#8 Hours of Old Music Box Lullaby | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kingofkingdom-archive · 3 years

Text

1979

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (Read part 2 HERE)

Rating: T (Teen) - part 2 will be E

Summary: The year is 1979. You need a ride to anywhere that’s far away from where you are. When a handsome stranger in a rustbucket pickup gives you that ride, neither of you could predict any of the events that follow.

Warnings: Smoking (and lots of it), mild violence (a punch is thrown), brief harassment of reader, food, mention of a gun (one is encountered but not used), mention of homelessness, brief mention/description of war (Vietnam), child abandonment, mention of abusive/dangerous father figure, passing mention of serial killers, vague description of non-specific events leading up to reader resorting to hitchhiking, very meta mention of a certain beloved space opera

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: Whew! This one has been in the shop for a LONG while. Originally I meant for this to be a single work, but I’ve hit a bit of a slump with the last bit. I decided to post this to see how y’all feel about it! The second part will be much longer :) Also: I know there has been some discourse recently about Din’s characterization in certain fics, so I hope this does him justice for you! I’m always open to comments, and like I said I’m very interested in hearing what you think! As per usual, no use of Y/N and please heed the tags/warnings.

8:47

You lean against the streetlight, glancing down at your watch and then back up to the motel across the street. You told yourself you'd wait until 8:30 and then you'd go back and reserve a room for another night. As you watch the second hand wind its way around the small, plain face of your 2-dollar timepiece, you've convinced yourself that maybe staying out until 9 is the ticket.

Your ticket, out of this shithole town.

The summer air is hot and thick around you. It's especially unbearable both between your legs and at the band of your bra, the elastic stretched around your middle doing its best to make you feel as sweaty and uncomfortable as possible. At least you're wearing your cutoffs, giving your legs the chance to breathe. You've also got a loose tank on, which flutters in the sticky wind as cars pass you by.

8:51

Your thumb has been stuck out for passerby to see for the past three days. No one has picked you up. You suppose you should be more wary of taking lifts from complete strangers with all the murder and kidnapping that's been in the news recently, but you're more than a little headstrong with a dash of stupid to go along. That's what your mother always told you, anyway.

Some Cadillac speeds past you, blaring what you think is a Donna Summer song, and you watch as the music and taillights fade into the night.

You shouldn't be surprised, you figure, as the minutes continue to tick on by. There's a gas shortage, you reason with yourself as you bend down to pick up your bag, thumb still stuck out, elbow resting on your waist. People don't do this anymore. Afraid of getting picked up by a pervert or a killer. Afraid of picking one up, and then a streetlight just like the one you're under is the last thing they see.

8:58

You sigh, ready to head in for the night. Marvin, dude who sits at the motel's front desk, is sure to give you shit about it again.

You're preparing to cross the street when you hear the low growl of a pickup truck approach. Not looking to get creamed by some fuckin' rusted-out GMC, you step back onto the curb where you'd been posted.

Except the truck slows up, and the window rolls down as it crawls to a stop in front of you.

Your heart races. Finally.

You walk up to the passenger side window and look in, expecting some fat old putz looking to get some tail in exchange for a ride.

That's not what you see.

"Need a lift, young lady?"

The truck's driver is older than you, sure, but you were wrong about pretty much everything else. He's got short dark hair and a 'stache, with some stubble across his chin. He's wearing a leather jacket over a plain gray tee, with a pair of sunglasses hung on the collar. One hand is on the wheel while the other is laid across the back of the bench seat, a cigarette perched in between his first two fingers.

You lean forward on your tiptoes as best you can, forearms resting on the door's open window. Pretending to survey the interior, you look around and take the opportunity to check the man out. God, you think. I wouldn't mind giving him whatever he wants in exchange for this ride. Maybe another kinda ride. Ha!

"As it turns out, I do. You offering?"

You rest your chin on your arms and give him the sweetest smile you can muster. The man eyes you up and takes a drag from his cigarette. You watch with rapt attention as he inhales deeply and then exhales the smoke out through his nose.

This guy's got you all hot and bothered and you haven't even gotten in the truck.

He gestures with his hand. "Come on, kid. I gotta make the state line by midnight."

You definitely like the sound of that. Eager and supremely stoked to finally have a way out of this dump, you pull on the handle, jump in, and swing the door closed behind you. Your backpack finds its place between your feet, and the stranger starts driving again as you pull your seatbelt across your shoulders.

"Where're you headed?" the man asks, glancing over to you and then looking back at the road. The asphalt seems to stretch into infinity, flanked by trees and fields and the occasional watering hole.

"Away from here," you chuckle as you fidget with your fingers. Black nail polish decorates your trimmed nails. It's chipped and uneven in some spots; you never were great at painting your nails, especially your right hand.

"I got that," the man drawls, voice deep and smooth like honey. "Any particular destination in mind?"

You shrug. To be honest, you hadn't exactly thought that far ahead. Your first and only priority was a way out, and anything after that was a problem to be handled when it came to it.

"Nope. Just as far as you're willing to take me."

The guy nods and takes a drag. The smell of cigarettes never bothered you like it does some other people; you find it relaxing, calming, especially when it's fresh and all-consuming like it is in this guy's truck. The vehicle itself is old, maybe 10 or 15 years, and a glance into the bed behind you tells you he's traveling with a couple boxes and nothing more.

It's certainly not state-of-the-art, but that's all the better for staying under the radar.

The silence looms over you like a cloud. The stranger seems content to just listen to the engine and the tires on the road, but you're prone to fill silences unprompted.

"What's your name?" you ask, and look over at him. He glances at you and raises a brow.

He clears his throat, eyes moving back to the road. "You can call me Mando."

"Mando?" you retort before you can stop yourself. "What kinda bogus name is that? Like, what... you got a thing for mandolins or some shit?"

The man huffs. "It is what is, kid. Get used to it."

You sigh, crossing your arms. "Alright, alright... Mando."

He doesn't try to continue the conversation, so you don't either. Minutes pass, and then hours, and you find yourself drifting off not too long after the clock reads 10:00. You shake yourself awake, wanting to stave off sleep until he pulls over to rest for the night.

But the engine is like a lullaby, the soft swaying of the truck a gentle rocking motion, and your eyes fall closed despite your best efforts.

When you wake up again, the truck is no longer moving, and the clock reads 12:30.

You must have been woken up by Mando putting the truck into park. The darkness outside does not give any clues as to where you are, but as your eyes adjust you can just make out some picnic tables, garbage cans, and signs.

A rest area. Makes sense.

Mando is fumbling with something beside you. It's a map, you realize when you look over.

"Where are we?" you ask with a yawn.

"Just over the border. Made it a bit later than I would've liked, but that's not a big deal. You can sleep here in the cab. I'll take the bed, since I sleep there anyway."

You nod, though you find it odd the way he's... not asking you for anything. He hasn't mentioned payment, monetary or otherwise. You watch as he folds the map back up, and catch his gaze as he stashes it in the glove box.

"I gotta repay you somehow, mister," you mutter. "For how nice you're bein' to me. 'Specially since I made fun of your name and all."

At your words, Mando gives you a stern look from under one of his furrowed brows. "No, you don't. Blanket's under the seat. Get some rest."

He turns away, grabs the keys, and is out the door before you can reply.

It's just so unusual for a guy to pick up a girl like you and refuse payment, much less not ask for or take it outright. It's a shame, really. Any other guy, you'd give him what he wanted sure, but with less than enthusiastic participation. The one man to whom you'd gladly deliver anything he asked... and he seems not to want it.

You suppose you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Better a prude than a murderer, that's for sure.

As you reach under the seat for the blanket, your hand brushes against some sort of canvas bag, long and zippered. You lean over to look in at it upside-down, hair brushing against the dusty floor mats.

It's a rifle bag. You reach in to feel at where the barrel would be, and sure enough, there's something distinctly rifle-shaped inside.

Huh. It's not a surprise that a guy like him's traveling armed, but it makes you wonder. A hunter, maybe? Probably. There's a lot of those around.

You spot the blanket and pull it out. It's gray, scratchy wool, but as you pull it over yourself, you find it keeps the nighttime chill away quite well.

You wake up to Mando swatting at your feet.

"Time to get up, sunshine. Gotta get going."

His deep voice pierces through the fog of sleep still hanging thick over your mind. You groan and push yourself up onto your elbows, drawing your feet in to give him space to slide into the drivers' seat.

It's still dark out. You see a hint of light on the horizon, the beginning of the sunrise peeking over hills and fields.

"What time is it?" you ask, rubbing at your eyes. You're a chronic over-sleeper, so seeing the sunrise is a rarity. It seems Mando has no such problem.

"A bit after six. We'll stop at a diner for something to eat in about an hour. You're welcome to go back to sleep until then." He turns the key in the ignition and the truck rumbles to life, a blast of lukewarm air hitting you in the face.

"No, no. I'm up," you assure him, shrugging the blanket off your shoulders. As you fold it, you look over at the man beside you. He's wearing the same faded jeans and leather jacket as yesterday, but the shirt underneath has changed. The sunglasses are still hung on the collar, but now it's some faded band tee from like 8 years ago.

You set the folded-up blanket on the seat between you and him, watching as he puts the truck into drive and starts off. Before you know it, you're watching the early-morning world pass by outside your window. You kick off your sandals and tuck your feet up under yourself, sitting crosslegged on the seat.

About 15 minutes later, you've grown tired of watching farmhouses and cornfields fly by in the dark.

"So, uh..." you start, not really knowing where you intend to finish your sentence, "you like music?"

Stupid. That was stupid.

Mando chuckles. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" you reply, hopeful that he might have more to say.

"Yes. I do like music."

You roll your eyes. "What kind of music? Jazz? Opera? Country-western? Who's your favorite artist? Got any favorite records?"

He glances over at you, a hint of a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. "You sure do ask a lot of questions."

"Well, I figure if I'm gonna be traveling with you for a good while, I might as well know a bit about you. And vice versa."

Mando just hums.

"I'll tell you mine, then," you inform him, grinning widely now. "My favorite record right now is Parallel Lines. By Blondie, you know? I really like them. This time last year I woulda told you my favorite album was something by Wire or the Sex Pistols - I was real into punk, if you know anything about it. Now I'm more into poppy stuff. I just think it's fun, to be honest."

You continue to ramble to Mando well into the drive. The sky grows lighter and the road grows more crowded, but he does not stop you. At the end of a tangent about Bowie, you turn to look at him, and he's sitting there like you haven't just talked his ear off for the past twenty minutes.

"Sorry. I jus-"

"Don't apologize. It's... I don't mind," he interrupts, not taking his eyes off the road.

You stretch your legs out in front of you, looking at the sandal-shaped marks on the tops of your feet. "Don't you have any particular songs you like?"

Mando's quiet for a minute. You wait, looking up out the window. The sky is a pale pink and blue, with a hint of orange off to the east. A field of cows comes up on your left - your eyes track them as they pass by, wondering what it's like to pet one.

You bet they're soft. Soft and cuddly and so dumb they're cute.

"You have to promise not to laugh."

The words come as a surprise. You look over to Mando, eyes wide and interested.

"Never. Favorite music is sacred."

He sighs. His grip tightens on the wheel, like sharing even a small part of himself causes him distress.

"Tapestry. Carole King," he says, though the words are quiet and guarded.

That wasn't the answer you were expecting. "Really?" you ask, smiling brightly.

He just nods, though he spares a glance towards you, like he's gauging your reaction. You lean back against the seat, turning towards him more fully.

"I wouldn't have guessed. Color me surprised, Mando. You have good taste." It's true. The album's a classic, though more so with girls your age, not guys who pick up hitchhikers and keep rifles in their trucks. "What do you like about it?"

Mando shifts, bringing his left arm up to rest on the door, elbow propped so his head can rest on his hand. "Not sure. She writes a good song, that's all I know."

You're not satisfied with that answer. You'll get to know Mando, even if it's like pulling teeth. "Bull-shit. Pink Floyd writes a good song. Paul Simon writes a good song. Why her? Why that record? It came out like ten years ago, there's gotta be a reason - a real reason - you still like it."

The drone of the engine and the road is like a soundtrack in itself to the silences that loom heavy before every sentence he speaks. You wonder when the last time he really got to talk to someone was - talk like this, not small conversation with the waiter or grocer.

You're no psychiatrist, but it doesn't take a genius to spot someone who's been alone for a while.

Mando hums. "I guess I relate to her songs... in a way I didn't expect to when I first heard her music."

You smile at that, pleased as punch that he trusts you with that information. It's like cupping cool water in your hands on a hot summer's day, fleeting and precious. "What's your favorite song on the record?"

He turns his gaze to your for a moment, dark brown eyes staring at your dirty feet and day-old shirt and messy hair. You're not sure what exactly he sees as he takes you in, but you sit there and allow it regardless.

Mando looks back to the road, watching the small town approaching slowly on the horizon. "I Feel the Earth Move."

You nod. "A classic."

He just hums in response, and you expect the truck to fill with silence once again.

Except it doesn't.

Mando reaches out and presses the button to turn on the radio. Blondie's Heart of Glass flows out through the speakers - and you laugh.

The glowing neon sign advertising Lindy's Diner, with her promise of pancakes and eggs and bacon and coffee, gets you more excited than you care to admit. Mando pulls into a parking spot along the street, and you're out the door before the wheels have stopped turning.

Admittedly, you do also have to pee.

You rush into the diner to take care of your business, also using the provided sinks to brush your teeth and the mirror to comb through your hair with your fingers.

It's not much, but you do feel better. Hopefully tonight you can stay in a motel at least, maybe take a shower.

You exit the restroom and look around the diner. Mando's sitting in a booth, smoking a cigarette and looking out the window. You head over, tossing your backpack into your side first and sliding in after it.

"I'll be right back," he says, and leaves. You watch him walk over to the men's restroom, the door swinging shut behind him.

Whatever. Kinda rude. Not like you care, anyway.

You lean back in the booth and take a menu from the stand at the end of the table. The classic breakfast platter is looking particularly tempting, with its hash browns and bacon and eggs-however-you-like. You're contemplating scrambled versus over-easy when you hear a pair of footsteps walk up to your table.

Two strange men stand over you, looking at you like they know exactly how homeless you really are.

"You here alone, baby?" the shorter one asks, putting a grimy hand on the back of your booth, right behind your head. You open your mouth to say no, in fact, I am not, but the other guy speaks for you.

"It looks like you are, honey. Just our luck, a girl like you all on her -"

"Is there a problem?"

Mando's deep voice cuts through whatever it was the creep was planning to say. The low timbre of his voice, normally soft and kind, is uniquely dark - almost menacing - when it hides a threat.

You slowly cross your legs, hoping no one notices the movement under the table.

The two guys turn, and behind them you see Mando, looking extremely pissed. He puts a hand on the back of the taller man's neck, cig still perched between his fingers, and yanks him away from where he'd been standing in front of Mando's side of the booth.

"Jesus, man! We didn't know you were -"

Mando puts his hands on his hips, eyeing them up like a lion might size up its prey. "What? You didn't know what?"

The guy gulps. "Uh..."

"Come on," Mando taunts, something dark glinting in his eyes. "Don't get nervous on me, now."

"We didn't know you were with her, man. Sorry."

Mando shakes his head. "No. Don't say that to me. Say it to her." He nods hid head towards you, subtly positioning his body in between yours and theirs.

You're frozen in your seat, torn between fear and arousal.

The tall guy glances at you. "Sorry," he mutters. The shorter one's still looking at you funny, though.

Your companion jerks his head towards the door. "It's best you both leave, now."

You realize the diner's gone quiet, customers and employees alike watching the exchange with bated breath. The taller guy glances around and turns, heading straight for the door. His buddy hesitates, gaze shifting from Mando to you and back again. Eventually he also turns to leave, following the other one out.

Mando slides into his seat, though he won't quite meet your gaze when you look at him. Noise picks up in the diner once again and you let out a shaky breath.

You're about to say something when the two guys pass by the window. The shorter one peers in, works his jaw, and spits on the ground on the other side of the window from you. You see him mouth the word 'bitch!'.

Rolling your eyes, you turn to Mando to try and joke about it, attempting to brush off the uncomfortable encounter. But he's not there, and you realize belatedly that he's now storming outside.

Mouth agape, you watch as Mando stalks up to the short guy. Jesus, you think, if looks could kill...

The creep whirls around, throwing a fist at Mando before he even gets a good look at him. Mando dodges it easily with a step back, looking simultaneously murderous and annoyed. He winds his arm back and sends his fist flying at the creep's face. The guy stumbles and falls, clutching at what is now a bloody and broken nose, landing on his back on the sidewalk. His friend has long run off.

Mando puts a boot on the guy's sternum, pressing down so he can't get up no matter how much he struggles.

You see him lean down, elbow on his knee, and say something. The guy's eyes widen and he nods frantically. Mando then removes his foot and, without sparing the guy a second glance, re-enters the diner.

He slides into the booth again and takes the menu from you. There's blood on the knuckles of his right hand, but he makes no move to wipe it off. He flips through the pages as if nothing happened. You stare at him.

"You didn't have to do that," you mutter, voice soft and wavering.

Without looking from the menu, he responds. "Yes, I did."

"But, you coulda just... just let him go..."

"I could have," he replies, and turns a page. "But I didn't."

"But -"

For the first time since you both entered the diner, he looks up at you, and you're taken aback the intensity of his eyes. "He deserved worse, kid. Far worse."

He sounds so sure of it that you can't bring yourself to say otherwise. You sigh and clasp your hands together on the table, unsure of where to go from here.

Just then, the waitress comes up to your table, notepad and pen in hand.

"You two know what ya want?" she asks as Mando puts the menu back in its place.

He gestures for you to go first.

"Uh, yeah. I'll have the classic platter with scrambled eggs and white toast. And black coffee, please."

The woman nods, writing your order on her pad. "And you, sir?"

"I'll have the blueberry flapjacks, please. And coffee, black, for me as well."

The waitress nods and turns away. As you watch her push through the silver kitchen door, you realize that maybe you should be grateful for the way things went. That they didn't get uglier.

That Mando was there at all.

"Thank you," you say softly, doing your best to convey your sincerity to the man sitting across from you.

He simply nods, observing you with a look you can't quite place.

After breakfast, the two of you set off down the highway again. Fleetwood Mac flows out through the speakers and you don't expect to stop until after noon, when Mando will have to refuel (both the truck and your stomachs). Until then you kick off your shoes and put your feet up on the dash, window cracked about an inch so the summer wind can flow through your hair.

Despite the rocky start to the morning, the hours pass by easily, weightlessly. Sometimes you talk with Mando, other times you simply sit and watch the world pass by. You don't think you've ever seen this much land in one go, and it thrills you. The idea that there's so much more.

The topics vary from your time in school to movies to the truck. You're surprised to find out that Mando's never seen Star Wars, a fact nearly unheard of to you. You promise yourself that you'll make him watch it sometime, somehow.

Lunch passes without incident; you insist on paying for your ham and cheese sandwich, because Mando had covered breakfast before you could protest. It hits the spot, along with your ice-cold Coke from the little market's freezer. There's a line to get gas, as there is everywhere, but luckily it isn't too long, since you're in the middle of nowhere. Mando won't be able to fill the truck up again for a few days, meaning you'll have to stop for the night earlier tonight than you did yesterday.

You do find something interesting at the market and you decide to shell out the money for it because it intrigues you. A new style of Kodamatic camera, complete with a pack of instant film - 12 potential photos.

In your mind you see pictures of mountains, and the truck, and Mando, and you stuff the camera in your bag before your mind can wander any further down that road.

You have to admit - traveling with someone who you know can protect you if the need arises is comforting in a way that almost makes you nervous. You keep telling yourself not to get used to it, that this is just a temporary situation for as long as he sees fit to keep you around. After he decides he's had enough, he'll leave you, and you'll be on your own again. You can't get too dependent on him.

Nighttime arrives much too quickly. The sun has just dipped below the horizon when you drive into another small town, not much more than a stoplight and a few bars. You get lucky, though, because the unmistakable neon of a motel glows just ahead.

"Thank god," you groan as Mando pulls into the parking lot. "I need a shower so goddamned bad."

Mando chuckles. His arm rests with his hand out the window, flicking the ash at the end of his cigarette out onto the pavement. The orange glow at the end of it brightens as he takes a drag, and you tear your eyes away from his lips before he can catch you staring.

That's another problem. He's every inch as attractive to you now as he was before, except now you know he's nice. The mustache and the dark curls and the broad expanse of his chest are all only made hotter by the knowledge that he likes Carole King and Elton John (he knew all the words to Tiny Dancer) and blueberry pancakes.

Plus there was that whole punching a guy to defend your honor business.

The guy at the motel's front desk reminds you of Marvin. Greasy blond hair and acne on a kid not much younger than you. You give him a disgusted look when he eyes you up, but he cuts it out when Mando walks in behind you. It gives you a small sense of satisfaction to see him so meek before your companion.

"We need a double for the night," Mando drawls, counting cash on the counter, cig perched between his lips. The sign advertised a night's stay for $22. You'd tried to pay Mando your share, but he'd refused your money.

The kid shakes his head. "Only got singles available."

Mando raises his brows. "Really."

The kid, whose name is Matt according to his name tag, nods. It takes Mando a moment to think on it, and then he looks to you.

You shrug. "I'm fine with it if you are, Mando."

He nods once and pays for the room. 12. You take the key and head over to get a head start on your shower while Mando parks the truck and gets his stuff.

The hot water feels divine. Even the towel feels great, because as threadbare and shitty as it is, it's clean and warm from sitting under the vent. You finish up in the bathroom and emerge in a pair of old track shorts and a loose-fitting tee.

Mando's sitting on the bed, back against the headboard. His jacket's draped across the table and he's kicked off his boots, so he sits with the remote in hand, barefoot. It's the most casual you've seen him thus far, and it makes your heart race.

"Shower's all yours," you tell him.

Mando looks at you from the corner of his eye. It's hard to tell what he's thinking at any given moment, so you fidget with the hem of your shirt as he looks at you.

A thought blooms unbidden in your chest. I wish I could kiss him.

You blink, taken aback at the sudden, intense nature of your desire to feel his lips against your own. Not knowing what else to do, you cross your arms and turn to the TV. Bonanza is on.

"Seen this episode before?" you ask. It's an old show, but you still like it.

Mando nods, humming. "Used to watch these every week, right when they came out. Only the first few seasons, though."

"Why'd you stop?"

He turns to sit on the edge of the bed, feet flat on the ground. He gives you a small smile, though his eyes hide something pained.

"I got drafted."

Oh. "Oh. I didn't mean -"

"It's fine," he says and gets up, brushing past you to enter the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him.

You walk over to sit on the other side of the bed from where he was. Drafted. Jesus. You feel bad for bringing it up, even if it was unintentional. The TV plays though you aren't watching, mind wandering to thoughts of Mando in Vietnam. You picture him in the jungle or in a helicopter, the deafening noise of artillery and gunfire filling the air around him.

Maybe that's where he got the nickname. It certainly explains the rifle.

You reach over for the remote and shut off the TV. The clock on the wall reads about 8:00, still early for you, but you tuck yourself under the sheets and blanket regardless. You face the door, away from where Mando will sleep.

Just as you're drifting off, the lamp on the bedside table clicks off. You feel the weight of Mando crawling in beside you, and he too curls up on his side, back turned.

You fall asleep hoping he's not too upset with you.

The next thing you know, you're awake, though the world is still dark outside. Behind you, Mando snores softly, warm breath fanning out across your neck.

Wait.

You blink a few times and realize the two of you must have shifted in the night. Mando's body is pressed right against yours, chest to your back, arm draped over your middle and hand tucked under your chin. Your legs are intertwined and against the back of your thigh you feel -

You feel him.

Sleep is a powerful drug, however, and the realization is not enough to make you move. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you think maybe this isn't so bad. Your tired brain convinces you to revel in it, to enjoy this position you've found yourself in. Before you can second guess that reasoning, you drift off.

And then you're awake again.

This time it's thanks to a rush of cold wind in your face. You reach back to feel for Mando, but the warm pillow tells you he's not there. You open your eyes to see him standing in the doorway, looking down at something. It's still dark out, but the lights of the motel parking lot put him in silhouette before you.

"What is it?" You lean up on your elbow to get a better look. The nighttime air is cool on your face, smelling faintly of gasoline and rain.

He bends down and picks up whatever it is that's in front of him. You watch as he turns to look left, then right, seemingly in search of something. He turns around and you see what he's holding.

It's a baby's carrycot.

You immediately sit up, heart racing. "Is it -?" you whisper.

Mando nods, closing the door behind him. You get out of bed and rush over to stand next to him, peering into the carrier.

Sure enough, there's a baby asleep inside. It looks to be a boy, about a year old. You bring a hand up to your mouth.

"Why - who would - what?"

Mando shakes his head, staring at the little guy. "I don't know. I heard a knock at the door and there he was - no sign of anyone else."

"We should - what do we do, Mando?"

He brings the carrier over to rest on the table beside his jacket. The boy is out cold - his little hands grip the blue knitted blanket and his mouth is just barely open. He's got dark hair, wispy and soft atop his head. As you observe the sleeping child, you notice the corner of a small piece of paper tucked in between the blanket and the cradle. You reach out and grasp it between your thumb and forefinger, unfolding it carefully.

"What does it say?" Mando whispers. Your voices are low so as to not disturb the child.

"Grogu. Please take him far from here," you read, and feel your blood run cold as the note goes on. "Not safe in this area. His father is dangerous."

It's scrawled in blue ink on half a sheet of lined notebook paper, the fringe from being torn still attached. Your hands shake as it hits you - there's some mother out there so scared for her son that she left him in the care of strangers. That there's a man out there who legitimately threatens this boy's life.

Tears form at the corners of your eyes, rage and sadness simmering in your chest.

"We have to, Mando." Your words are shaky but certain. The man beside you rests a hand on the carrycot, still looking at the sleeping child within.

You turn your eyes to him. He nods, solemn.

"Let's let him rest. We'll leave in the morning, get as far west as we can. Might even be able to make Texas if we leave early enough. We can figure it out from there."

