#his story after rose is one of grief and loss and although he does tell martha what he's going through

[spacemoth-matt]

I know the doctor was grieving rose in s3 but come on my guy you did not need to treat martha like that like she walked the earth for a year for you + the entirety of the family of blood, she should've run him over with the tardis after that honestly

[somehow-progressing]

WTNV 182 / 132 Connection

So this isn't the first time Cecil's mother and trees have been connected.

In 132, exactly fifty episodes previously, her bedtime story was about a boy who turned into a tree.

I reviewed this episode to look for connections and..

Oh, boy.

So, first off, the boy's interest in science obviously reminded me of Carlos, right? But then the similarities stop there.

And start leading towards Cecil.

(The rest under the cut)

We now know that there was a time where Cecil's father was in the picture, although it may have been when Cecil was very, very young. The family dynamic in 132's story matches his exactly: a mother, a father, a sister, the youngest son.

My first thought was, "Well, this can't be a parallel to Cecil's family. They're far too loving, which doesn't match up with what we know of Cecil's mother at all." But then I looked closer.

The boy's parents are verbally insistent that they love him, to the point where it comes off as "I'm your parent so I have to love you, it's my job to do everything for you." Putting pressure, and a sense of guilt, on the child while never actually living up to their word.

"He knew he would never need his father to give his life for him. He just wanted his father to show concern for his health. He knew he would never need his mother to give away all of her belongings for him. He just wanted his mother to show interest in his curiosity." - 132, Bedtime Story

His parent's love is very idealistic, while not being one that they actually show or.. Possibly, feel. They don't show concern for his health, or value his interests. He's their son, but he's not anything more.

"My mom seems really proud of me too! She hid from me for three days! Like, the longest ever! And she’s covered all the mirrors in my house. I’m not sure why, but I think it must be because of pride. Being proud does all sorts of things… to a… um… to a person." - 33, Cassettes

Cecil's own experiences parallel this. He interprets her love through ideals, to fill the void of it in actuality. When you're a child, you think that a parent is supposed to be loving. They're supposed to care. When they don't, or they leave you alone in your house, or they ignore you, or they tell you not to cry after you've been injured because "you don't even exist," your brain doesn't know how to process it. Like he did with his memory loss in 182, Cecil tries to rationalize it. Mother abandoned me because she's proud, because she cares about me- because she's my mother and she has to.

The boy's relationship with his sister parallels Cecil's as well.

"His sister would tell him, “I hate you, brother.” But their parents would instruct her to be nice and so she would say sarcastically, “I love you, brother. I would climb the tallest mountain for you." - 132, Bedtime Story

"He knew his sister really loved him. He knew he would never need his sister to climb a mountain for him. He just wanted his sister to believe him that mountains were real." - 132, Bedtime Story

As mentioned in Ghost Stories, Cecil has had a very difficult relationship with his sister.

"See, my mother disappeared when I was only 14. Abby had just started school, but she had to drop out to return home and raise me, and I thought that Mom would be back at any moment, like maybe she was away on business. Our out for a walk. Or just hiding.

But Mom did not come back, not for my entire childhood. And I was petulant and subversive, and Abby was reserved and controlling and she blamed me for having dropped out of school and I blamed her for just… not being Mom.

But in our adulthood, my mother did return home, sick and sorry to two children who barely spoke to each other in the morning." - Ghost Stories

Which would match up with the sister's animosity with him.

The difference here is that, out of the entire family, the boy knows that his sister actually loves him. And in Cecil's life, his sister is the only one he has made amends with. No matter how she treated him in the past, they are part of the same family once again. (As of 182, at least.)

Here, a direct parallel to Cecil is established. This boy's life mirrors his own.

Now, here's where it gets interesting.

Just as Cecil enters the tree, the boy is transformed into one

"He spent a lot of time in those next several months watching his family, their grief at his loss. His parents’ happiness at his sister’s education." - 132, Bedtime Story

There has been a lot of theorizing that Cecil's mother may have been covering the mirrors and leaving flowers because she was mourning Cecil, and not just his father.

"What was it your mother said before she left home when you were a teenager? Did she tell you she was an oracle?" - 171, Go to The Mirror?

It's entirely possible that Cecil's mother knew what would happen after she left, or had enough of an idea to subconsciously work it into a bedtime story.

It's possible that this is a glimpse of a timeline where Cecil really didn't survive entering the tree. His parents mourn, and his sister is allowed to pursue the education she wanted.  (Which, in all honesty, a pretty cruel burden to place on Cecil's shoulders. It's not his fault that their mother disappeared, leaving Abby to take care of him.)

Next, we watch the boy slowly lose his humanity as his awareness widens outside of himself.

"Time slowed for him, and his knowledge grew so vast and so expansive, human triumphs and pains became only a small sliver of his interest. There were much larger systems to comprehend than humanity." - 132, Bedtime Story

Cecil is canonically one of the people in Night Vale that time slowed down for. Like Earl, he has been stuck at a certain age for a long, long time.

"He had forgotten what he used to be." - 132, Bedtime Story

Cecil has canonically lost large parts of his past. He no longer remembers them.

"Later that spring, the woman and the man and the child brought a picnic and some games, and the tree was happy, but could not comprehend why. Nor did the tree intend to. The tree was simply happy, and this was a feeling that existed. Years later, the family wore black again and cried. And the tree felt sad, but it did not connect this feeling to any kind of narrative. It was simply sad, and this was a feeling that existed." - 132, Bedtime Story

The boy tree is becoming incredibly distanced from his family. (A woman, man, and child, just like Abby, Steve, and Janice.)

"You know, Cecil and I first met at one of these things. Seems like we should have met earlier than that. I had dated his sister for a while. But Cecil’s busy, he- he serves his community. He really gives himself to his community. Who do you live for, you know? Who do you give yourself to? Those are questions we should all be asking ourselves." - Steve in 100, Toast

Steve confirmed that Cecil was distant from his family and the people around him before Carlos came along, burying himself in his job.

And then an angel cuts down the tree.

"Over a few days, the tree and the fruits and the separated stump died. But the tree retained everything. As its body was planted into boards, as its twigs were ground into mulch, the tree felt the knowledge of each seed it had planted across the valley, each creature it had nourished with its fruits, and each piece of lumber built into a home for generations of humans to come.

The tree felt its branches burned in a fireplace, and it rose up as smoke and dissipated into carbon across the sky, coming down in trillions of molecules to build more soil, more trees, more creatures. The boy could truly learn everything now, cell by cell." - 132, Bedtime Story

Cecil has given himself to his community. This boy, this tree, has been divided and used up as a resource, to serve the community in which he lived. Not to mention the fact that Cassettes Cecil died before becoming the Voice, like this boy/tree was cut down before he could serve/understand his community.

"Cecil, sweet Cecil. Whose life lies directly on the fault lines of this broken reality." - Huntokar in 109, Huntokar

Patching together:

- this quote from Huntokar that gives off the impression of Cecil as the glue keeping the fractures together, and

- the way that Leonard Burton, a deceased Voice, is brought back the moment that Cecil left town, filling the vacant spot, and

- the way that Night Vale fell apart when its citizens rejected their reality, and began to be patched back together along with the narration of their Voice

It all leads to:

The Voice of Night Vale is a significant, needed position.

 It’s possible that he holds the fractured town together, in a way, his words reminding the citizens to keep their will and hold onto what is in front of them. (In the case that the cold light is the Smiling God, this gives it a motive. If it takes out Cecil, the town is left vulnerable for it to devour.)

Just like the tree, Cecil is used by his town.

His mother knew that he would become the Voice one day- it was prophesized. That’s the reason he was given the tape recorder, that’s the reason she told this story.

We still don’t know what was in the book in the table.

Then, this very interesting quote from 182:

“I’ve been in this job for a long time. Probably longer than I’ve been alive. I mean: you’ve been alive.”

He says the truth for a moment, then backs up because that doesn’t make sense to him. Coupled the way his mother’s story parallels Cecil’s, with boy becoming the tree, becoming a resource that serves the town and seeing all of it (similar to how Cecil knows what’s happening in the town and what its citizens are thinking without leaving his studio. See: every traffic report and episodes likes A Story About Them.) and Cecil mentioning the odd nature of his job in 182..

I think we’re about to learn exactly what it means to be the Voice.

[razieltwelve]

Meeting (Final Rose x GOT)

Ned Stark looked his friend up and down. Robert was the very picture of a mighty king, his  presence filling the courtyard. There was no trace of weariness or weakness about him. His blue eyes were bright, and his powerful frame still rippled with muscle. For a long moment, neither of them said a word, but Robert’s lips twitched ever so slightly.

Robert smirked. “You’ve gotten old, Ned.”

Ned smirked back. “And you’ve gotten fat.”

A shocked silence swept over the courtyard, and then Robert gave that deep, booming laugh of his and lifted Ned clear off his feet in a hug so strong that the Lord of the North feared that his ribs might break.

“Gods, it’s good to see you again.” Robert chuckled and squeezed just enough to make Ned’s ribs creak before setting him back on his feet. “Where have you been all these years?”

Ned made a show of rubbing his ribs. He’d almost forgotten just how strong Robert was. “Keeping the North for you, Your Grace.”

“Hah! And keeping it well if all I’ve heard is true.” Robert threw one arm over Ned’s shoulders and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “We’ve much to talk about, you and I. Your last letter was... interesting.” Then he raised his voice and gestured grandly at the crowd. “A man - and a king - is only as good as his friends. A true and loyal friend is worth more than his weight in gold. I’d not have this crown on my head were it not for the loyalty and friendship of Lord Stark here and all of the North.” There were cries of approval from the crowd, and Robert beamed. “Too few kings have paid heed to the North, but you need never fear that from me and mine. As my wife’s House is so fond of saying: a Lannister always pays his debts... and so does a Baratheon. While my line sits on the throne, the North will always have a friend in the South.”

Ned grinned. It was nice to see that the years had not changed his friend for the worst. He had worried, for a time, that Robert might never overcome his grief at the loss of Lyanna. Yet from the letters they had exchanged, he knew that the birth of Robert’s children had restored his sense of purpose and allowed him to move on. “You have my thanks, Robert. You and yours will always be welcome in the North.”

“And speaking of you and yours, Ned.” Robert nodded at Ned’s children who were standing dutifully nearby. “Introduce me.”

Ned finally managed to pull out of Robert’s grasp. “I should start with my wife first. You remember Catelyn, I’m sure.”

Robert grinned. “As beautiful as I remember.” He nudged Ned and glanced over his shoulder at Cersei. “We’re lucky men, Ned. Both of us lords and with pretty ladies to boot.”

Ned and the queen both shook their heads in fond exasperation. Catelyn, of course, adopted a more polite approach. “You honour me with your words, Your Grace.”

“None of that,” Robert said. “And you too, Ned. I’ve too many people already toadying up to me and calling me Your Grace. I don’t need it from either of you. I’ve no better or more loyal a friend than you. Call me Robert, both of you.” He embraced Catelyn. “Thank you for keeping an eye on Ned here. He likes to think he’s the sensible one out of us, but I remember growing up beside him at the Aerie...”

“And moving on,” Ned said quickly. Both he and Robert had ample stories of childhood misdeeds, but his friend had seized the initiative as he was wont to do. “My eldest, Robb.”

“Ah, my namesake.” Robert studied Robb. “You’ve the look of your mother, lad, but there’s steel in those eyes of yours.” He glanced at Ned. “Blooded, is he?”

“Aye,” Ned admitted. “Helped saved his younger brother from Wildings.”

“Good lad.” Robert squeezed Robb’s shoulder. “A man should protect his family.” He shifted his attention to Ned. “I’ve heard mutterings of the Wildlings stirring. We can talk about it later, but if you need help, you’ll get it.” He glanced past Robb to Sansa. “And who is this lovely young lady?”

“Sansa, Your Grace.” Sansa gave the king a perfect curtsy, and Robert beamed.

“A perfect lady, just like her mother.” Robert looked to the two younger boys beside her. “And unless my memory fails me, then, from your letters, Ned, these must be Bran and Rickon.”

“Aye.” Ned said. “Bran’s got a clever head on his shoulders and Rickon...” He chuckled. “And Rickon is still young.”

“You’re really big,” Rickon said, staring at Robert.

Robert threw his head back and laughed. “That I am, lad. I doubt you’ll ever be my size, but there’s plenty of growing in you, I think.” He paused. “Ned... didn’t you have two more, or am I remembering your letters wrong?”

“Uh...” Ned breathed a sigh of relief as Lyara finally returned, all but dragging Arya. His youngest daughter had, of course, decided that the best time to take a tumble in a muddy puddle was right before meeting the king.

Robert stared at the pair for a long, long moment. Ned could understand his shock. Lyara resembled his sister in many ways although, objectively speaking, Ned could admit that she was fairer, having inherited much of Catelyn’s classical beauty to go with the wild charm his sister had possessed. Then he shook himself, and his shoulders began to heave as he took in the sight of Arya covered in mud.

“Hahahaha...” Robert had to reach up to wipe tears from his eyes. “Oh, Ned, this reminds me of... before.”

Ned mentally breathed a sigh of relief. Another king might have been insulted, but Robert wasn’t like other kings. “Aye. Arya has a knack for trouble.” He put a mock scowl on his face, and he had to fight to hide his smile as Arya quailed. Robert noticed what he was doing and only laughed harder. “Greet the king, Arya.”

“I... uh... welcome to Winterfell, Your Grace.” Arya did her best to sketch a curtsy and failed miserably. Catelyn covered her face with one hand. 

“So...” Robert finally got his mirth under control. “Tell me, girl, what do you favour, the sword, the axe, or the spear?”

Arya stared at him in shock, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d heard. And then she smiled, the brilliant, wonderfully warm smile that Ned could honestly say would be breaking hearts in several years. “The sword, Your Grace! There is no better weapon than a sword!”

“Oh? I favour the war hammer myself.” Robert smiled indulgently. “Perhaps you could show me your skills while I’m here, or perhaps test them against one of my sons.”

“Really?” Arya’s eyes shone. “I’d love to!” She paused and then quickly added. “Your Grace.”

Robert hesitated for a moment and then reached out to ruffle her hair. “She reminds me of Lyanna, Ned.” There was a trace of grief in the words, but Ned was relieved to hear it accompanied by fondness too. Robert would likely always mourn Lyanna, but he had also moved on. Robert’s gaze shifted to Lyara. “And you must be Lyara.”

“Aye, Your Grace.” Lyara met his gaze, and Ned was only mildly surprised to see that there was none of the awe in it that people usually had when they met Robert. Instead, there was only measured calm. It was as though she’d taken Robert’s measure and had been satisfied by what she saw. “It is an honour to meet the man my father calls his dearest friend.”

Robert’s lips twitched. “A wolf indeed, Ned.” Ned had mentioned in more than one of his letters that he’d always thought the wolf’s blood was thickest in Lyara. “They call you the Rose of the North. Mind explaining the title?”

Lyara’s eyes gleamed. “A rose is known for it’s beauty... and its thorns, Your Grace.”

“She’s the finest swordsman in the North!” Arya cried before Catelyn frantically moved to shush her.

“Is that so?” Robert rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “My eldest is supposed to be a prodigy for his age, as skilled a warrior as any youth. Perhaps you’d care to test his mettle.”

“Perhaps.” 

Robert tossed Ned an amused glance. They were likely both thinking the same thing. A match between their House would be perfect. “Well, now that I’ve met your lot, allow me to introduce my lot.”

X     X     X

Edward, who had once been Diana, bit back a chuckle as another one of the Lannister guards did his best to impress Lyara Stark only to end up disarmed and face down in the mud. 

“Gods,” Tyrion muttered. “That’s the fifth one already. I know Elric. He’s no Arthur Dayne, but he’s no slouch either. All that talk of her being the finest sword in the North might actually be true.”

“Well, the North has never been much given to exaggeration.” And if his suspicions were true, there was a reason none of the young men eager to impress her had gotten anywhere. It was a pity that he hadn’t managed to corner her for a private conversation, but the royal family had been pulled into a whirlwind of activity after arriving at Winterfell. “If they say she’s damn good, then she’s damn good.”

“Are you going to try your luck, nephew?” Tyrion asked. “Although you must surely be aware of what your father is thinking.”

Edward was indeed aware. If his suspicions were correct - and the more he watched Lyara fight, the more certain he grew - then this could get extremely awkward. “Even so, I’d like to test my blade against hers.”

“And it seems you may just have your chance.” Tyrion chuckled. “Best of luck.”

As Edward accepted the wooden practice sword and stepped into the arena, a pair of Lannister guards dragged the unfortunate Elric over to a nearby bench to recover. 

“Don’t take her lightly,” Ser Barristan murmured as Edward passed him. “She’s good, Your Highness, amongst the best I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s a good thing, then, that I’m also amongst the best you’ve ever seen.” Edward’s lips curled up into a smile. “Wish me luck.”

Ser Barristan grinned. “Good luck.”

“Your Highness.” Lyara greeted him with a nod. Edward’s father had always insisted on no special treatment for him in the training yard. He was to be a proper warrior, not a coddled prince. 

“My lady.” Edward took up his stance, vaguely aware that they had already begun to draw an audience. He was widely considered one of the finest swordsmen in the realm despite his tender age, and already the only ones who could challenge him with a blade were his uncle and Ser Barristan. “Shall we?”

“Any rules?” Lyara asked.

“Well, obviously, we won’t be fighting to the death,” Edward said as he began to circle, drawing laughter from the crowd. His sword whipped out, lightning fast, only to be parried just as quickly before a riposte forced him to lean to the side. He found his smile widening. He knew that riposte. It was one of the very first moves he’d learned from his mother in his previous life. “And fighting until first blood might be problematic since we’re using wooden weapons. I daresay, we’d have to club each other halfway into the grave.”

“That would be unfortunate, yes.” Lyara skipped forward, as swift and easy on her feet as a bird in flight. Her blade went high and then low before a feint to his mid-section was followed by a thrust to his exposed shoulder. Edward blocked the first two blows and then dodged the third. He was definitely grinning like an idiot now. He knew that sequence. It was a training sequence the Yun had often used to teach the importance of seeing through feints. From the faint smile on Lyara’s face, he could tell she’d noticed the ease with which he’d dealt with her attacks - as though he’d known what they would be.

Well, it was time to give her something to think about. “A point match then,” he said. “With blows pulled before contact. I think we both have the control for that.”

“Aye.”

“Then... have at thee.” Abandoning his lackadaisical stance, Edward closed the distance between them. His sword rose and fell with all the force of a sledgehammer, swift, sharp, punishing blows that were nevertheless perfectly controlled and without overextension. It was a training sequence from a Yun sword form melded with the techniques of his previous’s life’s mother. If Lyara was who he thought she was, she would recognise it in a heartbeat.

The light of recognition in her eyes made Edward’s heart soar. He’d feared he might be alone in this new world with none of his friends or family from his previous life. Yet the ease with which she parried the blows, the way she evaded the strikes she knew would be coming, it was practically confirmation. Still, he couldn’t resist pushing harder.

Diana had spent her entire life testing herself against Averia. Edward wanted to see how good Lyara really was.

X     X     X

“Gods,” Robert muttered as he watched Edward and Lyara fight their way around the training area. “The lad’s been holding back on us.”

Beside him, Ser Barristan was watching everything with a critical eye. Despite his calm demeanour, Robert could tell that the old knight was excited. Ever since the death of Arthur Dayne, Barristan had been acknowledged as the greatest swordsman in Westeros. Even Jaime could admit that while he was close to the older man’s equal, Barristan still held an edge. Yet the way Edward was fighting now, Robert could sense the same thing Barristan could.

He might finally have met his match, or possibly even his superior.

And the fact that Lyara was matching him blow for blow...

“She’s a wonder, Ned,” Robert said. “You’re a good swordsman, yourself, but this...”

Ned nodded sombrely. “I don’t know where she gets it, Robert. There’s no swordsman in the North her equal. It’s as if the gods themselves gave her a gift.” 

“Aye.” Robert found himself smirking. “But look at the pair of them. They’re doing their best to beat each other’s heads in, but they’re having the time of their lives.”

It was true. Despite the intensity of their spar, both Edward and Lyara were smiling although the girl’s expression was more reserved. They were talking as they fought although the clatter of their wooden swords made it impossible for Robert to tell what they were saying. Still, he couldn’t help but smile. He’d hoped that Edward and Lyara might get along, but this? This was beyond his wildest expectations.

“They’re bloody flirting,” Robert said, chuckling. 

Ned stared for a long moment before shaking his head. “By the gods, Robert, I think you might be right.”

Suddenly, Edward and Lyara broke apart. They were both sweating, but neither of them looked as though they wanted to stop. 

“Spear,” Edward barked curtly. “Someone get us a pair of spears.”

A blunted spear was soon tossed to the prince, and Robert felt pride swell in his chest as his boy handled the weapon like he was born to it. Likewise, a spear was soon tossed to Lyara as well, and she too handled the weapon with aplomb.

“Shall we continue?” Lyara asked.

Edward’s grin was pure Baratheon. “With pleasure.”

X     X     X

“Did you see it?” Arya cried, tugging on Jon’s arm excitedly. “Did you see it?”

“Aye,” Jon replied, chuckling. “And I’m glad I did.” He’d always known that his sister held back when they sparred, but he’d never realised just how much until she and the prince had fought. Gods, it was like watching something out of a story or a legend. “It was a draw, though, since neither of them managed to land a decent hit.”

“Well, I think she won,” Arya proclaimed. “Maybe they’ll have a rematch.”

Jon thought of the light he’d seen in both their eyes when they’d been fighting. Oh, they’d have a rematch. It was like they’d been waiting their whole lives to meet each other and were overjoyed to finally meet. “We’ll see.” He ruffled Arya’s hair. “Did you see my match?”

Arya nodded. “You fought Ser Barristan!”

“I lost.” Jon shook his head in wonder. The knight was every bit the legend people said he was.

“But he complimented you. He said you fought well and everything,” Arya replied. “And I don’t think he would have lied. He didn’t seem like the type of person to lie.”

“No, no, he didn’t.” The words were still warm in Jon’s heart. To be praised by a man like Ser Barristan! And his father had squeezed his shoulder and complimented him on his fine showing as he’d left the sparring arena. 

“And Robb didn’t do too badly either,” Arya said. “Not that he won.”

“He was fighting Ser Jaime,” Jon said. “Robb’s good, but Ser Jaime might be the second-best swordsman in the realm behind Ser Barristan.” Or behind his sister and Prince Edwards, Jon thought. “Still, he did well. Ser Jaime seemed to think so, anyway.”

“Well, I can’t wait to fight the king.” Arya folded her arms across her chest. “You, Robb, and Lyara have all gotten to show off. I’d like a chane to show what I can do.”

“Try not to kill him,” Jon japed. “He’s father’s friend and a good ruler, by all accounts.”

“I’ll be merciful,” Arya said before lowering her voice. “I do hope he takes it easy on me.”

The king had sparred a few bouts himself. Jon had been shocked not just by the raw strength the king possessed, but his speed. No man that large and that strong should be able to move so swiftly. It was clear, too, that he was pulling his blows. Had he struck with anything even close to his full strength, then even the padded, wooden war hammer he’d wielded would have crushed his opponents in a single blow. 

Jon had heard tales of how Robert had struck down Prince Rhaegar during the Battle of the Trident. Seeing the man in action, it was easy to imagine the Targaryen going down beneath a storm of blows from the Baratheon’s mighty hammer.

“Of course, he will, Arya. You’ve seen him around the others. He’s not cruel. Why, he even agreed to spar Bran, and he handled him as kindly as father does.”

Bran, of course, had been starstruck at the thought of sparring the king, and Robert had humoured him, offering words of advice and encouraging the lad to do his best before ending the bout with a simple disarm.

“Look.” Arya huffed and pointed. “They’re talking again.”

