: That’s good. If it’s pleasant and the stress is gone.

W: Do you actually like me? “No I hate you. We’re going to finish. It has been good.”

55:29

E: No we’re not going to finish yet, but before we do, is there anything you’d like to send out into the world before we finish? On average there are 10 to 50 people watching. Is there anything you want to say to them?

W: To the 10 to 50 people?

E: Yes.

W: 10 to 50 people, you are awesome. No, what I’m saying… maybe a little deep but it doesn’t matter. Very often in your life you are going to encounter that you run into a wall, that you’re going to have setbacks, that you think “I don’t want to anymore, I can’t to this anymore, life is all one big shit show” but I think that there is a certain… at least I believe that – everyone has their own opinion of course- that a certain path has been mapped out for everyone. Not necessarily that things are set in stone but there is a road that you are going to take and that road is going to have curves, is going to have hills, is going to have valleys, is going to have everything. Maybe it’s a gravel path, maybe rocks you stumble over but -it sounds a bit stupid- put on your best walking shoes and just walk that path the best way you can. Just try to live life with complete joy and euphoria because you’re 100% worth it. No matter what other people say or think about your ideology or style or way of life. Everyone is entitled to it or should be given the opportunity to be appreciated for who they are. I think that’s something we do too little in this society, but yeah.

E: Just don’t be too hard on yourself in the end?

W: Yeah, don’t be too hard on yourself. A lot of people blame themselves too much. Or “oh I’m like that and I don’t fit in because of that” or something. Then I think: so be it.

E: Do you sometimes feel that you should do more or have achieved more at this age? Of course you’re already doing a lot of cool shit but social media, I know there is a highlight reel of all people’s achievements and that sometimes it’s very difficult to filter between what is real and how much is that person actually sitting on the couch doing nothing. Do you sometimes feel that because of social media of because of your environment or I don’t know, that you’re not doing enough?

W: Gosh, sometimes I think my life is too full.

E: Too full?

W: Not that I’m saying “oh I have so many things to do” but I’m like... I’m letting that grow organically or so.

E: Not putting too much pressure on yourself?

W: Not putting too much pressure on yourself. I’m doing a course now that I’d like to finish because I’ve had those two projects and there are friends of mine who say “why are you still studying? You’ve had your opportunity, you’re going to get new opportunities right?” and I say “hey! I’m also only 19”. Sometimes I think “fuck Willem you should have achieved more already” but I also think I’m only 19. There was a conversation at school… I really think that’s one of the added values of the course. We receive an observation report twice a year, 5 pages where the teacher writes about you and how they see you, what they think about you, what your qualities are, what you still need to work on. It’s always spot on. So strange how they can just see right through you, even though I sometimes try to hide it. Yeah, where was I going with this… we had subsequent conversation about it and I said to my teacher “sometimes I feel like I’m too young for this course” that I have too little life experience. There are people in my class who are in their 20s or older, who have already studied something else before this, have read a lot more, seen a lot more than me, a lot more experience and I think “fuck, I don’t have anything”. People talk about certain topics and I don’t follow at all. I mentioned that I felt too young and she [the teacher] said “you’re young, but that also has its advantages. Your youthfulness can actually be an interesting tool in this course and look at it from a different perspective”. So I’m convinced: don’t be too hard on yourself, don’t think “whew, I’m already 20 and I haven’t achieved anything yet” so to speak. I even saw a video recently where… “if you don’t make it in your 20s, you might make it in your 30s and if you don’t make it in your 30s, you might make it in your 40s”. There are so many… there really are a lot of people… people often forget that there are people who only find out what they want to do or discover their passion later in life.

E: And also just… I think it’s so ridiculous that you set certain goals for a certain age or something. That it’s so expected that by 18 you must have completed high school and by 25 you must have had your first job interview, by 28/30 you must have a house and a serious relationship where you’re committed to for the rest of your life and by 40 you must have already had a promotion, that you can provide for yourself and fix your pension. All those fucking predetermined milestones. I think that’s kind of bullshit, you know?

W: Absolutely.

E: If that were the case, then I should graduate in a few years so to speak while I’m clearly not studying here because I have – fuck normally I have a re-exam today. And here we are.

W: Here we are.

E: I knew I was doing this but I mean that’s just… there’s so much time. I’m 22 now and I’m doing some shit, if I go nuts now or people don’t want to listen to this podcast anymore, don’t want to see what I do online, okay then I have to look elsewhere. But I did this and I went for it and I tried. I’m 22. Even if I go nuts now and it’s all gone, I’m only 22. There are still so many ways it could go. A lot of people don’t have a job at 22. If I started looking for a new job or something now, hopefully I’ll have one by 25. Then it’s still okay because I’m only 25. I don’t know, I always find that… I could go on for a long time about this. I think those predetermined milestones/goals of things that you must have achieved by a certain age, I just think it’s bullshit.

W: I sometimes make the comparison that people too often see life as the sports world. Football players who are good until 35 and then they are done. As if you must have already performed before that age. That’s not how it works. You really have all the time and you really don’t have to stress. I also notice that many people… you mentioned re-exams. That people say “fuck I have re-exams, oh no I’m not going to pass, oh no you have extra…” chill. You do your best, but suppose you have to repeat a year, that’s not a disaster either, is it?