His other hand brushes against your back, and then he's drawing you into his chest. The embrace is soft, unhurried, and you lean your head against his shoulder, hands tucked against his chest. Letting your eyes slip closed, you think back on the previous day, how you never could have predicted this turn of events. How you've never felt so uncertain of things, even when you'd lost everything.

Together you return to bed, but neither of you gets much sleep.

#din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fanfiction #fanfic #din djarin fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x female reader #mando x fem!reader #female reader #fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

264 notes · View notes

storysofmyown · 4 years

Text

Obey me! Scarred, Chapt. 8

Plot: It’s time for the next step in Diavolo’s plan to unify the realms. But, in order to work, the demons would be subjected to confront their worst fears, and in some cases, who they are.

Trigger Warning: Manipulation, some cussing, blood, death, messing with another persons head.

Word Count: 3159

Mammon stood in front of The Purgatory Hall, it was the dead of the night, well, it was always night in the Devildom, but now could be considered the time were no souls were meant to be awake. Yet, here he stood with an entire bag of hell sauce flavored noodles waiting for someone to let him in. He had gone out of the house in such a rush he forgot to close his window, so no one suspected he was away. He also almost forgot to bring what his father had asked for. Finally, after who knows how long of waiting, it was probably just five minutes, but Mammon was stressed, one of the archangels opened the door. A surprised expression painted on his face. The archangel looked at Mammon up and down before looking back at someone. Mammon was getting restless.

“He is waiting for me.” Was all Mammon said before entering the room. The archangel staring in shook at the demon.

Once Mammon entered, he noticed how different this specific room in Purgatory Hall was from the others. There was little to no furniture inside, and the whole room had been painted in white. The other two archangels starred at Mammon, not knowing what to do. They had placed their hands on their weapons, but Mammon only rolled his eyes.

¨Chill out, will ya? I came bearing gifts.” Mammon threw the bag into the only table in the whole room. “He asked for it…for some reason.” Mammon starred trough his sunglasses at the archangels, before taking a deep breath and sighing. His hands were on his pockets, but he couldn’t stop pacing around the room.

“Erh…He…He is this way.” The Archangel that had opened the door, Gabriel, spoke, standing in front of the only other door in the room.

Mammon looked around. He could just go away, no need to talk to his father, go back to the house of lamentation and talk with his family about God and see if there was a way they could skip that stupid ball. If he crossed that door…will he be able to get out? What was his father planning? Raphael and Michael were standing beside the table, unlike other times, they were not defensive, they looked more curious than anything. If he tried to leave now, there was a chance they would attack him and bring him to God. Mammon sighed, he followed Gabriel into the room.

Gabriel opened the door, revealing a completely dark room, only two armchairs, in one sat God, the first armchair (which back was facing the door) faced the other armchair, which was besides a fireplace. There was a quiet in the room that rubbed Mammon the wrong way. The moment he stepped into the room he felt chills run down his back, an infernal sensation covering every inch of his body. He felt like an animal being targeted by a hunter. His fight or flight instincts kicking in, leaning towards flying the fuck away from that place.

“Ah, Mammon.” God spoke, without having turned around to face him. “Come on in, son. I was waiting for you.” Gods voice was low, slow, and raspy. Any sound that man made was enough to make Mammon prefer having Lucifer yell at him for hours.

Mammon did what God said, the moment his entire body entered the room Gabriel closed the door. Listening it creak as it closed Mammon starred at the back of the head of his father. He stood there a couple of seconds. Whatever his father wanted, was now set in motion, there was no way Mammon would be able to leave that room without God letting him out. Slowly, he made his way to the other armchair, conveniently placed the furthest from the door.

“Go on, sit down. There is no need to be nervous.” God had some type of glass on his hands, sipping whatever substance was in it while starring at the fireplace. Mammon did as he was told, not voluntarily, for some reason his body just did.

“What do ya want?” Mammon asked, sharply, or at least that’s how he intended it to sound.

“I was surprised.” God spoke. Ignoring completely Mammon’s question. “I was expecting you to jump at the opportunity to make some easy money.”

Gods eyes never meet Mammon. His father had a blank expression, a face devoid of any emotion while the low light emanating from the fire hit his almost white eyes. It reminded Mammon of those scary movies he stayed late watching with Mc. Another long sip. Silence. The crackle of the fire and the sound of his own breathing was the only thing Mammon could hear. He stayed in his sit, completely still. From where Mammon was sitting, the light barely illuminated the door, but it was enough for him to know that the door was still there. Was his father taunting him by placing him there?

“But you didn’t take. Not only that but you actively refused it. Wonder why.” This time Gods eyes meet Mammon’s, it was like starring into the void. His father looking nothing like a person and more and more like a porcelain doll. Silence. Slow breathing versus agitated one. Fire. “Care to explain?” Mammon could not tell if his father was staring at him or at something else.

“I…erh…I don’t need to explain myself to ya!” Was all Mammon could say. He wanted to form a fist in his hand and slap it against one of the arms of the chair, but his body just wouldn’t cooperate.

“Come now, I don’t have time for this kind of nonsense.” God sighed, he let his head rest on his hand, was the room getting darker?

Mammon bite his tongue. There was a strange sensation running around him, he evaded Gods gaze, focusing on the door behind his father.

“Fine, you can keep it a secret. I don’t mind.” God crossed his legs, another sip, more silence. “I been meaning to talk with you.”

“Why didn’t you just ask to see me before?” Mammon blurted out. He was not planning on saying that at all, while part of him did thought that it was odd that his father wanted to talk to him 2 days away from the ball, that was not what he wanted to respond at all.

“Oh? I guess you weren’t that important.” God sighed, looking bored, before shooting a grin at Mammon. “Why would you be?”

“Oi! Show me some damn respect. I’m no child you can talk to like that.” Mammon felt a rush of fury trough his whole body. Still, he maintained motionless in his sit, glaring at his father.

His father was right in front of his face in the blink of an eye, starring at Mammon’s eyes with such an intense hatred it made him sweat. The man was merely inches apart and Mammon wanted to push him away but there was something that did not let him. He was petrified in place. Mammon felt himself shake to his core yet be perfectly still. Just like he appeared in front of him, God was now behind Mammon’s chair. Mammon could hear the breathing of his father right behind him, calm, collected, like he was having a conversation with an old friend and not with one of the sons he had hurt in such an intensity.

In contrast with Mammon’s, who was accelerated, agitated. He was all alone in a room with his father, who knew what his father wanted and no one in the house of lamentation was awake at this hour to notice he was gone. God was a menace, to everyone in his family. The only reason why he agreed to meet God was because he wanted to help Lucifer somehow, and maybe finding out if their father was messing with their family would be a good start.

“Respect? Haha, ahahaa, HAHAHAHAHAAHA” God laughed laud and hysterically. Shifting around the room at such a speed Mammon could barely keep up where his father was moment after moment. The laugh went from being a noise coming from a specific place to a reverberating noise coming from everywhere. At some point it all stopped. Once again, the only noise in the room became the crackling of the fire as Mammon sat perfectly still in that chair. He lost track of where his father was, but the sound of someone humming captured his attention. He glanced at his side, finally able to move a part of his body, to find his father, one arm leaned on the fireplace, eyes closed. Humming a lullaby of some kind.

“Oh Mammon, you make me laugh. HAhaHa! Respect, oh my me. I didn’t know that becoming a demon gave someone a sense of humor.”

“What is so funny about that, huh? I am The Great Mammon! You should show me some respect.” Mammon snarled, still facing in his father’s direction.

“Oh please, you haven’t done anything to deserve anyone’s respect.” Mammon was going to protest, but he stopped when God started humming again. Suddenly, it clicked to him why the music was so familiar.

“Lilith’s music box.” Mammon averted his gaze, starring at the floor.

“Ah, you remember huh?” God chuckled. Mammon could hear God shifting. “The music box…its funny, it was the first thing that got destroyed during the war. Do you even know how Lilith got her hands on it?” Mammon didn’t respond. “Of course not, why would you?” God sighed; Mammon could hear his father shuffling around in the room.

Mammon had spent so many years trying to fight the memories of that time in the celestial realm. All those memories, from the moment he was born to the way his wings burned as he fell, were blurry and in a good day, nonexistent. Because he wanted to forget them. He was being forced to remember a time in which he was at his worst, in a sense. They were forced to be loyal and love their father, they were forced do whatever he said, it was a time in which they were mindless warriors who if they ever made a mistake his father could annihilate them. Perhaps that is why Belphegor and Lilith loved so much the human world, they were not forced to serve an egoist man. Perhaps that is why he always went against Lucifer’s orders…

They had lost so much at that war, but even so, they were so much better here in the Devildom. The only thing he wished they still had was their sister. His eyes tried to find his father. He needed to know where the man was, he was undoubtedly scared and the moments in where his father was hidden he wondered if he was going to do anything. He was in danger, he was scared, and for some reason he could not move at all.

“Lilith found it on earth. It had been a gift from the man she fell in love with. How disgusting.” Mammon heard the noise of a glass shattering, the fire became more furious as it burned and the light it manned became brighter. He felt suffocated by the increasing heat on the room. “But it seems like she was not the only one in the family who found…humans endearing.” Mammon could see his father from the corner of his eye. His mind immediately connected the dots, his father was talking about Mc. “You and the rest of your family…you have become quite fond of that human.” There was disgust in Gods voice.

Mammon felt this wave of anger hit him; he felt his blood boil at the mere thought of God speaking with Mc. He was actively trying for his demon form to merge, but it wouldn’t. Why? He couldn’t understand what was happening, he never had any trouble going into his demon form, heck, sometimes he had trouble not being in his demon form. He glanced up, fire in his eyes, to be meet by his father’s icy gaze.

“Don’t ya dare touch ‘em!” Mammon screamed at his father, struggling to move, speak, or even think. His father laughed. Mammon was being faced by the person that scared him the most, and the man was in some threatening one of the persons who Mammon cared for the most. He would be shaking right now if he could.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare to do something like that. I’m not one to get my hands messy. No.” God was now right beside Mammon, a golden glow on his father’s eyes and terror in Mammon’s. “The truth is, that even if you are demons now, you were an angel once, which means that there is a part of you that still loves me, that still will do anything I say.” Mammon tried so hard to just turn around and hit his father, but he still couldn’t, and at this point he was sure it wasn’t because his body wouldn’t cooperate, but because his father was controlling him.

He tried so hard to move but the most he could do was make the chair shake a little. His father had a satisfactory smile painted on his lips. His father muttered something, the fire extinguished, for a moment, Mammon could not see or hear anything.

“Mammon?” What? How where they? What was Mc doing in there?

“…Mc?” His voice was shaking.

“Attack them.” In the blink of an eye Mammon threw himself at where he assumed Mc was. The darkness in the room preventing him from seeing anything. He was running at full speed, demon form finally out and ready to attack Mc. He could hear Mc was in distress, asking him what he was doing and why he was acting this way. Mammon only snarled and growled at them as he threw one of the armchairs over because it was on his way.

He didn’t want to do this. His mind was screaming at him to stop whatever he was doing, to go against his father, to attack his father instead. But he couldn’t, there was adrenaline running trough his body and his mind went blank the moment he felt his claws dig into someone. Mc screamed. And his heart stopped, he was crying because he knew what was happening, but he couldn’t stop. The screams and cries of Mc mixed with them begging him to stop. The laugh of God coming from his own mind. Mc stopped struggling. And Mammon started to sob uncontrollably.

The entire room was then bathed in a white light, Mammon looked up at first. Terror settling in as he saw the walls covered in blood. He glanced down. And all his world came falling apart. There, in the floor was Mc, covered in blood, mutilated, hurt, killed by his own hands. If he wasn’t already on the floor, Mammon would have fallen. He started crying even more, barely being able to breath trough the sobs as he hit the floor with his fist. He wanted to hold Mc’s hand, and he did.

“Mc?” No response. “Mc, c’mon on! Don’t ya mess with me.” Mammon voice was quieter now, Mc’s body was covered in blood. His breathing stopped for a moment, as even more tears accumulated on his eyes. “Mc, please! Answer me! You human!” Mammon brought Mc’s hand close to his face. The usual warmth had vanished and was replaced by a stiff coldness as he held Mc’s blood covered hand on his face.

“My, there is no need to act like this. They are a simple human.” Mammon had only hurt like this once. “I’m surprised you couldn’t tell that was an illusion. Well, its you after all. Why would I surprised that you couldn’t tell the simplest of things?” Mammon looked at his father with red eyes.

“That…that wasn’t really…Mc?” God laughed.

“Of course not. That was… why don’t we call it, a warning?” God kneeled, starring at Mammon right in the eyes.

“I still own you.”

God spoke slow, putting emphasis in his every word.

“No matter what you do, or how much you think you have changed, you and all the others still are just my little puppets. And just like you hurt that precious human of yours without even having a second to question my will, I can make you do the same for the others in your family.” God stood up, tall, mighty, Mammon had to look up in order to see his father. “You are nothing. No one. You only have meaning if I decided you have one.” Mammon felt himself being forced to bow for his father.

Mammon was being humiliated, reduced to only his father’s servant, but he didn’t care about that. He only cared about the scent of blood in his body and the memories of how he had killed Mc. He wasn’t aware of how long his father forced him to bow. But it was long enough for Mammon to lose sense of himself for a moment. When he was able to get up, his father placed a hand on his back. Normally Mammon would slap it away but now…he was in a dream state. Barely even aware of what was happening around him. They were in front of the door, God had placed his hand on the noob and was about to open it, but he turned to Mammon. A smile on his lips.

“You know…its going to be a shame when you tell Lucifer about this. I mean, how disappointed in you do you think he would be? You were right here, knowing damn well what I was doing…yet you were weak and couldn’t even go against me. My, and you pride yourself in being the second eldest.” Mammon didn’t say anything. Instead, when his father opened the door, Mammon only kept walking.

The archangels immediately jumped into position when they saw the door being opened. They were ready to fight but the moment their eyes fell into the demon, covered in blood, and with a broken, lost look on his face, they leaved him alone. Gabriel opened the door for the demon, and when Mammon was about to leave, his father spoke again. The moment God spoke, Mammon stopped in his tracks. Like a trained dog to his owner.

“Oh, I almost forgot, thank you for delivering what I asked for. Even without knowing you still do what I told you. That’s a good boy.” Mammon flinched, his wings hanged low, the moment he stepped out of that room he was transported to his own. He didn’t question it. He just sat in bed, being plagued by guilt and by Mc’s face. And he cried, he cried all night until he had no tears left to cry. Two more days, and God will finally leave. But his absence will not be enough for any of the brothers to feel

Heya! Here y’all go! It was Mammons turn to suffer and i really hope i did justice to his character. This one was a little hard to write, at first i didn’t knew in what direction i should go with this but I’m pretty satisfied with the end product. Also, fun fact time! I had to cut that from this chapter cuz i felt like it didn’t make sense, but originally Lilith’s music box was going to be one of seven gifts God had given to the siblings. Each of them was meant to have an specific item they lost during the war. But yeah, i had to cut it out because i felt like it didn’t belong in this chapter...on in this story in general. So, that’s it for today, i shall be posting next chapter between Saturday and Sunday, and i think its safe to say there is only 3 to four chapters left of this fan fic, wow...cant believe we’ve made it this far, yay, hope y’all enjoyed it!

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

57 notes · View notes

dustedmagazine · 4 years

Text

Listed: Dr. Pete Larson

Dr. Pete Larson runs Dagoretti Records now, he’s gotten there by an unusually long and winding road. Earlier in his career, Larson fronted 25 Suaves and Couch and ran BULB records. He also trained as an epidemiologist and spent time in Kenya studying the transmission of malaria. While in Kenya, he developed an interest in a lute-like eight-stringed instrument called a nyatiti and studied it with the master player Oduor Nyagweno. All these interests collide in a striking first album from Dr. Pete Larson and His Cytotoxic Nyatiti Band, where the nyatiti “cuts through a haze of electric rock distortion, pinging rhythmically and restlessly against floating euphorias of ululating vocals,” per Jennifer Kelly’s review. Here he lists some favorites from several continents.

I have been asked to create one of these lists for Dusted and here’s what I came up with. Making these lists is kind of difficult. I have a hard time remembering what I’ve been listening to at any moment, but here is a collection of old and new that get frequent airplay in my home. I play a Kenyan lyre, so this heavily leans toward lyre and harps and East African music in general, with some other choice cuts thrown in.

Musicians Of The National Dance Company Of Cambodia — Homrong (Real World Records)

youtube

I think I got this record (CD) back in the early 90s when I was selling music to Caroline Records. A friend sent me a box of CD promos, most of which wasn’t very interesting, but fortunately, this one was included. I don’t really know anything about Cambodian music, but for some reason, this collection of mid-tempo Cambodian court jamz plays every couple of months. Lots of weird sort of lurching rhythms and chorus singing with an erhu like instrument over it. A great listen.

Maleem Mahmoud Ghania w/ Pharoah Sanders — Trance of the Seven Colors

The Trance Of Seven Colors by Maleem Mahmoud Ghania w/ Pharoah Sanders

Trance inducing this is. Maleem Mahmoud Ghania is (was) one of the 20th century masters of Moroccan Gnawa music, a sort of spiritual, bass-heavy, rolling kind of music of Morocco. Any recording by Maleem Mahmoud is going to impress, but this mash of up of Gnawa with the great Pharoah Sanders is another level. If you are familiar with Gnawa music, it is a little disorienting to hear Sanders howl over the slow burn trance jamz but you are quickly drawn into what a perfect matchup this ended up being. Released on CD in the 90s, it fortunately has finally gotten a proper vinyl release.

Momoyama Harue — “Lullaby for the mother demon’s baby” (桃山晴衣* ‎– 鬼の女の子守唄)

youtube

I was playing the shamisen for a while (a three stringed lute from Japan) and found Momoyama Harue as part of my research. Shamisen is kind of a folky instrument for drinking parlors and entertainment of old Japan. The instrument and the music was nearly dead but saw a revival in the 1960s, similar to folk revivals in the US that brought the banjo back. Momoyama, however, was kind of an outlier, more arty than folky, and more poetry than song. Rather than box the music in an imagined past or try to hopelessly smash it into amplified rock music, she pushed it forward, blending it with ambient synth along with Indian and Middle Eastern musics. One of her best collaborations was with the great Egyptian oud player Hamza el Din that was nearly dead until the 1960s. All of the songs on this record are haunting (as the title suggests), but these tracks with el Din are truly singular. I have been searching for a vinyl copy of this record for years; one day I’ll get lucky.

Lucas Odote — “J. Oreng”

Nyatiti Singles Volume 1 by Lucas Odote

I spent several years in Kenya learning to play the nyatiti, an eight stringed lyre historically played by a group of people in an area around Lake Victoria. I also spent time collecting records, searching for hours in dusty boxes for Kenyan traditional music records. One of my best finds was at Jimmy’s Records in Kenyatta Markets, this record by the great Nairobi based nyatiti player Lucas Odote. Most nyatiti records are just a guy playing solo and more ethno than funky. But this one seems to be Lucas teaming up with what I think to be Nairobi funksters, the Loki Toki Tok band. At least that’s what I can guess. My copy is beat to hell. It took some doing to get some sound out of it, but this is one of my faves in my collection.

Siti Muharam — Siti of Unguja (Romance Revolution On Zanzibar)

Siti of Unguja (Romance Revolution On Zanzibar) by Siti Muharam

I swear I saw Siti Muharam sing on the deck of a hotel bar while vacation in Zanzibar several years ago. I can’t be certain, but I am pretty sure it was her singing for the band I saw. The traditional form of Taarab music is something to be experienced. Taarab music comes from the Arab coast of East Africa, and is this fantastic mix of local feel and Arab sounds, overlapped with heart wrenching songs of lost love and longing. I think there are some foreigners involved in this production, but this is an excellent document of Taarab music at its best.

Grandmaster Masese — “Orogena rwa Baba”

Grandmaster Masese: New African Soundz Singles No.1 by Grandmaster Masese

It might be gauche to put records from your own label on a list like this, but I am first a music fan and second a musician and third a music seller… so this one stays. G-master is a friend of mine from Kenya and one of the best humans I know. One of just a handful of people who play the Obokano, a giant 8 stringed lyre that emits an unforgettable sub-bass buzzing sound and this was his first release in the US and one of my favorite records ever. We recorded this in his kitchen in Nairobi with just a couple of mics over dinner. G is a cool guy. You should listen to his music.

Yagi Michiyo — Seventeen

youtube

Yagi is another Japanese musician who specializes in what one would think is a “traditional” instrument, but who brings much more to the table than one would expect. Yagi is a koto player by training. You have probably heard koto in the background music for scenes of Japan in American movies. The version you hear there is mostly lifeless and flat, kind of like a plastic chair in the corner. Yagi, however, plays the 17 string bass koto, invented in the 1920s or so, to try and give new life to the instrument. Yagi creates weird percussive, dissonant music that I can’t really get enough of.

Asnakech Worku (featuring Hailu Mergia) — Asnakech

Asnakech by Asnakech Worku

Asnakech Worku was a lot of things; pioneer, actress, but most notably a female Krar player. Certainly there might have been other female Krar players in Ethiopia at the time, but Krar players are mostly men. The Krar is a lyre from Ethiopia, mostly played with one hand, though there are several playing styles out there. Worku plays haunting sounds on her Krar on this record, backed up by famous Ethiopian keyboardist Hailu Mergia, who really needs no intro.

Ogola Opot — “Domtila Ogola”

youtube

This will probably be the only 78 on this list. Ogola Opot is considered the grandfather of the Kenyan nyatiti, coming to prominence in the 1960s and 70s, and creating the genre we know as Siaya style “traditional nyatiti.” If someone asks me what nyatiti music sounds like, this is probably where I would have people start. I include this first because it is a great record and second because it was my holy grail for a while (though I always have new holy grails) and managed to find a pristine copy for sale from a place in France recently. I am not going to say how much I paid for it.

Sosena Gebre Eyesus — S/T (Little Axe Records)

Sosena Gebre Eyesus by Sosena Gebre Eyesus

I bought this record off the net because I am a huge fan of Begena music, this haunting, trance inducing music from Ethiopia that appears to be the go-to for Ethiopian Christians… but this record explained nothing of that. Just a picture of a lady with a begena and no other info…. It took me a while to put together what the record was and where it came from, but the sounds contained within are impeccable. Just 40 minutes of weird undersea tones on a giant bass lyre.

#dusted magazine #listed #dr. pete larson #Dagoretti Records #Musicians Of The National Dance Company Of Cambodia #maleem mahmoud ghania #pharoah sanders #momoyama harue #lucas odote #siti muharam #grandmaster masese #yagi michiyo #asnakech worku #hailu mergia #Ogola Opot #sosena gebre eyesus

6 notes · View notes

zen3to5 · 4 years

Text

J/H 7-25: That ‘70s Finale

FF.Net AO3

***

SHOW TITLE TITLE CARD CARD 1: Eric Forman’s house CARD 2: December 31, 1979 CARD 3: 8:45 p.m. INT. FORMAN KITCHEN - NIGHT It’s New Year’s Eve - the end of the ‘70s. The Forman kitchen isn’t decorated, but it is filled with trays of crackers, cheese, carrots, celery sticks, peanut butter, raisins – any number of snacks and party foods. RED and KITTY, dressed in warm but semi-formal clothes, are in the kitchen. Kitty works on the icing of a chocolate cake at the stovetop, while Red stands next to her, eyeing one of the snack trays. He reaches for a miniature sausage, but Kitty, without looking up, smacks his hand away. RED: Kitty, for God’s sake, this food’s been sitting here for almost an hour. Do you want me to just go hungry until 1980 gets here? KITTY: No, just until our guests come. She finishes icing the cake, sets down the knife, and clasps her hands together. KITTY (cont’d): Oh, I’m so excited! Everyone, together again! You know, we haven’t seen any of the kids since Eric went off to college. Donna’s with him, Steven and Jackie are so busy in Chicago, and Michael and Fez stopped coming by after you caught them trying Michael’s skeleton key on the basement door. Red nods with pride. KITTY (cont’d): And, with the snowstorm, the only one who made it home for Christmas was Laurie, who stuck around just long enough to get her cash present before running on back to - RED: College. KITTY: Red, that girl is living with a French-Canadian - RED: College. He refuses to meet Kitty’s frown; he has his story, and he’s sticking to it. Kitty shrugs it off, picks up a tray of snacks, and exits into... INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT Kitty, with Red right behind her, sets the tray down on the coffee table. KITTY: Admit, Red Forman. You’re excited to see the kids again too. RED: I was excited when they left. Their visits, I tolerate. Before Kitty can reply to that, the doorbell rings. She and Red both hurry to the door. KITTY: Oh, that must be them. She throws the door open and finds KELSO and FEZ, bundled up for the December chill. Kelso throws his arms wide while Fez readies a noisemaker. KELSO: HAPPY NEW YEAR! Fez gives the noisemaker a toot. He and Kelso grin broadly while Red rolls his eyes and Kitty manages a smile.