Jon followed her gaze and bit back a chuckle. Arya was so used to having their sister’s attention that he wasn’t surprised she was a bit put out at the amount of talking Lyara and the prince had done. It was like they were old friends catching up after a long time apart or something. Yet from the expression on his sister’s face and the warmth in her gaze, it was clear the pair were truly getting along.

Jon smiled. He’d always worried that his fierce, wise sister might struggle to find a man who could appreciate her. Yet everything he’d heard about the prince suggested that he might be precisely such a man. More than anything, he wanted her to be happy. Yet, he would keep a close eye, as would Robb. If the prince were to do anything untoward, well, they’d have to step in. But if he proved to be an honourable man who would make their sister happy? Well, they’d welcome him... after a bit of threatening, of course.

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

You asked for more, so here it is.

Uh oh. People are really getting the wrong impression. Just wait until Edward and Lyara realise what they’ve done. It was also nice writing this version of Robert who is really the king he could have been rather than the king he ended up being. More intrigue to follow. Perhaps a peek into the Sealord’s court or what’s going on Beyond the Wall.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

[itsuki-minamy]

“K - THE FIRST STORY”

EPILOGUE: TO BE CONTINUED (Complete)

* K - The First Story (List of Chapters) * Projects & Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

The "Green King" looked at the monitor and muttered under his breath.

"The Weissmann deviation of the 'Colorless King', the Weissmann deviation of Adolf K. Weissmann and the Weissmann deviation of Mikoto Suoh have disappeared."

The man in priest's clothing next to him frowned at the simple words of the "Green King."

"In the end, the 'Golden King' didn't move."

"Yes, but there is a record that the 'Golden King' communicated with the 'Silver King'. Maybe he entrusted everything to the 'Silver King', or..."

The "Green King" slightly raised the edge of his mouth.

"Does the 'Golden King' no longer have enough power to move on its own?"

A child sitting under the feet of the "Green King" snorted when he heard it.

"If the most troublesome guy is seriously getting old, isn't that convenient for us?"

"Affirmative. It may not be long before we get out."

A sleek young man leaning on the couch looked at the "Green King" with tentative eyes under his long lashes.

"But it's a shame that your obsessive 'Silver King' died so easily. Or rather, the immortal 'King' actually died, didn't he?"

"What about that?"

The "Green King's" eyes gleamed as if waiting for something. His eyes were looking at the state of the school island when he was about to settle through the monitor.

"The "Silver King" is an immutable king. Even if the body was abducted by the interference of the "Colorless King", his soul escaped immutable without being invaded. Once again, his "immutability" may still be alive, although it seems that it has been burned by the flames of the destruction of the 'Red King'."

"Kuwa! Kuwa!"

The parrot, who was sitting on the "Green King's" shoulder, made a loud noise.

This parrot was a friend and go-between for the "Green King". He also had a conversation with the "Colorless King" through this parrot.

The "Green King" put his cheeks on his head as if he was aiming at a parrot.

"If the 'Silver King' is alive, he will be back soon. This time, the 'Silver King' will be on my game board."

All his friends looked at the "Green King". Everyone felt that his body was silent, but releasing a large amount of energy.

++++++++++

After sending Kukuri to the place where the other students were evacuating, Kuro joined Neko and returned to Gakuenjima to search for the boy.

Neko seemed to have slept the entire time after using great power. The current situation didn't swallow well, and she was walking fast on an unstaffed school island, rolling her big eyes, only to find that the boy was purely lost.

Kuro knew that the boy headed into the battle between the "Red King" and the "Blue King", keeping the soul of the "Colorless King" trapped in his body. He witnessed the bright red column of fire that tore through the heavens with the full blow of the "Red King" and the fall of the red sword of Damocles.

Later, he crossed the connecting bridge in Gakuenjima alone and confirmed the appearance of the "Blue King" Munakata returning from a distance. He couldn't tell Neko what those facts meant.

The sun was bent, and the red light of twilight stained the uneven island of the school. The place where Suoh and Munakata transformed into a battlefield, had a particularly large mark of destruction, showing the ferocity of the battle.

He crossed between the trees that were burned black and felled, and finally they headed to the place where they could see a huge column of fire. Neko followed with an anxious look behind Kuro who was walking silently.

The column of fire rose around the shrine at the rear of Gakuenjima. Climbing up the long stone steps that collapsed after the battle that followed the shrine, Kuro made his way to the place with Neko.

As soon as she climbed the stone steps and opened her eyes, for Neko who was small, it was impressive.

In the shrine precincts, the soil was excavated like a crater and did not retain its original shape.

As they approached the rim of the crater, the ground was still warm and the temperature was transmitted underneath the shoes. Kuro walked slowly along the edge.

Suddenly, Neko screamed and ran off, yelling "Shiro!" Kuro reflexively waited for Neko to run.

However, what was there was not the figure of the boy, but the red umbrella that the boy always had.

The umbrella sank deep into the ground like a tombstone. Neko grabbed the handle of the umbrella and pulled hard to remove it.

"Uh, it doesn't want to go out!"

With Neko's power, the umbrella half buried in the ground did not move, but Neko's hand slipped and fell back. Kuro slowly approached and took out the umbrella instead of Neko. Neko desperately jumped on the umbrella Kuro was holding.

"Give it to me! I'll give it to Shiro!"

Seeing her hug the umbrella carefully, a sad thing rushed into his chest.

"Hey, Neko. You won't be able to hand it over to Shiro anymore."

He spoke those words to her in the softest voice possible. The words he spoke returned to his thoughts and he felt pain.

Neko filled with tears in her eyes and made a wet voice.

"No! I'll give it to Shiro! I'll give it to Shiro!"

It became difficult and Kuro involuntarily strengthened his vocabulary.

"Listen to me! Shiro is…!"

"Because Shiro is a 'King'!"

Before Neko who yelled that at him with a desperate face, Kuro was shocked and lost his words.

(I am the immortal "King".)

The appearance of the boy who said that with a kind expression and a calm voice revived in his mind.

That could have been a manifestation of the boy's intention to go back to Kuro and Neko.

A gentle tidal-scented breeze blew from the sea, caressing Kuro's skin to comfort him. In his heart, Kuro chanted a phrase.

(Embracing resignation, the curtain does not fall.)

He once encouraged the boy with that phrase. He wasn't going to give up. Where are you? He mentally asks the boy. He chided himself for trying to give up hope of finding him.

He walked over to Neko, who was hugging the umbrella and stiffened, and Kuro gently approached her.

"That's right. Shiro is our 'King'."

Neko stared at Kuro in amazement, and she stared into Kuro's eyes for a while, trying to discern with her large eyes.

Finally, Neko relaxed her strengthened body and placed her hand on Kuro's.

The thin white hand of her partner was tightly wrapped by Kuro and he pulled hard.

Neko held the boy's umbrella in one arm, held one hand in Kuro's and stood up.

++++++++++

Reporting how the Weissmann deviations of the three "Kings", "Colorless King", "Silver King" and "Red King" disappeared, Daikaku Kokujoji replied with a single word, "Yes."

The "rabbit" gently looked at the Lord's face from under his face. There was no sadness on his face with the deep drag that makes you feel the years that he has lived.

The "rabbits" also hid a war-etched face under the rabbit-shaped face. It is an old "rabbit" that only differs ten times from the normal path. For many years, he was the oldest "rabbit" that had slipped through "Tokijikuin" and moved like his limbs.

This is why he realized that Kokujoji did not have a calm heart now.

This rabbit knew that while Kokujoji Daikaku was a solid and unshakable person, he had an old friend who lived in the soft part of his heart.

The reason why he changed the figure to "Golden King" was to rebuild Japan, which was devastated after the war. In fact, thanks to him, there is now development in this country. At the same time, Kokujoji continued to be the "King" and to defend the Dresden "Slate" due to the friendships and dreams that were cultivated in Germany during the war.

(Only I will be the ideal "King", so he watches from there.)

The "rabbit" never forgot the expression of determination that young Kokujoji had, looking towards the Himmelreich, the airship in which Adolf K. Weissmann was on board, which arrived in Japan. It was the moment when the "rabbit", who was still a child, decided to dedicate himself to his path.

"His Excellency..."

The "rabbit" involuntarily called out to the Lord, called out to him, but did not know how to continue his words after that.

Kokujoji opened his mouth before the "rabbit" found the words.

"Prepare for the departure of the 'Meifu (Underworld)'."

The "rabbit" opened his eyes. The "Meifu" was the same type of airship that Weissmann had that crashed, the "Sky" Himmelreich, and was kept secret by Kokujoji in case of emergency.

"That is the immortal 'King'."

The "rabbit" said that to get ahead of Kokujoji's response.

He was embarrassed by the misunderstanding that he thought that the reason Kokujoji's heart was not calm was because of grief over the loss of an important old friend.

The "rabbit" bowed deeply.

"Yes."

"What about his clan members?"

"Kuro Yatogami, who was a member of the Ichigen Miwa clan, and a Strain girl who calls herself Neko."

"Fix the room where he lived at school, and make it the base of them. Tell them: 'Wait for your Lord in this room.'"

"Yes, his Excellency."

The "rabbit" quickly turns around and begins to move to fulfill the Lord's intentions.

Things related to the "Silver King" are not over yet.

++++++++++

He washes off Mikoto Suoh's blood from his hands.

The red one, symbolizing the man who so upset Munakata, was easily washed away by running water and disappeared.

The world seemed to be broken due to the cracks in the crystals that entered during the battle.

The gesture of washing off the blood and drying wet hands with a towel became complicated. He realized that now he was upset.

"Captain."

Awashima's voice was heard. Hearing the voice that was the flag, Munakata's disturbed emotions subsided and he returned to the control of order.

"All students on the evacuated school island were confirmed to be safe. Students whose bodies have been abducted by the 'Colorless King' do not appear to have sequelae. Only the slightly injured, but the injured students were taken to the hospital in cooperation with the ambulance team."

"Okay. Good job."

"I have confirmed all of the Gakuenjima students, but... the girl named Neko and Kuroh Yatogami, who were working with Yashiro Isana, are missing."

"That's all."

Munakata turned to Awashima. The scar on the flank stabbed by the Red Clan member who was kidnapped by the "Colorless King" was small. It was a shooting pain that did not go away after treatment.

"I wanted to ask them about the detailed history about the circumstances of the incident, but... it can't be helped, especially since the ability of that girl named Neko is difficult to trace."

"Yes.", Awashima took control and looked at Munakata as if he was looking at her. Just looking at Awashima, Munakata realized that he was somewhat disturbed even when he was seen from the edge.

"Awashima-kun. He had never made a mistake before."

Awashima didn't reply and urged him with only her eyes. Munakata continued steadily.

"But this time I made a mistake... I couldn't stop that guy."

Looking only at the results, Munakata will be the "King" who stopped Damocles from Suoh's fall. But that was what Suoh wanted. Suoh broke Munakata's restraint and ran down the road to ruin, and Munakata was only forced to clean up after that.

Awashima didn't say anything about how Munakata stopped the "Red King". He simply said "Yes." with a serious face.

Feeling safe from it, Munakata smirked to himself.

"How disrespectful. I complained."

"I'm your assistant. Tell me anything."

"That is reliable."

When Munakata smiled, Awashima's expression, which did not break her serious attitude, suddenly shuddered when she looked back.

Munakata looked back to follow her gaze.

There were countless little red lights there.

A group of small red lights moved like fireflies out of season and rose into the sky like sparks. The red lights were born from the bodies of "Homura", who looked in the direction of Gakuenjima at the seashore below the connecting bridge.

"This is…"

Awashima was impressed. Munakata also closed his eyes and looked at the scene.

"Part of Clansman's power is undone with the death of the 'King'. It is ironic that such a violent and selfish man left this dreamlike vision behind."

Fushimi stood by the bridge railing in a stunned atmosphere. He held the area around the left clavicle with his hand. Munakata knew that there was a "mark" burned in that place, from when he was in the red clan in the past.

From Fushimi's body, a small red light spilled out from the place where the "mark" was and soared into the sky.

Munakata, who was silently looking at Fushimi looking at the red light rising from his body with a face like a lost child, suddenly felt a signal to flee the school island.

A familiar kitten and a black dog run in a straight line.

"Oh."

It was the girl Strain and Kuroh Yatogami, of whom Awashima had lost their whereabouts, although they were taking the form of a small animal by reconnaissance operation.

Munakata thought for a moment and ignored it as he was.

Just today, he couldn't feel like catching and questioning those who had lost their precious loved ones.

++++++++++

For a long time no one could move.

The fall of the sword of Damocles. There was no one there who didn't know what that meant.

And more than that, each of them felt the loss of their main existence due to the flames they had on their bodies.

Yata, who would have been angry if he had explained it in words, would have insisted that he did not believe it, but he was stunned without saying a word about the fact that he felt with the flame as his soul.

Kusanagi also stood up without saying anything, holding up Anna, who had collapsed from calling Suoh so much until she was speechless, and continued to look up at the sky over Gakuenjima, where the sword had disappeared.

Finally, the accelerating winter sun set, and the sky dyed only the western edge light red, filling in the signs of the night.

Anna in his arms was no longer crying, and she looked down expressionlessly as if she had turned into a real doll. He had to take her back to a warm place early.

Cooled by the snowy winter air, Kusanagi thought he had to tell them something.

Suoh was not there, who was already a pillar. Not even Totsuka to laugh and empower Kusanagi when he was having a hard time.

Kusanagi had no choice but to speak to his disappointed companions.

However, the words weren't going up Kusanagi's throat at all.

Maybe anything he digested would bring them up to speed. No, when he thought it was his role to chase after him, Kamamoto uttered a low voice.

"No Blood! No Bone! No Ash!"

What Kamamoto said was the motto of "Homura".

No Blood! No Bone! No Ash!

A word that inspired them before the battle and was spoken as an open voice so that they all became a single flame.

But at the same time, it was a word of mourning for those who died.

"No Blood! No Bone! No Ash!"

In response to Kamamoto, the people around him chanted and raised their voices, pushing their fists skyward.

He tightened his voice to sublimate his sadness, and at least he was proud to hide the pitiful appearance from Suoh that left.

Yata, who was crying in a daze, saw his friends cry and raised his fist without wiping his tears.

"No Blood! No Bone! No Ash!"

"No Blood! No Bone! No Ash!"

The men's voices became one, and the air swayed and echoed.

In it, Kusanagi saw a flaming butterfly soaring.

He was surprised to remember the butterfly that Totsuka used to skillfully make with his own flame, but if he looked closely, it was not a butterfly.

It was a small red light that had no shape. It dance like a fluffy butterfly and climb to the sky.

A small light rose from the bodies of "Homura" members. The light that was born from each and every one of them pointed to the sky as if they were trying to serve Suoh. Some of Suoh's flames may have unraveled and separated.

Kusanagi also felt a fever around the right shoulder blade with the "mark." A red light emerged from Kusanagi's body.

Kusanagi's light flew into the sky with the same smooth movement as everyone's light. As the cold white snow billowed from top to bottom, the sight of the warm red light fluttering from bottom to top was fantastic, and Kusanagi breathed trembling.

Anna licked her lips too and stared at the cluster of red lights. Anna descended from Kusanagi's arms, spread her arms and looked up at the sky.

"It's a beautiful red..."

Anna murmured in a low, soft voice.

Kusanagi thought that this scene might be the last gift Suoh gave Anna, and that it was too romantic.

(The king's flames are not all terrifying. They are warm and clean.)

"Can you hear us, Mikoto?"

Kusanagi muttered, narrowed his eyes and looked up at the sky. Red light gathered in the air and colored the dark night sky red.

Perhaps due to the temperature of the light, his body heated up before he knew it, even though he was under the snowy sky.

Mikoto Suoh was a man who was not suitable to be "King". Kusanagi still believed it.

Still, Mikoto Suoh was the "King" more than anyone.

He was amazed with fierce flames, fascinated by the beautiful red, cured at a mild temperature, ran alone and wasted away.

To everyone who gathered here, Mikoto Suoh was a "King".

++++++++++

Isana Yashiro was floating.

Although his body was burned to pieces, Isana Yashiro's existence hadn't disappeared and he was floating somewhere.

(This is death?)

The boy thought about that, even though it was something absurd to think about.

When that happened, he felt that everything up to now had been a long dream.

Researcher Adolf K. Weissmann. A trilogy of Weissmann's dream, the dream of the passerby "Silver King" and the dream of a peaceful high school student, Yashiro Isana.

It was all over and he feared that he would not be able to go to heaven or hell.

(That's fine?)

That was the reality of the boy's thinking, which was fluffy like a dream.

(Adolf K. Weissmann, "Silver King", and Isana Yashiro, do you still have something to do?)

(I am the immortal "King".)

Remembering his words that he had left behind, the boy tried to fight even though he had no arms. He tried to figure out where that was, even though he had no eyes. He tried to listen without ears, pay attention to the smell without a nose, and try to find the feeling of the environment without skin.

Sister. Lieutenant. Neko. Kuro.

He tried to name the ones he was thinking of, even though he had neither a throat nor a mouth.

For the first time, Isana Yashiro struggled to live.

[mxstyassasxin]

WIP Fic Recs Abound!

Thought I’d put together a list of WIPs that I’m currently following and would recommend to you all <3 

Drarry:

Instinct is a Marvellous Thing by @drarrymehome - A few months after defeating Voldemort, a grief-stricken Harry goes in search of the family he has always wanted. The search takes him to a place where everything is the same but a little bit different. Harry quite likes it there, although maybe everything isn't as it seems.But what happened to the people Harry left behind? The disappearance of Harry Potter rocked the wizarding world like nothing else, and when Draco Malfoy is accused of his kidnapping, why won’t he tell everyone the truth about what happened? Would they even believe him if he did?More importantly, where is Harry Potter and is he coming back? 

I’m loving this! It’s full of mystery and intrigue with a wonderfully pining Draco. A really well-paced slowburn where Harry has been a bit of an idiot and Draco’s trying to fix it. Beware the angst when barriers spring up in his efforts and when Harry starts to discover the truth.

Cherie, parchments and quills by Oleonetta - A birthday gift voucher for Le'Amortentia - the dating service, sends Harry into a whirlwind of words after choosing the profile of one man that sound very interesting and mysterious.Unable to disclose anything that reveals his name or identity, Harry must rely on words via a magical connected parchment to get to know the other man. Only time will tell if they wish to met.Meanwhile, Harry had started his 10th year as a Hogwarts professor, and this year ... one Mr Draco Malfoy has taken over the position of potions professor.

Professor Drarry! Letter writing! Both tropes that I really enjoy and this does not disappoint. The glee I feel knowing things as the reader when Harry and Draco don’t is brilliant and the fic is so full of amazing details that make it really heartwarming and emotional. 

Dramione:

The Auction by @lovesbitca8 – In the wake of the Dark Lord's triumph over Harry Potter, the defeated must learn their new place. Hermione Granger has been captured to be sold to the highest bidder as the top prize at an auction of Order members and sympathizers. But despite the horrors of Voldemort's new world, help seems to arise from the most unlikely of places.

Voldemort wins au, part of the Rights and Wrongs series. Start with The Right Thing To Do (not Voldy wins) because The Auction is the playout of something brought up in that by Draco and I love how fleshed out the little detail has become. Also, can I just give a cheer for all the bamf women in this fic! 

Professors by GinFics (edit: now complete) – Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, the Hogwarts professors have been totally re-staffed by none other than the Golden Trio and their classmates. Ever since the Battle, Hermione has been dating Ron, though things haven't been good between them in a long time. With Draco and Hermione heading up the school's Dueling Club, it's guaranteed to be an interesting year, indeed.

What it says on the tin so far. Lovely fic about Draco and Hermione getting together at Hogwarts when they return to teach there. I love romantic Draco and the two of them wanting to do the best by each other and keep the other safe from the reactions of friends and family. Also, yey for supportive Harry and McGonagall

Bless the Broken Road by SnowblindLissaDream @snowblind12 @lissadream – Almost fifteen years post the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy find themselves in a life they could never have imagined. Both have lost their spouses in untimely deaths. Both have young children to contend with. What will happen when their worlds reconnect via a spouse loss grief group put on by St. Mungo's?

Draco is such a sweetie in this fic and the way he interacts with Rose and Hugo is wonderful. He’s there for Hermione when Ginny and Harry can’t understand how she’s feeling and I’m pretty sure there’s some wonderful soulmate magic afoot. I love all the adorable feels!

Blue Widow by failedfracture – Hermione and Draco are both grieving for the ones they loved. Epilogue compliant.

Another one where Hermione’s a widow and has coped with it by leaving Britain, but now she’s back. This is as sexy as Bless the Broken Road is sweet. Harry and Ginny’s friendship with Draco is fabulous and they are just as protective over him as they are over Hermione.

Other/General:

It’s Tea Time series by ellizablue – Scorbus is the main pairing in this Potter family drama series following the events of Cursed Child but Lily’s rand James’ relationships with their respective OCs also play a huge part. I adore everyone’s characterisation in this series and this Lily is how I see all Lily Lunas now. Also massive love for Harry, Ginny and Draco as wonderfully portrayed parents and then grandparents. The same mystery, adventure feel that runs through the original HP works has been amazingly emulated here with bonus feels.

House of the Brave series by islandgirl394, starting chronologically with Written in the Stars – This fic begins a series that follows the next gen kids through all their times at Hogwarts with their individual challenges. Written in the Stars follows Victoire as she balances her academic responsibilities and her feelings for Teddy. She comes to terms with the fact that life doesn’t always work out the way you might expect it to, and Neville is on hand as an amazing Head of House with the good lectures and assistance to help her find her purpose. 

New Blood by artemisgirl – Sorted into Slytherin with the whisper of prophecy around her, Hermione refuses to bow down to the blood prejudices that poison the wizarding world. Carving her own path forward, Hermione chooses to make her own destiny, not as a Muggleborn, a halfblood, or as a pureblood... but as a New Blood, and everything the mysterious term means.

What life at Hogwarts might have been like had Hermione been sorted into Slytherin. I really enjoy their take on magic and pureblood traditions in this, Hermione’s ambition to prove herself, and Luna being a seer. The original plot of Harry vs Voldermort is ongoing in the background but obviously certain things are improved, one of which being Neville’s presence as a more fleshed out character. 

Lilypad: Year One by @marauders4evr – On 31 July 1991, Harry Potter adopted a cat and Dudley Dursley saved it. Neither child expected that the cat would adopt and save them, in turn. Yet, that is exactly what Regulus Black does, transforming his appearance, his life, and their world. The family grows closer, stronger, and greater, by the day. For anyone who needs a home is welcome at The Lilypad.

This is the ultimate Anti-Dumbledore rewrite and I love it! Powerful Lord Black is so amazing and his sass is one of the best things ever, as is the bamf oc and the way she jumps on board, no questions asked, to protect the two 11 year old boys; one who won’t eat and one who eats too much.

How To Tame Your Dragon by GloryofLove – A broken off relationship and a mistletoe led to some pretty extraordinary things. A drunken night. A dilemma worthy of the brightest witch. Mainly, for others its easy to mistake a child's father when they're both redheaded Weasleys. Two, she made a promise never to talk about how it happened in the first place. When the shaky foundation cracks what's left of the build for family?

I adore this Charmione story! They’re so adorable with each other yet still so fierce and independent and I’m absolutely in love with Hermione’s cottage (as well as Charlie). The whole thing is a wonderful exploration of emotions and struggles.

[ryansaiditposts]

The Lore of Folklore:

The Real Story Behind the Characters of Taylor Swift’s Folklore

 

 

We are all familiar with Taylor Swift’s record breaking, surprise quarantine love child, Folklore. Even more so in the Swiftie fanbase, we are familiar with the proverbial “love triangle” established in “Cardigan”, “August”, and “Betty”. What if I told you that I believe the entire album is centered around just these characters at different stages in life with Taylor’s story woven in? Also, what if I said that Taylor/Rebecca were an allegory? Not to mention the complexity of “Hoax” being a combination of all the characters in one? Of course, you would probably ask me for clarification, and that is the intention of the next few paragraphs. These characters reveal certain patterns of behavior, call and responses, and self-referential phrases that map out a much bigger story to tell. The trio of songs mentioned above were just the starting point.