E: What I also think is crazy is how many people have studied law and you eventually hear that they ended up in a marketing agency because they found it much more interesting. When I talk to some people who… I was seeing a social media manager recently [laughs] “seeing”, I was talking to him.

W: “seeing” okay [laughs].

E: I was talking to him.

W: [joking] Ender has something to say.

E: And I asked “what did you study?” and he said biochemistry. “How the fuck did you end up here?” Him: “uh yeah that just wasn’t the right fit for me. I have a master’s degree but I started working here because I found it much more interesting”. I thought: why am I pretending that the degree I’m trying to get is going to determine the rest of my life, you know?

W: Absolutely.

E: If there are so many people now… because he was only 28 or something. So I thought “aah okay so you’ve been studying biochemistry for so many years and now you’re here – I don’t know if I’m talking about the correct position – but now you’re just sitting here making content. Cool. But why do I attach so much importance to that one direction I’m studying right now that doesn’t even have anything to do with media or anything. I mean I’m very interested in media, I’m studying economics. Which is also interesting, but that’s not what I see myself doing in the coming years.

W: Yeah, yeah.

E: Anyway enough about me. Do you think you could win in a fight against a cow?

W: [laughs] I really like that. You can switch to totally different shit like that. Like before you suddenly asked what color fish do you want to be. Okay. That’s nice. Win… I’ve heard if you knock over a cow it dies. That it has a heart attack then. We don’t want to kill cows okay!

E: And purely hypothetical, you’re just standing in a kind of meadow so it’s not super big so you can’t go in all directions. There is a limited domain. You come face to face with that cow and you have to begin. No weapons. You’re standing there and the cow stands there and you both know you’re going to fight.

W: It knows that too?

E: It knows that too.

W: [makes mooing noises] okay ca va.

E: It’s not a bull but it does have horns so in fact it would-

W: I would shit my pants. I’d give up already. I would lie on the ground, come on. Really crazy, I saw Jackass recently. Those guys, that Wee Man, who was in that link with the bull and he’s being catapulted, so to speak.

E: I don’t understand how those guys aren’t all dead yet.

W: Yeah they are really crazy.

E: There was also a rumor that Wee Man died from a bowling ball during… but apparently that wasn’t true.

W: I don’t know.

E: Fucked up shit. Would you win against a cow?

W: Would I win against a cow? No, I wouldn’t win against a cow. I don’t think I would win against a cow.

E: I think I would. I think just like with a bull I would try to jump out of the way like that and once you’re on the side it’s just a matter of pushing. If what you said is true, it’s game over when it’s down and you know, that’s your tactic.

W: But the thing is, a cow is heavy, isn’t it?

E: True.

W: You can’t just push it over like that, can you?

E: Sure, but it’s a matter of life or death, isn’t it? The adrenaline rush. You have to image, a cow just comes running towards you. The adrenaline that goes through your body. You shouldn’t underestimate the power you have then.

W: Just find the best patch of grass and when it’s there, sneaky knife in the back. No, now people are going to think I’m that kind of person.

E: That you’re just a snake.

W: Snake. Definitely and I admit it. No, that would be fucked up.

E: I’m going to do one more thing that’s important. I’m going to find a Twitter shout out and in the meantime, I already asked you what your message is to the world and that was a beautiful message. Got something more banal that you’d like to share? Something that you want to share from your social media or something?

W: What do you mean from social media?

E: Where they can follow you. You can say something if you have a really good video that you want to share. “Check me everywhere”.

W: No I don’t have… people should do what they feel like doing. Do you think I’m cool, do you think I’m fun, follow me on Insta. No really doesn’t matter. Doesn’t really matter.

E: Alright, I’m just going to scroll and you say stop. I’ll go back and forth and you have to say “yes that’s the one who gets to have this week’s shout out”.

W: Exciting huh. Stop.

E: [reads twitter account] M. Verschuren.

W: M. Verscheure.

E: Is that…

W: [reads quote] “If you were never sad, you wouldn’t know you could be happy”.

E: Wow. Damn bro.

W: I’m going to edit my quote.

E: “If you were never sad, you wouldn’t know you could be happy”. Wow. If you didn’t have shitty days, you wouldn’t know what the best days of your life were.

W: Exactly. But what if you get stuck in your shitty days for the rest of your life?

E: That won’t happen. That’s my biggest fear.

W: Me too.

E: Looking back at your life and thinking-

W: …Fuck I’ve never been there again.

E: …That’s where I peeked. Hope that doesn’t happen. Anyway M. Verscheure thank you very much for listening, I really appreciate it. You as well, I think?

W: Absolutely, absolutely. How much were you going to pay me?

E: 50 euro.

W: Then I’ll come… awesome. Super cool.

E: Thank you so much to everyone who listened. I appreciate it. If you want to hear more you can always subscribe to this channel. It’s also good for my ego. I’ll just put your Instagram link in the description, for people who are interested. Okay, that was it.

W: Thanks, it was fun.

E: There’s an audio only episode on Spotify every Sunday and the video comes out on Monday. That’s it. See you next Monday. Or Sunday. Peace.