MAIN CREDITS BUMPER INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT The initial disappointment that they aren’t Eric having passed, Kitty warmly beckons Kelso and Fez into her home, giving each boy a hug in turn. KITTY: Oh, boys! It is so nice to see you again! KELSO: It’s great to see you, Mrs. Forman. We’ve missed you. FEZ: Yes. I am around a lot of old ladies at the salon, but none with your kindness, your way with bridge, or your foxy good looks. He gives Kitty a would-be seductive glance. She smiles uncomfortably; Red scowls. RED: And I’ll be none of them have a foot ready to go up your ass. KELSO: Ah, there’s our Red! C’mere, you! He and Fez open their arms and advance, as if to hug Red. RED: Don’t touch me. The boys back off. Instead, they shed their coats and stroll into the living room and sit down on the couch, helping themselves to the snack tray. KELSO: All right, New Year’s 1980! That’s, like, a new century! Are we the first ones here? I figured Donna at least would’ve shown up by now. KITTY: You mean Eric and Donna. FEZ: Oh, I’m not sure about that. The last time we called them, Donna answered, and when we asked to talk to Eric, she said that Eric was in his new apartment. Red and Kitty’s jaws drop; they haven’t heard a thing about this. KELSO: Then she said, “oops,” and we asked, “what’s up with you two,” and she said “nothing,” but it was the kind of “nothing” we always used to say when we broke something around here and you caught us but we tried to cover it up. FEZ: Then we offered to drive to Madison to console her – sexually. That’s when she hung up. They turn back to the snack tray as Red and Kitty share stunned looks. KITTY: Eric’s in a new apartment? RED: Don’t tell me that dumbass screwed things up with Donna again! He’s had half the damn decade to get it right! KITTY: (to Kelso, Fez) Are they broken up? Are they moving? FEZ: We don’t know. We haven’t talked to them in a while. KELSO: We’ve been pretty busy. KITTY: Oh – yes. I’m sorry, boys. Michael, is watching your daughter on weekends working out? And how are things with you boys, sharing an apartment? KELSO/FEZ: Awesome./It’s magical. They both look up with matching dopey grins. Track in on their faces, and we begin: MONTAGE. Set to “It’s a Sunshine Day” by the Brady Bunch. A) Kelso and Fez, looking straight into the camera and walking in exaggerated jaunts in time to the music in front of an obvious green screen of a town street on a bright sunny day. B) CONVIENIENCE STORE, run down and poorly stocked. A MASKED ROBBER is holding up the CLERK with a knife. Two cops burst through the door, one of them Kelso. The robber keeps his knife pointed at the clerk as he backs up. The cops draw their mace. Kelso is holding his backwards – something he only realizes when he shoots. He hurls back, his can of mace flying. Kelso crashes into the outside shelf and sets off the dominos, knocking every shelf in the building down even as he rolls over them, kicking in pain and grasping at his eyes. C) SALON. On a busy day where every stylist is taken, a long line still forms for Fez. We track along the line until we reach Fez, hard at work on an ATTRACTIVE GINGER WOMAN. Fez is on the final stage – drying and styling. He sits the woman all the way up, revealing soft waves. The ginger pats her hair in stunned ecstasy. Fez holds up a mirror so she can have a better look. The ginger stands and offers him her hand. He goes in for a kiss instead. She slaps him, sending his face crashing into the still-full sink. D) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. It is late at night, and the place appears empty. The door swings open and Kelso enters, wrapped around a BUXOM BLONDE. The two of them make out furiously all the way to the bedroom door, which Kelso manages to open without disentangling himself. They start to make their way into the room, but what’s inside causes the blonde to shriek. Kelso, when he gets a look, averts his eyes. The blonde flees from the apartment. Kelso tries to beckon her back, but fails. He turns the lights on and charges into the bedroom. Fez emerges, his fly and his belt open, and he runs around the apartment, chased by Kelso. E) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. The boys on the couch, a trashed apartment all around them. They each have a keg of beer and a tap. They link arms and spray into their mouths. F) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. MUSIC CHANGE: a music box rendition of “Hush, Little Baby.” The weekend is here, and the apartment is immaculately clean. BROOKE is in the doorway with BETSY. She hands Betsy off to Kelso, and her baby carrier to Fez, then exits. Kelso rocks Betsy gently in his arms as he and Fez both lean in to make goo-goo faces at her. G) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. Kelso, on the couch, feeds Betsy her bottle as Fez watches from behind. H) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. Kitchen area. Fez burps Betsy while Kelso plays with a teddy bear. I) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. Bedroom. A baby crib is set up, with Betsy inside. Kelso and Fez look in on the crib. Kelso strums a guitar as he and Fez sing Betsy a lullaby. J) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. The weekend is over. Brooke is back in the doorway. She collects Betsy from Kelso’s arms. With a smile, she exits, and Kelso and Fez smile and wave her goodbye. Once she’s gone, and the door is shut, there is a MUSIC CHANGE back to “It’s a Sunshine Day,” and Kelso and Fez both pull out beer cans. They shake them up, crack them open, and spray the foam at each other. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT Back to the present. Kelso and Fez both nod contentedly at the picture of their life. Red and Kitty seem much less pleased. RED: You two aren’t getting back in here once we’re in the ‘80s. BUMPER MUSIC NOTE: “Last Dance” by Donna Summer. INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT A short time later. The music continues, as a song over the radio. The party is properly underway, and it’s a bigger crowd than just the kids. W.B. and ANGIE stand on the stairs, chatting with Brooke. LEO sifts through a bowl of mixed nuts on the bar with his fingers while Kitty stands behind the bar, making herself a drink. CASEY KELSO walks the floor while nursing a rum and coke, and MR. AND MRS. KELSO, along with several burly boys who can only be KELSO’S OTHER BROTHERS, mingle with FEZ’S OLD HOST PARENTS and PASTOR DAVE. Red and BOB stand off by the kitchen door, drinking beer. Kelso and Fez, standing by couch, happily take in the scene. KELSO: This is so great. It’s just like old times. We’ve got Leo, we’ve got Bob, we’ve got Mrs. Forman getting drunk and flirting with my brother. Sure enough, Casey has made it to the bar, and is chatting up Kitty while she mixes her drink. CASEY: So I says to the guy, “for that kind of money, what the hell?” And now I’m dancing at the club. Kitty, breathless, leans on the bar and gazes up at Casey’s face. KITTY: (swooning) Oh, yes. Over by the kitchen door, Bob smiles as he looks over the party. Red scowls, but an unusually peaceful scowl. RED: Look at all these freeloaders. Just when I was getting used to having my house back, too. BOB: You seem pretty relaxed about it, Red. Usually by now, you’re threatening to call the cops on your own party and tell ‘em the guests are trespassing. RED: (shrugs) Yeah, well... we’re closing out a decade, after all, and it makes Kitty happy, seeing everybody again. He nods his wife’s way; Kitty and Leo are happily chatting. RED (cont’d): And I’ll admit – it’s not so bad, having a little break from all the peace and quiet. But I tell ya, Bob – having the kids out of the house is everything I dreamed it would be. He gives a small smile, sighs, and looks up. Slow zoom in on his face as we cut to: MONTAGE. Set to an orchestral arrangement of “Anchors Aweigh.” A) FORMAN LIVING ROOM. The middle of the day. A clearly unhappy Red is slumped in his chair, clicker in hand. He mindlessly clicks his way through the TV channels, while occasionally looking around the room with a deep frown. B) FORMAN AND SON. A dead day for business. Red stands at the counter, leaning on the countertop with his head in his hands; he’s bored out of his skull. He looks around his empty shop before fiddling with a wrench on the countertop. C) FORMAN BASEMENT. Some work has been done to redecorate the basement into a gentleman’s retreat, as Red once envisioned, but that work is limited and halfhearted; a few hunting trophies and Packers merchandise left scattered around the room. Red sits on the couch, punching one hand into a catcher’s mitt, as he looks around the basement. D) FORMAN KITCHEN. Red, dressed for work, reads the newspaper at the kitchen table while Kitty cleans the stovetop. An empty water glass is by Red’s elbow. As he turns the page, he knocks the glass to the floor, where it shatters. Red immediately jumps to his feet and flies into an exaggerated fit of yelling, shaking his fists, and glaring up at the ceiling. Kitty nonchalantly collects the glass pieces as Red keeps going. E) FORMAN LIVING ROOM. Red is in his chair again, this time with a bottle of beer. SCHATZI sleeps at his feet. Red takes a covert glance, makes sure Schatzi is sleeping. He tips his beer so that a small amount splashes onto the carpet by Schatzi’s rear. As soon as a spot is visible, Red jumps up, shakes his fist at a still-sleeping Schatzi, and scolds him as if he had an accident. F) FORMAN MASTER BEDROOM. Red paces back and forth, ranting at raving and shaking his finger directly into the camera. A reverse shot reveals his real target - a PHOTO OF ERIC. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT Back to the present, and back to the party. Red shakes off his mental recap of the last few months and turns back to Bob. RED: You know, Bob, we haven’t seen you over here much lately. How about we keep it that way? BOB: (chuckles) Hey, I’ve got no wife, no daughter – I’m free to do whatever I want. It’s a busy time for Bob. CUT TO: INT. PINCIOTTI LIVING ROOM – DAY A day in the life of “busy time” Bob. He sits in front of the TV with a tray of lasagna. THE LOVE BOAT is on the tube. Bob shovels what’s left of the lasagna into his face with a fork and sets the tray down. He belches and opens his belt. Patting his stomach, he lets out a long sigh. A flicker of discomfort crosses his face; matters are afoot down below. Bob stands and crosses to the bathroom, disappearing inside. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT Back to the present. BOB: (to Red) So, when are the kids getting here? RED: Ya got me. Say – you haven’t heard from Donna lately, have you? Because Kelso said something about Eric moving into a new apartment. BOB: New apartment? What’s going on? Kitty, walking the floor, overhears and rushes to join in on the conversation. KITTY: (to Bob) You didn’t know either? BOB: It’s the first I’m hearing about it. Did your bastard run off on my little girl again? KITTY: Well, how do you know your harlot didn’t dump my baby boy again? BOB: Don’t you call my Donna a harlot, Kitty! KITTY: Don’t you call my Eric a bastard! Bob looks ready to retort, but Red steps between them. RED: All right, let’s not spoil the new year. Let’s just agree that they’re both morons and give ‘em hell when they show up. The doorbell rings and the door opens, but it isn’t Eric or Donna. It’s JACKIE and HYDE, both snazzily dressed for the party and for the winter weather. Jackie has an enormous bag slung over her arm. JACKIE: Happy New Year! Kitty hurries over to them, Red right behind her. She immediately snatches Hyde up into a crushing hug. Jackie does the same with Red. KITTY/JACKIE: Steven! My second son! Oh, I’ve missed you./Mr. Forman! Oh! HYDE: (cringing in her hug) No, that’s all right, Mrs. Forman... no, you don’t have to... ugh, okay, I missed you too! He gives her a light hug back, which is enough to get her to release him. Red, meanwhile, cringes in Jackie’s hug. RED: (to Jackie) You couldn’t have outgrown this in Chicago? She lets him go, just in time for Kelso and Fez to come running up. She meets them in a big group hug. JACKIE: Michael! Fezzie! KELSO/FEZ: Jackie!/We missed you! JACKIE: Oh, I missed you too – (stern) Get your hands off of there. They let go, but don’t get back in time to avoid Hyde slugging them both in the arm. KELSO: (to Hyde) And we missed that too. C’mere, Hyde! The boys have a quick group hug of their own. Kelso and Fez give Hyde a once-over, Kelso fiddling with Hyde’s jacket. KELSO (cont’d): Man, look at you – new jacket, new shirt, new watch, new boots... the only thing old about you is your face. HYDE: Well, man, somethin’ told me that ringing in a new decade was a time to break out the nice duds. And that something kept telling me, hour after hour after hour, ‘til I finally said, “would you shut up, Jackie? I’ll do it already.” JACKIE: (teasing) Well, what’s the point of buying my man nice outfits if I don’t get to show ‘em off once in a while? She plays with Hyde’s collar. FEZ: Jackie, you paid for Hyde’s fancy threads? JACKIE: Fez, do you know how much money I make, working on TV? I pay for everything. I said a lot of things about those feminists growing up, and they’re still totally wrong about hair and lipstick and how men are supposed to carry you over puddles and everything – but making the most money kind of kicks ass. HYDE: Works out for me, too. She always leaves her purse lying around. I’ve never had an easier time picking someone’s pocket. He and Jackie smile at each other, she “awws.” She leans against his chest as he puts his arm around her shoulders. JACKIE: Oh! I almost forgot – She stands up straight, reaches into her bag, and pulls out a brandy bottle. JACKIE (cont’d): Mrs. Forman, we got you something for Christmas. My mom took off for Tijuana, and she left the cabinet where she keeps her good brandy unlocked. She presents Kitty with the bottle. KITTY: Ooh, honey, let’s you and me mosey on over to the bottle opener. Laughing, she leads Jackie to the bar. Hyde pulls a small envelope from his jacket, hands it to Red. HYDE: Here you go, Red. A little late Christmas present. Red takes the envelope, opens it up. He nearly drops the contents as his eyes bug out. RED: (breathless) Season Packers tickets. (looks up at Hyde) You know I don’t usually do this. He throws himself at Hyde in a tight hug. Hyde smirks, pats Red on the back, and gently eases him back. HYDE: Yeah, they’re from me and Forman. He knew he was gonna be late, so he asked me to bring ‘em. RED: (pockets tickets) Say, when was the last time you spoke to Eric? What’s going on with this new apartment he’s got? Jackie looks over from the bar as Kitty pours two glasses of brandy. JACKIE: You don’t know? We were gonna ask you. KITTY: (to Jackie) No, we don’t know anything. Have you heard from Donna at all? JACKIE: Well, we were over at their apartment for Thanksgiving, and everything seemed fine. Then, a few weeks ago, they said they were going to be gone for the weekend and asked us to housesit, and that’s when we noticed all of Eric’s stuff was gone. But when we asked them about it, all they said was, “we’re moving.” Red, Hyde, Kelso, and Fez step down to the bar, and Bob crosses the room to join them. BOB: “We?” As in both of ‘em? KITTY: But only Eric’s things were gone? JACKIE: (nods) And then, when Eric and Steven went to get the Packers tickets, Donna asked me to help her with her hair. She was taking forever to dry it out, so I started going through her mail, and it turns out she has a passport. BOB: A passport? KITTY: Oh, my God. RED: What the hell is going on with those two? Everyone shifts on their feet as worry crosses their faces. HYDE: This is an unsettling and awkward situation. It calls for beer. He crosses the room and disappears into the kitchen. The tension broken, Kelso, Fez, and Bob disperse into the party while Jackie goes behind the bar to sip her brandy. Kitty takes hers in hand, moves to Red’s side. KITTY: (pained) Oh, Red. RED: (embraces her) Look, Kitty, I know this all sounds bad. But Steven said Eric’s on his way, and I’m sure he’ll explain everything. And, if he doesn’t, I’ll make him. He knows I still can. Kitty leans into his hug, wraps her arms around his waist. Her eyes flicker over to the coffee table, where the tray of snacks is now empty. KITTY: (softly) Do you think you could get the other tray from the kitchen? RED: Sure. He kisses her forehead, lets her go. He crosses into... INT. FORMAN KITCHEN – NIGHT ... And is greeted by the sight of Hyde standing at the open fridge, SCHATZI in his arms. Hyde is feeding Schatzi an uncooked hot dog when he looks up, sees Red. HYDE: (beat) Schatzi’s upset about Forman and Donna too. Red frowns, crosses his arms. FADE TO BLACK COMMERCIAL BUMPER MUSIC NOTE: “Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In” by The 5th Dimension. INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT The party goes on. Hyde, having shed his jacket, is now talking with W.B., Angie, and Leo on the stairs while petting Schatzi. Fez, his host parents, and Brooke chat by the organ. Red and Pastor Dave stand together near the kitchen door. Bob and most of the Kelso clan have the bar. Kitty sits in Red’s chair, with Jackie (also sans jacket) and Kelso on the couch. They all have glasses of brandy, but Kitty is the farthest along on hers. KITTY: Why? Why would my son do this? Why is he keeping so many secrets? Is he worried what we’ll think of him? Because mothers don’t judge – they love. And sometimes get very, very disappointed. JACKIE: Okay, Mrs. Forman, I know all this stuff with Eric and Donna has upset you. But, on the bright side – Steven and I set a date for our wedding! She produces invitations from her bag – large scrolls with sealed ribbons. She gives one each to Kitty and Kelso, who wastes no time opening his up. KELSO: (reading) “Steven and Jaqueline Burkhart-Hyde cordially request the honor of your presence at the celebration of their union – March 21, 1980, St. James Cathedral, Chicago.” (to Jackie) Isn’t that, like, one of the biggest churches in the city? JACKIE: Yep. That was the deal we made – a big, fancy wedding for me, a “special” honeymoon in Amsterdam for Steven. KITTY: Well, honey, all honeymoons are special. She doesn’t get it, and Jackie and Kelso don’t enlighten her. KITTY (cont’d): Oh, this does sound lovely, Jackie. And of course, we’ll be there. And maybe, while we’re in Chicago, we’ll even get a chance to see you on TV again. We don’t get your show here in Wisconsin. KELSO: Yeah, how’s that going, being entertainment anchor? JACKIE: Michael, it’s me. I’m fabulous. She looks up, a proud glint in her eye. Slow zoom in as we begin: MONTAGE. Set to “Witchy Woman” by the Eagles. A) ANCHOR DESK. The entertainment desk for Chicago’s WSNS station, with all the lights down except for a background light creating a silhouette of the anchor. As the lights rise and the camera tracks in, we see Jackie, with perfect hair and stylish suit. She is just a little too aware of the camera as she delivers her segment. JACKIE: Good evening, Chicago. I’m Jackie Burkhart, and this is Jackie’s Corner. B) ANCHOR DESK. Another day, another outfit. We join Jackie in the middle of a film review. JACKIE (cont’d): Okay, so – my fiancé loves Monty Python, and their first movie is funny and all, but I have a question: what was with the coconuts? Could they not afford a horse? Newsflash, England – ladies want to see men on horseback. Even if they’re doughy, bad-teeth Englishmen. C) ANCHOR DESK. Another day, another story, another outfit. Jackie’s still playing to the camera. Michael Jackson’s album OFF THE WALL is in her hands. JACKIE (cont’d): Off the Wall: it’s hip, it’s hot, it’s flying off the shelves – but who thought a bow tie this big was a good idea? She points at the tie of Jackson’s tuxedo on the album and shakes her head. D) ANCHOR DESK. Another day, another story, another outfit. Jackie’s hair is a preview of the coming decade: the Whale Spout hairstyle, with some crimps for good measure. Jackie’s eyes roll up, as if she could see her hair that way. JACKIE (cont’d): (scoffs) Like this will ever catch on. E) ANCHOR DESK. Another day, another story, another outfit. JACKIE (cont’d): So Star Trek gets a movie but Charlie’s Angels have to stay on the small screen? She holds up two photos – an unflattering one of William Shatner, and a glam shot of Jaclyn Smith. JACKIE (cont’d): Look at these pictures and tell me who’s going to move the most tickets. F) ANCHOR DESK. Jackie is sitting on her desk this time, spread out across it. She is modelling the quintessential 1980s look – big hair, big shoulders, neon colors, and leg warmers. She looks down at those leg warmers, gives her right leg a shake, and looks into the camera. JACKIE (cont’d): Call me crazy, but I think leg warmers might be here to stay. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT Back to the present, as Jackie gives a contended sigh and leans back into the couch. A clearly unhappy Brooke and an apologetic Fez march to the couch and stand over Kelso. BROOKE: Michael, Fez just let it slip that you two have been having crazy beer parties when you aren’t watching Betsy. KELSO: Uh? Oh, no. Fez is just confused, since he’s foreign. See, in his language, “beer” means... No lie comes to mind. Instead, Kelso slaps Fez hard in the hand. Fez slaps his face back. Kelso stands, and the two of them get into a rapid-fire slap fight. Over by the kitchen door, Bob joins Red and Pastor Dave as Red pulls out his gift from Hyde and Eric. BOB: (whistles) Season tickets? That’s nice. Pastor Dave, trembling, lets out a high, girlish squeal of delight, one that cuts off as soon as he sees the way Red and Bob are looking at him. RED: You know I can’t take you to a game if you do that, Dave. Dave, contrite, nods and looks down at his feet. On the stairs, Hyde shifts Schatzi under one arm so he can put the other around Leo. HYDE: Leo, man, how’s Grooves? LEO: Great, man. The Wall? Pink Floyd? It sounded awesome, man. HYDE: No, Leo, I meant Grooves, the record store. (beat) That we hired you to run when I moved to Chicago. LEO: I run a record store? Wow, I’m really moving up in the world. ANGIE: (laughing) He’s actually been doing an okay job. We’ve only had one complaint about a hippy orgy. HYDE: (nods) W.B., how’re things in Milwaukee, man? W.B.: Are you kidding? It’s great! Having Angie there in the corporate office is the best decision I ever made. (Angie beams) See, right before I gave her that promotion, I got into this snooty country club. They didn’t think I’d be there much. But now that I’ve got Angie running things, I’m there all day, every day – with friends. And there’s nothing those brothers love more than making white people uncomfortable. HYDE: Nice. W.B.: And what about you, Steven? How’s business in Chicago? HYDE: Flying. He flashes a cheeky grin. Slow zoom in as we cut to: MONTAGE. Set to the instrumental track of “Nobody’s Fault But Mine” covered by Led Zeppelin. A) GROOVES, CHICAGO. THE CIRCLE. Hyde sits behind the counter, a diffuse cloud of smoke all around him. He coughs, waves some of the smoke away, and flashes a grin at the camera. HYDE: Welcome to Grooves. B) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. An unseen customer hands Hyde his choice of record from off-camera – SPIRITS HAVING FLOWN by the Bee Gees. Hyde looks up with utter contempt. HYDE (cont’d): The Bee Gees? You know there’s a 20% tax on crap in this store, right? C) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. An unseen customer hands Hyde his choice of record from off-camera – BACKLESS by Eric Clapton. Hye looks up and nods approvingly. HYDE (cont’d): Nice. And you know there’s a 20% discount on rock n’ roll in this store, right? D) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. This time, Hyde is busy with a lighter: he very casually sets a sleeve for ABBA’s VOULEZ-VOUS on fire. E) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. Hyde leans back and tips a bag of potato chips. The entire bag showers down over his face, and some of them even make into his mouth. He happily munches down. F) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another – particularly intense – Circle. Hyde leans in to speak to an unseen customer off-camera. HYDE (cont’d): Hey, did you hear about that car that runs on water? It’s got a fiberglass, air-cooled engine, and it runs on water, man! G) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. Hyde performs air guitar to the montage music. H) JACKIE AND HYDE’S APARTMENT, clearly decorated by Jackie but currently filled with dim lighting and a smoky haze. (MUSIC NOTE: song cuts out.) Jackie and Hyde sit together, their heads leaned against each other and matching spaced-out smiles on their faces. JACKIE: Baby, I think you’re late for work. HYDE: I thought you were late for work. They both sit up slightly, puzzling the answer. JACKIE: Huh. HYDE: Maybe we’re both late for work. JACKIE: Or – is work late for us? She wiggles her eyebrows, “think about it.” Hyde gives her a short stare, then leans down for a kiss. They fall out of frame as they make out as the montage music resumes for a final sting. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – NIGHT Back to the present. Jackie has joined Hyde, who has his arm around her shoulders. Leo, W.B., and Angie disperse into the party. Red and Kitty cross to Jackie and Hyde. KITTY: Steven, do you have any idea when Eric is coming? It’s almost midnight. Bob, Kelso, and Fez join them. BOB: And what about Donna? No one knows if she’s coming to this party? A lot of shaking heads answer. BOB (cont’d): Come on, I’m her dad. I deserve some answers. What’s going on with that passport? What’s going on with her and Eric? KITTY: Red, I’m getting worried. There’s no reason they shouldn’t be here by now. HYDE: You want us to go look for ‘em, Mrs. Forman? KITTY: Oh, honey, would you? KELSO: Yeah, that’s a good idea. (pulls out cop badge) Okay, everybody, line up! We’re turning this New Year’s party into a search party! He draws focus from everyone in the party, but only for a second; most of the guests turn back to their conversations. Hyde, Jackie, and Fez disperse, searching for their coats, ignoring Kelso’s hand signals to form a line. CUT TO: EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY – NIGHT A thick layer of snow covers the hedges and the yard, but the driveway is clear. The VISTA CRUISER, with suitcases packed and tied on top, slowly backs up into the driveway and parks. ERIC, bundled up for the cold, steps out. He gives a long look around his old home before climbing up on the hood of his car to sit back and look at the stars. DONNA, also bundled up, and with red hair and a short haircut, comes up the driveway. A knapsack is slung over her shoulder. She taps Eric on the foot to get his attention. DONNA: Hey. ERIC: (sits up) Hey. You made it. DONNA: (nods) Snuck the last of my stuff out of my dad’s house. I’m just here to say goodbye to everybody, then it’s off to the airport. ERIC: Good. (sits back) You know, I still remember the night you first kissed me on the Vista Cruiser. It was warmer then. DONNA: Yeah, well... a lot of things are different now. ERIC: (softly) Yeah. Donna climbs up next to Eric and sits back too. Overhead shot on the two of them slowly pulls out as we begin: MONTAGE. Set to “Thirteen” by Big Star. A collection of moments Eric and Donna have shared over seven seasons. Included in the montage are: A) The aforementioned first kiss. B) Eric and Donna moving to hold hands over the scented candle of Eric’s 17th birthday. C) Their dance at junior prom. D) Cuddling in the back of Kelso’s van. E) The “Fernando” dance. F) Their wrestling greatest hits. G) Shoving each other’s heads. H) Eric’s proposal, and his slipping the engagement ring on Donna’s finger. CUT TO: EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY – NIGHT Back to the present, and an extreme close-up on Eric and Donna’s intertwined hands. We see for the first time that Donna has a wedding band on her left ring finger. Slow zoom out as Eric and Donna turn in to face each other. ERIC: So – how pissed do you think everyone’ll be when we tell them that you’re leaving tonight to study abroad in London, I’m working on moving my pilot program there so I can follow you next semester, and – just to put a cherry on this stupid sundae – we went and eloped right before Christmas? DONNA: (laughs) Pretty pissed. I think Red might finally put his foot up your ass. ERIC: You know, he actually did that once. DONNA: Really? ERIC: (nods) Iwo Jima. He doesn’t like to talk about it. They laugh again, then scoot together and kiss. And kiss again. And keep kissing, so passionately that they fail to notice Hyde, Jackie, Kelso, and Fez standing by the patio door. Donna finally opens her eyes, sees them. She sits up, alerting Eric, who flips around and sees all his scowling friends. ERIC (cont’d): Oh – hey, guys! They keep scowling. ERIC (cont’d): So, um – how – how much of that did you hear? They keep scowling. ERIC (cont’d): Well, this is awkward. (beat) Boy, I wish there was some way to take the edge off all this. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – NIGHT THE CIRCLE. Eric and Donna sit together. Eric takes a deep breath. ERIC: Edge, you are officially off. DONNA: (to the gang) I’m really glad I got to see you all before I left for London. And I’m even happier that we didn’t trust any of you bozos with the fact we’re married. Pan to Hyde, with Jackie in his lap. JACKIE: Donna, I think it’s so romantic that you and Eric eloped. Plus, this way, there’s no chance your wedding can upstage mine. And you’re my maid of honor, so you’d better be back here for it! Pan to Kelso. KELSO: (to Eric, Donna) London, huh? Hey, Eric, you know what you should do when you get over there? You should find one of those guards with the big hats, and you should see if you can make him laugh. And Donna, you should have a camera, so you can take pictures when the guard starts beating Eric up. That way, I’ll laugh. Pan to Fez. FEZ: (to Eric, Donna) And while you’re there, you can spit on the palace from me. The British hate my country. That is why the Beatles can kiss my ass! Pan to Kelso. KELSO: You know, Fez, you’ve never told us what country you’re from. How about letting us know before the year’s over? Pan to Fez. FEZ: Isn’t it obvious? (scoffs) Fine. It’s – Pan to Eric and Donna. ERIC: Hold that thought, Fez. You know, guys – this might be the last Circle we ever have together. Pan to Hyde and Jackie. JACKIE: Aww... that’s kind of sad. HYDE: It’s a time for reflection. Like on how many of our brain cells survived the ‘70s. Despite our best efforts, some of those bastards pulled through. But tonight – they’re going down. Pan to Kelso. KELSO: Way ahead of you, Hyde. He pops open a can of beer and takes a chug. Pan to Fez, who also has a beer. FEZ: Die, brain cells, die! And you’re next, liver. He takes a sip. Pan to Eric and Donna. ERIC: It’s like – we always have to remember this moment. Unnoticed by Eric or Donna, Red appears behind them. Pan to Jackie and Hyde, in stunned shock. Pan to Kelso, giggling silently. Pan to Fez, in fear for his life. Pan to Eric and Donna, confused. DONNA: What? Red bends down so that his head is over Eric’s shoulder, giving Eric and Donna a jump. RED: (to Eric) UPSTAIRS! Your mother’s pouring the champagne for the countdown, and then you’re all gonna get it! He storms off. Eric and Donna, stunned, share a look. ERIC: We’re dead. He and Donna break up laughing. The Circle is broken. Everyone is laughing now. They all stand and make for the stairs. ERIC (cont’d): Oh, hey, guys – last one upstairs has to call Red a dumbass! The dare set, everyone breaks for the stairs. The girls, Fez, and Eric make it up safely, leaving Hyde and Kelso to wrestle it out. Hyde gets a good hold on Kelso and tosses him back before racing upstairs. Kelso recovers, looks around, realizes he’s lost. KELSO: Aww, man! He grabs the stupid helmet and starts a slow, reluctant, petulant march up the stairs as everyone in the party begins the countdown. COUNTDOWN (v.o.): TEN! NINE! EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX! FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE! TITLE CARD The THAT ‘70S SHOW license plate, now marked with a 1980 sticker. FADE TO BLACK END CREDTIS INT. VISTA CRUISER – NIGHT The gang, driving to the airport together in the Vista Cruiser. Eric drives, with Donna next to him and Hyde in the passenger’s seat with Jackie in his lap. Behind them is Donna’s knapsack, then Kelso, then Fez. They all sing along to the radio – “In the Street” by Big Star. GANG: Past the street light Out past midnight... JACKIE: Boy, we’re good! FEZ: We’re really good! Hyde seems skeptical of that claim, but he, and the rest of the gang, continue to jam to the music. END.