 

To give you an overview of where we will be going, I want to give you the songs as they relate to each character. These will then be fleshed out to connect them in the way I hear and see Folklore play out. The songs and respective characters are as follows:

 

Betty- Cardigan, Mirrorball, and Exile (featuring James)

James- Betty, This Is Me Trying, and Exile (featuring Betty)

Augustine- August, The 1, and Illicit Affairs

Taylor- Seven, Invisible String, Mad Woman, Epiphany

Taylor/Rebecca- The Last Great American Dynasty, My Tears Ricochet, Peace

All Characters- Hoax

 

The genius of this album is that the struggles and identifiers of these characters can sometimes be interchangeable. That is what creates the magic, so take everything I say with a grain of salt. There is more than one perspective to these stories, but this is all what I heard from Inez.

 

The 1 (Augustine)-

I have been sitting with this song for a while. I began to wonder why, for lyrics that for all intents and purposes were sad, did I not get sad listening to this song. Sure, it’s about loss and what could have been, but it’s mere conjecture. Almost like a love that never really existed outside of the storyteller’s imagination. A film that was never made, if you will. Then it hit me, “you weren’t mine to lose”. Augustine simply imagined what it would have been like if the man she did not end up with could have been the one. Betty and James DID have a relationship and the theme of this “film” is repeated in the stories told throughout this album. She would have not gotten the chance to have the movie kind of romance if he had not chosen to be with her. Rose flowing with his chosen family.

 If one thing had been different, could everything be different today? Had he not already been in love with another woman, could we have been the greatest love story ever told? Something also struck me as odd. She called out him meeting some woman on the internet and taking her home. Knowing he has a tendency to stray, there could be a superficial level of jealousy. Imagining that he’s cheating on Betty, but disappointed that it isn’t with her. Not because she’s necessarily a bad person, but I think that as we will see later on in this breakdown, Augustine struggles with conventional relationship types and ties herself to sinking ships for the tragedy of it all.

 

Cardigan (Betty)-

So, not to rehash lore we are already incredibly familiar with, but this song is clearly Betty knowing that James is going to run back to her after straying the path. Cool, amazing, fierce. However, there is language here that suggests this is not the same instance as him showing up to the party. I believe that James has a very toxic pattern resulting from his wondering eye and Betty just has a bad case of loving him. At least, for a while. Betty likes the fact that she is able to show James who he really is when all is said and done, and being someone who has struggled with confidence, she doesn’t want to let this love go too soon. Even if she should. More on that in a bit.

 

Betty says, “Chase two girls, lose The 1”. We all assumed that she was referring to herself, but knowing that she was almost waiting for his return, it’s very possible that she intended to forgive him even before he asked. She had scars from years of not being enough and she may have even been bullied as indicated by this and him seeing in her what others could not when he was present in the relationship. That feeling of “what if” made sure she would not completely walk away. When you are young they assume you know nothing. Well, knowing something does not mean you know everything and I think she stayed long enough to find that out the hard way. Peter does lose Wendy because he cannot grow up.

 

The Last Great American Dynasty (Taylor/Rebecca)-

 

Taylor owns the previous home of Rebecca Harkness in Rhode Island. This beachside mansion has all the salt air and cliffsides to scream off of that anyone would want. Rebecca has a big reputation as a maneater who just isn’t ladylike and mild mannered enough. Sound familiar? Taylor Swift has been demonized, ridiculed, and made infamous based solely off of complete speculation. Rebecca faced the same fate as a middle-class divorcee who was cast as a gold digger after the Standard Oil estate. Truth is, both of these women were just in search of love that could last. Under circumstances far beyond their control these things ended so loudly that there was no right to privacy while they grieved or attempted to make sense of it all. Worse? They were blamed in a blameless situation.

 

Taylor makes her identity known to mirror Rebecca’s at the end of the story. So, what’s the connection to the album as a whole? Bill grew up in the area that the rest of them would eventually be in later on. Cliffside and salt air, the characters revisit these scenes and similar ones several times throughout the story. They lived at a different time here, years later. In fact, in terms of the house itself, it sat quietly for 50 years until Taylor would acquire it. She then marks her entrance to the rest of these stories as she then will later touch on points of her life leading up to Holiday House.

 

Exile (Betty and James)-

 

Communication is key. However, Betty and James eventually resented the back-and-forth nature of their relationship. He believed that she would always forgive him as she had always set that precedent each time before in their relationship. Although they always knew they walked a very thin line, they always felt like the other person would become better to them if they loved hard enough. Each had their demons, though. Between James cheating nature and drinking problem, he could become withdrawn and combative. Betty loved James so much that she gave him second, third and hundredth chances and even excused his more aggressive behaviors in a Streetcar Named Desire type loyalty. Until the branch broke that they were balancing on.

 

For someone like James, being left as a result of bad behavior can often be skewed as a betrayal in and of itself. Her leaving could have only been a result of her not telling him how to be a better partner. On the flip side, Betty was not clear in her signals of being fed up with his actions, but allowing him back time and again. The blame game ensues and each call out each other’s faults too little, too late. They have, in fact, seen this “film” before. They kept the hope that the cinematic love they were both obsessed with would eventually play out if they wanted it enough, but did not put in the work or self-reflect enough to make it so.

 

My Tears Ricochet (Taylor/Rebecca)-

 

Of course, it’s about a certain sellout record executive of her previous label who did not even have the decency to let her own her masters. I will not be bringing his name into it because he does not deserve to even be thought about. However, I think Taylor does an expert job of exploring the anger stage of grief and death that Rebecca and Bill would have had to face in his untimely death as well. The allegory dips in and out of this song to further establish the mirror effect of these two women and their fears/perception. Taylor calls out her own inability to leave with grace. Rebecca was left to burn at the stake after Bill died with no one to defend her either. While it is not his choice to have died, grieving does bring about emotions of abandonment when still panning out. Much like Taylor felt when the label she trusted acted like they had never met and that she had not given them her all to gift them any kind of notoriety.

 

Gathering stones is beachside activity, but when, so is collecting jewelry. This in a metaphorical sense could allude to also gathering dirt and receipts when it all falls down. This line has quite an impact in the context of a business transaction and the marriage of a rich couple. Toward the end, each woman speaks as though they have gone to the cliffside and screamed into the open air. Rebecca challenges the masses to go for her heart in same way the public felt she had gone for Bill’s, but knows that she would be missed all the same. Each woman is directly calling out their naysayers and bullies telling them they know they’re drunk on pain and negating the good they had done before tragedy. These fake people have both built them up and torn them down in times it benefitted them the most.

 

Mirrorball (Betty)-

 

As I previously mentioned, Betty struggles with self-confidence (relatable content). This song takes a deeper dive into Betty’s desire to be noticed by James in the way she needs him to and to show him that she knows him better than anyone else does. When he does not pay attention, she breaks into a million pieces. Although her friends consistently tell her that the end is imminent, she has committed herself to changing the narrative. She’s walking the tightrope, another call out to the thin line they feel they have always walked in regards to one another.

The insecurity is palpable in the self-deprecating “I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try”.  Remembering from their teenage years, Augustine, a natural beauty, is able to draw men in with a sense of sensuality and a carefree demeanor. She doesn’t have to get too invested in relationships because she only chooses men that are in high risk, low reward circumstances. On the outside, it seems like she has all the confidence in the world and that is intimidating to someone like Betty who does not exude the same assuredness and has been burned by trusting unnecessarily before. In spite of this, Betty is still a believer in true love even if James has given her no indication there is reason to believe.

 

Seven (Taylor)-

 

Little Tay on her Pennsylvania farm just discovering her own voice and the meaning of friendship. Making her own tales of time gone by and recounting the origin story of a girl who makes “too much” noise any time she wants. Also, quite possibly the REAL queer-canon of the album. Taylor was close to someone who she has not seen for a while, a girl. She remembers the feeling more than anything and a certain protectiveness that she felt for this person who was having to hide in the closet. Labels did not matter and love was love in this scenario. She wants them to know their story and the care she felt for them is not forgotten and still a source of inspiration for her life in present day. Think “hope ur ok” by Olivia Rodrigo.

 

This song explores Taylor’s fierce feminism and activism into adulthood. The unwavering support she gives to the underdogs and why Rebecca’s story resonates with her so much. She was the wild child the world tried to tame with constant expectation. The subject of Seven that she befriended reminded her that there are beautiful things out there and grounded her in a way to keep looking for meaningful connections and to respect the stories of each person she meets to gain perspective.

 

August (Augustine)-

 

Somewhere on the beaches just outside this small Rhode Island town, Augustine was manifesting a relationship that she knew had a slim to none chance with James. Despite her hopes and efforts, August came and went. James dreamed of Betty with Augustine in his arms, but wanted is cake and to eat it too as a seventeen-year-old boy. The thrill of it all enticed him to give his summer to Augustine instead. Particularly because she was willing to pursue him in the way she did. However, much like the surface level pining found in The 1, she just wished she could write her name on his back in a performative ownership move as if to say finders keepers.

This superficial relationship was hallmarked in sex and lust by being spent tipsy and wrapped and in bedsheets. It wasn’t shameful or tawdry to two kids, but would show it’s truth one single time before becoming a feeling both would continue to chase. The shaky and electrifying experience of sharing firsts and secrets though “Never Have I Ever” and the charged nature of “Are you sure?” feeling like a pact. Until guilt set in for James, there was only excitement and both were forever changed. One by the hope of it all, and the other by the excitement.

 

This Is Me Trying (James)-

 

Years after the first thrill and eventual heartbreak, James has never found direction. He fell behind the classmates that moved on with their lives and ended up here. Still in their same hometown, he is a shell of a man grappling with depression and alcoholism. He���s in Betty’s doorway once again in her front porch light begging for forgiveness. He even matched Betty’s previous speech pattern in “Mirrorball” by saying “I just wanted you to know…” as if to respond to her finally because he sees her after it’s all been said and done. He pulled the rusted, vintage car that once made him so cool off the road to the same cliffside that they once made out in front of. This represents the edge that they all seem to stand at one point or another to contemplate their mistakes. He calls out his own substance abuse and aggression (which we talked about in Exile as well).

 

He wants to continue his same party lifestyle, but feels like an open wound because his bad behavior has finally caught up to him. All he thinks about are his own shortcomings, especially now that he is left alone with them. Betty once again gets compared to a film in a reel on the one screen they have in this small town. Now, only a memory instead of a reality. The defensiveness from being what he perceived as betrayal has subsided and he is left to face the cages he mentally put himself into and the fear that he was not as good of a man as he tried to project to others around him. Betty being the product of his transgressions since she is left broken and resentful toward him now.

 

Illicit Affairs (Augustine)-

 

Augustine finally pulls back the layers on why she continues to try to recapture the feeling that James gave her at a mere sixteen years old. Someone displaying all the confidence in the world may have had less than Betty in actuality. It was all a misconception. Instead, Augustine feels that her looks and sex are what she has to offer and by giving herself away, she hopes to capture lightning in a bottle one of these times. She recreates the same structure of what she had with James only to meet the same disappointment.

 

The beautiful setting of the beach house gives way to the parking lot behind the mall in a way. In some twisted way, James brokenness recognized Augustine’s and she had never been seen in real way before that and then not again after. James thought Betty’s level headedness would fix him and did not want to have to face himself via Augustine since they understood each other in the worst way. Like I said, that first taste left her living for the hope of it all and it was simply a dwindling mercurial high. A drug, though, that could work a hundred times over.

 

Invisible String (Taylor)-

 

Taylor’s stories are often on this album the only ones with direct references to actual places. This one references Centennial Park and Los Angeles. This is the story of Taylor Swift and Joe Alwyn (William Bowery to some). This in and of itself is a modern day, currently in the making folktale. The idea of an invisible force bringing the two together to tell a great love story just like Taylor had always imagined. Here she self-references her own part in contributing to the media circus surrounding breakups and dating and owning her growth in those situations.

 

Allowing herself to live in the moment, she talks about the colors and touches of humanity this relationship has brought her. A deeper appreciation of the present and making memories that will one day make beautiful stories to tell for both themselves and for others that once tried to taint her narratives on hearsay. This is her story in her words and an expression of gratitude. Hell was the journey, but it brought her heaven.

 

Mad Woman (Taylor)-

 

This one is about the other one and his soon to be ex-wife. The one the masters were sold to. Shares a name with a two wheeled ankle destroyer and will also not be mentioned by me.  This is a slight reference to her Rebecca allegory in the sense that character assassination played a big part in that story, but not enough to say it’s a direct correlation. Although, it is interesting to note that they are hunting all of the witches even if you aren’t one.

 

Taylor gets raw about the cheating nature of the man in question whether it is in business or in relationships and how he should be called out for it. There’s a hardship in feminism, though. She watches as a woman who knows she is in the wrong defend the thief instead of the robbed. It explores the right to be mad when lied to or stolen from, particularly when you’re willing to go on record with false statements if they serve a certain narrative. Undeniably, this moment will go down in infamy for generations to come. In a word, folklore.

 

Epiphany (Taylor)-

 

Paying homage to her grandfather, Taylor sets a scene as a war rages on. Keeping your helmet to keep your life is a good direct correlation to mask mandates that swept the country as COVID-19 developed. The horrors of watching someone die for things that may have arguably been avoided sets the anguish apart in this song to any other she has done. This is the world in a life and death lens and nothing else. Trying to make sense of what she and the rest of us are seeing when it did not have to be this way.

 

The most hard hitting look at medical staff and the precarious position they stood in for both instances is found in the bridge. They watch to make sure someone is breathing. They stand in the face of danger and are contained to one place while a threat is posed but serve unselfishly and risk falling like the people around them in the hopes of reaching a breaking point or a point of clarity in the chaos. On a metaphorical level, this song establishes a very important piece of perspective for us to hold onto long after this virus is contained lest we forget.

 

Betty (James)-

 

The first injustice and a look into the dramatics of young love. We now at least get to know why James loves Betty so much and humanize him a little more for the things he’s been dealing with internally since a young age. He comes off a lot more charming here even if unsure. Possibly a reason why he leans on liquid courage later on, James is actually a bit shy in group interactions. This also causes him to avoid confrontation if it can be helped or talking about his feelings. He also has a tendency to fear loneliness as a result so he’s easily convinced to go along for the ride even if it isn’t the right decision.

 

However, here, he nervously plans for weeks to gather up the courage to ask for a second chance. From what we can gather, he was likely forgiven in this instance which made him more comfortable than before to do so again and again. The cycle started here with this grand gesture, but post-cheating, the damage was likely already done since he had gotten a taste of the thrill. Betty would serve as a constant, but she would not stand alone.

 

Peace (Taylor/Rebecca)-

 

Taylor knows she will likely always be speculated on, but she loves intensely even if no one else believes. Here, you can see her sympathy and understanding of someone like Rebecca who no one ever even considered that she may actually love her late husband. All she can ever hope for is that the person she dedicates herself to can recognize how invested she really is and can handle the storm that comes with that. She talks with her own pack of friends being wild and rowdy much like Rebecca, but hopes he never sees that as a sign of disrespect. It’s just who she is.

 

Everyone DID think the love was for show, but they knew nothing of what happened behind closed doors. Does a woman pace rocks staring out at the midnight sea who isn’t missing someone? I don’t think so. Painting dreamscapes on the wall referring to the home they share together. The very same place that tied Rebecca and Taylor’s stories together in the first place. I think Taylor learned to embrace the madness before the rest of Rebecca’s story became hers and stopped apologizing for being so loud but remembered to continue to let love in.

 

Hoax (Everyone)-

 

Every time I listen to this song, I hear a different character speaking to me. Then I realized each one was just taking turns. This one is a bit different so I’m going to break it down by character:

 

Betty- He had drawn stars around her scars, but the way he made her feel was just as bad as the pain they caused. She believed him each time he said never again. She let him back in time and again to be hurt in the same way, but nobody else would have done for her if he could just be the things he promised to be. She was bound to him even though he never came through.

 

James- He knows exactly what he’s done and that he cannot fix it now. He knows that she possesses a love for him that will never die, but that is unrealistic after a certain point. He resigns himself to having to miss her forever. The hero has effectively died, so the movie has lost a purpose in plot. He tried, but did not succeed.

 

Augustine- She had a plan for them. No matter the means in which to get it, she wanted him to love her the way he did Betty. She used slight of hand and a little convincing to lead him to her. It left her aching for more when she knew that would never come back. August slipped away and there was no winning. Winter came and the ground was frozen.

 

Rebecca- She stood out there screaming for a reason why she had to be left alone in the life that was supposed to be theirs. I don’t think she ever quite got past that feeling of abandonment and just needed anything to believe in. This beautiful mansion had become a kingdom come undone. Bill’s heart had given out like a broken drum.

 

Taylor- When you sign a record deal at such a young age and a man who has always taken care of you in that time suddenly becomes your biggest enemy, it can certainly feel like a total heartbreak. The hoax was making her believe that even if all was said and done he would at least have her back. He most certainly did not. She screams at the sun (now eclipsed) on the cliffside while he listens to her stolen lullabies. The part of herself that remains in New York being her life’s work.

 

Please let me know if you have anything to add! Any new perspectives I may have missed? I would love to further this conversation and find new ways to explore the Folklorian Wilderness!

 

-Ryan Freeman

[bangstanfics]

Ode to Safe Travels || JJK

☆ Pairing: Knight!Jungkook x Princess!Reader

☆ Word Count: 4.8k

☆ Rating: 17+

☆ Genre: Medieval au, royalty au, star crossed lovers, romance, angst, and more angst

☆ Warnings: Major character death, implications of smut

☆ Summary: It was a forbidden romance that was bound to end up in tragedy. You both knew that, and yet that didn’t stop you from falling hopelessly in love with your metaphorical and literal knight in shining armor, Jeon Jungkook. 

☆ A/N: My first ever fic, oh gawd I wasn’t sure when (or if) I was going to post this, but Valentines Day seemed like a good day. This short story is part of my “A Second Chance at Love” series (a series about lovers whose circumstances caused them to not end up together during their first life, but are given a second chance when they are reincarnated) and is the prequel to my main story “Chasing Stars.” Also, all the italicized writing is the present, and the regular text are flashbacks of the past. Yes! That was done with a purpose and no I won't directly say why (unless you figure it out owo). Enough of my blabbing, I hope you all enjoy!! :)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ 

I’ll be with you, forever.

It was his promise to you as he sat in his barren cell, deprived of the basic necessities of life - food, water, human contact. The shackles around his arms denying him access to one last touch of your skin, to caress your cheek and brush away the tears that you couldn’t stop from falling. His big doe eyes that reflected stars now reflected your contorted expression, overtaken with grief. Despite his circumstances, he managed to smile and attempted to ease your fears with his words.

God, how you hated yourself in that moment. There he was, waiting for his moment to come on death’s vendetta, yet he was comforting you. You, the princess who spent her sheltered life behind the castle walls, ignorant to famen, war, and poverty. You, the princess who was always draped in the finest silks and gold and carried herself with too much pride. You, the princess who was always pampered by servants and knights alike, adored by the entire kingdom.

Finding solace in his words was a privilege you would not allow yourself to have in that moment.

“Would you like to have a different meal prepared, your Highness?” the voice of the servant cut through your heavy thoughts, pulling you back to the present. You glanced down at your untouched food before turning your attention back to the girl. She was new, you noted, and unaware of the fact that your lack of appetite had nothing to do with the food, and everything to do with the memories of him that constantly flooded your mind.

“No,” you answered after a moment of silence, “This will suffice.”

She waited, as if expecting more, but when you offered nothing of the sort she bowed her head respectfully and left the dining hall, leaving you alone to replay that fateful day over and over again.

He was right, though. Even after his passing, you saw and heard him everywhere you went. His hushed voice in the wind, calling your name. His shadow trailing your footsteps of abandoned corridors. His lingering scent in the sheets of your chambers. Even now, in this massive hall with the long table stretched out before you, you could feel the weight of his presence sitting in the empty chair across from you. The ghost of his smile barely visible to your eye and yet you can remember it so distinctly. However, rather than comfort, it only served as a bitter reminder of the future that was abruptly taken away from you.

You closed your eyes once again and allowed your consciousness to drift back to that day, resuming from the point where you hopelessly reached your hand through the bars in an attempt to seek refuge in the warmth of his arms. He did the same, extended his hand out towards you, but the chains that restrained him to the wall only allowed him to move a few feet. Your desperate attempts to reach each other proving futile against the cell bars.

“Please don’t leave me,” you pleaded through your sobs, “Please don’t leave me all alone. I can’t do this without you.”

His smile was weak, but reassuring, “My love,” his voice barely above a whisper, all the might and confidence you were so accustomed to hearing had disappeared, “Don’t say that. You are the strongest person I know. Hell, the strongest person in this nation. Do what you always do when you fall, jump back up and keep moving forward.” You shake your head, unable to speak through your broken sobs. You wanted to tell him he was wrong. The truth behind your unwavering nature was not an iron will, but the knowledge that if you fell, Jungkook would be right there to catch you and help you back up.

“Jungkook please,” you tried again, “Let me fix this.”

“But there is nothing to fix,” he tried to reason, “Our destiny had already been mapped out in the stars long ago. I know you do not believe in these myths and folklore, but sometimes there are moments in this lifetime that are meant to happen to allow others destinies to fully take course.”

This destiny he was so fixated on, meant nothing to you if he wasn’t there to take part in the journey with you. You wanted to tell him that, but the words stayed as a lump in your throat as you stared into his brown orbs. The unwavering determination was set ablaze in his eyes, as he sent you a silent message - he was doing this for you. In that moment, you were faced with a burden so great that the mere thought of it left the impression of the universe’s vast loneliness coursing through you.

You had to leave him.

Turn around and allow him to take part in fate’s cruel plans.

“I love you,” were the final words you had to offer, “I love you so damn much,” your cries growing louder with each passing declaration, knowing it will be your last.

“And I love you,” he projected what little strength he had into this confession, so they would never leave you, “Even after my time in this world has come to an end, my love for you will not end with it.”

You felt your hands tremble at your sides as the desire to embrace him one last time overwhelmed you. To brush your lips over his and murmur sweet nothings into his ears to reassure him that your heart was forever his and nothing, not even death, could break that bond. Your lover, your best friend, your world. He was it all and so much more.

With a heavy heart, you rose from your spot on the ground and left without a second glance. Too afraid that if you did, your resolution would break and you would run back to Jungkook’s cell. Instead, as you traveled down the dimly lit hall, you broke into uncontrollable sobs. The force of your whimpers reverberating through your chest, causing the halls to echo back your sorrows. Your hands found their way to your hair as you began rummaging through your locks, searching your head for an answer. A swarm of profanities whirled your mind as they attempted to escape through your mouth. You physically had to bite your tongue to prevent yourself from revealing your location to the castle guards. But the insanity of the situation was getting too much and with each passing second your hope continued to dwindle close to nothing. You frantically shook your head, forcing the negative thoughts away. Jungkook already had given up, so you knew you couldn’t do the same.

You were at a loss for breathe as you found yourself hyperventilating, knees succumbing to the reality of the situation. Was there really nothing you could do to save him? You clawed at your chest, desperate for air as your head sunk lower and lower, eyes meeting the concrete floors. Your vision was filled with nothing but the gray cracks and crevices, hoping to find a silver lining in any one of its imperfections. But there was nothing and when you realized this, you screamed. An ear curdling scream meant for the heavens, hoping they would hear your plea and allow Jungkook to live.

“Your Highness, are you alright?” a heavy breathe brought you down from the memory you were reliving and you realized you were no longer seated at the dining table. To your side, the familiar face of the Head maid with a look of concern etched onto her features. Of all people you had to encounter, you just had to encounter her - Mrs. Kim. The same woman who helped raise you and feed you when your parents were busy managing their kingdom. The same woman who kissed your wounds and was your shoulder to cry on. The same woman who gave birth to one of your closest friends, Kim Namjoon. The same woman who betrayed you.

“Don’t touch me!” you immediately recoiled from her touch, the momentum of your movements, bringing you down to the floor as a result.

“But Your Highness--” Mrs. Kim reached out to help you up, but you responded by scurrying further back, until your back hit the end of a wall.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t look at me! Don’t help me! Just get away!”

Mrs. Kim was visibly hurt by your words, you could tell by the way her eyes clouded with tears, but you couldn’t stop the words from spilling from your mouth. Afterall, she was the one who revealed your relationship with Jungkook to your parents.

“What if… we ran away together?” you whispered to Jungkook one night after love making. Your naked bodies intertwined between the silk sheets of your bed, as the soft rays of the moonlight peeking through your windows enhanced Jungkook’s features. His doe eyes seemed to sparkle more, his smile was bigger and brighter than you’ve ever seen it. Then again, you could attribute that to the fact he had an orgasm not even ten minutes ago, but still - he seemed different. A radiating glow. You wondered if you had one too.

“Where would we even go?” he decided to entertain the idea, although deep down he knew it was impossible. Your parents would spend whatever resources necessary to bring you back here to Reeva. Afterall, you were, not only the eldest, but the most qualified of your siblings to inherit the throne. Your younger sister, a carefree spirit who would rather spend her time exploring the city than learning how to write eloquent letters to convince an enemy kingdom to decrease their tariffs, did not have the knowledge or skill to be a bridge between the people and the law. Your younger brother, a fool most people would describe him, but you saw him as a man with no ambition. He was indifferent to the world and would rather spend his time exploring the beds of the young maidens in the castle. That left Reeva in your hands.

“Anywhere. Everywhere.” You finally decided as your answer, “The world has so much to offer us, Jungkook. Why stay in a place that forbids us to love each other just because I’m seen as heir to the throne and you’re seen as my protector.” Jungkook loved hearing you talk about your immense love for him. The way you would sacrifice everything for him. He had never known a love so deep and pure. Growing up as an orphan, he thought love was a concept that didn’t exist. People would abandon each other eventually, it was only a matter of time. Yet, with you, no matter how many times he failed or made himself look like a fool, you remained by his side and encouraged him to get back up. He reached out his hand and gently stroked your cheek, admiring the way you released a content sigh at the physical contact.

“A place where we could love each other freely…” he tested the idea with his tongue, saying it out loud for the first time. He had to admit, a swarm of butterflies invaded his chest at the mere thought of being able to hold your hand freely in public. Without any spectators giving him dirty looks, or covering their mouths to point out how you carried an air of grace, while he carried himself with the mannerism of a commoner.

“Mmhm… Doesn’t that sound nice?” you smiled sleepily, your previous activities with Jungkook draining you of most of your energy, but you still had enough power to lean forward and press your lips against his in a soft, sweet kiss. You could feel him smile against your lips before releasing a low hum of agreement.

The moment, like every beautiful moment in life, did not last.

The door to your chambers was forced open with a great kick. Startled, you and Jungkook pulled away from each other, as your first instinct was to cover yourself up with your linen. Guards came swarming into your space and surrounded the bed you shared with Jungkook. You couldn’t even process everything that was happening. The motion of the clustered bodies moving like a blur, until two distinct presence made themselves known. Your blood ran cold as you noticed the fire that ignited in your father’s eyes as he took in the scene before him - you and Jungkook in your bed together, naked and covered in love bites. He didn’t even give you time to explain yourself before he was marching over to Jungkook’s side and drawing the tip of his sword to your lover’s neck.

“Father wait--” you tried to reason with him, thinking he was about to drag the blade against Jungkook’s throat, but he proceeded with words rather than action, much to your surprise.

“You will be tried for high treason against the royal family. You will be stripped of your title as a member of the Battle Triumph Soldiers. And you will no longer be known as a knight of Reeva. Should you be found guilty of your crime, there is only one punishment fitting of such betrayal - death. Do you have any objections?”

You sucked in a deep breathe at the word “death” knowing well that the council (comprised of your father, mother, your father’s advisor Sir Lee and Commander Bang) would unanimously find Jungkook guilty. The hard stare your father sent Jungkook was meant to be intimidating, you could tell, but all you could see in his eyes was pity and despair. He was, after all, the one who took Jungkook under his wing and trained him to be the man he is today. Despite the tough front your father always portrayed, you always knew he had a soft spot for Jungkook. He was every inch of what the king wanted your brother to be, but could never achieve. But at that moment, he was casting all emotions aside and using his head to make every decision. The King couldn’t risk a scandal like this being exposed to the other kingdoms. They would seize it as an opportunity to cast doubt over his authority and possibly overthrow him. Jungkook was no longer a boy orphaned by war, he was a man who had to take responsibility for his actions.

“No, I have no objections.”

Wide eyed, you whipped your head to the man next to you and looked at him in disbelief. Was the post-orgasm high interfering with his brain? You sat up straighter, carrying an air of dignity that had been instilled into you since birth - you weren’t about to let these men make you feel ashamed for making love to the man you love -  and started to protest on his behalf, “On the contrary, he objects to every statement you just made!”

“You will hold your tongue until--” your mother began, but your father raised a hand to silence her.

You decided to use the opportunity to continue talking, “Father, I beg of you, hear me out. None of this was Jungkook’s fault. It was I who initiated this- this- this whole thing. He refused all of my advances, saying he knows his place, but I convinced him that his rightful place should be with me because I--” you paused, unsure if your words was making the situation better or worse for Jungkook, but you were desperate to cling onto anything that would resolve this mess, even if it meant revealing the truth, “Because I lo--”

“I’d hate to reveal my intentions in front of everyone like this, Princess, but I thought I should save you the embarrassment of your next words by speaking my truth.” All you could do was blink inquisitively at Jungkook, whose demeanor and attitude had suddenly transformed into one you had never seen before, “And that truth is… I used you. Well, used your body more specifically.” It was like choking on air as you listened to Jungkook’s confession. Nothing was holding your throat hostage, yet you were finding it difficult to breathe. Why are you doing this? You wanted to scream at him. Why are you lying so effortlessly in front of everyone? Why are you trying to take all the blame? “You made it so easy for me too. With the way you practically flung yourself at me every time we were alone. I almost felt bad stringing you along... Almost. Then again, sleeping with you did also pose some benefits seeing how I got to sleep in these luxurious chambers rather than my worn out closet space.”

Jungkook’s “confession” landed him a swift blow to his face, courtesy of your father who either believed his story or wanted to believe his story just so he could portray Jungkook to be the villain in this entire mess, “Father, stop!” Your first instinct was to jump in front of the dark haired boy and use your own body as a shield, but the guard closest to you captured your arm, preventing you from doing so. Your father took another swing at the knight and the momentum of his hit threw Jungkook to the floor with a loud thud. You watched in horror as the King pulled his leg back and swiftly landed a kick to what you presumed, judging from the suffocated groan, was Jungkook’s abdomen. “Enough!” you finally yell with a force so great, that even the guard gripping your arm was startled. With a ragged breath, and tears on the brink of escape, you yanked your arm from the guard and crawled to the other edge of the bed to where your father was standing, “Please, have mercy on him,” you begged, head hung low and hands clasped together as if you were praying to a saint. From the corner of your eye, you focused on Jungkook’s remorse expression and apologized mentally that you couldn’t do more for him. You couldn’t gauge your father’s reaction, but you knew he must have been furious seeing his heir to the throne on her knees, for a man who didn’t possess an ounce of royal blood. 

Your father cleared his throat, a sign for you to raise your head. His eyes lacked emotion so you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, “Guards, dress him and lock him up in the dungeons. I don’t want him in my sights for another second,” he finally commanded. Two men quickly found Jungkook’s discarded articles of clothing and dressed him before dragging him out of your room. Your eyes followed his body’s movement, even when he was out of sight, all you could do was stare helplessly at the door, “Leave us,” your father commanded the remaining guards, who quickly scurried away from his tone.

“How did you know?” you finally decided to ask after a moment of silence. Your eyes were still transfixed on the empty doorway, waiting for his answer, until a new figure came into view. She hung her head low in shame and her shoulders slouched forward to make herself seem as small as she felt at that moment.

“I have eyes all over the castle, my dear. As loyal as they are to you, they will always prioritize their loyalty to me, their King.” You couldn’t even process his words as an overwhelming sense of denial rushed through your system. Not her. Of all the people to betray you, please not her.

“Mrs. Kim?” you called out weakly, afraid that speaking her name out loud would confirm your fears. However, as soon as her name was called, she took the remaining steps to enter your room and make her presence known, “How- How could you?”

She bit her lip back in guilt, seemingly a loss for words to justify her actions. However, what came out next only made your hatred for the woman grow, “I’m so sorry. I have nothing else to say except that I’m so terribly sorry and that I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

A harsh tug on your shoulder brought you back to reality as you realized that Mrs. Kim pulled you back to your feet and began shaking you frantically.

“I know you can never trust me again after what I did to you, but all I ask is that you listen to my reason for doing so.”

“I refuse! No explanation can take back the consequences of your actions. You have betrayed not just me or Jungkook, but Namjoon and the rest of the Battle Triumph Soldiers. Do you not see the pain in their eyes during war tactic conferences as they stare at the empty seat that once belonged to Jungkook? Or how Namjoon still expects Jungkook to pull one of his antics right before training? Maybe you’ve seen how Seokjin still sharpens and polishes Jungkook’s sword every morning? Or noticed how Yoongi still eats half his meal because he thinks Jungkook would ask for the rest of it? Can you tell Hoseok is still the first to take off his gear because he expects Jungkook to jump on his back? Do you see Jimin linger at Jungkook’s door? Longing for a friend to confide his struggles to? Have you watched Taehyung visit Jungkook’s grave with flowers and just cry uncontrollably? Because I’ve seen it Mrs. Kim. I’ve seen it all. And seeing them go through that reopens every wound Jungkook’s death has caused and refreshes every ounce of hatred I have towards you.” Mrs. Kim can’t even think of a response to your confession. Her grip on her shoulder fell as she stood motionless in the middle of the hall. A quick observation of your surroundings helped you determined that you were in the middle of the West hall, the hall that leads to the battle arena. 

Your blood ran cold as the gates of the arena stared you down, taunting you with the knowledge of what that place represented.  As you expected, Jungkook was found guilty of treason sentenced to death. How you wish your father showed mercy by making it a quick execution. Rather, he chose to spark a flame of hope within you by sentencing him to a duel - a battle to save his life. Jungkook was a talented knight, that was an undeniable fact that the entire kingdom knew, but his opponent, Sir Hyun, was exemplary. As the Head Knight, nations quaked in fear when they crossed his path and would rather be met with a death by a blade than at the hands of Sir Hyun. He was relentless when given a task and always made sure to leave no victim behind. A madman is what most would call him, and they would be completely justified in their beliefs. The bottom of your lip began to quiver as flashes of that day played out.

Jungkook dragging his practically lifeless body to the center of the arena.

His opponent’s merciless attacks on his weakened body.

Jungkook’s poor attempts at defending himself.

The battle ending with a fatal blow to your lover’s chest.

“Princess?” Mrs. Kim tried capturing your attention when she noticed your rigid state, but it was no use, you couldn’t escape the image painted inside your head. The only man you ever loved lying in a crimson pool, choking on his own blood. The way you ran to him and held his head in your lap as your tears decorated his pale face. The quiet hush that fell over the crowd as they watched you cradle your lover back and forth. The heartbroken wails that escaped your lips as you desperately yelled for anyone to help him. The audience only offered silent murmurs of what they speculated was going on. Your parents, the King and Queen of the kingdom, astonished by the events unfolding in front of him.

“Mother! Father! Please, I love him!” Their silent judgment only brought fresh tears to your face as you realized they would offer no aid to the dying man. His voice called out what sounded like your name, so you focused your attention back to him, leaning closer so he wouldn’t strain himself trying to speak up.

“D- Dont be afraid of go-goodbye.”

You frantically shook your head, refusing to believe this is where it ends for the both of you, “No, no, no. This isn’t goodbye, it can’t be. I refuse to accept it.”

His weak smile caused you to grimace, knowing how much effort it must take for the small action, “It’s okay…” he muttered, his voice notably getting fainter, “Because I promise you… I’ll find you again.” Your brows knitted together in confusion at his words.

“Wha-What do you mean you’ll find me again?”

He broke into a smile at your inquisitive stare. How is it that even as death lay waiting at his door he could still see every detail etched into your face. From the small crease in your brow, to the small crinkles around your glassy eyes as you tried to decipher his words. Knowing that it would be Jungkook’s last time seeing your face he made sure to take in every detail and appreciate the beauty that you are, “One day…” he began, the throbbing pain in his chest was slowly subsiding. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one, but he welcomed the peace, “We’ll be together again.”

Still confused by his words, thinking his wound was making him confused, you shook your head once again, “I don’t want to wait until one day. I want to be with you right now. Now. I wanted to live the rest of our lives together. Have children together along the way and start a family. To grow old and watch our generations prosper. Doesn’t that sound nice, Jungkook?”

His smile turned into a painful one. Not because of his injury, but because he could perfectly see the future you described. Two children, one boy and one girl, running around a small cottage as you sat in his lap with eyes full of love at the children you two had created. At night when the children were in bed, you and him would be awake, confessing your heart’s desires through touches and kisses. He could see it so vividly in front of him that he almost convinced himself that he wasn’t currently dying, but Jungkook knew. He knew it was unattainable.

“It sounds wonderful.” he confessed, voice growing weaker,  “And we don’t have to say goodbye to that dream, just… until next time.”

At the mention of ‘until next time’, you understood what he meant. Reeva had a tradition when seeing their knights off to battle in foregin territory. From a young age, every inhabitant of the kingdom was required to memorize a stanza entitled an Ode to Safe Travels. You always found it ridiculous because you thought it was nothing but a poetic way of saying goodbye. As you grew older and wiser, you realized it was not a poetic goodbye, but a promise to be reunited once again, whether it be in this life or the next one. And so with a tear stained face, you inched your face closer to Jungkook and whispered your farewells.

“For honor, you part from this kingdom,” your voice was broken from tears as you recite the lines you have spoken countless times to Jungkook before he was sent off to battle, but this time it was different because you knew he would not return from the place he going to, “In glory, you find victory in the next.” He raised a hand to brush away a few of your tears and hold your cheek in the palm of his hand. You welcomed his touch by leaning into it and holding it firm against your face, “Safe travels wherever the wind carries you.” You watched as tranquility took over his features and his eyes began to flutter close. Your heart clenched painfully at the sight and you squeezed his hand that was resting against your cheek in hopes of transferring some of your life force into him. However, dragging on the seconds into minutes would not extend Jungkook’s life so you forced yourself to finish the rest of the poem, “And may the stars guide you back to me,” He used his remaining strength to force a smile, sealing his promise to be reunited with you once again, whenever that may be.

“For honor, you part from this kingdom. In glory, you find victory in the next. Safe travels wherever the wind carries you. And may the stars guide you back home.”

-Reeva’s parting ode to their knights

[novamm66]

From Earth to Sky - Chapter 3 - After Haven

—

The population of the Inquisition and of Haven had been cut by more than half. The few tents they had were not enough to shelter the survivors, and food was hard to come by this high in the mountains. Everyone was hungry, tired and hopeless with the loss of their Herald.

Varric sat in the snow, icy water leaking into his boots. But his grief overshadowed his discomfort, and he simply sat in the cold. He believed in his heart that Kiaya was dead, buried under the snow in Haven. The kind, strong woman, had become one of Varric’s closest friends, and she deserved better. She deserved to live, but there was nothing that Varric could do.

“Spymaster,” a scout raced up to Leliana, seated close to Varric. “They found her.” The man panted. “The Commander and the Seeker, they found her alive.”

The news lifted Varric to his feet, and he felt hope weave through the people gathered as the news spread through the camp. The sound of pounding boots broke through his thoughts, and Varric realized that the voices around him had stopped. The silence froze Varric’s heart as the Commander and Seeker came into his view. Both were running, and the body in Curly’s arms was lifeless.

Solas, Vivienne, and the other healers surrounded the pair as they approached, forcibly pulling the Herald from the Commander’s hold. She disappeared amid a flurry of activity while everyone else remained frozen, watching until the tent flap closed and, as one, the camp exhaled.

All of it happened within the span of a few minutes. It felt surreal as regular activity returned, somewhat muted than before. Varric listened to the voices around him: some despairing at her state, while others were filled with hope simply because she had returned. But outside the tent, among those who thought of her as a friend, the tension continued to rise. Everyone settled in to wait, and no one seemed to know what to do or say.

Please, please let Smudges wake up. We need her, and she deserves better.

Varric prayed for the first time in years. Haven’s fall had shaken him to his core. The world was in serious shit. It would be a long time before memories of the infected templars’ twisted faces didn’t haunt him. He knew it was time to throw everything he had on the table to stop this Elder One, but nothing would matter if Kiaya didn’t survive.

No one was expecting it when they heard the first snap of bone, followed by a scream of pain. Varric saw the Seeker turn white, then green, before turning heel and almost running from the camp. Varric followed more slowly. He didn’t want to hear any more from the tent and anyway, she shouldn’t be alone.

She hadn’t made it far: just past the tree line where the snow was less deep before she had dropped to her knees to be sick. Varric came up behind her, making enough noise to let her know he was there but not enough to startle her.

Cassandra finished retching. “Go away.” Her voice was ice and razors covering fear.

He offered her the water skin and towel he had brought. “I thought you might need these.”

She glared at him, her suspicion melting to gratitude and shame as she accepted his offering. Her thanks were softer, barely loud enough for Varric to hear. Cassandra remained where she was, staring at the cloth twisted around her fingers. She looked vulnerable, and it tugged at Varric’s heart.

“She’s strong, Seeker. Stronger than she knows, probably stronger than any of us know. You got her back here alive. She will be alright.” Varric could see the woman’s shoulders shaking.

“How can you possibly know that?” She twisted around in the snow to face him. “So she survives this, then what? She’s not a fighter, Varric! She is going to get torn apart.” Cassandra was just as passionate in her fear for her friend as she was in everything she did. Varric could see unshed tears in her eyes as she continued. “She stayed behind, Varric. Kiaya sacrificed herself for us. Who does that?”

“Heroes do that.”

Cassandra snorted. “Heroes are from stories. It’s never that simple.”

“Simple is boring and usually never the truth.” His answer had the desired effect, and she smiled a little. “We are all here for her, Seeker. You have protected her, helped her, and we are all going to continue to do so.”

Moments passed as the two looked at each other before Cassandra dropped her eyes. “I want to apologize to you, Varric. I may have been wrong in my...” the Seeker searched for words, “My judgement of you before. You have been an asset to the Inquisition and a friend. Thank you.”

Your judgement was not that wrong, Varric thought as he offered her a hand to help her to her feet.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

—

Cassandra sat on the bank of a small lake, watching Kiaya teach Cole how to swim. It was a moment of peace in a world gone mad. Kiaya and her team had left Skyhold shortly after the Herald had led them there, to round up supplies and answer the numerous calls for the Inquisition’s assistance. This break, this moment of rest and fun, was much needed by everyone. Cassandra chuckled when Cole, likely distracted by something on the bottom, didn’t resurface and Kiaya swore and disappeared.

“They certainly look like they’re having fun.” Varric appeared seemingly out of nowhere to stand next to her. “You didn’t want to join them?”

Cassandra shook her head. “I only swim for survival or to get clean. I have never taken pleasure from it.”

“I’m with you. Water is too shifty to be trusted,” Varric said. “It’s nice to watch them enjoy it, though.”

Kiaya’s laughter rang across the water as she dodged away from Cole, encouraging him to chase her. Cassandra marvelled at how easily she moved in the water. Kiaya looked utterly comfortable as she gracefully slipped just out of Cole’s reach. Kiaya also seemed happy, something that was rare since the Conclave. Cassandra smiled as she watched the two splash around.

“We could have done a lot worse, you know. Smudges have a good heart,” Varric pointed out.

“Yes. Kiaya has proven herself very capable. I just wish she would not fall so much.”

Varric chuckled. “She does seem to have trouble tripping over her own feet. Coordination isn’t for everyone, although you wouldn’t know that at the moment.” They both watched as Kiaya dove under the surface of the water.

“Where is that grace in battle?” Cassandra asked.

“I think she leaves it in the water,” Varric answered. Cassandra’s attention was caught by a bird landing in a tree above her and began to sing, and Varric noticed her distraction. “What is it?”

“A blackbird.” She smiled as the bird’s call filled the air. “One of the few memories that I have of my parents is mornings in the garden. Blackbirds had made nests in the wild roses, and they would sing like anything.”

“That’s a wonderful thing to remember. You must miss your family very much.”

Cassandra shrugged, watching the bird take off and fly over their friends’ heads in the water. “I miss the idea of my parents if that makes sense. I was very young when they died. My memories are so hazy. I miss my brother desperately, though. For the longest time, we were all each other had.”

Varric said nothing as he offered a hand to help her stand. Still, his eyes brimmed with an understanding that Cassandra had never seen before. She reached out and took his hand without thought. His palm was warm against hers, his fingers strong and a little rough. He quickly pulled her to her feet, and Cassandra felt disappointed when their hands parted.

Varric whistled loudly and shouted. “Hey, fishes. Food’s ready.” Then he motioned to the path and, in a familiar voice, said, “Shall we, Seeker?”

She led the way back to camp, still feeling the heat from his hand against hers.

--

Varric stood in the shadow of the gate of Skyhold fortress. The Inquisition had grown drastically. The fortress now housed the population of a village, and five times that camped in the valley below. The courtyards were always bustling, which suited Varric fine. He loved people watching, and it also gave him the perfect excuse to be waiting here.

His face split into a grin when he spied her entering with a group of merchants. She looked just as travel-worn as all the other folks, and no one paid her any special attention as she detached from the group and drifted over to him. Varric opened the door behind him, and they both pass through. The moment the door clicked shut, they both grinned at each other.

“Andraste’s ass, it good to see you in one piece, Hawke,” Varric said.

Hawke laughed and wrapped Varric in a hug. “I have never lost any pieces. Not any big ones anyway. I’m the worried one. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?”

“A big pile of scary shit.” Varric sighed as they separated, and he led the way up the stairs towards the battlements. “I kept you out of it as long as I could, but after Haven…” Varric shook his head.

“What happened, Varric? The information I picked up is sketchy and terrifying.”

“Whatever you heard, the reality was worse. Corypheus is alive.”

Hawke stopped dead, her hand gripping his shoulder like a vice. “No, he’s not. I killed him myself. I stood in his blood. I had to throw out my boots.”

“You can tell him that when you meet him again. And his new archdemon.” Varric said while giving her hand a sympathetic squeeze. He had known that this news would upset Hawke.

Hawke let loose a string of Trevinter curses that would have made Fenris proud.

“It gets worse,” Varric added when she paused to inhale. “Somehow he’s infected the Templar Order with red lyrium. It’s everywhere, Hawke.”

All the colour drained from Hawke’s face as she rocked back to lean against the wall. Her eyes unfocused as she processed the information. Varric could see the same guilt he was feeling wash through her.

A few silent moments passed. Then Hawke blinked before resuming the climb. “Well, then. What’s next? And why are you telling me this in a stairway? I need a drink.”

Varric pulled out his flask and handed it over. Hawke laughed and accepted.

“Your arrival here will ruffle some feathers, and I would like to put that off as long as possible.” He answered.

“Mmm,” Hawke mumbled around a mouthful before swallowing. “That’s not like you. You enjoy it when I ruffle feathers. You’re usually egging me on.”

“True. However, this will likely get me punched in the face, so let's wait all the same.”

Varric could feel Hawke’s eyes on him. “Your ears are turning pink. Explain to me how getting punched makes you blush.” Hawke said.