***

Thank you everyone for reading! If you like what you've seen, leave a review!

#z's fics #that 70s show #zenmasters #jackie x hyde #zen3to5+#fan fiction #fan script

8 notes · View notes

amieyhko · 4 years

Text

Escapril 2019

escaprilday 2019 // 1: a fresh start

two Costco bags full of

umma-certified clean clothes,

“unpacking cannot begin with wet clothes”

Taipei humidity is unkind.

coins clink,

white noise revs

drowning out the drizzle

as heart somersaults

to the rhythm of the cycles:

what — tum — am I — ble

doing — tumble — here?

the darks tumble its final spin

as the lights

click —

into a stop.

a whiff into a warm towel

warns me the comforts of home,

promising

of munchies, blankies, and speedy wifi

of cushy floor space where crafting

and writing past midnight can be done in secret

but —

fold — maybe — toss — I changed —

yellow blouse — or gave up too easily —

fold — or could it be —

toss — I’m listening to all the wrong voices? —

red turtleneck — no — flick —

wait, this is so soft now, I guess the washing machine in that guest house in Seoul was indeed really terrible —

fold — yes, this is how it should feel on my skin —

toss – my heart knows, though —

fuzzy sock — maybe home is where I need to be right now —

into basket — there’s nothing wrong with —

grab — starting over again.

escaprilday 2019 // 2: april showers

you said all memorable moments

include an unexpected deluge

I nod and laugh

as the metro ac pierces through

my drenched jacket

I shiver as I feel my clammy socks

cling onto my not-rainproof Docs

("they're not?" you ask in shock)

ears ringing still

from speakers booming

throat scratchy from scream-singing

at the top of our lungs.

still, you smile, shiver, and say,

with half-dazed eyes,

all good memories

end in rain.

escaprilday 2019 // 3: incorporate music

“Hope I’m not tired of rebuilding”

at this in-between

this time of heating up lukewarm lattes

and microwaving soggy french fries,

a surrendering of old and new

kindles a familiar tune:

“not what’s easy, what do you want?”

at this in-between,

the seconds between a squat and a jump

or the hours during an endless free fall,

a whisper sings an awakening:

“even a phoenix dies”

so at this in-between

muster up the strength to

inhale blue

and exhale gold.

escaprilday 2019 // 4: anxiety

lacuna

¡amiga!” he chimes like clockwork

with a sonrisa that has probably charmed plenty of hearts.

my fist bumps his and I walk toward the dark halls

where they tilt their heads forward and say

“안녕하세요” they grin,

some fake, others genuine,

mostly muscle memory.

“哈咯“ she greets as I turn the corner—

a sound of familiarity.

the velcros on my lips finally relax

till we part ways to our stations

“how are you?” their words flow dry

they probably don’t want to find out

my tongue lands on one syllable:

“good”.

escapril 2019 // 5: back to nature

I’ve a secret spot for seeing stars in Taipei City.

after a day downtown,

blasting my headphones at damaging decibels,

fixing makeup with samples at drugstores,

and chasing after buses,

I skip down the announced “platform two for Taipei Zoo”

and gaze down at the light show stage named Zhongxiao Fuxing.

as the red greens, a rush of headlights streams at me—my eyes

lose focus, my heart

leaps back into my chest just as

the home-bound metro approaches.

I’ll always remember the yard at Tiszavasvári

where we lay to see a starry night drawn by the Creator

after a day of listening to screaming children,

braiding their hairs,

and chasing after the impossible ones,

we stood in awe, jaws dropped, then soon learned

our necks weren’t strong enough

so we lay down, evening breeze

accompanied by the crickets sang a lullaby—

my eyes played a senseless game

of connect-the-dots, my heart skipped several beats

as I let go of the memories of beds and blankets.

escapril 2019 // 6: nostalgia

missing you is easy.

remembering you creeps

up in little mundanities

like a cup of fruit tea

a bottle of Clorox

or an inappropriately loud laughter--

to my consolation, yours is unmatchable.

although,

the sound of your laughter rings

quieter

till I can whisper:

escapril 2019 // 7: start with a time of day

3 a.m.

why wait

for dawn when

we can set yesterday

in flames

over this river?

escapril 2019 // 8: love poem

I cannot recall the exact words uttered

but something in my heart fluttered:

our eyes met for a millisecond

we cracked, till our breaths weakened.

our words, lost in the waves

transformed into safes

I open in my heart of hearts

to feel at home within the laughs of your loves.

escapril 2019 // 9: focus on the color

chorok hadn't found its form in

korean of old. fields of

grass and evergreens,

little plates of herbal banchan,

lush of summers,

and squirming caterpillars

all existed as paran-- that same

color ascribed to vast oceans,

and sunny skies

then one lively spring, chorok

creeped its way into our tongues,

demanding to be seen on

street signs,

the mountain tops, and

cross walk lights

though some still speak "the light

turned paran",

and the incorrigible children's tune

singing of spring

blossoming into paran,

chorok sprouts an entrance

undeniable to out naked eyes.

escapril 2019 // 10: femininity

the bus,

back slides down on the uncomfortable bus seat,

fingers stroke through my freshly buzzed head,

while many eyes fixate above my eyes,

asking:

"is she a boy or a girl?"

"is she a lesbian?"

"what happened to her… hair?"

eyes read their faces,

mouth struts a big yawn with no reflex system telling me to conceal it.

imagination floats to a stadium,

feet stands on the podium,

voice declares:

I'm still so-very-much a lady--

just not fair like Audrey,

nor dainty like a stereotype,

or as brave as Joan,

and definitely not as attractive than most

but maybe more like

the ones writing history

now.

escapril 2019 // 11: not from your perspective

most of the time I sit beside the maroon sofa

where you watch tv and transform into a potato

I wait and wait for that sweet moment

you grab my handle

travel me to a flat desk

wind me up with thread

hook me up to a pedal

switch my light on

smooth out a piece of fabric

pinned up in zig zag

then

zoom, crackle, buzz,

your hands sync to my rhythm

you pray I don’t jam

or break your thread

then you announce with pride

“et voila!”

escapril 2019 // 12: spring cleaning

it takes two countries

few cities

thirteen houses

fifteen boxes

thirty trash bags

and an infinite repetition of

"do we need this?"

for a soul to grasp the spider web line

between a desire and a necessity.

then a decade teaches the

same soul

sometimes,

spectrums soften

escapril 2019 // 13: celestial bodies

if only

seeing you was as easy as

some nightly glow at your half

reflecting off

a big blazing ball of light on my half

escapril 2019 // 14: make it rhyme

a sonnet-full of embellishments, fake

notions of how lovely you are like some

weather in summer or spring, homemade cake

that tastes like cheap flour and rotten eggs, numb

from clichés, the love songs that never shut

up, posed photos of arms around my waist,

a let-me-take-that gentleness, so what

are you doing? leaving sour aftetaste

in our hearts. no, this sonnet is not for

us. we don’t need guidelines to fall in love,

nor the recipes known to prevent war

(it cannot be all fair in war and love),

so stop. steep in this silence as your hand

finds mine in this complicated quicksand.

escapril 2019 // 15: describe a smell

a dash of prickliness:

prickly, like appa’s beard attacking my forehead as he plants a kiss.

then an overwhelming sense of saltiness:

salty, like that time I accidentally used the spoon side of the seasoning bottle

or tasting my own sweat or tears.

something rotting at slow decay.

fruit flies feast.

my nose shoots me back to

halmoni yelling something in dialect, umma replying.

I stand in the middle of the market square, I’m ten.

they promised me jjajangmyeon,

my nostrils can hold out just a minute more.

escapril 2019 // 16: any dreams?

five—

I was to be a Pokemon trainer by day

and Sailor Moon by night

but adults hung my creativity dry

seven—

a singer-songwriter

but music chose me not

ten—

fashion designer,

draw designs, sew coutures, walk the runway myself

but whispers yelled discouragements

fifteen—

couldn’t care: I was a realistic teen

now—

I tip-toe about my heart

trying my best not to pick on scabs,

unable to answer any questions

albeit an I-don’t-know

has never sounded more

comforting and clear.

hear the wounds heal

to the beat of the unicorn hooves.

escapril 2019 // 17: body as friend or foe

I was born in Guatemala,

but my father’s from Georgia

he’s a musician, he produces

K-pop albums and we travel the world

searching for the next big deal,

my mother paints apples, she’s from Zimbabwe

she also writes Chinese poems.

It’s all true—

my body deceives every bit of reality within me.

escapril 2019 // 18: a happy place

hear nose tickle

with the sound of lavender feathers

fluttering by

eyes will open up to inhale

the golden hours spent

under Your glorious dance

escapril 2019 // 19: without your name, who are you?

if an utterance of a name

can form a heart,

her name has been called by many

if each spoken word forms

a vibration into what we are,

she's a someone

whispered into a myriad of paradoxes:

she's an asteroid, crashing fast,

uncontrollable, unexpected.

she's a cup of tea, calm,

idle, ready for nothing.

escapril 2019 // 20: a liminal space

this amorphous ground feels comfortable,

excuses acceptable:

the excruciating humidity,

drowsy rain, busy friends,

false pride, miscalculating time.

they say:

Prufrock measures his life in coffee spoons,

but Zeno says nothing ever reaches its destinations.

the Knight holds his tongue

yet his heart flutters a violent beat.

I’m just another contra, letting my feet skip away

as each step echoes heart beating somewhere

back.

escapril 2019 // 21: it’s the end of the world

no zombie apocalypse,

the sun still functions,

stars are still, hearts

unbroken, no one

escaping to Mars,

no fatal goodbyes.

one silent pink noise

a purple glow,

“welcome back home”

it said.

escapril 2019 // 22: nourishment

last month, I met a little

potted plant.

I took it back to my little

suffocating room

and named it little

foggy star.

I loved it little

by little

I gave it little

droplets of water,

spoke little

words of compliment,

took it to my little

window sill

the sun peeped through

a little.

it grew a little,

I did too.

escapril 2019 // 23: when the party’s over

recollect spilled laughters —

this, for unworthy jokes,

that, for suave comments,

maybe one for someone dreamy —

bottle them up,

keep them fresh

for the next sea of

stragglers,

mutual someone,

you-look-quite-nice,

wow-so-interesting.

escapril 2019 // 24: liar, liar

how to be a compulsive liar

one: disregard empathy, embrace despondency, think selfish,

my life doesn’t have to tell truth tales, no one needs to know.

two: rehearse recollections, think practicality, use names they’d never check,

let myself believe in each detail, each sight, smell the scenario

three: speak the perfectly fabricated phrases into existence,

no need to bat an eye, stutter a detail, overthink a loophole.

for example: “yeah, the party was fun. we walked around the park afterwards.

who? oh no, he wasn’t there. he had an important family dinner.”

four: remember the lie, inform reliable partners in crime if necessary,

never bring it back, stick to your guns.

promise yourself: they can’t hurt, they’ll never know.

remember: truths hurt, they’re inconvenient, it’s none of their business.

dig: until your shovel breaks.

drown out: every kindness the world has to offer.

die: in the said dug hole, climb out just to

repeat: until trust is a pair of cracked glasses, refuse to see a redemption until

die again: learn that these walls must go —

invite: the uncomfortableness that is vulnerability

repeat: until system reboots.

escapril 2019 // 25: pick an animal

my giraffe friend

shades me when the sun’s high

and warms me when the wind’s rough,

meeting her eyes pains me with

an aching neck,

she will always stand tall in a room,

there’s no shelf too high for me,

when she’s close by.

escapril 2019 // 26: girlhood, boyhood, childhood

when I was older, I had a pair of

very pink sneakers

they'd glitter in the sun,

glamoured in gemstones for dignity

velcros loud enough to turn heads

when it was time to take them off

I glanced over my neighbors' shelves:

ugly. blue. brown. ugly. mine trampled over all.

then my eyes stood silent

as I zone in

on her pair of Gundam sneakers

secretly jealous, mostly confused,

extremely frustrated of rule-breaking

girls, defying pink, watching animation

for boys only

now, I wear boring black or white shoes

so do most humans with feet.

escapril 2019 // 27: the state of it all

“you're it!”

a harmless push from their arms

my chest thrusts back

limbs under a spell

all bones removed

“catch me if you can”

why don't you save me

'cause you can?

escapril 2019 // 28: reflection

memories retraces a blur

crooked smile

red dye fading

cigarette between your fingers

standing mostly on your right leg--

you let out a puff as i tell you “i’m imaginary.”

you say you couldn't have

so i tease you more with a kiss

“that wasn't real

that was you imagining it all

new school

a manic pixie

the loneliness got to your brains

that's all”

you flick away the cigarette

eyes reflecting my face

you kiss me back and say

“please don't do this to my brain

you're real

far too real for me i'm not smart like that”

i snicker

the buzzing bus terminal is real

you and i are real

but i'm not

you're no more

escapril 2019 // 29: may flowers

she died a few days ago—

flew off the rooftop

fallen against teeming

reborn lives

the most beautiful of flowers

only last a day or two

you said we are beautiful

because we’re ephemeral

but what happens when

fleeting moments like

a crash kilometers away

pain for someone I never knew?

escapril 2019 // 30: catharsis

yesterday, I cleaned out my room

bugs infested each and every corner

I tried to catch them but they

hid away between the nooks and crannies

whispering schemes to each other

learning the dustiest corners I’ve ignored

waiting for a perfect time to kill

so I dusted out the corners

rearranged the furnitures

repainted the scratches

thinking cover-ups should make anew

yesterday, I cleaned out my room

praying for the bug spray to kill,

I felt seventeen, rearranging photographs,

filling up a space with desired personalities,

she would have been proud

there’s nothing I’d tell her, but to say

yesterday, I cleaned my room, for another hundredth time

they say an odyssey is a cycle

ending with a catharsis

where you come clean

but yesterday, I cleaned my room

again

#poetry #poems #escapril #escapril 2019 #writing #writer #amieko #journal #reflections

1 note · View note

thesinglesjukebox · 5 years

Video

youtube

BILLIE EILISH - WHEN I WAS OLDER

[6.75]

You're still young enough to GET OFF MY LAWN, BILLIE.

Tim de Reuse: Lovely, whispered vocals, delivering a vague breakup narrative that can't decide what kind of imagery it's going for; a tender and atmospheric start that leads into an overwrought climax; a tune with no real central conceit and no sense of overarching direction, drifting around from pleasant moment to pleasant moment until it decides to end. [5]

Katherine St Asaph: The pace of pop in 2019 is so overcharged that someone like Billie Eilish releases what seems like 50 songs per month in 30 different styles. But it's truly remarkable what percentage of those 50 are more interesting than anything her peers are doing. "When I Was Older" sounds simultaneously like a murder ballad and a futuristic slasher soundtrack. The menace is just the slightest bit Sucker Punch (which came out when she was NINE), but it's also palpable. I can't imagine the amount of restraint it took not to blow the whole track up, "Yellow Flicker Beat"-style. I also feel like her answer to that would be along the lines of "Amount of restraint? Fucking whatever, grandma." [8]

Ian Mathers: With this being the fourth song I've heard from Eilish that's both great and in (broadly speaking) the same register, I've confirmed I don't really need any bangers from her. The increased digital distortion here marries well with her usual, unusually young in life doom and gloom. Personally I could do with a whole album of variations on this theme, at this point. [8]

Edward Okulicz: Eilish is clearly in a period of great productivity if she can toss a single this good out on a soundtrack at a time when you'd expect her to be stashing it for her yet-to-appear debut album. There's something very video game about the production, with the layered vocals capturing attention despite in places having almost no accompaniment also bringing to mind Imogen Heap. It certainly doesn't bring the hooks but it's a beautifully tense and smartly produced bit of moody pop. The minimalism means that I can blast this on repeat for an hour and barely notice it's restarted at any point. [9]

Thomas Inskeep: Yeah, Billie, you're 17; "When I Was Older" isn't exactly something I'm coming to you for experience on, especially when you've Auto-Tuned your voice to hell. If there's such a thing as twee electropop, this is it. [2]

Iris Xie: To me, this song is an exploration of pleasant oblivions, of a fantasy where you creep into a warm embrace and you never need to return to your old life. It's an escape, but not so far removed from the realities that you face. The intro and the instrumental have a dreamy music box start, with low, slow hums. The reverb and exhalations make me feel like I'm underwater, panicking, and then realizing that I can breathe underwater and start exploring the depths. When the snare drums kick in, the dynamics get even headier and it makes you want to crawl to somewhere, anywhere, in a hazy but edgy atmosphere. A lullaby for horrors, where danger is not elaborated on but hinted at. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: More often than not, Billie Eilish's singles prove how a mishandling of restraint can lead to the most dreadfully tedious work. Not so with "When I Was Older" -- Eilish's brother and producer FINNEAS builds tension here in a manner that's wisely gradual. At a certain point, all the compounding production quirks amass into a colossal, inescapable vortex of sound. When Eilish's voice starts to stutter, it sounds as if she's held captive by the instrumentation. As she reflects on a collapsed relationship, the song embodies how lingering on such thoughts can subtly balloon into torturous yearning. Eilish can thus declare the titular line because she already knows her fate: one where she's thrown overboard, left drowning in a sea of unattainable futures. [6]

Alfred Soto: Whether "When I Was Older" deserves obsessiveness on the playback mechanism of your choice depends on your concentration and your tolerance for furtive electronic twitches. Stick with it, though, and its tonal and lyrical twitches fascinate. Singing as if from the bottom of a sea of glimmering pixels, Billie Ellish takes feminist tropes from Virginia Woolf and Björk to PJ Harvey to wreck notions of subject and object: she's submerged in one verse, watching this film in another. Inspired by Roma, she said. I'd say it surpasses Roma in ambition and deed. [9]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#Billie Eillish #pop #music #music review #writing #Roma

1 note · View note

alicedoessurveys · 6 years

Text

80 Questions

1. What was your favorite sweet as a child? never really been a fan of sweets, I was more into chocolate

2. Do you like to wear socks to bed? occasionally, if im very cold

3. Do you own a lunch box? a couple yes, I bought myself some just before christmas when I was in a show so I could take dinner to the theatre

4. How many coats do you own? two

5. How many times a day do you brush your teeth? twice

6. Do you keep spare change? I do have a piggy bank that I empty small change into because I hate when it bulks up my purse. the only change I keep in my purse in £1, £2, 50p, 20p and 10p coins

7. When was the last party you went to? after show party for the most recent show I helped out with last month

8. Do you cook? sometimes yep, when I feel like it. I have to be in the right mood to cook a full on meal but I cook myself small lunches most days

9. Are you cold at this very moment? im just right at the moment

10. Do you know anyone in jail? nope

11. Have you ever dressed up? like in a costume? yeah quite a few times, especially since I joined the theatre.

12. What color pen do you prefer, blue or black? blue

13. Are you afraid of snakes? not afraid of them no but they make my skin crawl and id rather not be around one

14. Do you like scented candles? depends on the scent but mostly yes I love candles

15. Does your house have a white picket fence? nope

16. Do you watch the evening news? very rarely. I only tend to watch it when somethings happened like if theres been an attack or if someone well known has died

17. Whats your favorite berry? is a cherry classed a berry?

18. Do you like to watch people? yes

19. Do you prefer to have a shower in the morning or at night? morning, I can never be bothered to blow dry my hair if I shower at night

20. Can you relate emotionally to some songs? yes

21. Who do you tell everything to? there is no one I tell everything to. but I tell my mom most things

22. Where is your mobile phone currently located? on the coffee table in front of me

23. Are you emotional? very

24. What was the last thing you said aloud? ‘no thank you im alright’ - im sat in the bar area at the theatre waiting or rehearsals and the guy who works behind the bar offered me some popcorn

25. Did you have candles on your birthday cake? yes

26. How old are you? 22

27. Have you ever been bitten by anything? yes, my nans ferret bit and latched onto my nose when I was asleep on nans sofa when I was like 7 years old

28. What DVD is currently in your DVD player? Harry Potter and the deathly hallows part 2

29. Do you have curtains or blinds on your windows? blinds

30. Do you have a habit of talking fast? yes, especially if im excited or nervous

31. Do you appreciate what you have? Im trying to be more appreciative

32. Is it dark outside? not really, it got super dark like half an hour ago when it rained but its okay again now

33. Are you responsible? I try to be

34. Do you think you could take care of another person? I do quite often

35. Ever had a pregnancy scare? nope

36. Do you have scars you don’t like to talk about? not that I dont talk about nope

37. Ever want to take things you’ve said back? yes

38. Do you smoke? No

39. Do you partake in gaming? I play sims and I play some ps3 games

40. Did your mother sing you a lullaby as a child? I dont remember

41. Ever get mad at something that happened years ago? yes

42. What’s the kind of soda you drink most often? cherry coke

43. Have you ever swallowed a piece of ice whole? no, I dont tend to have ice

44. Who do you text the most? probably nick or rhys

45. Do your legs get really itchy after shaving them? every time

46. Were you ever forced to read The Scarlet Letter in school? nope

47. Have you ever been called beautiful? Yes

48. Do you plan on sleeping in tomorrow? I hope too

49. Are you afraid of getting cheated on? a bit, but I dont really think about it because im not even in a relationship

50. Do you own a pair of skinny jeans? yes all my jeans are skinny jeans

51. How are you feeling RIGHT now? tired

52. What (or who) would you really like to hold right now? no one really

53. And what would you like to let go of? overly dramatic people who dont care about me as much as I care about them

54. Sunrise or sunset: which did you see last? sunset

55. Did you ever collect any type of cards? (Baseball cards, etc.) when I was in school I collected yu-gi-oh cards but I only because so many of my friends did. I didn't actually understand them or what there purpose was :’)

56. Do you have any stickers or anything on your laptop? I have a sticker on my laptop that covers the whole back

57. When was the last time you got a haircut? last July

58. Where did you go to college? Or, where do/did you want to go? I went to 3 colleges, I went to Stratford upon Avon college for 2 years then I went to Warwickshire college for half a year and solihull college for a year

59. Can you lucid dream? nope

60. Have you learned to love your body yet? No

61. What was the last sport you watched on TV? the Winter Olympics

62. When did you last get a sunburn and where was it? I dont remember, I rarely catch the sun

63. If you could drop any subject right now in school, it would be…? im not in school anymore

64. Can people usually tell if you’re sad? people who know me well can normally tell

65. Finish the sentence: I can eat a whole bag of… chocolate m&ms

66. Would you rather have curvy legs or skinny legs? skinny

67. How much fruit do you eat on a given day? most days none

68. When someone takes your picture, do you smile with mouth open or closed? open

69. Do you look presentable right now? I hope so, since I am not at home

70. Have you ever had your ass grabbed? Yes while I was at a music festival and it was not okay

71. Do you post things on Facebook that are personal? I barely post on facebook anymore

72. Do you ever listen to music that’s in a different language? yes. I used to be a Zumba instructor so I have a whole playlist of music I used to dance to that is majority foreign

73. Is your bed made currently? half made

74. Do you feel safe riding in taxis by yourself? I barely use taxis, but when I do I use uber and that feels safe

75. Are you craving food/snacks of sort currently? Yeah.

76. Are you very interested in History? not like super interested, but I do like learning about it. especially about British kings and queens

77. Play any instruments? ukulele and a tiny bit piano

78. Have you ever painted the walls of your room? Yes

79. When was the last time you tied your hair up? (if your hair is long enough) last night so I could wash my face

80. Ever wanted to learn a foreign language? Yes. I started learning Italian but kinda gave up and dont remember much of it now

#survey #long

9 notes · View notes

trueloveseyeroll · 7 years

Text

When The Tide Turns (14/16)

Summary: The plan was to go to England, finish the case and head back home in a matter of days. Of course, nothing in Emma’s life ever goes according to plan. Not only does she end up travelling across Europe, looking for a Liam Jones in order to finish her case, she ends up travelling with Liam’s brother - an annoyingly handsome Killian Jones. And she doesn’t trust him one bit.