“No.”

“You know, I will find out eventually,” Hawke said, but she let the subject drop. “Where are you taking me?”

“Up to one of the towers. You can lay low there until I can get Smudges. You and she have lots to talk about.”

“So, she’s not the puncher then.”

Varric rolled his eyes as he opened the last door. “Wait here, I won’t belong.” He ushered her into a room crowded with broken furniture and debris.

“I love what you have done with the place,” Hawke said as she sat sprawled on a three-legged bed. “I’m keeping the flask.”

Varric snorted. “I kind of figured.”

--

Thanks for reading. To read from the beginning here is the Master post.

[tmariea]

Correspondence

Rating: G

Paring: Bagginshield in mention

Summary: After Frodo comes to live with Bilbo, he writes a letter to Balin and The Company to tell of the news, and reminisce. This being the first draft, in which he perhaps does more reminiscing than he first intended.

----------

Being the first draft of a letter composed to Balin and The Company of the Lonely Mountain, composed in Bag End, The Shire in spring of 2980:

Hail Balin!

I hope this letter finds you well, and I apologize that it has been so long since my last.  Undoubtedly I have missed hearing from all of you in The Mountain.  I have had some trouble finding someone capable of carrying messages for such a long way, but I have recently met a fellow named Strider, a ranger who was travelling to Rivendell and promised to see my letter into the right hands.

Today I write to you with momentous news!  Momentous, and life altering for certain, but perhaps not entirely wondrous.  My Nephew, Frodo Baggins, has come to live in my care at Bag End.  I am very glad to have him here, and to have another soul to fill Bag End much the way it was intended.  But this comes at the loss of his parents, Drogo and Primula Baggins, my closest cousins.  I am very saddened by their passing; they were amongst the few family I had living close by that did not view my small adventure as a matter of scandal.  Frodo is saddened as well.  Sometimes I see the same grief in his eyes that I have seen in my own.

But, when he is not saddened, he is settling in well.  We had a grand time cleaning out one of the guest rooms and outfitting it to his liking.  He smiled so widely when I let him choose some books from the study to fill the small shelf in his room.  It was the first time he smiled like that since coming to live here.  I remember thinking I would never smile like that again too.  I enjoy trying new recipes for all of Frodo’s favorite foods (see!  I am quite amenable to company when it is not 13 dwarfs bent on cleaning out my larder!), and we have also been planting the new spring’s flowers alongside Hamfast Gamgee and his son Samwise.  Frodo and Sam seem to be mostly interested in rolling about in the dirt and crushing the flowers at this age, but we managed to plant some Forget-me-Not, Sweet Pea, Zinnia and Lavender.  Each of these are flowers that have some meaning for goodbyes, remembrance and peace; it would be similar to giving a gift of obsidian, green aventurine, and aragonite.

Otherwise, Frodo is doing his best to run me into the ground between dashing about Bag End with no consideration for fragile heirlooms, and making all kinds of mischief.  I feel far more respect for Glóin than I ever have before for raising Gimili, and that is even without Frodo having the ability to find his way into forges, armories, mines, and other dangerous places where fauntlings or dwarflings should not find themselves.  I’ve already had to smooth things over with Farmer Magot over an incident with Frodo, his cousins, and a good many mushrooms which did not belong to them.  If you could ply Glóin for advice on handling energetic youngsters, I would be much obliged.

Frodo asks after Gandalf quite frequently.  He was quite taken with the old wizard when he visited two years ago and of course showed off his fireworks.  He is convinced since Gandalf is a wizard and the two of us friends that I could summon him with a wave of my hand and then ‘poof’ there he would be on the front porch.  The way Frodo imagines it reminds me in a way of the arrival of the company, although all of you arrived with far less magical ‘poofs’ and far more falling into the front hallway!  But, at any rate, if you happen to see Gandalf before we do, would you mention that we miss him on this side of the world as well?  Truth is I haven’t heard of him, not even the barest rumor, since that visit two years ago.  I know well that he can take care of himself but that doesn’t stop a Hobbit from worrying!  I will give a letter for him to Strider as well, to be left at Rivendell for whenever he might pass through next.

Frodo asks for the story of our adventure quite often as well.  He wants to hear about how his Uncle fought a dragon.  As if it was not how his Uncle mostly snuck about and hid from a dragon while others did the fighting.  Telling it again and again makes me nostalgic for those days, and miss you all very dearly.  Balin it makes the grief so fresh.  I had thought it tempered by time and distance but it aches like an emptiness inside me.  I have lost whole evenings after putting Frodo to bed just staring into the fire.  Oh how I wish we had occasion to meet again!  Maybe we should make the trek to visit you in The Mountain.  Walking all that way would certainly use up some of Frodo’s endless stores of energy, and then all of you could keep him entertained for a time.  And how lovely it would be to introduce you all.

I wish beyond anything I have ever wished that I could introduce Frodo to Thorin and Fili and Kili.  Fili and Kili would think him great fun and enjoy teaching him how to get into even more trouble.  And Thorin… you know he loved Fili and Kili so much, loved being their Uncle and having a hand in how they grew.  One only had to watch the three of them together to know that Thorin would have made a wonderful father.  I can picture it so clearly in my mind’s eye, Thorin and I and Frodo sitting around a hearth while I tell stories and Thorin plays his harp and Frodo laughs.  So clearly that sometimes I have looked to my left only to be surprised that no one is there.  We talked about it once, you know, what things might be like once we had reclaimed The Mountain, what it might be like to have a home into which we could welcome a young Dwarf or Hobbit.  One quiet evening, when it was warm and the stars were bright, and we were hopeful.  It’s strange and somehow even more lonely to miss a time which never came to pass.

At any rate, in absence of a visit in person, I was wondering if you might be able to send a current drawing of The Company?  I did a sketch as soon as I returned to the Shire, and Frodo loves looking at it every chance he gets.  But since it was only from my own memory, I worry that I may not have captured every detail as faithfully as I would like.  And then I beg, if there are any drawings of Thorin, Fili, and Kili that could be copied, I would dearly love to have them as well. The last image I have in my head is of each of them lying on that horrible battlefield.  In doing my own drawing I had to fight so hard to keep their lifeless faces from tainting this memory.  More days than I like to admit I lose that fight.

That is the end of my requests for you then, except for one more, which is to send me news of how you all fare and what you have been doing in The Mountain as of late!  I have included some small gifts with my letter, if you could see that they make their way into the right hands.  There will be a new pastry recipe for Bombur, and I had to employ every skill at trickery I learned with you all to pry the secret from my great aunt’s cookbooks.  For Bofur are a few images of some of the new toys I have bought for Frodo; I did my best to guess at what the mechanisms might be.  Ori expressed some interest in Hobbit fashion, so I there are some sketches of the most fashionable Hobbits at this spring’s harvest dance.  If you would not mind, I have included some drawings to place on Thorin, Fili, and Kili’s tombs as well – Zinnia for Fili and Kili, and for Thorin the single blooming tea rose.  And finally for all of you, some sheet music for a song that everyone can sing and play together.  I hope this last gift will give you all an excuse to gather around a fire together once more.

Yours in eternal friendship and burglary – Bilbo Baggins, Bag End, The Shire

This draft will be discarded in favor of a new version with far less cross-outs, and absolutely no tear stains.  It will find itself into a locked drawer in Bilbo’s writing desk, to join Bilbo’s sketch of the company (when Frodo isn���t begging to see it) and a few other important pieces of correspondence.  When Balin’s reply arrives, Bilbo will read this draft once more before throwing it away for good.  In its place will be added the new letter, a sketch of ten smiling dwarfs – only slightly older and more weathered than Bilbo remembered – an image of Fili and Kili with their arms slung about each other’s shoulders, and one meticulous sketch of King Thorin Oakenshield, drawn only a year before The Company set out for the Shire and copied by Balin’s own hand.

[in-dire-need]

Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge- My Chemical Romance

The only 2004 album that could even come close to giving American Idiot a run for its money is Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge. My Chemical Romance’s second full-length album shot the band out of its familiar water. Its numerous hits continue to reach billboard charts, such as opening track “Helena” and world-renowned “I’m Not Okay.” According to frontman Gerard Way, Revenge stands as a “pseudo-conceptual horror story”. Every track on the album ties into this twisted and supernatural story of the two lovers featured on the cover, which was created by Gerard Way.

“Helena (So Long and Goodnight)” opens this story of Three Cheers with a heartfelt yet twisted dedication to the Way brothers’ grandmother, Elena Rush, had passed away under circumstanced unknown to the public during the band’s tour of I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love. Elena had heavily influenced the brothers from a very young age and inspired them to pursue their dreams. When she passed, Gerard Way was sent into a spiral of anger and self-destructive behavior. He wrote the song to be somewhat of a letter to himself, expressing the hatred he felt for himself at the time. Despite the dark theme behind the lyrics, “Helena” continues to be a radio classic on rock stations everywhere. 

The story element behind the album begins during the second track, “Give ‘Em Hell, Kid”. A man has been divided from his lover after the devil resurrects him from the dead and, in order to resurrect his wife as well, he must kill one thousand evil souls and present them to the devil. While he ventures out to accomplish this, his wife wonders where he has gone and is clueless of his plans. She is livid at him for wrecking their marriage that began when they were young and dumb. In the next few tracks we listen as the protagonist crashes a wedding in order to kill the guests. He begins to question his sexuality and if his wife is worth one thousand souls. Continuing the double-meaning, the “To The End” is also based on the short story “A Rose For Emily” by William Faulkner. In this story, a rich wife begins suspecting that her husband may be a homosexual, so she poisons him before he cheats on her or leaves her. 

“You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us in Prison” features Bert McCracken, frontman of The Used, with whom all of My Chemical Romance was extremely close with at the time of Three Cheers’ release. Gerard was also featured on their 2004 album, In Love and Death, which toured with Three Cheers after its debut. Since then, the bands had a falling-out and didn’t speak for years before heavily hinting that The Used would be opening for My Chemical Romance’s reunion tour that was scheduled for 2020. This information was never officially announced, though, seeing as COVID-19 has ruined every hope and dream that it could lay its greasy paws on. Anger aside, “Prison” continues the protagonist’s journey to kill one thousand evil souls to resurrect his wife as he is arrested in a restaurant gunfight. Once in prison, he begins falling for an inmate of the same sex, which confuses and upsets the protagonist who had assumed he was heterosexual for his entire life. He still dreams of his deceased lover, whom his journey is all for. The other inmates begin to take advantage of him, forcing him to dress in drag and give blowjobs to accommodate to their sexual desires. He begins to lose his sanity and believes that he might as well be executed since he will not be able to fulfill his mission from prison. He decides that when he leaves, he will burn down an entire hotel to quickly raise his body count.

Another track that has gone down in history is number four, “I’m Not Okay (I Promise”. It follows a girl who struggles with dealing with the problems in her life. She vents and complains to her boyfriend, who is dealing with his own problems. He puts them aside to comfort his girlfriend time and time again. She does not take this into account and simply continues to wallow in her own pain, attempting and failing to relate to sad songs with deeper meanings. He has finally had it with her by the end of the song and explodes, telling her that he is not okay and he is done with her melodrama. “The Ghost of You” is another smash hit produced by this album, which continues the story already present. The protagonist expresses the grief he experienced after losing the lover he is trying so hard to save. Later tracks emphasize this as the protagonist begins to doubt his ability to bring his lover back.

Standing as a message of inspiration and a sign not to give up, “Thank You For The Venom” has become very popular within its target audience. Critics began to blame My Chemical Romance for making music purely to become famous, to which the band responded saying that the fans are a huge impact on their music. They never wanted to be on the front covers of magazines and at the head of the rock scene, but at a certain point they could no longer fight the inevitable. The song narrates what is possibly a nun attempting to convert a horrible sinner, then being murdered by the man. The sinner could be the protagonist continuing his killing spree, knowing that no amount of preaching could save him. In the following tracks, he questions again if his lover is really worth kill one thousand evil souls. After a woman representing his lost love holds him at gunpoint and tells him to stop his killing spree, he considers shooting himself and therefore dying for her instead of killing. He trudges on still and vows revenge on this woman as his story nears its end. After killing nine-hundred ninety-nine evil souls, he realizes that the last one he must take is his own. He begins hallucinating that his wife is there with him and even holds conversations with her before remembering that she is not there. It is heavily suggested that his lover committed suicide after getting drunk, though the means are unknown. The protagonist finally comes to terms with the fact that he is destined to die and that he would never have been able to resurrect his wife. 

In the final track, “I Never Told You What I Did For a Living”, the man completes his transaction with the devil. He accepts his fall from grace, but knows that once he is with his love again it will all have been worth it. Once he kills the last soul, himself, it is revealed that the devil tricked him. As a result of his astounding body count, he has been damned to hell instead of being reunited with his lover. His final realization is that it was all for nothing and that he has simply become a monster. 

Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge’s final lines are a callback to the group’s first album, I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love, or Bullets for short. Dozens of lines throughout the album reference Bullets, and the lovers featured are even referred to as two “Demolition Lovers”. Initially, fans and critics believed that the two albums were linked as one continuing story, but that theory has been denied. Past its horrific tale, many songs actually send a buried positive message- keep going. Specifically “I’m Not Okay (I Promise)” and “Thank You For The Venom” have worked to debunk the band’s stereotype of being a suicide cult. Ironically, these songs have also become symbols of this said suicide cult, given the references to death and self-destruction, which leads many younger listeners to fall prey to this cult mentality that the media has created. That very concept was something that My Chemical Romance vehemently spoke out against, seeing as the very reason they began making music was to help people. Even despite being twisted and forgotten by the media, that is still exactly what they did. Although fame wasn’t what they wanted, in the end they achieved exactly what they wanted: to help people. Their worldwide fame simply allowed them to reach farther and wider than ever imagined. 

As previously stated, all tracks on the album not only tie into the crazy narration of two dead lovers, but into the real lives of the bandmates, specifically Gerard and Mikey way. For example, “The Jetset Life is Gonna Kill You” personifies Gerard’s struggle with alcoholism and cocaine addiction in the form of a woman. He says that he could stay with her for hours even though she will eventually kill him. He was able to sober up and toured for Three Cheers during his first full year sober, which he described as extremely difficult. “The Ghost Of You” helps paint the picture of how the brothers were grieving after the loss of their grandmother, Elena.

Elena was one of the most powerful influencers behind the creation of My Chemical Romance and continued to inspire them throughout their entire career. Thanks to her, the band went on to inspire millions of young adults worldwide. Had she not supported her grandchildren like she did, so many more influencers would have never developed the confidence to take their first steps into the sunlight. These influencers include Palaye Royale, Twenty One Pilots, Post Malone, and Yungblud. Who knows how many more celebrities truly are that wouldn’t be where they are without the influential messages of My Chemical Romance? Who knows who the next possible star will be? I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out. Go enjoy yourselves, internet.

“And we'll love again, we'll laugh again We'll cry again, and we'll dance again And it's better off this way, so much better off this way I can't clean the blood off the sheets in my bed!”

[boarix]

Wraith in the Ruins: A Fallout 4 Story Part XIX

Harbinger

Trigger Warnings: canon violence/language/gun, drug and alcohol use.  

Bloody Mess Warning!

Please Enjoy!

 Infamy stared after Wraith and Radiance as if in a haze. With their back to Harkness, they were caught completely unaware when he tackled them to the ground. The large man seemed oblivious to his own injuries while providing the glowing one some of their own. He sobbed for breath as he pummeled Atom’s Assassin; striking them repeatedly about the head and face.

“This was you! I lost them…” his breath came in ragged gasps, “all because of you! I lost them both! They trusted me with their friends… my friends! YOU’VE KILLED THEM BOTH!” Exhausted, he fell off of the ghoul and groaned into the mud.

Infamy’s mind was elsewhere it seemed. They allowed the beating and after it was over they climbed to their feet and walked slowly to where Sun of Atom lay. Not bothering to avoid the grisly remains of Marie, they simply stepped on or through the piles of the young woman’s digestive tract: trailing loops of purple-grey small intestine behind them after it caught on their boot. They crouched over the sad and crumpled form of their fellow glowing one and placed a hand on his brow.

Harkness made an attempt to get to his feet but only succeeded in flopping over onto his back. Panting, he struggled to pull his shirt up and over his head before wadding it into a ball and pressing it to the worst of his multiple knife wounds. Looking around he saw what Infamy was doing and a sudden flare of hope stirred within him “Can you… I’ve seen glowing ones revive…”

“No. There isn’t enough brain left.” They rose to their feet and paced back to him, “His light has gone out in any case.” Placing their knuckles on their hips, Infamy leaned down to glare at him, “What do you mean I’ve killed them?” Sweeping a hand through the air, they gestured to the bodies lying in the muddied turf, “Do point out the general’s corpse. I know it may be hard considering how popular a hangout this area is for dead folks. Don’t see her? Hmm... Did you miss the part where that spectacular glowing creature swept Wraith away?”

“Fuck… you…”

“She took all my ferals too… that beautiful bitch!”

“Why are… you still here?! Fuck off already!”

They snorted in amusement then turned and leisurely walked to the shipping office. A moment later they returned with Wraith’s med kit and tossed it to a very surprised Harkness.

“What?! Why?”

“Where? When? Who?” laughing mockingly, they roughly pulled the cloak from one of their collective; shaking it so the body fell to lay face down with limbs askew. They then folded the garment into a makeshift cushion and sat on it, “Can’t have you expiring before my questions are answered. Now, can we? Hahaha!”

Harkness injected himself with Med-X then a stimpak. Rummaging in the bag, he also found a derma-fuse and a small bottle of disinfecting alcohol. Pouring some onto clean gauze, he winced as he wiped at the gash along his ribs. He popped his chin to the cloak’s former owner, “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’d treat a loyal follower like garbage.”

“Tch,” They waved a hand dismissingly, “their light has returned to Atom. The meat sack is unimportant. Besides, it’s hot and wet out here and I have a particular loathing for swamp ass.”

As Harkness did his best to mend himself he could feel the ghoul watching him. It annoyed the shit out of him, “What makes you think I’m going to answer any of your fucking…”

“Did you ever ask him?” Their lip curled in amusement, “Sun. Did you ever ask him about your light? Or, did you assume that you must have one. After all you are alive, right?” Their voice deepened and came as the lowest of whispers, “Are you alive, Harkness?”

“I will not play, Infamy.” His eyes mirrored the iron in his voice.

“You’ll play. After all, you’ve curiosity of your own to quench.” They brought a hand up under their chin, propped their arm on a knee and bat their eyes at him, “Don’t you want to know how I knew where you were? Hmmm? Don’t you want to know ‘why now’?”

“No. I figure… you heard Sunny… or one of you did. Why are you so interested in Wraith? What is she the Harbinger of?”

They made an indelicate noise and waved a hand dismissively, “It’s not her I’m interested in any longer. I imagine she was the Harbinger of Death for Sun of Atom…”

“NO!” Furious, Harkness pound his fist on the ground, “You fucking… uncaring monster! It can’t be as simple…”

“Wraith is up to Atom. Whether or not she’s ‘The Harbinger’ is up to the Mother of the Fog and I don’t pretend to know their Holy Plan. And I’d be careful thrashing about and opening your wounds, brother; you’ve only got so much of that red fluid left.”

“Red fluid?! It’s blood, you fuck! I am alive and I have blood!”

“I’m a monster, remember? I know nothing of blood as my veins are filled with ichor. Ha!”

Harkness struggled to his feet. Walking on unsteady legs, he went to Sun and with some difficulty, gathered the ghoul into his arms, “If anyone was Death’s Harbinger it was Marie.” He carried his small burden to the office and set about arranging him; folding him in his robes as if he was swaddling an infant.

“Marie…” Infamy watched from the doorway, their voice dripped with loathing, “complete buffoon. Utter garbage.”

“Well, you listened to her and came up here, so who’s the bigger idiot?”

“The trouble at Crater House, the loss of Kingsport Lighthouse and the babbling of High Confessor Tektus is why I came. Though, I suppose Marie’s whining about false prophets needed to be addressed as well… she did know the area…” They shrugged, “Oh, well. She’s not going to be spreading hysteria any longer and all those who followed her around will go back home and follow Atom instead. As they should.”

Harkness slammed his fists on the floor, “Oh, well? All’s well that ends well?!” He rushed the ghoul but couldn’t catch them and fell out of the door and landed on his knees, “People are dead! You killed and maimed people based on false information!”

They shrugged again, “They are not important. Who was that glowing one? Where did she come from? Does she speak? She seemed more than feral…”

“Go. Fuck. Yourself.”

“Would Wraith’s little boy know? Should I go and ask him? Oh, I like him. Very, very much.”

Harkness started to shake with rage, “If you set one rotten toenail in that settlement, MacCready will destroy you.”

They paused and a flicker of real fear crossed their face, “Oh… the sniper. If I’m not mistaken, he was a demon of Morningstar’s, at one point… Little Boy was no slouch in a fight either, and there are probably dogs, Dragoons and a super mutant…” They spun around; holding their arms out and twirling like a child, “I suppose I could just follow her… Although, that might be dangerous; wouldn’t want to get ensnared like Wraith.”

“I get the feeling, if she wanted you, she would have taken you.”

The ghoul’s eyes narrowed, “I am a Master of Infamy. A Necromancer! Atom’s Assassin, of course… well… hmm… perhaps you’re right. Oh, well. Maybe I’m not her type. That’s up to her, I suppose.” They blew Harkness a kiss and turned away toward the hole in the fence, “Try not to miss me, big boy.”

“For the last time; go fuck yourself!”

“Delighted to. I’ll be thinking of you!”

  The loss of blood made Harkness’s journey back to Sanctuary a long one. He had left Sun’s remains along with most of his own gear, locked in one of the shipping company’s trailers. He went the long way around: avoiding the road and using a Stealth-boy to pass through the gate unseen. Nearly overwhelmed by exhaustion and grief, his invisibility wore off as he stood on the grass in between Wraith’s office and the clinic. Blinking into view, he looked back and forth, trying to prioritize.      

As it happened, Danse had just glanced out the window and saw a vaguely familiar, very bloody man standing on the lawn. He assumed he was a member of the Minutemen and immediately went out to help, “Are you alright, soldier?”

“Oh. Hi, Danse. Glad to see…” Harkness trailed off as he lost consciousness and sagged into the other man’s arms.

 “THIS IS TOTAL CRAP!”

A meeting had been called as soon as Harkness had regained consciousness. Bear, the Valentines, Danse, Curie, Cait, Lloyd, MacCready and Sofie had all gathered in Sanctuary’s Radio Freedom broadcast center. The leaders of Goodneighbor, Diamond City and The Castle were all listening in, and had been voicing their opinions on what to do next over the radio.  

“MacCready, please stop yelling…” Sofie stood up to put her diminutive form between the sniper and the object of his ire.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU STOP HER?”

“How would I even begin to do that?” Harkness’s emotions were oscillating between anger and sadness and he would have very much liked to bellow back at him, but every time he took a deep, preparatory breath, he felt a sharp reminder that he’d been repeatedly stabbed. “I had just watched her literally rip another human being in half. With very little effort, might I add?” He looked unflinchingly into the other man’s eyes, “She and I weren’t super pals, but I was really starting to like her. I had begun to know her. I saw her when she went for Marie. Even before that glowing one took her, she had already gone feral. Her eyes were nothing but burning rage. If I had tried, she would have killed me too.”

“We are facing the fact that Wraith has now become… a potential threat… We cannot allow her to hurt anyone else.”

“No,” MacCready took a deep shuddering breath, “you can’t possibly believe that, Sofie.” He cast about in disbelief, looking for allies in the sad eyes of his friends. “I know she’s… gone a little… she’s always come back though! Hancock! Tell them! You’ve brought her back. Tell them how you…”

“That’s right,” Danse leaned forward eagerly, “aboard the Prydwen. Wraith told me that she had lost control,” He swallowed and closed his eyes, “and that it was you who…”

“No. I couldn’t. It wasn’t me…” Hancock was barely audible.

“We need to find her. If we can hold her somehow, maybe it’ll… wear off?” Piper’s question was pleading.

“We’ll mobilize the Hounds and the Dragoons.” Preston had been silent up to that point; unhappy to be the pro tem general, “Even Wraith can’t rip through metal. Can she?”

“I agree,” Nick Valentine had been standing in the doorway, facing away south, “We need to try…”

“And what then? How many people will she kill or injure in the effort to capture her?” Sanctuary’s head settler hated what she was saying even as she said it, “She’s surrounded by feral ghouls. One of whom is potentially the most powerful glowing one we have ever encountered. We have to find her, yes, but we should be considering…”

“YOU CAN’T BE THINKING OF KILLING THE PERSON WHO SAVED US!”

The ghoulett clenched her fists and tears stood out in her eyes, “You think I want her to be killed?!” She took several deep, shaking breaths, “We must think how she would feel knowing that people were hurt on her behalf. We must do what’s best for all…”  

“WRAITH IS WHAT IS BEST FOR ALL!”

“MACCREADY!” Hancock’s voice crackled over the radio, “I’LL BE DAMNED IF I LET HER DIE!” Then, softer, “Robert… I don’t know if I can reach her but…” The deep breath he took was audible, “On the airship… I took some heavy-duty chems just to keep up with her. I was jacked on Psycho jet, Ultrajet and Buffout, but it still wasn’t enough to stop her. You wanna talk about rippin’ through metal?! She shrugged me off like I was a bloatfly! And when I kept at it she… she went for me like I was the enemy. The only way she made it back to the vertibird was cause she was chasin’ me. When the Prydwen blew, our ship got caught in the shockwave and we went down like a wet sack of shit. As soon as her feet were on the shore, she was off again; splashing after the BOS survivors around the airport… snarling.” He paused and cleared his throat, “Sorry, Danse. I know that’s gotta be rough to hear…”

“I… Please continue.”

“I was hurt pretty bad; Maxson got his licks in and the crash was rough. There was fire everywhere. Even the water was burning, but I still tried to go after her. She did one of her crazy judo throws though, and dropped my ass in the drink. I thought for sure she was gonna drown me. Deacon was tryin’ to pull her off me and she hit him so hard, I think I saw stars. He got up, bloody as hell, and was calling her… to her. He was sayin’, ‘Please stop! You’re going to kill us.’ and she just… it was like a switch got flipped. She blacked out and don’t remember a thing. Told everyone that I saved her but, it wasn’t me… it wasn’t me…”

Quiet descended as the group somberly digested the ghoul’s words. Harkness quickly put two and two together and came up with Harley = Deacon. He also decided that he very much needed to return to the Capital Wasteland as soon as possible.  

“Shark cages,” Sturges’s unmistakable voice chimed in from the Castle radio, causing everyone to flinch at the broken silence, “at the Nahant Oceanological Society. They were strong enough to hold a great white, right?”

“Why on earth would anyone want to trap a big pale shark?”

“Waaay off subject, Lloyd!”

“I meant for Wraith, naturally. We find her and like Mayor Wright says, maybe whatever that feral did to her will wear off, cause last I checked, Deacon ain’t exactly local these days.”

“What about Infamy, Harkness? What further action can we expect from them?”

Wincing, he brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck, “Honestly, Danse, I don’t think they are going to be a threat to Wraith’s settlements any longer.”

“I call malarkey on that one.”

“No, Mayor Wright, I think the main force will already be on their way back to the Capital Wasteland. As for Atom’s Assassin… they seemed fascinated by Radiance and left to…”

“Can we please get back to Wraith?! Like, now!” MacCready’s patience was all but gone.

“What about the Glowing Sea? You said they headed south.”

“I don’t know, detective. I… they could be anywhere…” Harkness closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Okay,” MacCready clapped his hands together, “that’s close enough to a plan for me! Me, Danse and the Dragoons will suit up and stomp our way down to the Glowing-est Place on Earth while the Minutemen fetch us a cage to everyone’s favorite berserker in.”

“I’m goin’.” Bear stood and nodded at the group, “I’ll go get my hammer. Assuming we are leaving soon.”

“I shall go as well.” Curie lifted her chin and her eyes dared them all to contradict her.

“Curie, what about the syringer?”

“That’s a great idea, MacCready. Thinking like a true weapons master! You can load it with Pistol Whipped…”

“What is this? ‘Pistol Whipped’?”

“It’s what we’ve been callin’ that sleep aid you and Wraith were working on.”

“Of course, you’ll be going too, Nick.” Ellie clapped her hands together as if the choice was made.

Valentine gave his wife a stricken look, “I can’t very well leave you here…”

“You most certainly can! Wraith is my friend too, and I want the best detective in the Commonwealth out there looking for her.”

“You can wear my armor, Nicky; it’s a real classy chassis. I’ll put my people on it too. I gotta rearrange some things before I go runnin’ around, but in the meantime, I want to be notified as soon as anybody lays eyes on her, you feel me?”

   Her voice was like a white-hot needle through Wraith’s head. Wordless, it was nevertheless meticulously specific. The instructions held a weight that was all but crushing. Pain surrounded and penetrated her whenever Radiance spoke, but in the voice’s absence there was only confusion and fear. She didn’t remember who she was or what she wanted. All that mattered was Her.

The Metro tunnels were dark, but somehow Wraith found her prey. She knew that everything living, apart from feral ghouls, must be destroyed. She swept through the raiders and monsters like a poisonous vapor. Unseen by most save for the moment of their death.

There are powerful fighters even amongst the raiders. And these grizzled veterans of turf wars and skirmishes over inter-gang pecking order posed a serious threat to Wraith. So reckless and lost, she took risks she might not have taken and wouldn’t retreat even when outnumbered. Were it not for Bear’s armor she would have been killed. As it was, the lack of self-preservation often resulted in injury.

After she cleared a location, Radiance would immediately come and find her. The glowing one held her in her arms, healing her wounds and filling her mind with a blazing light.

Following behind, Infamy tested the range of Radiance’s influence. Several times the ghoul came too close and the mental assault dropped them to their knees while they fought to keep their free will. The vast horde of ferals that had been gathered in the Glowing Sea, that Infamy had intended to set against the Minutemen, now swarmed around the glowing queen and did as she bade. Frustrated but determined, Atom’s Assassin persisted. They kept telling themselves that they should be powerful enough to pull ferals away and were growing fearful at their complete failure to do so.

  While Deacon stared silently out the window of his Tenpenny Tower office, Harkness’s chin dropped low to his chest. He had finished his debriefing moments before and now in the ensuing silence the exhausted agent was in real danger of falling asleep.

“You called me ‘Deacon’.”

Harkness’s head snapped up, “Oh… Did I?”

“Yes.” Deacon sighed, “I guess it would be pointless to contradict you at this point, huh?” Turning, he crossed the room to his desk and after shuffling a few papers aside, picked up a holotape and held it out to Harkness. “Take a few days to recover before you start on this.”

After accepting the tape, Harkness continued to hold it out at arm’s length. Maintaining eye contact, he lifted a brow, “What’s this?”

“Your next OP.”

“What… what are you…?”

“This one should be a little more routine. That being said, I still want you…”

“What do you mean my next…?” He continued to hold the holotape out and away from himself. Now when Deacon interrupted him again, he bobbed his whole arm up and down as if using the device to punctuate his ire.

“You’re finished with your last mission. You debriefed me. I’ve been debriefed. I stand debriefed.” As Deacon spoke his volume increased as if he was trying to drown out Harkness’s arm waving, “I’m pants-less before you!”

“God DAMN it! What about Wraith?!”

“What about her? I’m sure the Commonwealth branch will be able to…”

“Don’t, boss…” Harkness lowered his arm and let the tape fall on to the floor before bringing hands up to his face. When he spoke his voice was muffled, “please don’t. Don’t pretend like you don’t care.”

“I don’t. Wraith is someone else’s problem. I can’t afford to be distracted by her.”

Harkness launched himself to his feet and rushed Deacon. He stopped just short of the other man so they stood nose to nose, “I think you fucking care quite a bit.”

The phrase sent Deacon’s mind back to a similar conversation he had had with Hancock and he chuckled humorlessly at the irony of it. “She… has a way of getting under your skin, doesn’t she?”

“I think she’s a pill.” Harkness sagged, turned and all but dragged himself back to the couch, “She’s violent, moody and… she cares deeply for her people. She puts her own safety at risk to help others. Strangers even. She’s very brave and is a brilliant, terrifying fighter.” He smiled helplessly up at the other man, “I don’t know whether I want to take a bullet for her or shake her.”

Deacon remained very still and silent as he tried to concoct a lie that would end the immediate conversation and put the subject of Wraith to bed. Even as he stewed, he knew that he didn’t want to ignore Wraith’s plight. “Even if I wanted to help…”

“Which, you do…”

“…what do you expect I’ll be able to do?” All trace of humor had fled from him and Deacon’s tone was almost accusatory. He returned to the window, and frowning at his reflection, resisted the urge to break the glass.

“Governor seems to think you’ll be able to snap her out of it.”

Deacon scoffed, “Ha! ‘Governor thinks…’” He shook his head, “The situation is different; this is not of her own doing. This ‘Radiance’ creature has her… entranced. This isn’t the berserker we all know and love. No. We’ll all turn to dust long before she calms and returns to her senses.”

“Since when have you adopted such a defeatist’s attitude? Why wouldn’t you go? Why not try?”

“You’ve only had a small taste of what she’s capable of… I definitely can’t fight her.”

“I’ve been wondering about that. Why is she so physically strong?”

Deacon frowned, “I don’t know… exactly…”

“So tell me vaguely.”

“Let’s say… she’s one failed step in the march toward the ultimate super soldier.”

“That’s a hell of a stumble.”

Deacon heard the creak of the sofa springs as Harkness rose and came to stand behind him. He could see the large man’s chest reflected in the window glass, and his arms as he crossed them over it. He let the silence drag out for as long as possible and when he finally spoke he let the full weight of his ire carry in his voice, “I’ll ask again; what do you expect me to do?”

“Retire and go back.”

Deacon spun about, his face a storm of anger, “I don’t get to do that.”

“I don’t see why not. Morningstar never meant for you to have to stay here.” He turned and went to sit at Deacon’s desk. “I’m thinking I’m your replacement. I’ve had enough of field work for now, and with everything you’ve set in place, this job could almost be easy.”

“Easy…?” Deacon’s mouth worked, but no sound came out.

“I know you can help them. Wraith needs you, Deacon.” He folded his arms behind his head and set his feet on top of the desk. “We don’t.”

“For the last time; what do you think I can do?!”    

“Call her name.”

 Hancock’s snores could be heard throughout the Old Statehouse. His feet were up on his desk and his head was tilted back over the top of his chair; the awkward angle accounting for the great volume of his log-sawing. And yet, his granddaughter was completely undisturbed. She was in what he called tree-frog mode: perched on his chest with limbs drawn in and chin tucked. He had one hand gently cupping her back and so the tiny infant was perfectly safe riding up and down with his deep, rhythmic breaths.

He was exhausted:

Several months had passed since the meeting and Wraith was still missing. The excursion to the Glowing Sea provided very little clues to her whereabouts. While there, Danse, as the ranking Minutemen officer, met with Mother Isolde and informed her of her daughter’s death. During the meeting she spoke on how a vast horde of feral ghouls had pass very near to the Crater and that they seemed to be moving northeast.

“Normally such a thing would be noted as odd but not concerning. This… even we at the Crater, Atom’s holy ground, couldn’t help but feel threatened.” She lowered her head and touched her finger tips to her temple.

“I am very sorry for your loss…”

“It is not only that… forgive me but I have been having headaches…”

Soon after, MacCready had parted ways with Danse and the rest of his squad to escort Valentine and Curie back to Sanctuary. Leaving almost as soon as he returned, he stopped in Goodneighbor to collect Hancock and the two set out to follow up on leads from the ghoul’s network. There had been witnesses that spoke of a mass exodus of raiders and other unsavory types, fleeing the Mass Pike tunnels and the various MTA stations around the city. Like rats leaving a sinking ship.

Hancock was most concerned about the reports coming in from Postal Square, “That’s part of the Blue Line. I know there’s blockages between there and the Third Rail but…”

When the duo finally found a raider to question, they couldn’t be sure how much of his terrified babbling was chem induced.

“It was a deathclaw! But, like a little one. Not a baby, just real small. Not real small, more like it was people sized. And the ferals! They were all runnin’ and hoppin’. Glowing ones everywhere! I had ta run and hop too. The voices in my head got LOUD! Oh my head, oh… Mayor Hancock… you packin’? You haulin’, man? Cause, I could need some Psycho, man. My arm skin tryin’ to crawl away from me, boss.”

“Sorry, pal. I’m light these days. It’ll be winter soon, why don’t you head over to Goodneighbor? So long as you mind yerself, you’ll do alright.”

“I don’t mind… don’t mind takin’ what I need from your dead…”

The raider never finished. As soon as he went for his knife, MacCready had pulled a sidearm and blew his brains out through his ear.

Danse returned to Sanctuary just before the first snow. His time spent in his power armor much improved his mobility and stamina as the support the suit provided proved to be a surprisingly efficient form of physical therapy. Despite this, he found himself at a trough in his mental recovery. The inability to find his friend and save her, like she had done so many times for him, was incredibly crushing. On several occasions, Curie would lose track of him and find him standing in one of Sanctuary’s fields in his power armor, having completely worn down a core. Calling to him repeatedly, she would stand in the cold until he regained his senses and followed her slowly home.  

Strong’s reaction seemed to be the most out of character. The super mutant became strangely quiet and after he returned with the hounds from the glowing sea, took to picking up and carrying around any of the mutant canines that happened to be available. Cait overheard him whispering to Gracie, appearing to be reassuring himself by talking to her, “Alpha is still with Strong. Strong feels small human friend. Alpha won’t wear out like other humans. Alpha will come back. As soon as ghoul is dead…”

Martha Daisy Hancock had been born early. Fahrenheit had become gravely ill in her last trimester and Dr. Amari had called for Curie’s aid. Diagnosing her with pregnancy induced liver disease; she had been able to convince the mother of a dramatic course of action and thus, performed her first C-section to great success. In turn, Amari made the journey to Sanctuary a month and a half later to help deliver Ellie and Nick’s son, John Emiliano; whom everyone called “Jack”.

MacCready and Hancock had continued to scour the bowels of the ruins, going tunnel by tunnel, with little to no rest for the entire winter. The decision to abandon his search when Fahrenheit became sick nearly tore the ghoul in two. Now, he threw himself after every new rumor, no matter how vague, like a starving dog on a scrap of meat.

Now, not even bothering to knock, Fahrenheit opened the door to the mayor’s office and followed closely by MacCready, strode purposely to Hancock’s desk. She reached out, intending to take her daughter from the ghoul’s arms, but stopped herself after briefly considering the consequences. After all, they both were finally sleeping…

MacCready had no such compunctions and deftly plucked the baby from his arms. In almost the same motion, he substituted a small bag of beach sand and stepped back, grinning triumphantly.

“There’s no way…”

Hancock sat bolt-upright, “Oh!” Blinking owlishly he stared at them for a moment before looking down at the sack he was cradling gently in his arms. His mouth set in a scowl, he growled at MacCready, “You asshole.”

MacCready chuckled, “Aww, man, don’t curse in front of the kid!” His laugh turned into a pout, “I really thought that was gonna work… been carrying that stupid bag forever.”

Hancock’s face softened as soon as he heard him laugh. It had been a while since the young man had shown any inclination toward cheerfulness and it made the ghoul feel better to hear. “You’re lucky I love ya, stealing my baby…”

Fahrenheit loudly cleared her throat before turning to MacCready and holding her hands out expectantly. He in turn, backed away while sticking his lip out even further.

“Give me a few minutes! At least until she starts crying. I’ve hardly gotten a chance to hold her… since… well…”

She relented and went to set herself on Hancock’s couch. “Hancock, I just got off the radio with Garvey… General Garvey.”

Hancock immediately stood. His brow knit, he clenched his hands into fists and advanced on the door. When he spoke his voice shook with barley suppressed rage, “How could he? How dare he?”

Fahrenheit stood up as well and positioned herself in the doorway to block the mayor, “Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna go and give him a piece of my mind! That’s where!”

“Oh, no you’re not!” She pressed a hand to his chest and was a little surprised when he didn’t back down. Determined, she pushed harder and locked eyes with him, “If you go now you will say something hurtful to a man whom you greatly respect.”

“It wasn’t just him, Hancock. They had a meeting and decided to follow Wraith’s notes.”

Surprised, Hancock whirled on him, “So, you’re okay with them removing Wraith from command?!”

“I didn’t say that,” MacCready let an edge creep into his voice, “I said that it wasn’t all on Preston.”

“Oh! I see!” He threw his hands up, “So it’s okay because it was decided in fucking committee!”

“NO! It’s okay because Wraith essentially TOLD THEM TO DO IT!” MacCready’s eyes flashed at him.

“They simply made official what has been their reality for the past few months, and Preston will do a fine job of it. Despite his age, he has years of experience and has learned a great deal from his time with Wraith.”

“His age? Pretty sure he’s older then you…”

She shot MacCready a glare, “Be still.”

Hancock whirled from the doorway and uttering a guttural sob, surprised them both by beginning to cry. Filled with anger and grief he was barely able to speak, “I can’t stand that they’ve given up on her… that they are following her Will… that she’s… she’s…”

Martha began to cry even as her adoptive grandfather and MacCready passed her to Fahrenheit before wrapping his arms around Hancock.

“Don’t, man. She’s not dead!” His own voice thick with impending tears, he squeezed him tightly, “We will never give up!”

Fahrenheit made an attempt to calm the infant while frowning at them, “Queenie is adaptive and powerful. I share in MacCready’s optimism and am almost positive she’s still alive.” Returning to the couch, she offered her daughter a breast, leaned back and closed her eyes. Hancock wasn’t the only one who was exhausted. “We need a better plan. Something actionable.”

MacCready and Hancock politely turned their backs and went to seat themselves at the mayor’s bar, the former reaching over the counter to grab a bottle of whiskey. He poured two portions and was surprised when the ghoul declined. His concern grew when Hancock set his brow into the heal of his palm and muttered something about “headaches”.

“You’re like, the fifth person I’ve talked to today who has a headache.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I just need some Mentats and I’ll be right as rain.”

MacCready, unconvinced, continued to frown at him, “You’re sure that’s best…”

Hancock chuckled, “Sez the man who just drank a fifth of whiskey.”

“Oh… right.” MacCready reached out and gently grabbed the back of Hancock’s head and pulling him in close, bumped their foreheads together much the same way Wraith would.

They stayed together this way for almost a minute before Hancock leaned away, smiling, “Ya know, I think that might’ve helped.”

Fahrenheit rolled her eyes at them, “Absolute mush.” She stood and patted her daughter on the back, “A plan, gentlemen; where do we go from here?”

“I got a idea, actually…”

“Well, be gentle with it. It’s in a strange place.”

“Ha ha.” Now it was MacCready’s turn to roll his eyes, “You remember that one vault that was down in Quincy Quarries?”

Hancock growled, “Yeah, I remember. There was a Vault-Tec scientist there who’d turned ghoul. The place is massive. Wraith tried to set up a whole settlement down there; it’s fully powered and everything. She gave up though. Folks told her it was like livin’ in someone else’s grave…”

“Exactly! It’s completely abandoned but probably fully provisioned and fortified. Not to mention the entrance is right in the middle of one of the most irradiated places in the Commonwealth.” He smiled and swept his hands out across the bar, as if revealing the answer to all the world’s problems, “I can’t imagine a more perfect place for a mass of feral ghouls to spend the winter.”

“That’s actually… hmm, that’s not bad.”

MacCready’s triumphant smile returned and he beamed at her, “Now I know she sealed it off, but…”

A sudden commotion in the stairwell outside interrupted him. They could hear raised voices and the thundering footsteps of several men running up the stairs.

Fahrenheit reached the door just as a Watch member had raised a fist to knock and narrowly avoided getting knuckled in the face, “Report!”

Staring stupidly for a moment, the ghoul shook himself, stammering awkwardly, “Cap… Cap’n Fahrenheit… Mayor Hancock… I… it’s bad!”

“Now what?!” Hancock pushed himself to his feet and quickly crossed the room.

“There’s some drifters going crazy! Two… two were in the Rail and…”

“Show me!”

It was bedlam in the streets of Goodneighbor. The Neighborhood watch fought to subdue residents who, only moments before had been calm and peaceful. MacCready and Hancock separated as soon as they were at ground-level. Each picked a target and rushing to help pin the snarling, apparently feral, ghouls without killing them.

“Knock them out if you can!” Fahrenheit stood on the balcony and called instruction to her subordinates. “On your three o’clock, Coach!”  

“Then… oof… what?!” MacCready caught an elbow to the ribs, “You don’t have a jail here. Where… Ow! Goddamn it! This guy just bit me!”

At that moment, Magnolia, face pale as a ghost, rushed to Hancock’s side, “There’s a glowing one in the Rail! I think… I think… I think it’s Her!”

Thank you for reading! Like what you’ve read? Looking for more? Please see my master link: pinned post and tagged as Wraith in the Ruins. As always, any questions/concerns/comments please feel free to send me an ask. I look forward to hearing from you. =^..^=

[unfolded73]

How Do We Get Back (10/16) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: In a literal alternate universe where the Roses escaped financial ruin, David and Patrick struggle with loneliness and a sense that something isn’t right. A chance meeting in New York and a terrible tragedy drive them to question whether the timeline they are on is the right one.

Rated explicit. This chapter 4.4k words.  (ao3)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

Finally a familiar setting makes an appearance... (again, all text below the cut due to story spoilers)

_____________________________________

Chapter 10

While he didn’t have a lot of experience in his life doing walks of shame, Patrick felt like going downstairs in the Rose house the morning after Alexis’ funeral in yesterday’s clothes would have to rank as pretty bad on anyone’s list. He’d left his luggage in the car, so he pulled his wrinkled shirt and pants back on and snuck down the spiral staircase. The goal was to find someone to ask where his car was so that he could get his toothbrush and a change of clothes.

Fortunately, the Rose family didn’t seem to be awake, and a nice woman in the kitchen showed him where to go to get into his car. He was back upstairs and in the shower before David had even woken up, although by the time Patrick had shaved and dressed and brushed his teeth, David had started to stir.

“God, I slept for twelve hours,” David said, looking at his phone.

“You probably needed it.”

“I don’t know how I would have gotten through yesterday if you hadn’t come,” David said. “So thank you.” He got out of bed and pulled a pair of sweatpants out of his armoire.

“You’re welcome.”

“And listen, if in the cold light of morning, you regret asking me to come home with you—”

“I don’t regret asking you to come home with me,” Patrick said, his hands going into his pockets. “Do you regret saying yes?”

“No,” David said, rocking on his heels as they regarded each other across the room. David finally broke the tension, moving past Patrick into the bathroom and picking up his toothbrush. “So did you have a return flight booked already?”

Patrick nodded “Yeah, for tomorrow? I wasn’t really sure, I thought about booking it for today, but—”

“No, tomorrow works. I’ll see if I can get a seat on the same flight.”

“You know, David, I flew economy.”

David’s head whipped around and he grimaced in the midst of brushing his teeth, making a drop of toothpaste foam run down his chin. “I’ll also see if I can upgrade you.”

When they ventured downstairs to get something to eat, David’s father was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through a photo album. Patrick hadn’t gotten a good look at him the day before, so he was struck for the first time by the dramatic resemblance between father and son. They even styled their hair similarly, swept up off their foreheads, although the elder Rose’s hair was shot through with grey. He was also struck by the fact that the man was wearing a suit at such an early hour in his own kitchen. Perhaps he was one of those people who always wore a suit, no matter the occasion.