Rating: T, for language and some violence later on

Beta-reader: I can’t thank Aina enough for being so helpful and kind! Shout-out to @forget-me-not-s !!

Artists: these artists are seriously such talented and amazing people, and they deserve so much praise!!! @theblacksiren - check out her beautiful artwork for chapter 1 here, chapter 7 here and chapter 12 here! @optomisticgirl created the awesome banner - and soon you’ll get to see the amazing masterpiece created by @fairytalesandtimetravel

Word count: ~5098 (68k+ in total)

AO3

Emma glared at the distant island. With her legs folded beneath each other, her right elbow resting on her knee so her hand could support her head, she almost felt like crying - almost. The bigger part of her wanted to yell across the water, frustrated with Neverland and everything about it.

It was just so infuriating; to be so close, but forced to stop right before the finish line. Emma hated giving up. Hated admitting defeat. This island, with its ridiculous magic and tropical-looking trees, it wasn’t going to get the best of her. Not without a fight.

“It’s trying to trick us,” she said. “You didn’t look through the spyglass, but you can still see it. Maybe you do need to look through the spyglass though, if you want to actually get there.”

The spyglass rested on Emma’s lap. She handed it to Killian, and he looked through it without any objections.

No sudden gust of wind appeared. The engine didn’t magically restart. Killian even stood up and tried bringing the engine back to life, but to no avail.

“Good idea-”

“Just didn’t work,” Emma finished for him.

When Killian rejoined her on the planks, he handed her a water bottle from their backpack. “Afraid it’s not the most enjoyable of drinks, but it’s worth staying hydrated in this heat.”

The sun had risen above the horizon, moving eerily quickly across the sky. Emma accepted the water bottle with a thanks, chugging down a few gulps. Killian was right; getting dehydrated wouldn’t help anything, and she could already feel her head thumping. Or maybe that was just the lack of sleep.

A little while later, her bottle almost empty and the sun high in the sky, Killian spoke again.

“I’ve always found it calming - the horizon. Soothed me better than any rum ever could, but regrettably, you can’t carry the sea in a bottle everywhere you go.”

Emma lifted the corner of her mouth in a slight smile. She remembered leaving a foster family in the middle of the night, jumping on a bus to go anywhere but there - and had ended up at the sea. It had just been her and the waves, starlight above, and sand between her toes as she sat on the beach. She’d been chilly, but she’d hardly noticed when everything felt so peaceful for once.

So Emma knew exactly what Killian meant, how the sea could soothe your worries, just for a minute at least. If only she weren’t stuck on it now, unable to reach that damned horizon.

“Guess that’s why you bought a ship, huh?”

Killian chuckled. “Aye - The Jolly’s been a better home than any house I could imagine.”

“The Jolly?” Emma repeated. “As in The Jolly Roger? Please don’t tell me you named your ship after Captain Hook’s.”

“Is there something so wrong in that?”

He sounded so defensive, Emma couldn’t help but smirk. “No, not at all. Hey, maybe that’s our problem - we should’ve taken your ship because Neverland can only be reached by a real pirate ship.”

“Bad form to tease a man about his ship, Swan.”

“Only teasing you about the name, Hook.”

“What, do you not have any childhood fairy tales that somehow stuck with you?”

Emma didn’t need to think long about that. The Princess Bride had always been her favourite film, but during her time at foster homes or group homes where films weren’t allowed, a certain series of books had always been her trusted companion.

“I guess I always liked Harry Potter,” Emma shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I’ve named my car after the golden snitch though.”

“But I imagine you’ve dreamt of going to Hogwarts from time to time.”

“Every kid does that.” Of course, he caught what she wasn’t saying. She’d been an orphan, stuck in lousy foster homes much like Harry. Dreaming of going to Hogwarts had been much more than a small wish.

She could have sworn the sun had only risen an hour ago, but already it began to sink towards the sea again. Emma didn’t feel that warm any more, but she drank the rest of her water, if only to have an excuse not to say anything.

“How old were you when you were adopted?”

It was a simple question, but Emma knew why he asked. He knew she hadn’t been adopted as a baby, or even as a toddler. It was a simple question, giving Emma a chance to answer and talk more about her childhood or just give him a number and leave it at that.

“Sixteen.”

Killian nodded curtly, asking no further questions. Perhaps that was the very reason Emma felt like telling him more.

“I was found on the side of the road in a baby blanket with my name on it - grew up in the foster system, back and forth through homes, never staying in one for more than a year.” She gave him the facts, straightforward. “So yeah, I’d dream about going to Hogwarts or finding out my life was some fairy tale. Discover my family had to leave me to save the world or something. But that never happened, did it? I’m just lucky Ingrid decided to keep me around. She’s all the family I’ll ever need in the end.”

She stopped there, not one to tell big tragic back-stories. Besides, Killian had already heard most of it by now. She didn’t need to say much more to know he understood.

Emma stared at the ripples in the sea, unaware of the way Killian looked at her. He wanted to say something, wanted to curl his arm around her and tuck her into his side. Not out of pity, on the contrary in fact - because he admired her so bloody much.

Instead, he turned to look at the ripples as well.

His eyes widened in realization.

“Bloody hell, Swan, that’s it!”

Emma looked at him, her face resembling a question mark. “What’s what?”

“Family!” he explained. “Emma, look - those ripples weren’t there before. There was no wind, no movement at all, but now the sea’s begun to stir.”

She seemed to understand a bit, but still looked rather questioning. “And what does family have to do with that?”

“In the tales, Neverland was always a place children forgot about their parents, their family, the life they’d left behind - at least for a little while. But they’ve got it all wrong; Neverland isn’t a place you go to forget your family, it’s a place you go to remember them.”

Killian stood to find his satchel, searching for Liam’s letters and opening one in particular.

“Look - amongst all the gibberish, Liam wrote the very last clue.” He crouched next to Emma, pointing at the two simple words Liam had used - amongst many others- to described Neverland: It’s family.

Emma looked from the letter to Killian. “So, what, you talk about your family and the sea starts moving?”

“Aye, thinking surely isn’t enough, for I’ve been thinking about Liam throughout every minute.”

“Uh, then let’s talk about family. I guess.”

Killian’s satchel caught her eye. Before he could respond with more than a scratch behind his ear, Emma had a better idea - even if it made her question her sanity. “The lullaby - you said it was one your mother used to sing to you, right?”

Killian nodded, already seeing where Emma was headed.

“Liam didn’t write that lullaby in one of those letters for nothing - he didn’t leave behind his music box for nothing. Killian...” she paused, looking as if she couldn’t believe what she was about to say, “Maybe you need to sing it to reach that island.”

“Does sound like something from a fairy tale,” Killian muttered. He straightened his legs again, standing up.

So... he really had to sing for them to get to Neverland? Well, awkward as it seemed with Emma sitting there, looking up at him, Killian could have thought of worse things to do.

He closed his eyes, letting the words of the lullaby find their way to his tongue. He knew it by heart, but hadn’t sung it in years. Standing there now, the sun setting on a silent sea, he was almost afraid to do so.

This had better work, he thought, licking his lips before opening his mouth.

In a sea of grey and blue, I’ll find my way to you, and I will make a bed of foam and sand. I’ll be there to hold your hand

Killian’s voice was soft, barely carrying through the air. With his eyes closed, he could see his mother before him, a faint ghost of a memory.

He opened his eyes when he felt the first gust of wind.

You’re a soul meant to be free, your home is with the sea, we’ll be safe there in the crashing storms, and I’ll hold you in my arms

He dared to glance at Emma, reflecting her smile as soon as he saw it. The wind picked up, taking hold of the sails.

Close your eyes and taste the salt, rest your head from thoughts of fault. Through the dreams of endless worlds to roam, together we’ll find home

Swiftly, through no other possible means than magic, the boat made its way through the water to the island. Killian felt as if he were soaring, the boat only gracing the surface of the sea. The three verses of the lullaby faded into a low hum, but the boat carried on through the water.

His smile broke into a laugh. It was insane - absolutely brilliant - but insane; he had sung his way to Neverland.

When Emma’s laughter joined his own, Killian could have sworn his heart started soaring as well. No sound could ever compete with that of her laughter. No moment in his life had ever felt this magical. Except, perhaps, when she’d kissed him the night before.

(He’d never tell her that though, knowing she’d call him a miserable sap.)

(The thought only made him smile more.)

Of all the things Emma had done, nothing would ever be as weird as sailing towards Neverland, the wind in their sails powered by song. And there was a sentence she never thought she’d say.

Within minutes, their boat reached the beach, gliding effortlessly through the sand until it came to a gentle stop. No sudden halt, no jerking movements.

Emma was either dreaming or dead. Nothing real could ever feel like that.

Too amazed by the magic of the island, neither she nor Killian noticed the small group of people gathered near the jungle at the edge of the beach; not until they stepped off the boat and looked to their right.

Emma’s first thought was that her dream had turned into a nightmare.

One man stepped forth, crossing the beach towards Emma and Killian. He wore different clothes than the rest of the people; a simple white dress shirt and dark pants. He had a somewhat stocky build, light skin and dark sandy hair, curled and tangled in the wind. Emma knew who he was from the moment she saw his eyes.

Liam.

“We saw your boat and thought we’d come and welcome you. I must say though, little brother, it took you quite a while to get here.”

Killian stared at him, eyes wide and jaw slack, as if he couldn’t really believe what he saw.

Emma couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t seen his brother for nine years - had almost thought him dead - and here he was, right in front of them. Looking healthy as ever. He spoke clearly, his accent resembling Killian’s. From what she’d heard of the supposed rambling crazy man, Liam wasn’t exactly what she had expected.

Killian quickly found his bearings again, clenching his jaw and narrowing his eyes at Liam.

“You mean younger brother. And bloody hell, who are you to talk about quite a while? I’m not the one who disappeared for nine years leaving nothing but idiotic clues. Not even an explanation.”

If Killian had only been angry, Emma would’ve been able to handle it. But the crack in his voice echoed a long-buried pain that made Emma turn her head away. She shouldn’t be there. She had no right to witness something like this. An intruder, that’s what she was.

“I’m sorry, Killian.” Liam’s words were genuine, but Emma understood why they weren’t quite enough for Killian.

“You’re sorry? Liam, you let me think you were dead. For years you didn’t bother to contact me, and when you did, it was only to write about Neverland - as if I care about this bloody island!”

“I wasn’t in my right mind, you know that, Killian -”

“But you were lucid enough to make a little life for yourself in Norway,” Killian cut off his brother.

“Yes, but only with Elsa’s help-”

“And you don’t think I could’ve helped?”

Liam paused before answering, staying calm throughout Killian’s anger.

“I didn’t want to burden you, brother - no, let me finish,” he held his hand up to stop Killian from cutting him off again. “When father died, you became my responsibility, Killian. Perhaps not in legal terms, but even before father’s death, your happiness and chance for a good life rested on me. I didn’t want you to ever think you weren’t good enough, Killian. I watched you grow and work hard at everything you did, and I couldn’t be more proud of you. But when I came back from my journey nine years ago, I couldn’t stand letting you see how broken I’d become; a shell of a man, just like father. I had strived to be your role model throughout all of your life; I couldn’t bear failing you like that.

“I see now, Killian, how wrong I was to leave without telling you everything, but I thought it was for the best. And the longer I stayed away, the less I thought you’d want to see me again. Elsa tried to get me to call you ever since she learned I had a brother, but you see; I couldn’t. I was scared, Killian. I was a coward, and I let you down, and for that I truly am sorry.”

Emma watched Killian’s jaw tick, tears brimming in his eyes. She almost felt like crying herself, thinking of those tv-shows Mary Margaret loved to watch, where people were reunited with their long-lost family. It seemed she’d caught the live version.

“You succeeded, you know,” Killian said, his voice small. “You were always my hero… and I’m beginning to accept that even heroes are allowed their flaws. Even cowardice.”

Emma saw the meaning of Killian’s words sink in as the tension from Liam’s shoulders lessened. A smile started to spread from the corner of his mouth, and before Emma could turn to gauge Killian’s thoughts, Killian surged forward to bring his arms around Liam in a tight hug. Liam returned it without hesitating, his grasp around Killian just as firm.

Emma wanted to look away, feeling awkward just standing there and looking at them, but for a moment she allowed herself to smile. When she couldn’t bear it anymore, her eyes flickered towards the waves now lapping at the shore. She wasn’t sure she’d be as quick as Killian to forgive her parents if she ever found them. Forgiveness in general had never been her strong suit. Then again, she’d forgiven Killian for all his lies, hadn’t she?

She glanced at the brothers again, Mary Margaret’s words coming to mind; forgiveness itself might be the hardest thing ever, but in the end, it will rarely make your life harder to live.

“You could have been less of a pain in the ass about leaving that trail though,” Killian said as they pulled away from each other.

Liam only laughed. “I had to make it hard, didn’t I? And if you managed to figure it out, it can’t have been too difficult anyways.”

“I doubt I’d have figured it all out without Swan here.”

Emma tensed as both brothers turned to look at her. She felt a blush creeping up, and hoped to god she didn’t look as red as she felt.

“Ah right, I think it’s about time you properly introduced me to the lovely lady, little brother” Liam smiled, holding his hand out for Emma’s.

“I’m Emma Swan,” she introduced herself as she took his hand.

“A pleasure to meet you, Emma,” Liam said, and gave her hand a small peck. She should have known he’d be a charmer just like his brother.

“Nice to finally meet you too.” Knowing that she’d been searching for this man for the past week because she wanted him to sign some documents was almost laughable. And it was impossible now, knowing that the documents were in her suitcase in Kristoff’s car, somewhere on the west-coast of Norway. And she really didn’t give a damn about them anymore anyway.

“Now what prompted you to help my brother find Neverland? Surely it couldn’t have been for my - or his - benefit.”

Emma wondered how to explain everything with a few words.

“Actually, it’s kind of a long story.”

“You’ll have to share it with me some time,” Liam smiled.

“Perhaps when there’s not a rather large group of strangers staring at us,” Killian cut in, bringing Emma’s attention back to the group of people that, indeed, were still standing on the beach, looking at them. She felt kind of relieved though - at least she hadn’t been the only one staring at a private moment between brothers unfold.

“Those would be the people of Neverland,” Liam explained.

One of the women stepped forth when she saw Emma, Killian and Liam had turned towards them. She crossed the sand, and Liam met her halfway, Emma and Killian just behind.

“Tiger Lily, this is my little brother Killian and Miss Emma Swan.”

The woman - Tiger Lily - nodded her greeting, keeping her arms folded a few inches in front of her. She reminded Emma of a Native American, as did the rest of the people staying near the shade of the trees. Weren’t the inhabitants of Neverland Indians too in the stories? And wasn’t there a Tiger Lily involved as well? Perhaps this Neverland wasn’t as different as the one she knew as a child.

Emma and Killian returned Tiger Lily’s nod, both unsure of how to proceed.

“Pleased to meet you, Killian - Liam has spoken of you several times. I’m not certain I’ve heard your name before, Emma, but be sure, you’re just as welcome to our island,” Tiger Lily smiled. “I believe you call it Neverland.”

“That we do,” Killian answered, finding his charming self and smiling back at Tiger Lily. Emma saw right through it though - whenever Killian wasn’t sure what to do or how to act, he’d try and flirt his way out of it.

“A strange name if you ask me.”

“What do you call it?” Emma asked.

Tiger Lily looked at her and smiled again, a fiery glint in her eye. “Home.”

Well, that was a practical name at least.

“Our ancestors discovered the island centuries ago, after sailing on open seas for months on end, unknowingly having entered a certain pocket of the world where realms meet once every few centuries,” Liam said. “They called the island Neverland, as they’d thought they’d never see land again.”

“Clever,” Killian said, dryly. “They were the ones who forged the objects, aye?”

“Yes - and founded The Brothers Jones which passed on through the family along with the stories of their adventures.”

“The objects you speak of were forged here actually,” Tiger Lily said. “A gift from my ancestors to yours, to help them find their way back home. It seems though, that they work both ways, and in the wrong hands, those objects pose quite the danger to the peace of our island.”

“Which is why our uncle and I decided it was best I hid them properly once we discovered the stories about them were true,” Liam elaborated.

“And I’m guessing once you’ve already been here, you don’t need them to come here again, or else you wouldn’t be here,” Emma said, looking at Liam.

“Precisely.”

“However you have the objects with you now, I trust,” Tiger Lily surmised.

“Aye, they’re in my satchel,” Killian nodded towards the boat.

“Perfect. Then we can finally get around to healing your brother properly.”

What?

Liam chuckled at Tiger Lily’s bluntness - or perhaps at Emma’s and Killian’s perplexed looks. Before either could ask, Liam answered their question.

“You’ve met Elsa, I presume, or talked to her at least.”

Both Emma and Killian nodded.

“I believe she told you the nature of my illness and this ring that kept me alive?”

They nodded again.

“Well, the ring was meant to keep the poison of the nightshade from reaching my heart, but it wasn’t as efficient as we could have hoped. I lost part of my sanity and with time, the magic of the ring wore off. As long as I’m here in Neverland, I’ll live. But if I want to leave this island alive, they need the magic in those objects to create the proper cure.”

“In the process, the objects and their purpose will be destroyed, meaning that no one - not even you - can return to Neverland,” Tiger Lily added.

“A small price to pay for my brother’s life.”

“It’s probably for the best actually,” Emma said, thinking of how Gold wouldn’t ever be able to fulfill his plans of turning Neverland into his own personal stock.

“Then let’s not waste more time,” Tiger Lily said.

Killian went to get his satchel from the boat. They left their coats behind - traversing Neverland in clothes meant for Norway did not sound ideal.

While the rest of the inhabitants of Neverland that had come to see Emma and Killian turned towards their village, Tiger Lily led them to a place she called Dark Hallow. A pretty ominous name, if you asked Emma.

Neverland was mostly one big jungle. Liam and Tiger Lily said there were open fields on the other side of the island, and cliffs with several hidden caves, both large and small.

Killian asked a lot of questions about the island. Emma preferred to stay silent, soaking everything in. She was still half-convinced she was dreaming. Something about the heat made her feel dizzy, and the further they ventured into the jungle, the more Emma’s head started to hurt.

“Everything alright, love?” Killian asked, sagging behind with Emma, just enough so that Liam and Tiger Lily wouldn’t listen in. Emma was surprised that Killian would even take the time to talk to her, what with finally having found his brother after nine years. You’d think he’d rather talk to Liam than her.

“I’m fine. It’s just all a bit much,” Emma added, knowing Killian wouldn’t be satisfied with a simple ‘I’m fine’.

He handed her a water bottle from his satchel. “Aye, it’s a lot to take in. At least they’re a peaceful folk.”

Emma drank several mouthfuls and handed the bottle back to Killian. He drank a few mouthfuls as well.

Killian was right - they were a peaceful folk. Emma didn’t make a habit of trusting people easily, especially not in situations like this, but well, she’d never actually been in a situation like this. And though she stayed wary, she didn’t really think there was a reason to worry. She just didn’t want to be caught with her guard down.

Ahead of them, Lily hacked her way through a couple of overgrown bushes. She was always sure to point out which plants to avoid touching, lest they ended up with another person to heal.

“How are you holding up?” Emma asked Killian in return.

“If I’m entirely honest, I could do with a glass of rum right about now.”

“I don’t blame you there.”

They continued to walk in a companionable silence, the path soon becoming too narrow for them to walk alongside each other. Killian let Emma pass first. She almost wished he hadn’t though; it irked her to have him walk behind her, him able to see her but not the other way around. Not that Killian made her uncomfortable, on the contrary actually. She had gotten too comfortable around him, and not having him in her line of sight only made her think about him more.

“I was meaning to ask actually,” Liam turned around, mainly addressing Killian, “how is our dear uncle? I hope he wasn’t so austere he denied helping you find the objects.”

Emma all but froze mid-step. She didn’t need to look at Killian to know he probably felt the same uncertainty about how to proceed.

In the end, Liam’s question led to Killian explaining how Barrie’s death meant Liam now owned the family business - and that’s where Emma entered the picture, explaining how she was actually the lawyer working on getting the business sold. Not that she intended to follow through on that any more though, she quickly added.

Liam clearly had more questions, but Tiger Lily interrupted before he could ask them.

They had reached Dark Hollow.

Emma understood the name now. The trees were so thick and all but knit together, letting no sun- or starlight pass through their leaves. The ground was a bumpy weave of roots and Emma had to take care not to stumble and fall.

Killian had his flashlight, and Tiger Lily had somehow procured a torch, lighting the way to a small clearing, that wasn’t really a clearing at all. Branches overhead still blocked the view to the sky. A few vines hung from the trees, and roots still covered the entire forest floor. It wasn’t as much a clearing as, well, a hollow.

“Why here?” Emma asked. “I mean, it looks more like a place you’d murder someone, not cure them.”

Tiger Lily chuckled. As if things weren’t creepy enough. Emma readied herself to make a run for it soon, if need be.

“We call it the darkest place on the island.” Yeah, you’re only proving my point by saying that, Emma thought. “And you’re right; it doesn’t seem the obvious place to heal someone. Usually, one would think of a field under the stars or a bed of flowers. But this place has its own charms, you’ll see.”

Tiger Lily turned to Killian, asking for the objects. He handed them over to her and she placed them on a tree stump in the middle of the hollow. At her request, Killian turned off his flashlight and the three of them stood around the stump, Liam placing his hand on the compass. Where Emma and Killian were rather suspicious and wary of the whole ordeal, Liam seemed perfectly calm. As if he knew what was about to happen.

“I can promise this will be quick, but I’m not sure it will be painless,” Tiger Lily said, and before Emma could say something or even think about getting the hell out of there, Tiger Lily thrust her torch towards the sky.

The leaves parted above them. Moonlight danced through, like tiny particles spinning down towards them, and for a second, Emma was spellbound. Her eyes met Killian’s, seeing the same daze that she felt.

And she saw his panic the moment she felt the pain sear through her own body. As if something was being ripped from her - or no, she was being ripped from something else. The ground shook beneath her and she struggled to breathe.

On instinct, she reached for Killian’s hand as he reached for hers.

Their fingers almost touching, Emma blinked.

And when she opened her eyes again, the light was gone. The trees had vanished and neither Killian nor Liam stood beside her anymore. The ground still rocked beneath her - except there was no ground. Only planks.

She was on the boat again.

Clouds covered the night sky, and a brisk wind hit her face. Only then did she notice that she was wearing her coat again, her beanie as well.

Emma had a strong feeling she wasn’t in Neverland anymore. But where were -

“Bloody hell.”

Emma whirled around to see Killian standing by the helm.

She’d never felt so relieved in her entire life.

Killian went from seeing a blinding white light to crisp white sails, to the dark sea around him.

And then there was Emma.

Swan whirled around, eyes wide. Bloody hell, she was a sight to behold. He couldn’t block out the image of her panicking when the pain that took hold of him must have taken hold of her too, but it washed away when he saw that she was alright. She was alright.

She was wearing her beanie again, he noticed. And her coat. And he was wearing his own, come to think of it.

Emma looked everything from confused to relieved and he felt much the same. But they were out of Neverland. They-

No.

“Where’s Liam?” The relief he felt faded into a new bout of panic.

Emma opened her mouth as a hand clasped his shoulder. “Worry not, little brother. I’m right here.”

Killian turned around to meet Liam’s grin. Once again, relief washed over him, accompanied by immense joy. Killian wrapped his brother in a hug, both of them laughing as they finally started to calm down.

Killian turned to Emma again, wanting nothing more than to wrap her in a hug as well and not let go for hours. She was pointing at the water though.

Or rather, the harbour.

“Looks like we’re back,” Emma said.

“Aye.”

Between the three of them, getting the boat docked - even in the dark of night - was no problem. Liam spotted the boat he’d sailed to Neverland with a month ago, and Killian felt relief on the behalf of Kristoff’s cousins.

Everything had turned out just the way it was meant to. Everything was going to be okay.

They weren’t sure where to go, but anywhere with food, some warmth, and a couple of beds sounded heavenly. Liam mentioned calling Elsa to tell her they were back, alive and well.

They never made it to the end of the pier though.

Blocking their way stood three people, one of which Killian had hoped never to see again.

Gold.

#csbb #my writings #when the tide turns #cs ff #cs fanfic #chapter 14 #another cliffhanger I'm afraid :D #it's time to finally reach neverland though!#and perhaps meet a certain Jones brother....#enjoy!

35 notes · View notes

stevedonnellyfaith-blog · 5 years

Text

Sacred Song (Post 101) 8-12-15

Natalie and I have continued our game of YouTube tag throughout the last several weeks. It passed the time nicely on our Maryland excursion, but we have also found that it is pretty fun to play on short expeditions as well. The pop music stations that Natalie prefers become drearily repetitious when we don’t break things up, although it is entertaining to listen to her accompany the artist as a background singer. Sometimes Nicholas sings along to his music as well, but I probably shouldn’t disclose that. Playing music on YouTube instead means that I can intertwine songs that I like in between the sandwich ends of inevitable Taylor Swift anthems.

One night last week we carried the game of tune tit-for-tat that we were playing on our phone into the house, across the kitchen and to the breakfast table where my mother was getting ready to serve my father his supper. Curious and knowing that he likes all things Gaelic, I pulled up a video of a scene from the movie Empire of the Sun in which a young British lad stands at attention and salutes through the barbed wire fence of a Japanese internment camp singing the Welsh lullaby Suo Gan as zeros takeoff into the sun. For me Suo Gan is a particularly haunting song because the melody is the same as the hymn Christ Before Us which I first encountered on my Emmaus weekend nearly two years ago. Hearing a particular hymn at a peculiarly emotional time can add a spiritual impact to a song for a specific person that it may not have for other people. Morning Has Broken can similarly bring tears to my eyes, because it was sung at Pam’s funeral service.

As it turned out my father’s love of Gaelic music did not include any special feelings towards the Welsh classic, but we did share some memories about walking into an English church in some town that I could not recall where we arrived just in time for an afternoon rehearsal of the parish boys’ choir. They were very talented. The idea of pulling up hymns on YouTube did intrigue my father, surprisingly. He asked me to play Jesus I Come for him, which, he explained, was the hymn they were playing at the Tremont Baptist Church when he entered there for the first time. My mother had evidently invited him to her church when they were dating. My father agreed; he would have also probably agreed to try bungee jumping had my mother suggested it and that particular form of stupidity existed anywhere else other than in the Australian outback at the time of their 1960’s courtship. Instead of the Sunday morning’s boredom that my father probably expected, he experienced a powerful intervention by the Holy Spirit into his life through the gateway of a beautiful hymn sung by a talented choir.

So I searched his request, queued up the hymn, hit play and passed him his favorite sacred music on the little midget screen of the IPhone5 that I most often use for scrolling Facebook. Although the music didn’t sound special to me, it caught my 78 year old father like fly-paper. He sat transfixed at the breakfast table totally oblivious to me and to the usual bustle of my family interacting about our kitchen at dinner time. The kids could have been having chicken fights and he would not have noticed. As far as I could tell, my father was 650 miles and 60 years eastward sitting in a pew in a famous New England church with the girl he loved, encountering awesome beauty of Jesus Christ sung about him by angelic voices. I wished that he could stay there for longer than the odd five minutes of the hymn. I envied him. For a time he was through the looking glass or had tumbled through the fur coats of the magic wardrobe that I often hope to find but rarely do.

You would think that it would be easier to have that type of heavenly experience than it usually turns out to be. I had hoped for a trip back through the years to simpler times on the family excursion we took to a Cleveland Indians game last Friday night. Nicholas, Natalie, Stephen and I made the trip, but it didn’t turn out quite as I had planned. First of all I was very tired, having worked some early and long days on Monday through Thursday completing a project that we had begun almost a month before. Things were also progressing well with our house purchase. It seemed like a good chance for some family-style rest and relaxation. Also the Tribe was having a dollar hot dog night promotion with a fireworks show as a nightcap. Our plan seemed all in order.

Like a good father, I had wielded the proposed trip as a motivating sledgehammer thought the preceding week. Stephen, for instance, because of his illness, habitually complains about small or imagined injuries like blackouts and falling out of bed on a near continual basis. The last week he had added mysterious arm stiffness to his list of hypochondriac symptoms. Whenever I offered to delay our trip until he felt better, his maladies made an immediate improvement. Stephen is gravitationally attracted towards quality meat products at entirely too reasonable a price-point. He is not above taste testing gas station sushi so dollar hot dog night is right up his alley.

Natalie was also on her best behavior throughout the week. She was quite excited on Friday night when I arrived home from the boomerang ride of my Youngstown round trip. That is when the threads of my carefully woven plan began to unravel. I had arrived home early and, unfortunately, exhausted, hoping to catch a quick cat-nap before H hour. Unbeknownst to me, Nicholas had committed me to driving over to my brother’s house to pick up Abby’s car for which my father was paying to have a stereo installed as a birthday present. I stayed awake for the mini-excursion that set us off our Cleveland bound time schedule by about an hour. We would be significantly late. Strike one.

Still, we were a happy bunch as we drove towards the RTA Station on Shaker Blvd (RTA is Cleveland’s BART.) Natalie and I sat together. Nicholas and Stephen sat separately as Stephen had acquired a case of oppressive halitosis that he attributed to dry mouth from his medication. Natalie and I talked quietly until our train came to a kerchunking halt at an interchange station for us. Natalie, Nicholas and I assembled in column formation in the aisle. I looked over to Stephen to see why he was not following. I could see that he had adopted a posture to arise, but was stuck in place. He was frozen and I could tell that he was experiencing a focal seizure, the malady that he had been reporting to the disbelieving me for the last several weeks. I had watched Pam have hundreds of focal and full seizures during the period of time between her two brain surgeries. Like my dad’s trip back to Boston, I was transported to another place and time as I watched my son struggle to stand, a time that I had hoped never to visit again. Father Groeschel would describe that location as a point on the pathway inclining up a hill called Calvary.

Because he finally stood after a few dozen seconds and showed no ill effects, we decided to proceed to the game despite the scare. I think I am glad we proceeded; it was an excellent and terrible outing all at once. We got there late, but the seats were the best that I have ever bought – that’s what happens when Nicholas goes to the box office with my credit card. Interestingly we discovered that Natalie despises hot dogs, but will eat three in close succession when she is starving and Nicholas is buying American sausages like he is feeding Slimer from the movie Ghost Busters. Stephen had another focal seizure with a similarly quick recovery when one of the Indians unexpectedly knocked a hanging curve into the bleachers to tie the game late. It was an Indians game, though, so they lost in the ninth inning on a home run to a Twins outfielder that is old enough to have been in high school while I was in college. Happy that Stephen had made it through the game without a more significant medical incident we headed home without waiting for the fireworks.

So it is Tuesday, as I write this. I am in the ER with Stephen to get his condition checked out. He seems to be OK, but without a local doctor, the ER seemed the quickest alternative to get blood work, a CAT scan and access to medical specialists without the bureaucracy of referrals. Frankly, I don’t care to be in another hospital, ever, but I realize that this is a necessary trip. I would feel better if Father Luke from St John Vianny in Walnut Creek would happen in soon to anoint Stephen and pray with us, but I think we are out of his jurisdiction. John Muir was tough to revisit for Nicholas’ treatment, anyway, but it was also seemed as comfortable as an old shoe, albeit with the possibility of a chance meeting transporting me back to a good or bad place in another lifetime.

Today things turned out well with no bad news in either Stephen’s scans or labs. I drove him home later after discharge thankful that he is relatively healthy. We stopped on the way back at Arby’s and at one of the parishes that we might eventually choose as our own to visit Jesus in Adoration. On the road again towards Streetsboro, I reconsidered again why all this inconvenience might have happened knowing that Stephen’s actual health remains largely the same. Sure it was good to get him checked out, discover a good hospital and get assigned a family doctor for a follow-up visit, but why was I put through this dry run of worry and fear for the umpteenth time. Was God holding me back a grade for some lesson that I should have learned one, two or three years ago?

Then I remembered the conversation that I overheard among the doctors at the nursing station from my perch by the door of Stephen’s transient ER suite. They were preparing to inform a patient and family that multiple unexplained lumps had been discovered throughout the lungs in some other poor patient’s scan. Thoughtfully, I removed the mini rosary that I had received at Emmaus from its place on my dashboard and prayed a Divine Mercy Chaplet for another family that got bad news while Stephen and I received our discharge paperwork.

#God #Jesus #The Holy Spirit #The Virgin Mary #Sacred Song #Christ Before Us #Suo Gan #Emmaus #hymnal #Morning Has Broken #Jesus I Come #The Lion the witch and the wadrobe #Divine Mercy #Father Groeschel #Calvary #Father Luke #St John Vianny

0 notes

slaytencio-blog · 7 years

Text

something about you.

there’s something about you that i’ll always be in love with. there’s something about you that will make me keep coming back. there’s something about you that sets you apart from the rest. there’s something about you that you thought was unlovable and i fell deeply in love with it.

you have so many aspects that i fell for , every single aspect makes me fall deeper and deeper.

maybe the thought of waking up next to you, is what i’ll always be in love with.

maybe how we could fall asleep singing to each other, keeps making me run back.

maybe your ocean blue eyes are what sets you apart from everyone else.

maybe your jealousy , or clinginess is what you though was unlovable but i sit here everyday missing and adoring it.

maybe there 100’s of things that make me want to come back.

Here is 100

1. Your smile , how it can easily put a smile on my face. The thought of your smile brightens my day.

2. Your ocean blue eyes, how i get lost in them. I can see my future in your eyes.

3. Your laugh, is my favorite melody, i would without a doubt listen to it on replay if i could.

4. Your kisses , i quickly became addicted to your lips on mine .

5. Your presence , something about it calms my soul.

6. Your scars , showing how unique you are. How strong you are.

7. Your dimple , the one thing that stood out to me in the very beginning.

8. Your heart , its golden. It has a spark, that hopefully will never die out.

9. Your mind , it’s a wonderland , full of unspoken things. Holding in emotions and thoughts that only you will understand.

10. Your teeth, one bigger than others on the lower set. Top set straight as can be, as shiny as pearls.

11. Your hair , naturally curly, with an admirable flow.

12. Your ability to stay up hours after hitting your limit, all those late night calls. Mumbling words , but knowing exactly what the other said.

13. Your slang, something I caught onto.

14. Your voice , like a lullaby , so precious and graceful.

15. Your style , wanna be bad girl, but just a girly girl.

16. Your taste in music , something we have in common. I’ve never been fond of classical , but something about watching you sing and dance to it made it my favorite genre.

17. Your strength, physically it’s growing as you grow. Mentally it’s remarkable. You are the strongest person i’ve ever met.

18. Your intelligence , when you start to ramble about something your passionate in, there’s no stopping you.

19. Your work ethic, when you set your mind to it, it will get done to its best ability.

20. Your confidence , days go by and you are okay with who you see in the mirror. But at least once a week , you wake up and realize you acquire true beauty and you show it.

21. Your love for children , thriving to be a kindergarten teacher shows just how much you love them.

22. Your mesmerizing grin , could get you anything you want.

23. Your four year old self , throwing tantrums and asking to have play dates. Adoring fairies , believing in the good in the world.

24. Your past, bringing you to this exact moment reading down a list of reasons i keep coming back. Your past shaping you but you not becoming your past.

25. Your forgiveness , you give endless chances and believe everyone can grow.

26. Your ability to put a smile on everyday, even after everything you’ve been through.

27. Your eating schedule , one that does not exist. You are the absolute worst at eating correctly, but something about it makes me want to take you to a buffet at 2am just to see you stuff your face with cookies and cake.

28. Your encouragement , when a friend asks for help or support you’re always there to give it.

29. How open minded you are , always willing to take new ideas and such.

30. How good you are with children, watching you get along with my younger siblings made me fall more in love with you.

31. How you can speak Russian , hearing you speak another language , saying you love me in it. Has got to be one of my favorites. “ya tebya leublu”

32. Your inability to stay focused on one thing for longer than 2 minutes.

33. Your humor , similar to mine.

34. Your ability to get me to laugh, had me head over heels for you on day one.

35. Your love for the Divergent series , showed me you were capable of getting lost in a book.

36. How you get jealous about small things , which you don’t have to worry about.

37. Your family, man will i miss your crazy Jewish Russian family.

38. Your ability to box me, but still be scared to hit me.

39. You and your crazy Russian foods.

40. How you deliberately tell me to go just so I can chase you.

41. Your hugs , I feel safe in your arms.

42. Your ability to wink like a dork, which I find absolutely adorable.

43. How you could spend hours on FaceTime with me and never get tired of me.

44. Your collection of stuffed animals , that you chose to share with me.

45. The smell of your house , every time I got there I knew everything was okay.

46. Your scared cat Leo, who has only ever let me touch him once out of 7 months.

47. How we could laugh for hours and hours about one simple joke.

48. How you take 50 minute showers and think it’s normal.

49. When you used to put charcoal face masks on over FaceTime.

50. Your ability to spend countless hours typing or writing about me, which I loved so much.

51. How crazy in love with me you were.

52. Your caring friends , that would blow my phone up with texts.

53. Your fingers, they were so long yet so skinny.

54. Your body, how perfect it was in my head.

55. How you would go against your teacher rules and FaceTime me in the middle of class.

56. How we would wake up exactly at the same time , its was like psychic or something.

57. How you have been my person for the last 7 months for everything.

58. How you would hang up on your BEST friends for me because I’m needy and I always wanted to talk.

59. How you handled my clinginess so well.

60. How you offered to pay for everything because you knew I never had money.

61. The way your little how are you hairs was like a black girls curly hair.

62. How you love animals and are so caring for them.

63. How we can be using the bathroom on FaceTime and it’s normal.

64. How your bladder isn’t that shy anymore around me.

65. How when you stand up too quick you get dizzy.

66. Your inability to beat me in arm wrestling.

67. Your stretch marks , they're one of my favorite things about you.

68. The fact you don't fall asleep on you stomach, except for the night at my house. [1.21.17]

69. How your biggest fear is the Orange Flame Monster.

70. How our lucky number is 2, 22.

71. Your desire to look good on days you go out.

72. How amazing you look without make up, but with it on you always look stunning.

73. When you wear beanies, I lose my breath.

74. How you feel free while swimming because Papa AK.

75. How you don't have a middle name , gives me a reason not to get mad at you cause I usually call people by their full name when I'm mad.

76. How you were deaf for some time when you were born.

77. How even though you're terrified of spiders, you offered to kill them for me.

78. How you endlessly make my tummy explode with the entire zoo.

79. How we can go from lovey to joking in seconds.

80. How no matter how many failed attempts we had when we tried seeing each other we always made up for it the one time we could.

81. How on our first date we marked our territory in the bathroom.

82. How I'm 110% comfortable with you and can be myself.

83. How our FaceTime record is currently at 14.5 hours and we adored each other for all 868 minutes.

84. How we would get lost in each other eyes and everything seemed perfect.

85. How we grew together as people.

86. How you encouraged me to be a better student.

87. How we could spam each other hundreds of text and never get annoyed.

88. How we've shared 1000's of secrets over the past 7 months and all have been kept.

89. How you tried so so so so hard to teach me Russian. Ya tochna ya tebya leubleu pathamoshtha thee crasivia.

90. How all our inside jokes always had amazing memories to go along with them. CHIPMUNK.

91. How we loved each other endlessly even through all the arguments and fights.

92. How we always managed to end every fight with "I love you".

93. How you were my best friend and my girlfriend all in one.

94. How my friends loved you almost as much as I love you.

95. How all our nick names had a special meaning behind all of them. Dory, Boo.

96. How well we both got along with each other's family.

97. How we spent your first PDays together. And rode the ferries wheel, and we some what got that kiss.

98. How we have a bucket list which can still be completed.

99. How we always knew what to say to cheer the other up, and always supported each other.

100. How even after 100 reasons listed , they only go over an 8th of the things about you that make me keep coming back.

something about you , is an understatement because everything about you is what makes me keep coming back. [ek.]

2 notes · View notes

ravenclawlitza · 7 years

Photo

❛ ye olde coven of dusty bones, a d&d 5e party

original party for DUNGEONS & DRAGONS fifth edition

LEON BADAMDORJ • music box artisan artificer engineer wizard MARGARET THATCHER • gunslinger soldier artificer engineer wizard MEI “GOTHEL” QIAO • herbologist artificer alchemist wizard monk BENNY HAVARAK • sage librarian abjuration wizard

leon:

ABILITY SCORES: str 11, dex 14, con 10, int 18, wis 13, cha 12

CHARACTER SCORES: hp 78, ac 12, level 15, hd 15d8, prof +5

PROFICIENT SKILLS: arcana, history, investigation, insight, persuasion

WONDROUS INVENTIONS: these beautiful gold-filigreed music box are hand-crafted with ivory handles and delicate runes carved through their sides, revealing glimpses of impossibly intricate and tiny golden gears within. as an action, he can drop a pinch of fine sand, rose petals, or a cricket into one of the music boxes, and crank it to play a lullaby that triggers a sleep spell, the first and smallest music box effecting 5d8 hit points, the second effecting 7d8, the third 9d8, and the fourth 11d8. leon is the only one able to use these magic boxes and each can be used only once per long rest.

INFUSE MAGIC: he can channel his artificer spells into objects for later use. when he casts an artificer spell with a casting time of 1 action, he can increase its casting time to 1 minute holding a nonmagical music box throughout the casting, expending a spell slot. none of the spell’s effects occur and the spell instead transfers into the music box for later use. any creature holding the music box thereafter can use an action to play the box if that creature has an intelligence score of at least 6. the spell is cast using your spellcasting ability and must be used within 8 hours. you can only infuse 4 spells at a time.

WORKSHOP: a dusty pack lays forgotten in one corner, the majority of the room taken up with several large wooden tables and workbenches polished to a smooth finish and high shine, littered with tinkers’ tools, thieves’ tools, smith’s tools, and a few music boxes in various states of dismantlement. studded leather armor hangs on a wooden bust in a corner with a light crossbow and quiver of 20 crossbow bolts mounted on the wall. a square, squat locked safe made of dark, heavy metal rests on the floor in a third corner of the room, half-covered with a haphazardly folded, faded quilt. he remains largely oblivious to the problems of the world outside his workshop, preferring to immerse himself fully in his work and loath to ever leave his workshop.

margaret:

ABILITY SCORES: str 14, dex 14, con 10, int 16, wis 14, cha 14

CHARACTER SCORES: hp 78, ac 15, level 15, hd 15d8, prof +5

PROFICIENT SKILLS: athletic, sleight of hand, history, investigation, perception, intimidation

WHEEL BEAST: she has created a mechanical construct that obeys her commands without hesitation. it is a large construct with ac 12, hp 44, speed 50ft, blindsight 60ft, perception +3, stealth +6. str 17, dex 15, con 13, int 3, wis 12, cha 8. the wheel beast has advantage on attack rolls against a creature if at least one of the wheel beast’s allies is within 5 feet of the creature and isn’t incapacitated. as an action, the wheel beast can make a 5 foot reach slashing (+5 1d6+3) or piercing (+5 1d8+3) attack with the metal spikes bristling from its front wheel. if it moves at least 20 feet straight toward a target right before hitting it with a +5 1d6+3 slashing attack, the target must succeed on a strength saving throw vs 13 or be knocked prone. if the target is prone, the wheel beast can take a bonus action to make one +5 1d8+3 piercing attack against it. as part of its movement and after a 10 foot running start, the wheel beast can long jump up to 25 feet. attached to the wheel beast are jump cannons, metal canisters that can be used for one minute to triple the wheel beast’s jump distance before the fuel is used up and it must cool and be refueled after a long rest. attached are also fast cannons, metal canisters that ignite to give a boost of 10 feet extra speed per round for one hour until the fuel is used up and it must cool and be refueled after a long rest. marg is the only person who can activate these cannons and keep them working.

THUNDER CANNON: she has forged a deadly firearm using a combination of arcane magic and her knowledge of engineering and metallurgy. her weapon permanently gains the thunder monger modification, and she may have two additional modifications applied at a time. the thunder cannon has +7 to attack, dealing 2d6+2 piercing magical damage. it has the reloading property, is two-handed, and has a range of 150/500. she gains a +2 bonus to ranged attack rolls using a scope. as an action, she can make a special attack to deal an extra 7d6 thunder damage on a hit. or, as an action, she can make a special attack to deal 3d6 force damage in a 15 foot cone. each target in the cone must succeed on a strength saving throw vs 16 or take damage and be pushed 10 feet away.

RESIDENCE: she has a garage connected to benny’s workshop for her wheel beast and barrels of fuel, most of her possessions strapped onto the wheel beast in case of a need for emergency departure. her room is the smallest upstairs, a nostalgic reminder of her army years, and she keeps her thunder cannon mounted on the wall above her cot while she sleeps, just within arm’s reach. she still possesses the sort of toughness and grit reminiscent of her soldier years, and is fiery and incorrigible, facing problems head-on and considering simple, direct solutions the best path to success. she is usually the one to take adventures and keep the rest of the party moving, refusing to give in to old age and obscurity. she considers those who fight beside her worth dying for, though she’d rather eat her armor than admit when she’s wrong.

gothel:

ABILITY SCORES: str 12, dex 16, con 14, int 20, wis 18, cha 14

CHARACTER SCORES: hp 108, ac 16, level 15 (monk 5, wizard 10), hd 15d8, prof +5

PROFICIENT SKILLS: history, religion, insight, medicine, perception, persuasion

ALCHEMIST: over the course of a short rest, she can temporarily improve the potency of one potion of healing of any rarity. if the potion is drunk no more than one hour after the short rest ends, the creature drinking the potion can forgo the roll and regain the maximum number of hit points the potion can restore. due to her old age, she must consume one improved potion a day or suffer three levels of exhaustion, gaining disadvantage on ability checks, saving throws, and attack rolls, and having her speed reduced by half. she has also created an alchemist's satchel that contains reagents she can use to create a variety of concoctions. she can pull from it alchemical acid, healing draughts, swift step draughts, tanglefoot bags, and thunderstones.

MONK TRAINING: she has trained in the way of the kensei, proficient with unarmed strikes and a katana, able to attack twice on each attack action, and able to expend ki points to make extra attacks, dodge, disengage, dash, double her jump distance, deflect or catch missiles, make a stunning strike, deal extra damage, and block using her katana.

RESIDENCE: possessing her own separate apartment beside leon, benny, and margaret, she prefers her solitude and enjoys working in peace and quiet. her rooms are simple yet refined, beautifully styled in the traditional decor of her native land, with bamboo window blinds and white paper lanterns. her basement cellar is filled with planter basins of mushrooms and bundles of drying herbs and flowers, the ground floor containing a spacious living room, kitchen, and door to a fenced in outdoor garden, with her private quarters and alchemy lab located on the upper floor. one of the windows of her bedroom faces margaret’s across a narrow alleyway, her kitchen containing a sidedoor that leads across the alleyway directly into margaret’s garage, where gothel’s wheel beast is also stored. regal and no-nonsense, she nevertheless is very intelligent and wise, seeming to know everything about everything, and has a certain weakness for imparting advice to young girls she deems worthy.

benny:

ABILITY SCORES: str 6, dex 8, con 12, int 16, wis 16, cha 18

CHARACTER SCORES: hp 78, ac 9, level 15, hd 15d6, prof +5

PROFICIENT SKILLS: arcana, history, investigation, insight, persuasion

ABJURATION WIZARD: he can weave magic into an arcane ward when he casts an abjuration spell of 1st level or higher (alarm) with a hit point maximum of 33. whenever he takes damage, the ward takes the damage instead, and whenever you cast an abjuration spell of 1st level or higher, the ward regains a number of hit points equal to twice the level of the spell. he can absorb the damage dealt to an ally within 30 feet of him that he can see with the shield with his reaction, and has advantage on saving throws against spells and resistance against the damage of spells.

ARTHRITIS: benny has learned many, many spells over his long years of study and experience, but he can no longer cast most spells that require a somatic component because of arthritis and tremors in his hands. some spells, like teleportation circle, he cannot cast because they require precise drawing of runes that he is no longer capable of, though there are somatic spells he can still cast as rituals by taking his time or getting assistance from his party members. he is still able to cast light, mending, message, feather falls, blindness/deafness, blur, darkness, knock, misty step, suggestion, tongues, dimension door, contact other plane, geas, irresistible dance, mass suggestion, and teleport, and is excellent at getting the group out of tight places.

RESIDENCE: nestled between leon's workshop and margaret's garage, benny shares space with his grandson, roman, who has cluttered the majority of their ground floor workshop with bolts of lace, cotton, velvet, brocade, and every other material imaginable, sacks of colorful feathers, piles of ribbon and gauze and multicolored thread, and stuffed sack busts draped with strange clothing in various states of completion. the upstairs of leon, benny, and margaret’s place is stuffed full of hundreds of benny’s books, and his raven jake has the run of the place, sleeping in benny and roman's room, across from leon's and margaret’s. elderly and kind, there's nothing about benny that isn't friendly and genuine, and he's always willing to lend a hand and share his craft with anyone interested.

#d&d character #leon #margaret #benny #gothel #ye olde coven of dusty bones #d&d party

1 note · View note

dreaminglee · 7 years

Text

Pentagon Hogwarts!AU

Gryffindor :

1. Hui

Sorted to Gryffindor in an instant, all of his family was Gryffindor student as well.

Courage and brave, ready to take a bullet for his friends.

Leader of the famous Frog Choir.

Sometimes reckless.

Well-liked and known by everyone, who doesn’t know the main vocalist-slash-the Leader of Frog Choir?!

Aside from his status in Frog Choir, everyone know him because he’s friendly as well.

Arrogant in terms of his musical prowess.

When you can’t sleep and went down to Common room at night, Hui will be glad to sing you a lullaby.

But also likes to nag at other Gryffindor student about everything. He basically cares for everyone.

The one who organized cool Gryff parties and invited other Houses only to brag. lol

The one who come with ridiculous dare when playing Truth or Dare.

Also the one who will do any dare thrown at him.

Will start singing We Will Rock You at Quidditch match.

Ofc everyone will follow him.

2. Wooseok

School’s Prankster Mascot.

Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes’ VVVVVIP customer.

Also on Filch’s VVVVVIP detention list.

Dangerously reckless.

Almost fell down from the Owlery just because someone dared him to pet one of the sassiest owl.

Lots of pranks going wrong so he got quite a lot of bruises.

Madam Pomfrey scolded him a lot, but that didn’t stop him.

Gryffindor Quidditch Team’s Keeper

Because... come on, no one fits Keeper more than our Giant Wooseok.

Really use “You will like me because i’m a Keeper.” pick up line.

Surprise, surprise! Slytherin Yuto’s bestfriend!

Hogsmeade weekend trip go to : Spinwitches Sporting Needs. To check on Quidditch gear. Ofc with Yuto too!