“Oh, David, I didn’t…” He paused, registering the presence of a stranger in his house. “... didn’t think you would be up so early.”

“I cried myself to sleep at seven o’clock last night,” David said, opening the refrigerator.

Since David didn’t seem inclined to introduce him, Patrick went over and held out his hand. “Hi, Mr. Rose, I’m Patrick Brewer. I’m a friend of David’s.”

“Nice to meet you, Patrick.” Johnny Rose stood up and took Patrick’s hand; his handshake was firm as he looked back and forth between Patrick and David, probably trying to figure out what ‘friend’ meant.

“It was a lovely service yesterday,” Patrick said, automatically shifting into politeness. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” Patrick figured he’d probably been told ‘sorry for your loss’ enough to last several lifetimes, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“Ah, well, thank you. Did you know Alexis?”

“I only met her once,” Patrick said.

David pulled a large, half-eaten fruit tray out of the refrigerator, presumably leftover from yesterday, and began picking through it. “I’m going to go out of town for a few days,” David announced with a suddenness that made Patrick wince.

“What, now? Why?” Johnny said.

“I need to get out of this house. I need to get out of New York.”

“David, you can’t just abandon your family when you’re needed! Your mother, in particular, needs you to be here.”

“Okay, my mother was on so many pills yesterday at the funeral that I’m not convinced she even knew I was there,” David said, meeting his father’s anger with a wellspring of his own. “And look, I get it: I’m tempted to swallow half a pharmacy and wash it down with a liter of vodka right now too. Which is part of the reason that I need to get away from here. Just for a week or so.”

Patrick hadn’t realized any of that, and he felt a surge of sympathy for David that nearly brought him to his knees. He was also aware that this was a private family interaction that he definitely shouldn’t be witnessing, so he tried to shrink back against the wall and be as unobtrusive as possible.

Johnny sank back down into his chair, the fight drained out of him. “Okay, David, if that’s what you need. Where are you going?”

David turned to Patrick. “Where are we going?”

“Umm, it’s a town called Oak Grove. It’s about four and a half hours northwest of Toronto.”

“Four and a half hours!” David said, looking annoyed by that fact.

“Second thoughts?” Patrick asked him.

David tried and failed not to smile. “No. Just reconsidering my playlist for the trip, that’s all.”

Johnny was scrutinizing Patrick now, probably upgrading him from ‘friend’ to ‘man who is stealing my son away from me at the worst possible time.’ “And what’s there?” Johnny asked.

Patrick laughed uncomfortably. “Nothing. It’s my home.”

“It’s a quiet place where I can deal with stuff,” David said. “Okay?”

“You need to talk to your mother before you go, at least,” Johnny said, resigned.

“I will,” David snapped. “You and Mom could do the same thing, you know. Get away somewhere. You don’t have to stay here in this house that’s filled with memories of Alexis as a little girl.”

Johnny looked at David with sad eyes. “The memories are a comfort to me right now. You may want to forget, David, but right now, all I can bear to do is remember.”

~*~

“I’m leaving for the airport in half an hour!” David called to his mother through her locked bedroom door. He’d been busy the day before, dragging Patrick with him into the city to collect his personal belongings from the gallery (the realtor was going to be showing it to prospective tenants the following week, he’d been told) and to get some clothes and books that he wanted from his apartment. Having Patrick with him through that whole process, it helped. Particularly at the gallery, where Patrick kept up a steady stream of gentle teasing about the art which probably should have pissed David off, but it helped put everything in perspective as he locked up and walked away from that space for what was probably the last time.

It would have been easier to just spend the night at his apartment in Chelsea and get an Uber to the airport the following morning, but he still hadn’t spoken to his mother and he felt like he owed her that before he left town. So they went all the way back to the house even though it meant getting up even earlier to make it to JFK in time to board their flight. And then Moira refused to make an appearance all evening, making the whole trip pointless.

Finally now, when David was bleary-eyed from too little sleep (he’d shared his bed with Patrick again, but his lack of sleep stemmed from nightmares and not from anything remotely sexual), Moira opened the door.

“You’re leaving,” she said flatly, her eyes accusing him.

“For a few days, yes. Just to get my head together.”

“And who is this man that your father tells me you’re traveling with? What right does he have to abscond with you in the family’s hour of need?”

David was grateful that Patrick was already outside, packing the rental car. “He’s a friend who traveled a very long way to be with me when he heard what happened to Alexis. He’s the only person in my life who offered to do something like that for me. The only one, and I…” David felt tears rising to the surface again, and he didn’t want to cry right now. He was so tired of crying. “I don’t know why, but I need this. You and Dad have each other, and I need this.”

“You can’t escape grief by running, David,” she said, suddenly more lucid than he’d seen her all week.

“I can try.”

~*~

JFK was a crazy place at the best of times, with its security lines doubling back on themselves endlessly, an entire cross-section of America packed into the rows. Then came the infinitely long concourses, bright yellow lighted signage casting a sickly pallor over everything, people movers broken up at regular intervals that made it impossible to adjust to the speed at which the stores on either side rushed by: slow-fast-slow-fast.

Today it was crazier than usual.

Literal hare krishnas had accosted them between the rental car return and the departures level, trying to shove flowers and pamphlets into their hands, and David couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen that happen in real life or if it was just something he knew about from movies. Patrick apologized for refusing what they were offering as he and David dodged them, their rolling suitcases clacking over the floor.

Then, weirder still, there were protesters (he assumed they were protesters, but he honestly wasn’t sure) being arrested en masse in the check-in area; at least two dozen men and women on their knees, surrounded by police, white zip-tie restraints around their wrists.

“What the hell is going on?” David asked.

“I don’t know, I haven’t looked at the news in days,” Patrick said, concern evident on his face.

While he stood at the ticket counter and waited for Patrick to check them in, David opened twitter, searching ‘airport protest’ ‘JFK protest’ and ‘#JFK’, only pausing to hand over his passport when Patrick nudged him and asked for it. Twitter told him nothing useful, so next David tried scrolling through the news, looking for some clue about what was happening. He noticed a story that indicated LAX had been shut down the day before, but before he could click on it, Patrick was steering him away from the counter. David liked how Patrick was taking control of everything. Airports made him anxious under the best of circumstances, and all of this weirdness and his exhaustion was making it worse.

“Where are you going?” Patrick asked when David started to get into the TSA precheck line.

David frowned at him. “Going through security.” Duh.

Patrick was looking at the board passes. “You don’t have precheck.”

“Uhhh, yes I do. I have Global Entry.”

“Maybe it expired,” Patrick said, steering him into the regular security line.

By the time David had endured the indignity of being forced to remove his shoes and letting his socks touch the airport floor, the protesters were forgotten. At least he’d managed to upgrade them to first class, David thought as they finally took their seats on the plane.

“I’ve never flown first class before,” Patrick said, letting his not-very-long legs stretch out as far as they would go. It was adorable, David thought.

“I mean if you have to fly commercial, it’s an absolute requirement. Although it won’t be very impressive for a flight this short. Let me take you to Japan and then you’ll see what first class really is,” David said.

Patrick raised his eyebrows. “You want to take me to Japan?”

David squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back against the headrest, not answering. He was so tired. Airport anxiety and lack of sleep and grief were a toxic cocktail in his system, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to scream at a flight attendant or burst into tears in the next thirty seconds, but it was likely that one of those things was going to happen.

He felt Patrick’s fingers brush the palm of his hand and then he threaded their fingers together. “Is there anything I can get you, David?”

Oh, okay. Crying it was, then. David shook his head, eyes still closed, aware that a tear was leaking out of the corner of his eye, in full view of Patrick and everyone filing past them into economy class.

He felt Patrick’s other hand settle over their clasped ones, and Patrick didn’t say anything, he just sat there and held David’s hand. David couldn’t remember the last time anyone had held his hand, and that thought made more tears flow.

“I’m sorry,” David whispered, because he knew he was being embarrassing.

“How about we put a moratorium right now on you apologizing for expressing sadness. Okay?”

David nodded, wiping at his eyes. “Okay.”

~*~

“So this is your car,” David said, standing in the Toronto airport’s remote parking lot, aware that his lip was curling with disdain at Patrick’s sensible Toyota.

“Yep,” Patrick said, muscling David’s suitcase into the trunk. “What did you expect?”

David sighed. “This. I expected this.”

He settled into the passenger seat and closed his eyes, trying to reclaim the fitful sleep he’d found on the plane, but his eyes kept popping open. Shifting around to try to get comfortable, David looked over and watched Patrick maneuver them onto the highway for what was evidently going to be a long drive. “What was it like, growing up so far away from the nearest airport?” David asked.

“Well, there’s Sudbury Airport, but it’s expensive to fly anywhere from there—”

“I meant so far from an international airport,” David said. He still hadn’t really wrapped his head around the fact that when Patrick said a thing was expensive, it meant something very different than when David said something was expensive.

Patrick shrugged. “I didn’t really travel much, so it wasn’t something I thought about.”

Shaking his head, David shut his eyes again. “We’re so different,” he whispered.

He must have fallen asleep after all, because the next thing he knew, the car was stopped. The driver’s seat was empty, but he could see Patrick standing beside the car, filling it with gas. His sleeves were pushed up, and the sight of his bare forearm through the window made a frisson of desire shoot up David’s spine.

Patrick got back in the car and cranked the engine.

“Where are we?” David asked.

“Elmdale.”

“I’ve never heard of any of these places. I think you’re making them up.” David huffed. “Where’s Elmdale?”

Patrick smirked at him. “It’s about a half hour from Schitt’s Creek.”

“Now I know you’re making them up.”

Laughing, Patrick put the car in gear. “I lived in Schitt’s Creek for six months. I assure you, it’s real.”

“Why on earth would you live in a place called…” David trailed off, the name poised behind his teeth. It was triggering a long buried memory.

“Schitt’s Creek?” Patrick supplied.

“Yeah, no… sorry, it just reminded me of something my dad did when I was a kid. Said he’d bought me a town with a disgusting name like that.”

Patrick’s eyes were wide, although he was carefully watching the road as he drove out of the gas station parking lot. “Your dad bought you a town?”

“I don’t think he actually bought the town. It was a dumb joke.”

“Okay.”

“I’m hungry,” David said. “Let’s go see this shitty creek place where you used to live and get some food.”

“There’s better food here in Elmdale,” Patrick said, signaling a left turn.

“I want to see where you lived when you ran away from the heterosexual prison of your childhood.”

“It wasn’t a— Why?”

David threw his hands up. “I don’t know!” He didn’t know. He just had a sudden feeling that it was important. “Is it in the wrong direction?”

“Kind of. Not, like, the opposite direction, but it will make the trip longer.”

“Does Schitt’s Creek have a restaurant?”

“It has a café where the food is moderately edible,” Patrick said, stopping at a stop light. “You really want to go there?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Patrick said, his voice pitched high on the word. He switched his turn signal off and when the light changed, drove straight through the intersection.

When David got bored with the repetitive landscape of trees and farmland, he pulled out his phone, opening Instagram. It took a few seconds of scrolling before he realized he was looking for an update from Alexis. She’d called it proof of life once, he remembered, posting a selfie so that David would be reassured that she was safe.

He went to her Instagram and scrolled through the pictures. He wondered if he should try to have her accounts taken down, or if it was better to leave them up until the companies behind them went under, a monument to the life of Alexis Rose.

“Since we’re here, I should show you the town sign,” Patrick said, the car slowing down as he pulled over on the side of the road.

David shut his phone screen off and looked up. “The what?”

“Come on,” Patrick said, taking off his seat belt and getting out of the car. Uncertain what was happening, David did the same, and looked up.

“Oh my God.”

Patrick chuckled. “I know.”

“Oh my God.”

“I never found out what the story was behind this, and at this point I think I prefer not knowing.” Patrick reached his arms up over his head and stretched, twisting his torso back and forth.

“‘Where everyone fits in’? The slogan makes it so much worse.” He stared at the woman who was bent over in the picture, holding a bucket over the stream she and the man were wading in. She certainly seemed happy, and not at all put out by being fucked in the ass by the guy behind her, as it appeared was happening in this insane painting.

“I heard kids drive here from all over to get pictures with the sign. So maybe it’s good for local businesses.”

“But at what cost?” David said, kicking at loose gravel as he stood next to Patrick’s car. Then he shuddered, a full body shudder that took him by surprise. Someone just walked over your grave, mijo, Adelina used to say.

“You okay?” Patrick asked.

David held his hand out and touched the tall grass that had grown at the side of the road, dry and dormant from the receding winter. Sunshine hit each rustling blade, making each of them individually glow, too perfectly yellow to be real.

“David?”

“Yeah.” He withdrew his hand. “This place feels… do you feel it? Too real. Hyperreal.”

“Hyperreal?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Magical. It feels magical.” And then he blushed, because that was a very stupid thing to say.

“Maybe that’s why people like the sign,” Patrick said, teasing him.

David didn’t mind being teased. “Maybe if I go up and touch the sign, I’ll be transported to another time in history.”

Patrick laughed. “Oh man, Rachel loves that show.”

“She is correct,” David said, trying not to think too hard about Patrick’s sexually frustrated wife getting what little satisfaction she could out of watching Outlander. He shook himself to dispel his little flight of fancy; he probably just wasn’t used to seeing this much nature at one time, and it was making him loopy. Opening his car door, he flopped back into his seat. “You said there was a café?”

~*~

“This is the ugliest fucking place I’ve ever seen,” David proclaimed.

Patrick stopped the car in a parking space in front of Café Tropical and got out. “Yeah, it’s not the most picturesque downtown.” He looked around at it and imagined seeing it through David’s eyes: the cracking pavement and the boarded up general store. The lack of even the smallest effort by the town’s government to clean up the trash on the side of the road or to even plant a few flowers. It was no wonder David hated it on sight. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

The café was deserted, perhaps because it was four in the afternoon — too late for lunch but too early for dinner, and perhaps because it was one of the few places left in what passed for a downtown that was still open, other than Bob’s Garage. David paused inside the door as if a hostess was going to come and seat them, but Patrick knew that wasn’t how the café worked. He made his way directly over to a booth and sat down, David following him.

Twyla emerged from the back, menus in her arms, and she stopped and exclaimed when she saw Patrick. “Patrick! I thought you moved away! What are you doing back in town?”

“Just passing through,” he said, taking one of the menus she handed him and grinning as David reacted to the size of them. “This is David Rose.”

Twyla smiled, her sunny disposition lighting up the place like always. “Nice to meet you, David. I’m Twyla, and I’ll be your server. Can I get you guys something to drink?”

“Just water for me,” Patrick said. David ordered coffee — well, first he tried to order a macchiato but when Twyla didn’t know what that was, he ordered coffee.

David gave him a horrified look. “These menus—”

“I know.”

“You lived here?”

“Yes,” Patrick said evenly, feeling self conscious. “You’re the one who wanted to come here.”

David twisted up his face and looked back down at the menu. “What’s safe to order?”

“Umm, the turkey sandwich is okay,” Patrick said.

David flipped the pages of the menu back and forth, his brow furrowed. “I’m getting the weirdest sense of déjà vu.”

“About the menu?”

He stopped fidgeting with the menu and looked around at the other booths and tables and the garishly painted walls. “About this whole place. If I didn’t know better, I would swear I’ve been here before.”

“My grandmother thought it was because Schitt’s Creek is a liminal space,” Twyla said, making David jump as she put their drinks on the table. “Are you ready to order?”

Patrick ordered the turkey sandwich. David crossed his arms over his chest. “What is a liminal space?”

“She used to say that there was usually a solid barrier between different dimensions, but that here the barrier is as thin as tissue paper. She would tell me that if I concentrated hard enough, I might be able to see a shadow of something from a parallel universe in this one.”

“Okay,” Patrick said, trying to put a stop to Twyla’s rambling. He liked Twyla, but her stories could be a bit unhinged. “David, did you decide what you wanted to eat?”

David ignored him. “A shadow,” he said to Twyla.

“Yeah. Also, she told me that she could summon small objects from other universes to this one.”

David met Patrick’s eyes briefly as he suppressed a smile. “Oh, really?”

Twyla wasn’t oblivious to their skepticism. “I know, I didn’t really believe her either. But that’s what she claimed! One time she lost an earring, and told us all that she summoned a replacement from a parallel dimension!”

“Or maybe she just found the missing earring,” Patrick said.

Twyla smiled. “Yeah, that’s probably it. Anyway,” she said, turning back to David. “What can I get you?”

David ordered a salad, and Twyla collected their menus and disappeared.

“She’s very… colorful,” David said.

“Yeah. Twyla’s a character. Always cheerful, even when she’s talking about some seriously dark stuff from her childhood.”

“Like stories about her crazy grandmother?”

“Usually about the men her mother brought home,” Patrick clarified, which David answered with a sympathetic cringe.

The food they were eventually brought barely lived up to Patrick’s earlier ‘moderately edible’ characterization, but he got David to smile and even laugh a few times, and that made this detour more than worth it. After the plates were cleared, Patrick ordered a coffee to go along with David’s third cup, and they lingered in the booth, talking about nothing: music and TV shows and the transcendental perfection of a good grilled cheese sandwich.

After they walked out of the diner, instead of going back to Patrick’s car, something caught David’s eye and he crossed the street. Patrick followed him, stopping beside him next to one of the windows of the empty general store, where David was peering inside.

“What?” Patrick asked him.

David was quiet for a few seconds before answering. “I don’t know. This place…” He put his hand up on the glass. “There’s something about it.”

Now it was Patrick’s turn to shiver, because he’d felt the same way when he’d moved here. The general store used to catch his eye every time he went to the café, like something from inside had called out to him, just outside the range of his hearing.

Shaking himself from some kind of reverie, David turned to Patrick and raised an eyebrow. “You have brought us to a very creepy place, Patrick.”

Patrick pinched his lips together, refraining from pointing out once more that David was the one who had wanted to come here. “So let’s get back on the road.”

David’s shoulders slumped. “How much longer?”

Pulling out his phone and looking at the time, Patrick responded, “I guess we’ll get there by eight.”

“It’s just, the thought of more driving is making me want to lie down and cry.”

“I was doing all the driving, David,” Patrick said, struggling to be patient with David’s mood.

“I know, I’m sorry.” David had enough self-awareness to look chagrined. “I’m just exhausted.”

Patrick took a second to remind himself what David was going through and he took a deep breath. “My friend runs the motel in town; we could spend the night there. Although I’ll warn you, it’s pretty run down.”

David squinted at him. “So like everywhere else in this town, then.”

Chuckling, Patrick took his hand and led him back to the car. “Pretty much.”

Chapter 11

[starburstonlayaway]

for @elizabroadwaytrash and i

Current word count :

40,813

Basic summary:

Tyler and Ethan’s family goes through a lot of changes following their marriage. They lose people, take others in, and new journeys are ventured on every day, no matter how scary or exciting.

Title? WIP? Alternate titles?

“Leave a Message.”

Yes, it is a work-in-progress.

I don’t believe we had any alternative titles, and if we did, I do not recall them.

Favorite character and how they are introduced:

Tyler. He’s introduced at the beginning of the first chapter, seen before anyone else.

Favorite ship:

Rose/Victor! I haven’t gotten to writing their relationship and build-up, but from our plans and how we’ve designed Victor’s character to be, I’m excited.

MC’s biggest mistake:

Rose is probably more of an MC than the others, despite it being a Tyler/Ethan fanfic.

Her biggest mistake was probably refusing to give up on Carter. While he was her boyfriend, his actions toward her (and later, Jazzy) were unacceptable after she came out to him. She isn’t to blame at all, but it’s definitely the thing she regrets most.

Inspiration:

A webcomic on Webtoon called “Always Human.” The comic explores the events happening to the girls Sunati and Austen throughout the course of their relationship. Beautiful art, realistic problems (despite being set in a futuristic utopian society), representation, and well-written romance. I wanted to incorporate these factors into LaM to make it similar to a story I enjoyed very much that left an influence on me.

Underrated character appreciation:

Jazzy! Rose’s best friend. Even in the separate story where she’s one of the main set of characters, she’s still very overlooked. She’s very upbeat and friendly, with lots of knowledge on wlw pop culture and history!

A few favorite dialogues:

“I’m ready, but we’re not in a rush or anything.” “Of course we’re in a rush, you slut! The sooner you guys get married, the sooner you have kids, and the sooner I’m an uncle!“ “Aren’t you occupied enough as it is? If you’re so involved in the idea of having a family, then why haven’t you and Jack had any kids of your own yet?“ “Don’t roast us like this.”

(spoken angrily) “Hey, Mister, that’s my soup!”

“That’s Amy! She’s probably Chica and Henry’s favorite out of all of us, but WE SHOULD REALLY SHARE CUSTODY OF HENRY.”

“Uh, I like to read, mostly, but watching older cartoons is also fun.” “Ooh. What cartoons do you like?” “My current favorite is Adventure Time!” “Adventure Time is considered an older cartoon now?” “Guess so.” “Damn, we’re getting old.” “We’re already old, dude.” “Thanks I feel worse.”

“What kind of cancer is it again?” “Leukemia.” “The survival chances of that aren’t terrible.” “Wow. Thanks.”

“You punched Jazzy?! You fucking punched Jazzy?! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Why would you punch someone for standing up to you when you were the one being a dick?!” “She wouldn’t get out of my face—” “I don’t wanna hear that bullshit! Carter, you can hurt me all you fucking want and I won’t care, but you’ve crossed the fucking line. Jazzy is the only person that’s been nice to me all year. She’s supported me and loved me no matter what, something you never fucking did!” “What the hell are you—” “We’re done, Carter! I never want to see your ugly transphobic douchebag ass again!”

MC moodboard:

N/A

MC’s fondest memory:

Probably when she was adopted. It was the most exciting day of her life, and lead down a journey of self-discovery.

In close second is the day she became friends with Jazzy. She was there for her when she needed her most.

Songs that remind of LaM or the characters:

“What About Us” by P!nk, probably definitely because it’s the song I used for Tyler and Ethan’s first dance.

“Leave a Message” by gnash, the song I named the book after! This one doesn’t need much of an explanation.

“Party Tattoos” by dodie. I plan to use this song in the closing chapter, sung by Rose.

Enjoy torturing the characters?

Not really, but I do it anyway. Good for character development, which there’s a lot of. But I don’t enjoy it, no. I love the characters in this book like my cat and dogs: with all my heart.

MC’s biggest fear:

Being unaccepted. This fear makes itself evident after what happens with Carter. Her mother’s reaction enforces this more.

Goals:

To finish LaM by the end of sophomore year, editing and all.

To be proud of the finished product.

To use this book as a reminder that I can do it. I can write.

Characters’ secret talents:

Ethan, despite not playing for many, many years, still excels at playing the ukulele. This becomes not so much of a secret later on in the book.

Rose is surprisingly good at tic-tac-toe. Not necessarily a talent, but definitely something she’d want you to note.

Turned into a media? Cast?

Seeing as LaM is a piece of fanwork, I don’t believe I would turn it into a media.

If it was to be a media, however, along with Tyler Scheid and Ethan Nestor to play Tyler and Ethan, as well as Mark Fischbach, Amy Nelson, and Kathryn Knutsen to play their friends, a few choices I would make would be to cast Janet Mock as adult Rose Scheid and Elliot Fletcher as adult Adrian Garcia.

MC’s basic morals and general beliefs:

Rose’s number one moral is to never make someone feel shut out. Having been rejected (as well as accepted) many times in her life, she knows that she never wants anyone to feel like that, and makes an effort to be the reason.

How MC found out the tooth fairy doesn’t exist:

She never really believed in it, to begin with.

Best name:

Jasmine “Jazzy” Hinojosa-Mills.

Least favorite OC:

Carter. Abusive transphobic asshat that left Rose with lots of insecurities and trauma for years to come.