In contrast with Jinho, he often mistaken as senior.

His Mom bought him an auto-grown uniform robes from Madam Malkin since he grow like a damn tree.

3. Shinwon

Gryffindor’s Catalogue Model.

Popular because his body proportion.

Kidding. He’s popular because he’s Go Shiwon, everyone loves Go Shiwon.

Surprisingly, member of the Rat Race Club.

One of the Quidditch Commentator Duo.

Extra af.

Lots of unnecessary comments during the match.

And a lot of roasting other Houses too.

“Nice dodge by that giant Gryffindor keeper over there! Really good at dodging Bludgers but unfortunately bad at escaping from Filch!”

“Go Shinwon!”

“Sorry Professor!”

“Back to the game, oh by the way Wooseok I heard you asked that senior from Hufflepuff on a date?”

McGonagall whipped out her wand and cast the mic on silent.

Favorite sweets : Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.

Favorite Hogsmeade trip : following Yanan to Honeydukes.

Afraid of dogs and werewolf-type animal, nearly fainted when he met Fluffy.

Hufflepuff :

4. Jinho

Hufflepuff’s Head Boy

Hufflepuff’s Sunshine

Frog Choir’s Ex-Leader, left the Choir when appointed as Head Boy, but sometimes joined them on special occasion.

Moved to the Magical Creature Club, can be seen carrying around Bowtruckle on his shoulder.

Really likes Care of Magical Creatures subject, all the creatures loves him! even the Niffler and Hippogriff.

Everyone wants to hug him.

Come on, even when he’s the oldest amongst his friends, he’s still the most adorable.

Lots of first years mistaken him as a fellow first year. (so yeah, imagine their horror-stricken face when Yanan told them that the boy who’d they called by ‘bro’ for the past 1 hour is Jinho, the Head Boy, seventh year, and all that).

But he’s just laughing and told them not to be scared that much, after that, all Puff’s younger student idolized him.

Don’t be fooled by his appearance tho, because he’s really damn scary when mad.

One time Jinho blew up mad in front of lots of kids, even Hui and Hongseok had to drag him out of the room to calm him down.

Everyone got shocked to see him that mad even the younger kids starts crying.

But Jinho will go back to his usual self when the problem got sorted.

The one who will stand by with a glass of warm milk / coffee when everyone get hangover.

5. Yanan

Made in China

“Annyeong Chingudeul”

Loves herbology

Everyone’s friend, greets everyone, no matter what house or which year are they in.

Fat Briar’s bestfriend (?)

Every Hogwart’s Ghosts bestfriend tbh, this kid just love to befriend everyone, even the ghosts!!

Comes from a long line of Old Great Chinese Wizard Family, but no one realize because Yanan is too cotton candy looking to be the heir of ancient wizard family thing.

Don’t be fooled by that face because he won’t hesitate to kick your ass when he is mad.

His favorite part of the weekend Hogsmeade trip : Honeydukes.

From Acid Pops to Wizochoc, this boy right here have tried all of it.

On the top of his list : Fizzing Whizbees and Sugar Quill (because he can chew at it on class).

Treats puff’s younger kids who’s in a bad mood or sad to Honeydukes, sometimes you can see Shinwon by his side for a box of Bertie Bott’s .

Karamela Flume -the owner- sometimes give him bonus sweets, as Yanan is very polite and also bought lots everytime he come.

Favorite subject : Muggle Studies, Potion, and Herbology!

Muggle Studies because he really amazed by how Muggle world works, nowadays he’s fascinated by their cotton candy machine.

Potion and Herbology because his family is famous for their ancient chinese healing magic, Yanan can concocted various healing potions and his love for Herbology clearly helps him when making potions.

Ravenclaw:

6. Hongseok

Smart.

Straight O’s student.

Instead of helping kids who cannot solve the riddle, he’ll helping them by giving hints.

Likes to have a deep talk with the Eagle Knocker.

Ravenclaw’s famous hot nerd.

But also pretty buff up, working out everytime he’s not studying.

Girls silently died when Hongseok rolled his sleeves just because

Dem muscular arms of him ofc *A*

Awkwardly tried to joked with others but mostly failed.

Very familiar with the kitchen’s house-elves altho he’s not hufflepuffs. It’s because he sometimes come to cook or grabbing snack for his late-night studying.

Good at food related charm. Don’t ask why.

Frog Choir’s fixed member, but he always said that he’s not and only performing because Jinho and Hui asked for his help.

He can see a person’s potential just by talking with him, and he’s a good adviser too.

Great observant. He’s good at sensing everyone’s mood, always know whether you’re in a good/bad mood or have some good/bad news to tell.

7. Kino

Metamorphagus.

Change his hair color on hourly basis, but only his close friends who know the meaning of his hair colors.

Transforms into other Professor to release Wooseok from Filch’s detention.

Only McGonagall and his friends who can tell Kino behind all of his disguise. (yeah, even Flitwick, his own Head house, sometimes got fooled by his ability. But he never gets mad)

Use his abiility to sneak out at night, to find Room of Requirement. (Again, Filch never realized the Flitwick he meet every night is Kino in disguise)

Why Room of Requirement? Boy need to practice his dance every day, and which room can fulfill his need?

The first one who will go whenever McGonagall held the ball dance practice. And he’ll be willing to help teaching the younger kids who can’t.

Needless to say, he and his partner will be the first one to hop on to the center of the hall @ Yule Ball.

Cannot control his appearance when he talk to the girl he likes. His hair color, nose and ear shape will change uncontrollably.

A really, really sweet kid.

8. E’Dawn

The epitome of eccentric.

Likes to give vague answers to the door knocker. Makes other Claw student groaned because it means it’ll be a long time for them to get in. Also loves to argue with the eagle.

Only his close friends can call him Hyojung.

Can emitted a dolphin-like scream.

But also spitting rap like fire.

Sometimes use rap-rhymes when insulting people.

Throwing aegyos whenever he got the chance. Making people want to coo but also kick him at the same time.

Hardcore deadliner.

Transfiguration test at 11 A.M? This boi will only start studying at 10.45.

But then got the highest mark among his classmates.

Late-night, philosophy-related discussion with Hongseok.

A good listener, when there are other Claw students who can’t sleep or having a problem, he’s beyond ready to lend ears.

Great observant no.2. But different from Hongseok, he’s good at reading situation. Someone joked too far? He’ll steered the conversation so the jokee know that he/she crossed the line. Someone got uncomfortable with the discussion topic? He’ll change it naturaly.

Slytherin

9. Yeo One

Pureblood.

Have two persona. The cold, intimidating Yeo One & Bright, friendly Changgu.

You’ll get Yeo One at the first time you meet him, or if you’ve ever got on his nerves. And also if you insulted, or looking trouble with his friends/loved ones.

But when he trust you to be around him, you’ll see Changgu.

Even though he’s a pureblood, his family is the lenient one, he’s not that judgmental about blood status.

Cunning, good at making people to obey or doing something for him. But not in a bad way.

Slytherin’s Seeker.

Have a big fanbase among the other Quidditch players.

Good at fan service.

Loyal af. But never showed his loyalty in front other people.

Dare him to do something? He’ll do it to prove you wrong.

Girls like it when Yeo One styled his hair up because Yeo Chang Rude. they think he looks hotter with that hairstyle.

Pro at controlling facial expression.

10. Yuto

Transfer student from Mahoutokoro.

Beater in Toyohashi Tengu Junior.

Sorted to Slytherin when he transferred to Hogwarts and naturally scouted to Slytherin’s Quidditch team as Beater.

Have a small group of loyal fans who cheered him every match.

Surprise, surprise pt.2 ! Gryffindor Wooseok’s Bestfriend!

So it all started at 2002 Quidditch World Cup.

Yuto ride his mini broomstick outside his family tent, when he saw a kid taller than him riding his mini broomstick too.

They started a race (cute one ofc) and their family found them so cute, they exchanged addresses.

So Yuto and Wooseok become an Owl-pal and always met on a Global Young Quidditch Player Summer Camp.

Ofc Yuto jumped when an opportunity to be exchange student to Hogwarts come.

lol so done with Yuto-Wooseok backstory ppl.

Yuto is a shy puppy. But his flat expression make people mistake him as a scary, cold, typical Slytherin.

Will start blabbering in Japanese when caught off guard/shy.

But that’s his charm that make girls secretly like him.

A gentleman.

A hard worker.

Even when everyone always told him that he’s the best Beater Slytherin ever had, it didn’t stop him from training every day.

And he never forget to give credit to others.

“Oh no, of course we win because Yeo One Hyung caught the Snitch so quick!”

When Slytherin won a game but he thought that he did bad, he will go to the Training Grounds for another hard training.

A loyal friend, will silently support his friends.

When he smiled, everyone doted him.

lol finally done with Pentagon Hogwarts!AU *dies* it took me almost 2 weeks because of work, lots of distraction lol, and mainly because I kept adding point to all members lol. I’m sorry if there are members who didn’t get as much background stories as the other :( and if my sorting is different with what you guys had in mind... I planned to make few short scenarios based on this also :> (after I finish one scenario request I got a few days ago omg so happy lol).

Hope you guys enjoy <33333333

#pentagon #pentagon scenario #pentagon scenarios #hogwarts au #scenario #pentagonscenarios #kpop scenarios #yeo one #yuto #hui #hongseok #wooseok #edawn #yanan #kino #jinho #shinwon

44 notes · View notes

marclefrancois1 · 5 years

Text

Creating a Soothing Bedtime Routine – 7 Tips to Meet the Challenge

e0a9e1e9e6412908cf53cee25f32209b62d23d03e119cd2df63e6855e8fc22eee0a9e1e9e6412908cf53cee25f32209b62d23d03e119cd2df63e6855e8fc22eepostlinke0a9e1e9e6412908cf53cee25f32209b62d23d03e119cd2df63e6855e8fc22eee0a9e1e9e6412908cf53cee25f32209b62d23d03e119cd2df63e6855e8fc22ee was initially published on MLF Blog

For toddlers and preschoolers, the bedtime routine can often be the most challenging part of the day. It means another transition and separation from you, at the same time that everyone in the household is a bit tired and sometimes frazzled from a long day.

Every parent knows that bedtime routines should be soothing and predictable for their child. Dr. Douglas Teti, a Professor of Human Development and Family Studies from Penn State published a finding about the importance of bedtime routines. He studied 35 parents with children under 2 years old. Granted, not a huge study but his findings were validating. Dr. Teti states that children sleep better when their emotional needs were met and they felt attached to their parents. In other words, the parents needed to be:

somewhat flexible in their routine (ie. mix it up with a puzzle one night instead of a book)

responsive to their child’s needs at that particular moment, and

the parent’s words and actions should match their behavior.

When parents are emotionally available their children feel more secure and safe and are able to go to sleep more easily.

I always swore that if I was feeling a bit frazzled at bedtime or if I was in a rush at bedtime, my girls picked it up and the bedtime routine didn’t go as smoothly. Children are so intuitive! Without realizing it our children teach us to be in the moment and nowhere else.

Here are some tips that will help make your child’s bedtime routine smooth and sleep inducing:

1. Bedtime preparations should be in her room

Perhaps the early stage can be in a younger sibling’s room, but not all over the house. Include stories, songs, or games that soothe, not stimulate. Make sure the rules for how many stories or how long you will read, are completely clear and non-negotiable. Avoid wild, fast-moving games and scary stories.

2. Leave plenty of time to unwind

You need to leave at least a half-hour for your child to relax and get the attention they need from you. Don’t worry, it doesn’t have to take hours to have a peaceful bedtime routine — more like 20-30 minutes. If you rush it, she’ll be more likely to run out of bed, stall, or beg you to stay longer.

3. Be Consistent

If two parents take turns at bedtime, you don’t have to follow an identical script but you should have a similar routine, style, and response to bedtime power plays, fears, or manipulation.

4. Blame it on the clock

If she starts bargaining for an even longer time with you, more stories or more songs, blame the clock. Calmly tell her the clock says you have to stop reading at 8:00p.m., so you have ten minutes. Then when it’s 8pm say “Oh, look! The clock says 8:00. Lights-out time. We can’t read any more books tonight. We’ll have to get upstairs earlier tomorrow night if we want to read more books.”

5. Give a warning

“We have a few more pages in this book, and then Mommy is going to turn out the light.” Sometimes they like to turn out the light themselves. It’s another way they can “own” bedtime. It’s good to give some kind of indication that it’s going to be “lights-out” soon.

6. Try a toddler clock or timer

“Oh, the music went on” or “Oh, the light changed, it’s time for bed.” If the clock ploy doesn’t work, feel free to blame me! “It’s 8:00. The Sleep Lady says we have to turn out the lights now.” By the way, toddler clocks are fantastic for teaching your toddler when it’s ok to get up in the morning too. At bedtime remind your toddler that they must stay in their bed until their wake up clock tells them its ok it get up. Be specific on your directions based on the type of clock you use.

7. Teach your child creative visualization.

Some children will say, “I can’t do it; I can’t put myself to sleep.” Explain that everyone has trouble going to sleep sometimes, even Mommy and Daddy, and then teach them some simple relaxation techniques and creative visualization. Children have such wonderfully active imaginations, they are actually better at visualization than we are. They may not understand the word visualization, but they certainly get pretend and imagine. They can learn how to think relaxing thoughts at bedtime, how to close their eyes and imagine playing at the beach, building a snowman, taking a summer walk with their cousins in Vermont. This can be particularly helpful if your child is scared or has a nightmare and is having trouble going back to sleep.

Try to build on the images in their favorite illustrated book and have them imagine entering the book to play with the characters (as long as there are no scary themes). My own girls loved playing “in” Angelina Ballerina. The mouse house illustrations were so inviting and warm. Your children will come up with their own suggestions and will pleasantly surprise you with their creativity. You might also want to teach your child deep relaxation techniques, the kind you do at the end of a good exercise class or before going into labor! Have her relax her toes, her feet, her ankles, shins, knees, and so forth, all the way up her body. If you don’t want to do this yourself, you can play a relaxation CD.

Children also like applying their imaginations to a dream agenda. “Tonight I’ll dream about playing basketball.” Or “Tonight I will dream about building a sand castle.” Or “Tonight I will dream about being a beautiful ballerina.” It helps them feel more in control of what happens to them after they fall asleep, particularly if they are worried about having nightmares. My “Dream Cards” (available below ) might help children feel in control of their dreams. The cards guide children through a progressive relaxation exercise and have several images for dream ideas such as a tree house, a beach scene, a field of flowers, and a rainbow. I based them on my experiences with creating dreams with my own daughters.

Try my Dream Cards and lullaby MP3 download “Sweetest Dreams”, available for sale for $29.95 by clicking here.Hope you find these Toddler Sleep Tips helpful

.author-box .frizzly-container {display: none;} .author-box { margin: 20px 0; display: flex; position: relative; } .author-box .author-image { width: 25%; padding-right: 20px; } .author-box .author-image img { width: 100%; max-width: 200px; display: block; margin: 0 auto; } .author-box .author-content { width: 75%; } .author-box .author-content .author-name { font-weight: bold; font-size: 20px; margin-bottom: 20px; } .author-box .author-content .author-description { font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; } @media screen and (max-width : 691px) { .author-box { flex-direction: column; } .author-box > * { width: 100% !important; } .author-box .author-image { margin-bottom: 20px; } }

Kim West

Kim is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker who has been a practicing child and family therapist for more than 24 years, and the creator of the original gentle, proven method to get a good night’s sleep for you and your child.

She is the author of The Sleep Lady's Good Night Sleep Tight, its companion Workbook and 52 Sleep Secrets for Babies.

Click here to read more about her.

Did you find this article helpful? Please share it with your friends by clicking below, or ask a question on The Sleep Lady Facebook page.

The post Creating a Soothing Bedtime Routine – 7 Tips to Meet the Challenge appeared first on Baby Sleep Coaching by the Sleep Lady.

from Blog – Baby Sleep Coaching by the Sleep Lady https://sleeplady.com/toddler-sleep-problems/creating-soothing-bedtime-routines-teaching-creative-visualization-your-child/

from https://www.marclefrancois.net/2019/02/20/creating-a-soothing-bedtime-routine-7-tips-to-meet-the-challenge/

0 notes

mockmegara-blog · 7 years

Photo

SUPER DETAILED QUESTIONS [ template ]

1. What’s their full name? Why was that chosen? Does it mean anything?

Meghan Anastasia Kostopoulos; named after maternal grandmother (Anastasia) and paternal aunt (Margaret); means “child of light” and “resurrection”

2. Do they have any titles? How did they get them?

Godmother of Night is her title in Hades’ organization. It’s a modified version of a Greek nickname for the mob.

3. Did they have a good childhood? What are fond memories they have of it? What’s a bad memory?

She has a solid childhood, but a lonely one. She enjoyed her toys and her brothers, but her parents were often absent and her house was a cold one. She has fond memories of her brothers, but her father was cruel to them. When she was 12, he sent away her old brother Christopher because he was gay.

4. What is their relationship with their parents? What’s a good and bad memory with them? Did they know both parents?

She doesn’t have a relationship any more. After she left for America, they cut off all contact with her. Her mother sung her Greek and Farsi lullabies (x) ( x) and brushed her hair. As her only daughter, they had a relationship that she didn’t share with her sons. Her father was absent often. She has few memories of him.

5. Do they have any siblings? What’s their names? What is their relationship with them? Has their relationship changed since they were kids to adults?

4 siblings; Gianni, a priest (tolerant, but judgmental); Christopher, a lawyer (he wanted to be an artist); Aleksander, her younger brother and mischievous twin (mob boss); Phillip, the youngest, still off at school. She has no relationship with any of them anymore, either. Gianni was always too pious, Christopher too much, and Phillip too irreverent. After Aleksander chose to stay with his family, she left him behind in Sicily.

6. What were they like at school? Did they enjoy it? Did they finish? What level of higher education did they reach? What subjects did they enjoy? Which did they hate?

Meg liked school well enough. She loved theater and art history, but as of right now only has a high school diploma. She took two years of college education, but dropped out due to finances.

7. Did they have lots of friends as a child? Did they keep any of their childhood friends into adulthood?

She was popular in her youth, but never felt emotionally connected to any of her friends. She didn’t keep any of these friends after she emigrated.

8. Did they have pets as a child? Do they have pets as an adult? Do they like animals?

She had horses and two dogs as a child, but as an adult finds that she has no time to take care of them. She likes dogs and cats well enough.

9. Do animals like them? Do they get on well with animals?

Animals tend not to like her. She, vice versa.

10. Do they like children? Do children like them? Do they have or want any children? What would they be like as a parent? Or as a godparent/babysitter/ect?

She doesn’t like children and always feels awkward around them. She’s never quite sure how to talk to them. She doesn’t want children, but she’d be a cool mom if she chose to (think: Olive’s mom from Easy A)

11. Do they have any specific memories of food/a restaurant/meal?

She remembers her childhood cook crying because she burnt the gyros and Christopher, who she’d never thought of as being affectionate, sitting and talking with her for hours. She left after that, and Meg never saw her again. She can still smell the burnt peppers.

12. Are they good at cooking? Do they enjoy it? What do others think of their cooking?

She’s a decent enough cook, but she doesn’t much enjoy it. She’s not a fan of baking or cooking, and essentially just does so so she can get by.

13. Do they collect anything? What do they do with it? Where do they keep it?

Meg collects vintage librettos and classic movie posters. She keeps them in a notebook in a drawer, buried beneath a layer of socks. She also collects lipsticks, though that’s mostly just because she has a deep love of lipstick.

14. Do they like to take photos? What do they like to take photos of? Selfies? What do they do with their photos?

She likes taking photos well enough. She takes a fair amount of selfies, but her unique combination of love and self-loathing makes it difficult for her at times. She likes taking pictures of the sunrise, architecture, paintings in museums, and her friends, though she’ll be the first to delete them after the relationship ends.

15. Do they like musicals? Music in general? What do they do when they’re favourite song comes?

She likes musicals a lot, but she’d never act in one. She loves music as well. When her favorite song comes on, her reaction depends a lot on whether she’s in public or in private. She sings and dances when she’s by herself; in public, she’s a lot more blasé.

16. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper?

Oh, she absolutely has a temper. A damn awful one, at that. She’s incredibly impatient, and it’s not rare for her to snap. She typically snarks with her sharp wit, but she’s punched people in the past for getting on her nerves.

17. What are their favourite insults to use? What do they insult people for? Or do they prefer to bitch behind someone’s back?

She typically insults people so wittily that they aren’t even sure if they’ve been insulted. She’s perceptive enough to pick at people’s weaknesses (ego is a common one for men, she’s found) and has no qualms about insulting them to their faces. She’s a big tough girl, after all.

18. Can they use chopsticks?

Lord, no. She’s terrible.

19. What do they do when they cant sleep?

Go for a walk, even if it’s two am. She’s the worst thing on the streets.

20. What would they impulse buy at the grocery store?

Something awful for you, like a box of super deluxe mega stuffed chocolate-thunder pop-tarts (limited edition) or a bottle of cheap cooking wine because there’s no liquor in the house

21. What order do they wash things in the shower?

Hair first, then body.

22. What’s their coffee order?

Grande iced coffee, no frills

23. Do they have a good memory? Short term or long term? Are they good with names? Or faces?

A very good memory (like an elephant, that one); better at long term than short term. Better with names than faces.

24. What is their sleeping pattern like? Do they snore? What do they like to sleep on? A soft or hard mattress?

Sleeps on her side on a softer mattress; averages 6 hours of sleep a night; doesn’t snore

25. What do they find funny? Do they have a good sense of humour? Are they funny themselves?

She finds smart, biting comedy the funniest, but she’s not immune to a good Three Stooges -esque physical comedy, either. She’s funny herself, but she’ll deny it internally.

26. How do they act when they’re happy? Do they sing? Dance? Hum? Or do they hide their emotions?

She’s teasing when she’s happy. She talks more than usual, and her humor isn’t nearly as biting. She smiles to herself, seemingly for no reason at all.

27. What makes them sad? Do they cry regularly? Do they cry openly or hide it? What are they like they are sad?

Typical things, like losing the ones she cares about, sad movies, etc. make her sad, but she’s not sad at the traditional sad movies. She finds it incredibly difficult to cry in front of people. When she’s sad, she shuts herself off and does incredibly reckless behavior.

28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared?

Her biggest fear is rejection, but in general, heights, insects, and drowning are her phobias. She acts still and very quiet when she’s afraid, as if not moving will scare her fears away.

29. What do they do when they find out someone else’s fear? Do they tease them? Or get very over protective?

Depending on the person, she’ll either file it away to use later, mock them mercilessly, or silently vow to protect them. (In order: Hades, Phil, Hercules)

30. Do they exercise? Regularly? Or only when forced? What do they act like pre-work out and post-work out?

She doesn’t tend to exercise often, but when she does, she overcompensates by going for long periods of time. She likes to dance and run, but she’s also fond of strength training. She needs to keep her strength up for her work, after all. She doesn’t see it as much of a big deal at all.

31. Do they drink? What are they like drunk? What are they like hungover? How do they act when other people are drunk or hungover? Kind or teasing?

She drinks. She’s a bit more loose when she’s drunk (more flirty, more confident, more rough around the edges), but she’s still her typical guarded self, though admittedly less so. She lovingly mocks the people she loves when they’re drunk.

32. What do they dress like? What sorta shops do they buy clothes from? Do they wear the fashion that they like? What do they wear to sleep? Do they wear makeup? What’s their hair like?

She’s classy, sexy, confident, and fashionable. She knows what she looks good in and wears it to the best effect. She buys from vintage and local shops alike, and she’s good at picking out fashion. She wears makeup (red lipstick + winged eyeliner) and keeps her hair well-organized.

33. What underwear do they wear? Boxers or briefs? Lacey? Comfy granny panties?

Lacy thongs

34. What is their body type? How tall are they? Do they like their body?

Slender, medium height, likes her body well enough (though like everyone she has insecurities)

35. What’s their guilty pleasure? What is their totally unguilty pleasure?

Guilty pleasure: 80s power ballads, taking baths, reality TV. Unguilty: face masks, reading poetry, going to the theater.

36. What are they good at? What hobbies do they like? Can they sing?

She’s an incredibly skilled actress, both through her training and her personal life, as well as typical thief skills (lock picking, hot wiring), telling the time of day, makeup/dress, and writing. She likes to dance, go to museums, take baths, paint her nails, and go for walks. She can sing, but she doesn’t.

37. Do they like to read? Are they a fast or slow reader? Do they like poetry? Fictional or non fiction?

She likes to read, and she’s a fairly fast reader. She loves poetry, but would never admit it. She’s more of a nonfiction fan, but she can handle her classic lit too.

38. What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had?

She admires courage, truth, and cleverness. She especially admires people who have the courage to stand up for their own personalities and their loved ones, as she herself is terrible at that.

39. Do they like letters? Or prefer emails/messaging?

She’s secretly a romantic, so she’d love letters...but she’d say texting if asked.

40. Do they like energy drinks? Coffee? Sugary food? Or can they naturally stay awake and alert?

Loves coffee, hates energy drinks, loves sugary food, and is a natural insomniac

41. What’s their sexuality? What do they find attractive? Physically and mentally? What do they like/need in a relationship?

Bisexual and proud. Loves people who are physically attractive but also incredibly kind and loyal. She likes people who are smart, but it’s more important to her that they have a good sense of humor and are forgiving and loving. She needs support and reassurance in a relationship.

42. What are their goals? What would they sacrifice anything for? What is their secret ambition?

Wants to be an actress, someday... Mostly, though, she wants to be okay living in her own skin. Losing her first boyfriend hurt so much that she’s unsure if she could ever regain any of the trust she’d lost. But, all the same, she’d sacrifice her life for her friends at the drop of a hat.

43. Are they religious? What do they think of religion? What do they think of religious people? What do they think of non religious people?

She’s not particularly religious. She thinks it’s a tool used to blind people to truth, and that in the end, it doesn’t do anything but hurt. But she doesn’t have anything against religious people unless they use religion to cause bigotry.

44. What is their favourite season? Type of weather? Are they good in the cold or the heat? What weather do they complain in the most?

She loves fall and the rain. She’s better in the heat, and complains bitterly when it’s cold.

45. How do other people see them? Is it similar to how they see themselves?

Other people see her as charismatic, bitter, and sexy. She sees herself as intelligent, jaded, and aloof.

46. Do they make a good first impression? Does their first impression reflect them accurately? How do they introduce themselves?

Her first impression is a facade. She’ll introduce herself with a quip or a sassy remark, but the appearance she presents only makes her look cocky and sarcastic and doesn’t reveal her secret emotional vulnerability.

47. How do they act in a formal occasion? What do they think of black tie wear? Do they enjoy fancy parties and love to chit chat or loathe the whole event?

She finds formal occasions boring, but her reactions depend on why she’s at the formal event. She can usually keep her boredom down when she needs to, though she’d love a glass or two to make the whole thing go faster. She loves dressing up, even if she doesn’t like small talk itself.

48. Do they enjoy any parties? If so what kind? Do they organize the party or just turn up? How do they act? What if they didn’t want to go but were dragged along by a friend?

Loves parties (large parties, in particular), but doesn’t like organizing. She loves drinking and going out and is the life of the party. If she didn’t want to go, she’d go and try and make a French exit

49. What is their most valued object? Are they sentimental? Is there something they have to take everywhere with them?

A necklace, given to her by her brother the last time they spoke. She’s sentimental, but tries not to be, and the only thing she takes with her is her phone.

50. If they could only take one bag of stuff somewhere with them: what would they pack? What do they consider their essentials?

She considers her phone, her necklace, a notebook, and her credit cards her essentials. She’d probably pack lightly (she’s not a particularly heavy packer), with just a few changes of clothes and her trusty red lipstick.

#❛ ARE YOU ALWAYS THIS ARTICULATE?┊ MINE.#❛ HOW MANY WAYS CAN A GIRL GO WRONG?┊ MUSE.

0 notes

trueloveseyeroll · 7 years

Text

When The Tide Turns (3/16)

Rating: T, for language and a bit of violence later on

Beta-reader: the lovely @forget-me-not-s :))

Artists: @theblacksiren - check out her beautiful artwork for chapter 1 here! And thank you @optomisticgirl for the awesome banner! And I’m really so excited for you all to see @fairytalesandtimetravel ‘s amazing artwork for a later chapter!!

Word count: ~5069 (68k+ in total)

A/N: so last Friday we left Emma digging through Mr. Jones’ office - I’ve really been looking forward to this update, so that you guys can finally get some of those answers!

AO3

If she found one more drawing of a boat, Emma was going to scream.

She had started at the desk, sorting out Barrie’s scribbles, the star charts in the drawers and the endless drawings of boats - ships. So far, the only interesting thing she had found was the pile of invoices pierced on a spindle. No wonder Barrie had agreed to sell his family business - the man was drowning in debts. Old-fashioned nautical instruments just weren’t in fashion lately.

Although the business’ economy was interesting, it wasn’t relevant to Emma’s current case. Unless Liam’s whereabouts were scribbled on the back of the bills.

Emma sighed for about the hundredth time when she finally pushed away from the desk. She could use a laptop and some internet, searching for Liam in a more modern way. Neither was at hand though. And she had a feeling Liam wasn’t documenting his life on Facebook or Instagram.

Emma crossed the room to the file cabinet. With a silent thank you she found the papers well-organized, though no files were specifically labelled “Liam’s whereabouts”. That would have been too easy anyways. Instead, she found a list of employees at the factory, though rather short. Three factory workers, two assistants and one cleaner. It seemed Barrie carried most of the load, designing and engineering the goods and dealing with the sales. A lot of work for one man. Perhaps all the stress had been what did him in. Emma shook her head of speculations and forced herself to continue leafing through the files.

Hours passed, the clouds darkening once again. Emma turned on the lights and fought the urge to go on a coffee-run. She didn’t have long until the memorial started, and she didn’t want to leave this office until she found at least one clue. She could really use some coffee though. Or anything sugary.

The file cabinet was a dead-end. No Liam, no personal files, nothing at all.

Emma turned to wooden cabinet lined with books. Her last hope for this room. Upon studying the tomes and the various ornaments, Emma noticed one of the shelves was deeper than the others. A secret compartment? She reached into the mess, grabbing the first thing her fingers touched - a photograph. The black-and-white picture showed two boys by the beach. Turning the photograph over, Barrie’s scribbles read on the back, Brennan and I at the beach, 1952.

Emma grabbed another photograph, this one in colour. Once again, two boys stood by the shore, their backs to the camera. One had curly hair and stood a head taller than the other with ruffled, dark hair. On the back, Barrie had written Liam and Killian on our visit to the beach, 1992.

Emma double-checked. Liam. Finally seeing his name somewhere in the office took a while to sink in. Of course, it was nothing but an old photograph, but at least she had found something that indicated Liam even existed. She glanced at the picture again - was he the taller or the shorter one? And who was Killian?

Emma snapped a photo of the picture with her phone and noted ‘who’s Killian?’ before setting it aside. She looked through more of the mess on the shelf, but nearly everything was from Barrie’s own childhood. She did find a letter, but it was from some Marco Amendola, dated 1996.

Underneath the mess, at the very bottom, Emma found a thick, leather-bound album. She replaced a music box before digging the album out. A string tied the book together and loose papers stuck out here and there. Emma weighed the album in her hand and decided to check it out - over there in the comfortable-looking armchair in the corner of the room. She grabbed the music box too - she hadn’t used one of those since she was a kid.

Buckets of tension eased off Emma’s shoulders when she leaned back in the plush cushions. She winded the music box and set it on the table, letting it play its melody. It was sweet. Kind of like a lullaby. Whether it was the rustic plinging of the music box or the melody itself, there was something mournful about the tune. What made it so significant to Barrie that he had kept it?

Turning to the album instead, Emma unbound the book to find a drawing - of a ship.

She almost threw the book to the floor. She would have, if she hadn’t caught the signature in the bottom right corner.

Liam Jones.

Emma turned the page, one more and yet another. Liam Jones. His signature was on each and every drawing. Some portrayed objects like compasses, quills, machines and swords. Others were of yet more ships, but trains too. Others again were stunning pictures of landscapes or cities.

All of them were drawn by Liam Jones.

Emma’s lips stretched into a small successful smile. Liam hadn’t communicated with Barrie through letters - he had sent his uncle drawings. Drawings of the different places he visited throughout his travels around Europe. Emma recognized the Eiffel Tower, traditional Dutch windmills, that famous church in Barcelona, the leaning tower of Pisa and a few other landmarks. Most of the drawings, though surprisingly stunning, didn’t ring any bells though. But she could figure them out.

The urge to pound her fist in the air with joy was strong. She had practically found a trail of breadcrumbs! Granted, she couldn’t be sure that Liam had been to all of these places, but Barrie’s letter to Mr. Clark did say that he was travelling around Europe. If only Liam had written dates on each drawing and specific locations on the unknown landscapes. Emma would have to trust that the drawings had been placed in the album chronologically. Which meant - Emma turned to the last drawing - that some jungle was Liam’s latest destination. Were there even jungles in Europe?

A text chiming in from Ingrid made Emma realize the time. She had about forty minutes to get back to the inn, change into something more suitable and get to the memorial if she didn’t want to be late. The text from Ingrid was swiped away, unanswered.

Emma closed the album and tied the string around it again. Her spirits were a lot higher now than when she left the notary, a thrill settling in her steps. She brought the music box back to its place in the cabinet and looked about the messy office one last time. Well, it had been messy when she came, no one would expect her to clean it all up…

Emma made it back to her room at the inn before ten minutes had passed. She tossed Liam’s album on her bed and rushed to dig out a long-sleeved black dress from her suitcase. Thank god she had thought to pack a formal outfit in the colour befitting a memorial. Sure, it was on the tight side, but it would do.

With twenty minutes to spare, Emma couldn’t resist the urge to look through Liam’s drawings again. She couldn’t quite believe her luck. Of course, with all the various cities and landscapes Liam had drawn, her field of search hadn’t narrowed down by much, but at least she had some sort of lead now.

Emma stopped leafing through the drawings when one in particular caught her eyes. Every other drawing was of objects or landscapes. But this one showed a woman. So far, Emma hadn’t seen any people in Liam’s drawings. The brunette sat in a windowsill with a view of meadows and mountains behind her. Captured in a moment on paper, she sat reading a book, tendrils of hair falling across her cheek.

Emma turned the page to find Liam’s writing on the back of it. Belle French, it said. A word was scribbled underneath it, but Emma couldn’t quite decipher it. Vobdilene? Vabdilane?

Time was ticking and Emma knew she had to get going. She was stuck staring at the name though. A real lead.

Belle French.

---

The heat was bloody unbearable. The entire village - if not more - was stuffed inside the town hall. Even the biggest venue in the village wasn’t big enough. Everyone mingled about, rubbing elbows and plastering polite smiles on their faces. Killian was fed up with wearing that mask.

A drink of scotch in hand - Barrie’s favourite and therefore the only alcohol served - Killian slid out of a door to the garden behind the town hall. No one saw him leave. If they did, no one cared anyways. He was a stranger to them. James Hook.

Killian shared a smile with the dark yard. Not out of happiness. Rather out of self-loathing, but that seemed to be the custom lately. He took a long drink of his scotch, trying not to imagine the anger in Barrie’s face if he could see Killian now. After all, always seeing Killian with a drink in his hand was the reason Barrie had cut him off.

Sorry, uncle.

The murmurs of people sharing praising stories about Barrie or comforting words carried through the door and windows. Killian stepped further into the garden, away from the bright lights.

At last the breeze seeped through his leather coat, cooling down the warmth in his cheeks as well. The further he went out in the garden, the more peace finally settled. He reached the trees and the bushes by the fence, unable to go any further. He could barely see his own hand in the darkness. Gulping the last of the whiskey was no problem though.

“... I’m outside now, I can hear you.”

Killian’s ears perked up, his head flying towards the sound. He knew that voice... The dark made it hard to see, but she stood near the light of the glass door and there was no mistaking that blonde hair and that American accent. Swan held her phone to her ear, oblivious to Killian standing there by the trees. He’d better not let her see him or she’d really start to think he was a creep.

“It could be better, you know, I could have the contracts signed and be on my way home tomorrow, but well, I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had a longer adventure,” Swan spoke, her words carrying through the garden loud enough for Killian to hear. He shouldn’t eavesdrop, but the way things were, he couldn’t really go anywhere. Besides, an insight to what Swan knew could be useful. He had the letters from Liam to Barrie - had she found anything else in the office?

“I’m pretty sure I’ll be home in time for the wedding, Mary Margaret. Finding a guy somewhere in Europe definitely can’t take more than three weeks.” The sarcasm was clear, but so was her intent on being home in time for - a wedding? Surely not her own. He hadn’t seen any rings on her fingers.

Killian ignored whatever it was that prickled inside. He blamed the scotch. And glared at the empty glass in his hand.

“I think I’ve found some sort of clue actually.” Killian stood as still as possible, waiting for Swan to tell this Mary Margaret more. “I haven’t had the time to dig deeper yet, but it’s the only thing I’ve got so far - the notary wasn’t especially helpful.”

Swan paused as her friend spoke.

“Actually, could you do a quick search for me? The internet here is pretty bad and you know, right now I’m sorta stuck at this memorial.” Mary Margaret seemed to accept as Swan continued. “I think Liam spent time with some woman named Belle French - I’m not sure where, because his writing is terrible, but it starts with a V and it might be something like Vobdilene or Vabdilene, I don’t know.”

Killian furrowed his brows. What the hell was Vabdilene? And who was Belle French? He shifted his feet, rustling the fallen leaves. Bloody hell. Like a dear caught in headlights, he stood ready for Swan to notice him. Why the bloody hell had he moved anyways?

Swan didn’t turn towards him. She didn’t notice a single thing. Fortunately.

“Yeah, just send me a text or call me if you find anything. Thank you so much, Mary Margaret.”

Her friend must have said something funny, because Swan started laughing and Killian once again had to blame the scotch for doing something funny.

“Well, I should probably let you get back to all that wedding planning. How’s David by the way?”

Ah, the wedding must be Mary Margaret’s. Killian wasn’t relieved, of course not. The only relief he felt was that Swan seemed to be wrapping up the phone call and soon he could stop hiding amongst the trees.

Swan’s shoulders tensed and she rubbed her temple with her hand. “My mom’s already nagged me enough about Walsh, I don’t need you starting too. Things are fine - at least they will be. I just need a quick break.”

Walsh? Whoever he was, Swan didn’t seem too fond of him if her frown was anything to go by.

“I should really get going though, Mary Margaret. I’ve got a room full of people with stories about the Jones family and I’ve got a lot of questions. Talk to you later, okay? Don’t drown yourself in wedding plans.” Killian couldn’t see her face, but he could hear a smile as she said her farewells to her friend. After she’d hung up, however, her shoulders dropped and Killian guessed that her smile dropped too.

The garden felt much smaller once Swan stopped talking. He could still hear the crowd inside, but Killian forced himself to stand as still as possible in the quiet. No more sudden shifting and risking the rustling leaves again.

Swan looked around the garden, gazing at nothing. Light caught her eyes as they swept over the trees where he stood. Killian prepared a feasible excuse for when she noticed him. She looked right through him though. A moment later, she turned around to head back inside, her ponytail swinging in the air behind her.

Killian finally relaxed. Once again, it was just him, alone in the darkness with an empty glass. Definitely for the best - he doubted she would have accepted his tale about scotch best being drunk amongst trees.

The need for a refill was his excuse for heading back inside in the end. He could stick around the memorial for just an hour more. Maybe less. Then he could go back to his room at Granny’s with a clear conscious. He needed to do some research of his own on this Belle French.

---

Everyone greeted Emma with an “oh, you’re that American lawyer” every time she introduced herself. Some were intrigued. Others had trouble hiding their contempt towards a foreigner buying into their village. Emma cared not if they liked her though - she only cared if it meant they withheld information from her, deliberately trying to hinder her.

“I remember the Jones boys well from when they visited twenty years ago,” a woman who called herself Granny said. She had narrowed her eyes at Emma at first, but didn’t mind telling a few tales now. “Quite the pair they were - thick as thieves. You’d never have guessed what they’d been through when you saw them running around together.”

Granny wasn’t the first Emma had questioned about the Jones family who mentioned two boys. By now, Emma had guessed that Killian was Liam’s brother. Younger brother. Which meant Liam was the taller boy with curly hair in the photograph she had found.

“You mean about their father?” Emma asked.

“Brennan’s death was the best thing that could’ve had happened to them.” Granny had no shame in her words. Even less than the rest of the villagers. “Of course, if he had gotten his head out of the bottle for once, that would have been the best thing to happen, but everyone here knows that that was only wishful thinking. He was a drunk and a terrible father. Not even losing his wife to an early grave can excuse that.” The old woman swallowed a mouthful of scotch. Maybe the soon-to-be empty glass in her hand had played a part in her loose tongue this evening. “But what’s got your nose poking about the Jones boys anyways? You should know they’re both far gone.”

Granny’s stare wasn’t terribly uncomfortable - it reminded Emma of Ingrid in some sense. Ingrid trying to wheedle confessions out of Emma.

“I’m just interested” Emma shrugged. “There seems to be a lot of history in the Jones family.” She knew not to divulge too much of the case. The news of Liam being alive was bound to get out sooner or later, but she’d rather test the waters with these people before straight-out telling them.

“You’ll find there’s history in every family.” Granny let her words hang in the air, looking at Emma over the rim of her glasses.

Emma met her stare head-on. Granny seemed to like that. “Of course, not every family has to do with your case. I’m afraid I don’t know much about the Jones’ though. Not more than most. They’ve been plagued by falling-outs, alcoholism and death, they have. First Brennan’s wife, then Brennan himself, poor Liam and now Barrie.” Granny took another swig of her scotch. Emma herself had decided to keep away from the goods this evening.

“What about Killian?”

“Why, he was disowned. After Liam’s death the poor boy was distraught - followed his father’s footsteps straight towards the bottle and wouldn’t turn back no matter what Barrie said. Disowning him was the last ultimatum. And that was about it for the Jones boys,” Granny finished. “And about it for this glass. I’m gonna go see about a refill,” she smiled, a gleam in her eyes. “Good luck with the case, Emma. I know most people here don’t like the idea of foreigners, but they’re all stuck in old ways, too blind to see that this village is dying. We need new blood - I hope your client’s got the right stuff.”

With a pat on Emma’s shoulder, Granny disappeared into the crowd. Emma’s superpower ticked away like a clock rewinding; Granny hadn’t been entirely truthful. And Emma knew exactly where the lie was - Liam’s death. Granny knew damn well that Liam was alive. And she knew that Emma knew it too.

Scouting the crowd, looking to see where the old woman had gone, Emma was disappointed. Granny had vanished. She’d told Emma more than any other villager was willing to though, and she had a feeling Granny didn’t take well to being questioned after she’d already given her answers. Still, if the woman knew anything helpful...

Emma’s spirits picked up when she instead spotted onion rings on the serving table. She could have sworn they weren’t there before - a happy surprise. One she would gladly take advantage of.

People mingled on every side of her, rubbing elbows and clinking their glasses with toasts to Barrie. At the serving table, Emma still noticed when someone came a bit too close though, as she tried to put a modest amount of onion rings on her plate.

“I’d advise you to stay far away from the sauce,” Hook reached over her plate for a patty shell, “ -it might look good, but I’m fairly sure they’ve put some sort of poison it.”

“Hello to you too, Hook.”

He bowed his head at her in greeting. “Milady.”

Really, who was this guy?

Hook glanced at her plate full of onion rings with amusement but said nothing. Both satisfied with their servings, he led her to a less crowded space by one of the windows. Or maybe she led him.

“Did all the files and papers show you a good time then?” Hook asked as Emma put her plate on the windowsill, taking a good bite of an onion ring.

“I think I’ve seen enough drawings of ships to last me a lifetime.” She stuffed another onion ring in her mouth. She deserved a nice treat, she really did.

“Aye, he was hardly subtle about his passions.”

Emma definitely did not like the way the word passion sounded with his English lilt. It helped that he wasn’t too successful in eating his patty shell without making a mess.

“What about you? Stolen anything else today?”

“I’ve been on my best behaviour, love, I swear. Spent the day gathering some inspiration.”

“Inspiration?”

Hook licked a crumb from his lip. “Aye. Aside from being a human pillow and a dashing pirate, I’m a writer.”

He was all too happy of reminding her of the sleeping-on-a-stranger’s-shoulder-incident.

“Really? Written anything I might have read?”

“As of yet I’m still working on getting published,” he joked at his own expense. “But one day, you’ll be hearing my name in every corner of the world.”

“I look forward to it,” Emma said, challenging his confidence in inevitable success.

“Don’t worry love - I’ll be sure to include a blonde lass with an inclination for sleeping on the shoulders of strangers in my first best-seller.”

He was lucky she was too busy chewing on an onion ring. She swallowed and opened her mouth to get back at him, but-

“Hey, you’re that American woman who thinks you can come and steal our village with a pocket full of money, aren’t ya?” a short and gruff man burst into Emma’s and Hook’s bubble. His eyes burnt with anger, his tone doing nothing to hide it.

“I’m sorry, what?” Emma was anything but apologetic.

“You heard me, sister,” he spat. “But let me tell you this - you Americans aren’t getting a piece of this town. You can take your money and stuff it. The Brothers Jones belongs to us, not some filthy rich codger.” He had no shame in sticking his angry scowl as close to Emma’s face as possible.

“Oi, mate - that’s no way to talk to a lady,” Hook butted in. Emma turned her glare on him - she was no lady he needed to save. He caught her message through the glare straight away, but didn’t step back. He kept silent though.

“We’re not stealing anything,” Emma kept her voice level as she turned back to the angry villager. She couldn’t help a bit of her own anger from seeping through. “Barrie sold the business on his own terms, and I think that decision was his to make and not the entire town’s.”

All around, people were turning their heads towards them. Some looked appalled to hear raised voices at a memorial. Others seemed to share the man’s fury. He turned towards the crowd, glad to have an audience. “Do you guys hear that? She doesn’t even care. Thinks she’s in the right, coming here and taking our livelihood.” He turned back to Emma, jabbing a finger at her. “If that Mr. Gold ever shows his face here, I guarantee you; he won’t be getting any warm welcome.”

“Leroy!” Granny stepped forward from the crowd, scolding the livid villager. “You’ve got no business threatening people you don’t even know.”

“I’ve got plenty of business! But I won’t once this Gold fellow comes and does as he pleases and probably has me thrown out for the fun of it.”

Leroy. The name clicked and at once the situation made more sense. Leroy had been one of the few workers listed on the file she found in Barrie’s office. The guy had a point - he couldn’t know what would happen to him once Mr. Gold took over. But Emma had no sympathy for guys who thought they could stuff their finger in her face and yell at her because their life wasn’t going too well.

“Maybe you could learn some anger management and he might consider letting you keep your job.” Probably not the right thing to say, she knew. Leroy’s face went a shade redder, if that was even possible.

“You listen here, sister-”

“Leroy!” Granny scolded again, this time grabbing Leroy’s arm. “This isn’t the time or the place and I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink. Go home and sleep it off before you dig a hole you can’t get out of.”

Leroy didn’t look like somebody ready to take any advice. He glared at Granny. All around, people glared at him in return, dismayed that he would stir trouble at Barrie’s memorial. That seemed to get through to him.

Leroy glowered at Emma one last time. “This isn’t over.” Then he pushed his way through the crowd. If it had been possible, Emma imagined a trail of steam would have followed him out.

After a few moments, the crowd turned back to their quiet chatter.

“What an unpleasant git,” Hook remarked.

“Don’t mind him - he’s always getting his head hot about something or another,” Granny said, shaking her head. Before Emma could reply, the woman once again disappeared amongst the crowd, leaving Emma and Hook as they were before. The air felt a lot different now though.

Maybe she should reconsider her decision to stay away from the drinks this evening?

“Well, that was enough drama for my night,” Emma said.

“Aye.”

During the spectacle, Emma hadn’t noticed the change in Hook’s stance. The way his eyes darkened when Leroy mentioned Mr. Gold. The way he stiffened and took a small step away from her.

Her appetite for onion rings was gone, but she took another bite to make up for the silence.

A silence broken by her ringtone sounding from her jacket.

Emma looked at Hook apologetically, but he nodded at her to take it. They shared a parting smile, and Emma made her way through the crowd as she answered her phone.

“Hi Mary Margaret!”

“Hi Emma! Bad time?”

“No. It’s actually pretty perfect,” Emma answered.

“Great! ‘Cause I’ve got some pretty good news.”

Emma could certainly use that.

“Found something on Belle?”

“Yep.” Mary Margaret’s smile went straight through the phone. “Vabdilene is actually Valadilene - a village in France. I’m guessing if the handwriting was bad enough, those letters could get mixed up. Anyways, I’ve found a woman named Belle French in this Valadilene. She’s a librarian, but her father owns the inn in the village. If Liam passed through, he’ll probably have stayed there.”

A librarian certainly fit with the image of Belle reading. And what Emma read as Vabdilene could definitely have been Valadilene instead. Funny that a woman named Belle French would live in France though.

Mary Margaret continued, “I found a phone number for the library. They’re closed now, but I can text it to you and you can call tomorrow morning and see if she’s the right Belle.”

“She’d better be,” Emma said. She had made it out of the town hall, out in the cool autumn air. Only now did she realize how tired she was. “Thank you so much for all this, Mary Margaret.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just hoping you can get a quick trip to France out of this - Regina’s quite set on this deal being sealed, no matter what.”

“I hardly think I’ll actually need to go to France.”

“I know,” Mary Margaret said. “But Regina doesn’t.”

People could say what they wanted about Mary Margaret, but at heart, Emma knew she was a mischievous woman.

She thought about it - a trip to France, a couple more days away from Walsh... it definitely wouldn’t be unwelcome.

“I’ll find you a nice French wedding gift.”

“You’d better.”

---

Mary Margaret ended up being right on more than one account.

Despite her exhaustion, Emma didn’t get much sleep that night. Drawings and files, villagers and possible secrets ran through her head like a whirlwind. She couldn’t wait for the sun to rise and to just get the day started. Call Belle’s library. Figure out if she had a lead or not.

Belle’s answer on the phone made up for everything. The Australian accent had thrown Emma off at first, but she didn’t care. Belle knew Liam. Or well, had known him at least. He had passed through eight years ago. A strange guy, Belle said, but not unlikeable. For a month he had stayed at her father’s inn, exploring the countryside. He was easy to talk to, though he tended to ramble a lot and seemed rather forgetful. Indeed, he had forgotten one of his bags at the inn when he left. Belle had no clue where he had gone or where he’d be today, but they still had the bag with a few of his belongings kept in the attic of the inn.

That’s how Mary Margaret ended up being right on one other thing. A quick call to Regina let Emma know she was not to set her feet back on American soil until she had sealed the deal. If it meant going to France or any other place, Emma was to follow through. So without further dallying, that’s what Emma did. Willesby didn’t seem willing to share its secrets - perhaps Belle and Liam’s forgotten belongings could be of more help.

---

Hi mom. As I said, there’s been a delay in the case. I’m not sure when I’ll be home, but it can’t be too long. There’s a bit of a surprise though... I’m in France!

Emma sent the text to Ingrid once she’d gotten through the last check at Saint Geoirs Airport. She didn’t doubt she’d be receiving a very astounded phone call soon.

She thought about texting Walsh. She should text him. He really was a nice guy; he didn’t deserve her flying around Europe without notifying him about anything, just because he had taken her by surprise.

Trailing her suitcase behind her, eyes on her phone instead of the crowd, Emma almost tripped over a toddler running by right in front of her. The kid dashed away, gone in the blink of an eye. Emma’s attention was caught by something else entirely though.

Someone.

A few paces away from her, a head with good-looking, dark hair popped up amongst the crowd. Hair she admitted was good-looking because she thought she’d never see the guy again in her life.

Hook?

#csbb #when the tide turns #chapter 3 #my writings #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs au #captain swan

58 notes · View notes