Snippet:

Mark really had gone all out with making the altar just like Tyler had wanted it to look. The arch was made out of ebony wood that had been painted white with golden accents. Flowery vines were twirled all around the wood, the flowers colors of black, grey, purple, and blue. The chairs surrounding the aisle were all made of the same wood as the arch, the cushions blue and grey. Both Ethan and Tyler’s family alike filled those chairs, chattering away with one another. Tyler quickly scanned the side filled with Ethan’s relatives, and wasn’t surprised to see Ethan’s aunt and uncle were not present. He hoped to god that Ethan wouldn’t notice. The guests quieted down and turned their heads to look at Tyler, and he felt put on the spot. Most of the guests smiled at him, others clapped quietly. He could see that two people in particular were both smiling and clapping. Seeing Jack and Kathryn so supportive of him was majorly comforting to Tyler. He exhaled, and glanced at Mark behind him. Mark was already smiling, and nudged his head towards the arch. Tyler walked down the aisle and received praise from just about everyone sat in chairs. He high-fived Jack on his way to his place next to the officiant. The lady smiled at him, and he returned the gesture. She opened her book as Mark took his place next to Tyler, gazing over his friend’s tux and wiping off some dust quickly. Mark gave Tyler a thumbs-up, and Tyler couldn’t stop smiling. Now that he was actually out in front of the guests and standing where he was meant to be, his nerves relaxed. In fact, every thought he’d ever had in doubt of this marriage before that moment vanished, as soon as Ethan walked out.

WIP representation:

LGBT

Tyler/Ethan

Rose is trans

Jazzy is pansexual with two moms

Adrian is trans with two moms

Marcus has two dads

POC

Rose and her mother are black

Adrian and his mama are Mexican

Disabilities

Marcus has leukemia (cancer of the white blood cells)

Standalone or part of a series?

Standalone. Although I suppose you could call it a spinoff of one of our other works, the reader does not need to read that series to understand this story.

Biggest character development:

Definitely Rose. Seeing as the story follows the changes through most of her life, there’s a big difference in her character comparing the first chapter she is introduced to the closing chapter, where she takes center stage.

People who know of the WIP:

My co-writer, Caroline. Though I’ve done most of the writing, Caroline and I brought the idea for this story to life together, creating a unique cast of characters such as Jazzy, Rose, Adrian, Marcus, their families, Victor, Rose’s mother Aaliyah, and Ethan’s uncle Zane. Without her, the story would not have been written in the first place.

The lovely readers on AO3. I’ve uploaded chapters of the WIP onto there, updating at least once a month. It feels good to be putting some of my work out there for other people instead of just keeping such a joy all to myself. Of course, this is just a personal opinion.

Characters’ annoying habits:

Jazzy’s very short-tempered. Make one wrong move, anyone could get shouted at, lectured, maybe even a blow to the face.

Marcus feels a lot of self-pity and spite. He wishes his parents wouldn’t baby him so much just because he has cancer. This, later on, leads to him participating in multiple illegal activities to antagonize them.

Adrian grows to be more selfish as he gets older, even going out of his way to go into the military and disappear from Rose’s life out of the blue one day without telling her. He later regrets this.

Rose has plenty of autophobia to go around. After her mother gave her up to the orphanage at a young age and Carter’s abuse towards her in her late middle school years, followed by Adrian’s sudden leave after high school, she always fears being alone or abandoned by the people she cares about.

Tyler and Ethan both never seem to recover from the grief of their first child’s loss. This makes them closed off to people who ask about the incident, and could sometimes bring them back to their depressive state.

Very last three lines (with context):

“Unsure was she on how to approach this. She’d felt it since that first night she met him, but it’d grown more and more out of hand since. They’d also became closer as friends, even now sometimes hanging out without the needed assistance of Marcus and Jazzy by their sides to ease the tension.”

Context: Rose had just come to the conclusion she had a crush on Adrian.

Characters: Based off IRL people(through looks, personality, or habits)?

Tyler, Ethan, Amy, Kathryn, Mark, Jack, Chica, Henry, and all of the parents in the story are based off IRL influencers. The characters have only been switched and changed a bit, as well as the relationships, of course, to fit the story.

Impossible friendship:

Carter and Jazzy. Don’t really need to explain it if you’ve read the work. They hate each other’s guts more than anyone, and they could never kiss and make up. As characters, they aren’t the types to do that at all, especially with each other.

Am I proud?

Yes. Leave a Message has been my most dedicated piece of work so far, and I’d say I’m well on my way to reaching my personally-set deadline next year if I keep it at the rate I’m going. Not to mention the characters and plotlines are exciting and realistic, in my own opinion. There’s still a lot left to be written, but I’ve got everything planned out. I don’t plan on stopping until I’m finished with it.

[daughter-of-the-prophet]

Alistair (Tv Tropes “Origins”)

Adaptation Dye-Job: Becomes increasingly red-haired in the next two stories, and red-haired and blue-eyed in the comics.

Adorkable: As Leliana comments in a conversation with him, his sense of humor, coupled with his awkwardness and nervousness around women, makes him strangely endearing and is a large part of his charm. This is one of the things that make Ilona attracted to him.

Always Save the Girl: He makes it clear he values Ilona’s life over his own. 

Amazon Chaser: Ilona knowing how to kick ass and fight with a blade is one of the things that makes Alistair attracted to her. He even fondly notes in Awakening "I married an indestructible goddess."

Arson, Murder, and Jaywalking: His description of what’s wrong with Orlais at the moment during his cameo in Dragon Age II.

                 Alistair: “Oh the usual: attempted assassinations, uprisings, fancy parties with stinky cheeses..”

Battle Couple: He’s this with Ilona.

This is also combined with Royals Who Actually Do Something as he becomes King and marries her as well. 

Berserk Button: Loghain becomes this to him after his betrayal of Cailan leads to the death of all the other Grey Wardens, and Duncan in particular.

Big Eater: It’s a Grey Warden thing, apparently.

Breakout Character: He has appeared more in more Dragon Age media than any other character. Thus far he’s been in all three stories, a trilogy of comic miniseries, and the novel The Calling, where he appears as a newborn.

Broken Pedestal: Like most, he holds Loghain in high regard before the Battle of Ostagar, privately admitting that while Cailan is the King, it’s Loghain to whom they have to look for victory. Then Loghain retreats from the battle, leaving the King, the Grey Wardens, and Duncan to an ignoble death, and then blames the Wardens for regicide. From then on, Alistair has an undying hatred for the man and it becomes very personal.

Buffy Speak: Tends to lapse into this at times.

           Alistair: “You stole them, didn’t you? You’re some sort of… sneaky… witch-thief!”

Butt-Monkey: Everyone gets a turn to mock him. Even Brutus. Ilona is the only person who doesn’t treat him this way, which is possibly one of the reasons why he loves her.

Contemplate Our Navels: Morrigan accuses him of doing this while traveling to Lothering, in so many words.

Corrupt the Cutie: After meeting the woman he believed was his maternal half-sister and being treated uncharitably by her, he loses many of his squeaky-clean morals, but the loss of naive idealism makes him more understanding of his subjects when he becomes King.

Covert Pervert: He apparently spends a fair deal of his time ogling Ilona’s ass. Wynne teases him about it.

The Creon: Alistair intentionally avoids mentioning the fact that he is actually the senior Grey Warden - because he doesn't want to lead. In fact, he didn’t want to become King of Ferelden for exactly the same reason.

Crouching Moron, Hidden Badass: Despite the fact that he’s… well, Alistair, he is very much capable of holding his own in a fight, being able to take on numerically superior opponents and even dragons. 

Dare to Be Badass: Ilona invokes this in Alistair after convincing him to take the throne.

Deadpan Snarker: Like father, like son: Maric snarked just as much as him.

Deuteragonist: The secondary storyline (Ferelden's Succession Crisis) pretty much revolves around him.

Disappeared Dad: Although he understands why King Maric couldn’t acknowledge him as his illegitimate son. He is also this to his son Kieran.

Dork Knight: While Alistair is heroic, noble, and brave, he also lacks confidence and fumbles when talking to women.

Ensign Newbie: During the Korcari Wilds mission, but he soon makes it clear that he’d rather have Ilona take this role. Morrigan even lampshades it. The Darkspawn Chronicles shows what would have happened if he hadn’t been able to pass the buck. He manages to make it all the way to the Archdemon. But then it ends badly.

Entendre Failure: He’d happily hop borders with Zevran given the chance - after all, he’s never even been close to leaving Ferelden.

Evil Laugh: He has a very impressive playful one that he breaks out on a couple of occasions, such as when jokes about having a nefarious plan to make the other party members mutiny and have him take over as group leader. In a subversion, he once breaks into a cough mid-evil laugh.

The Fettered: As much as Ilona, especially when he becomes king.

First Girl Wins: Ilona was the first woman his own age he ever encountered after having been sent to the Chantry at age ten to be a Templar and then being a part of the Wardens (who, in Ferelden, had no women currently in the order until Ilona came along). Unless you count that one time in Denerim… but those women were not like Ilona.

Foil: To Zevran. Two orphaned boys who were raised communally (Alistair in a castle, Zevran in a whorehouse) who were shipped off to an organization at an early age (Alistair to the Templars, Zevran to the Crows) without their consent, which largely defined who they became as an adult (Alistair a duty-bound warrior, Zevran a loose and easy assassin). They both even have prolific (often deadpan) senses of humor. However, while Alistair is an adorkable virgin who hides his pain behind a shield of duty, honor, and lame jokes, Zevran is The Casanova who Really Gets Around and hides his pain behind a charming smile and a devil-may-care attitude.

Generation Xerox: Potentially to both of his parents. He’s a Grey Warden like his mother Fiona and becomes King of Ferelden like his father Maric. He also conceives a son out of wedlock with Morrigan, a mage like how his father conceived him out of wedlock with Fiona, an elven mage.

The Good King: Alistair turns out to be an excellent monarch, having a common touch which makes the people of Ferelden love him, and quickly learns the finer points of administration. Combined with Ilona as his queen, Ferelden ends up with one hell of a Ruling Couple.

Good People Have Good Sex: Alistair is a sweetheart, and falls for Ilona who is also loving and kind. After his first time having sex with her, Alistair comments that the Chantry sisters had him half-expecting to be struck by lightning for doing what they just did. His beloved reassures him: “Not for that performance.” Ilona also has a “girl talk” with Leliana and Morrigan, where she assures them (out of his hearing range) that he is very good in bed.

Half-Human Hybrid: The Calling reveals that Alistair’s mother is Fiona, an elven Grey Warden and lover of King Maric. This makes Alistair elf-blooded. The children of elves and humans are always born human looking. In Inquisition, Fiona herself vaguely hints at her relationship with Alistair, but never outright says it

Happily Married: To Ilona, it’s stated in the epilogue that he openly adores his wife, much to the delight of the people of Fereldan.

Henpecked Husband: In Dragon Age II, it’s made clear that Ilona is the one who wears the trousers in the relationship. It’s treated very lightheartedly, however, and when Alistair calls her “the old ball and chain,” it’s said with obvious affection.

       Alistair: "Just because she killed an Archdemon, she doesn’t scare me!“ 

      Teagan: "You just keep telling yourself that, Your Majesty”

Heroic Bastard: And a royal bastard at that. He notes he should use that line more often.

Hidden Backup Prince: He’s a bastard, and in line to the throne! His claim is apparently roughly equal to that of his half-brother the king’s widow.

Hidden Depths: After he becomes king, he turns out to be better suited to the job than he expects to be. In Dragon Age II, he demonstrates a willingness to allow fleeing mages to enter Ferelden so long as they follow the laws of the land. Meredith is annoyed that the new king does not immediately comply with her demands. In Inquisition, his codex entry notes that the people love him.

Hunk: Quite manly. Quite handsome

Hurting Hero: He rarely says it outright, but the massacre of Duncan and the other Wardens scars him pretty deeply, to the point that he harbors an intense and bitter hatred for Loghain. He’s lucky to have Ilona be there for him and to listen to him without judgment.

Idiot Hero: Morrigan and Anora both accuse him of being one. Although he has his moments, they’re never at critical junctions. He even calls himself an idiot hero at times.

          Alistair: "Look, I can’t be king. Some days I have trouble figuring out which boot goes on which foot.“

In Touch With His Feminine Side: Mostly in terms of his open, emotional personality. Alistair is very expressive of his feelings, doesn’t even try to hide his grief over the deaths of the other Wardens (often sounding on the verge of tears whenever it’s brought up), often approaches Ilona to talk about his grief, and invites her to talk about her grief as well. This annoys some of the more stoic party members (particularly Morrigan and Sten), who feel he ought to suck it up since Real Men Don't Cry, though it doesn’t deter him any. Alistair is also pretty unashamed about his less-than-manly moments, going so far as to joke with Ilona that he should wear a dress to distract the darkspawn, and mentioning a girly scream he once emitted when he first joined the Wardens

This is also a point in his favor with the romance, since Alistair gives Ilona a rose he had sentimentally picked earlier for different reasons but which now reminds him of her, wants to wait to have sex since he wants his first time with her to be special, and is very open about his budding romantic feelings toward her (even if he’s not always the most eloquent about it).

Intergenerational Friendship: With Wynne, who becomes something of a surrogate mother to him.

Irony: Alistair is a Human Templar Grey Warden. His (real) mother is an Elven Mage Grey Warden

It’s Personal: Towards Loghain for causing the deaths of the Grey Wardens and Duncan in particular.

This is also the reason why Ilona allows him to be the one to kill Loghain when she chooses to have the General be executed for his crime.

Knight in Sour Armor: Although he’s aware that Grey Wardens often must do pretty bad things for the greater good, and lives in a world that has rarely shown him any kindness, he still feels as if it’s still worth being a decent person and protector.

Knight Templar: He was training to be one, though only in job description; he flat out states that a life devoted to single-mindedly hunting down apostate mages was not for him, and it wasn’t his choice to pursue that future.

Lady and Knight: It’s more accurately Knight and Knight, but after starting a romantic relationship with Ilona, he definitely behaves like a White Knight to a Bright Lady towards her.

Lethal Chef:

When Morrigan joins the party, one of the first things he asks is “Can you cook?” Then he explains that if he has to cook, they’re all as good as dead.

Leliana later asks him in a conversation what was in the dish he made for the party’s supper the previous night. When he tells her it was a lamb and pea stew, she comments that it had a texture she doesn’t normally associate with lamb. He explains this by telling her that this is the way all Fereldans cook.

                  Alistair: "We take our ingredients, throw them into the largest pot we can find, and cook them for as long as possible until everything is a uniform grey color. As soon as it looks completely bland and unappetizing, that’s when I know it’s done.“

Love Interest: To Ilona.

Manchild: At times, his decisions are more reminiscent of a temperamental teenager than a defender of the whole land. These are often potential Jerkass moments. He also gets called a lad/boy several times.

Mr. Fanservice: He's adorkable, handsome, and a hopeless romantic. The voice doesn’t hurt either.

Nature Abhors a Virgin: While Alistair himself is pretty okay with the idea (aside from teasing), the plot is most definitely against him. In order for him to have a happy ending with Ilona, he must impregnate Morrigan by sleeping with her. Apparently, a man can be a virgin, but can’t remain one for long and can’t have just one woman in his lifetime for things to work out to his benefit.

Odd Friendship: Despite being a former Templar, he quickly strikes up a friendship with Wynne and seems closer to her than any of the other companions. This is rather understandable, as he freely admits he was terrible at being a Templar and never wanted to be one in the first place.

Orphan’s Plot Trinket: Averted - he had an amulet that use to belong to his mother, but threw it at a wall and smashed it in anger as a child after he was sent to the monastery to be trained as a Templar. Ilona later finds it in the study of Redcliffe Castle, having been glued back together by Arl Eamon and gives it to Alistair as a gift, but it has no further relevance to the story.

Parental Abandonment: Repeatedly.

Both his mother and father weren’t present in his upbringing, primarily due to reasons of death (or so he was told) and not being able to recognize him due to his illegitimacy.

After Arl Eamon married an Orlesian woman, who took an immediate disliking to him, Alistair was sent to a monastery.

And then Duncan, who was the closest thing he ever had to a real father, dies in the battle of Ostagar. If Alistair has abandonment issues, they’re not hard to understand.

The Pig Pen: According to Wynne, he smells just as bad as the dog. When he mentions being raised by flying dogs in a joking way, Ilona playfully tells him “That would explain the smell!”. This whole conversation takes a turn for the tragic once Ilona learns that Arl Eamon used to make Alistair sleep in the kennels in order to keep him out of the way; to a small extent, he actually was raised by dogs.

Properly Paranoid: To the point where some of his dialogue may well be Foreshadowing.

His suspicions that Flemeth had ulterior motives for sending Morrigan with the party are completely correct.

In DAII when he meets Hawke, he urges her to continue protecting Kirkwall; Hawke responds by asking him, “Protect Kirkwall from what, exactly?” Alistair expresses the opinion that Knight-Commander Meredith is probably the biggest threat to Kirkwall - and he’s absolutely right.

Raised by Wolves: He jokes about this to Ilona. He was raised by dogs. With wings. Who were devout Andrastians. And hated cheese. She eventually learns that Arl Eamon had him sleep with the hounds as a child, so this actually isn’t far from the truth.

Reluctant Ruler: Though he’s the senior Grey Warden, he’s not at all interested in being the party leader. Despite, or perhaps because of, his lineage, Alistair is very clear that he does not want to be a leader. Nevertheless, he is given the crown and proves to be good at the job of being king.

Rousing Speech: Gives a damn good one to the army before the battle of Denerim.

Royals Who Actually Do Something: After becoming King at the Landsmeet, he makes it perfectly clear that he’ll be on the front lines and leading the charge during the Battle of Denerim and the assault to take down the Archdemon.

Sad Clown: He sometimes uses humor to cover up his grief. Ilona isn’t fooled but completely understands and jokes along with him. None of the other party members are fooled either, and his humor is often irritating to other people; Shale says as much outright.

Shout-Out:

Seeing as the series was heavily inspired by it, Alistair is one for Jon Snow from A Song of Ice and Fire. Each one is a bastard from a respected royal family who doesn’t know who his mother is and who suffered mistreatment and neglect at the hands of their stepmother figure. Each one is offered the throne and is part of an elite group that slowly is dying out but are vital to the survival of the world in the face of the reawakening ancient evil they were created to fight.

Also, with Buffy the Vampire Slayer serving as additional inspiration, it’s possible that Alistair’s jokey mannerisms and Butt-Monkey status were based on that of Xander Harris.

His romantic relationship with Ilona is also somewhat similar to Steve Trevor’s romantic relationship with Diana in the 2017 film Wonder Woman.  Both are soldiers who fall in love with a warrior princess who can clearly kick ass and while not completely helpless are usually the ones who need saving and particularly by that said love interest.

Sibling Yin-Yang: Unlike Cailan, who merely thought himself the Warrior Prince, Alistair proves to actually be one.

Sickeningly Sweethearts: His romance with Ilona comes close to this if Wynne and Morrigan are to be believed. Wynne doesn’t seem to mind; Morrigan is another story.

Single Woman Seeks Good Man: His benevolent personality is one of the reasons why Ilona fell in love with him.

Spare to the Throne: Unfortunately, he’s a bastard, so he wasn’t raised to the task. Needless to say, he’s not happy about the idea of becoming king after being trained for something completely different and being quite forcefully assured that his illegitimate status would prevent the question.

The Talk: Wynne starts giving him one when he begins an intimate relationship with Ilona. Once he realizes what she’s going on about, he interrupts with a highly embarrassed, “Andraste’s flaming sword, I know where babies come from!” She delights in the fact that she gets him to blush.

Trademark Favorite Food: Jokingly admits to having “an unholy obsession with very fine cheeses.“ The fandom has kind of run away with this one.

Turn Out Like His Father: Oh yeah!

Undying Loyalty: Has this towards the Grey Wardens and the woman he loves.

Unexpected Virgin: As a result of growing up in the Chantry and then being recruited directly from there into Ferelden’s Grey Wardens (which currently had no female wardens until Ilona showed up). Alistair is reluctant to talk about it (for understandable reasons), so this is treated as a minor revelation during his romance with Ilona.

Warrior Prince: Unlike Cailan, he actually fits the warrior part as well as the prince.

What’s Up, King Dude?: After being made king, the epilogue potentially states that he frequents taverns, endearing him to the common folk.

The Wrongful Heir to the Throne: He sees himself as this.

Younger Than They Look: He looks and sounds to be in his mid-twenties to early thirties, but he’s actually 20-years-old at the start of the story. See Manchild above 

[marjaystuff]

Elise Cooper Interviews Maisey Yates

The Heartbreaker of Echo Past

Confessions from the Quilting Circle

Maisey Yates

The Heartbreaker of Echo Past, coming out in June, and Confessions from the Quilting Circle, coming out in May, by Maisey Yates, are great reads. Both stories delve into family and how relationships, misunderstandings, secrets, communication, and love affect the dynamics. People must come to grips with their past.

The Heartbreaker of Echo Past is a novel where Yates has outdone herself, hitting a homerun.  It is the story of Iris Daniels and how she has come into her own.  After her parents died in a plane crash, she became the de facto mother to her sisters Rose and Pansy.  Giving up her own dreams until the sisters were grown, she has felt unappreciated and not special. But after her younger sister Rose tried to set Iris up with a nerd, she decided to make a life for her own. Wanting to set up a bakery she must convince the building landlord, Griffin Chance, to lower the rent. To do this, Iris travels to find the mountain man landlord offering to cook and clean for him in exchange for a lower rent. After weeks of seeing each other, it becomes obvious that there is a connection.  The bond that grows between them becomes a friendship that turns into a romance. Both share the grief of losing loved ones.

A bonus is the novella Solid Gold Cowboy that sees Gold Valley’s bartender, Laz Jenkins, getting his happy ever after. Laz has been in love, for years, with his best friend, Jordan, the coffee barista in the previous books of the series. After she becomes a runaway bride and accepts Laz’s invitation to stay with him sparks fly and both realize they were meant for each other.

Confessions from the Quilting Circle is based on Maisey’s own family.  It has three sisters and their mother coming to grips with their grandmother who has just died.  Each has lived most of their adult lives separate and apart from one another. Lark, the youngest, is an artist and someone who pretends to let issues roll off her; Hannah, is a concert violinist who is very sarcastic; the oldest Avery is the fixer but cannot fix her own marriage; and Mary, the sister’s mother, must come to grips with her abonnement by her mother, the girls’ grandmother. While cleaning out their late grandmother’s attic, they discover their grandmother’s fabric swatches. They decide to finish the guilt using those squares. Having turned the candy shop into a café, they meet weekly to sew the quilt, but also to share their secrets.

Both books delve into family loss, long buried secrets, and suppressed emotions. Readers will take the journey along with the characters.

Elise Cooper: Because Iris was such a beloved character did you feel any pressure in writing the story?

Maisey Yates: I wrote it before people wanted her story.  By the time Logan and Rose’s story came out I received more email about her than any other character I have ever written. I must admit, I was a little worried that readers would like the storyline.  I edited the first hero out because he was too blasé. I thought of this mysterious mountain man who was a loner.  It was a very challenging book to write because both characters had very emotional issues.

EC:  It had a lot of what you are known for, great banter, but it was more of an emotional story?

MY:  I have written over hundred romances.  I am trying to figure out how to do something a little different, while keeping the things that are essential to my romances.  But with these characters, Iris and Griffin, the story just seemed to happen.  Yes, it has a different kind of feel.

EC:  How do you write the banter? The scene where Iris tells off her sisters is hilarious!

MY:  Although I don’t have sisters, I am very close to my friends. After I met author Nicole Helm, I literally felt she was the sister I never had.  We have so much in common.  I do have a sibling and know how we can push each other.

EC: How would you describe Iris?

MY:  Everything that she loves I love including knitting, baking, and British mystery shows. She is a nurturer, homemaker, introverted, but not innocent and fragile.  She is strong, quietly determined, capable, and seems to fly under the radar. She feels second best, not appreciated, and does not feel special.

EC:  How would you describe Griffin?

MY: Broken, a disaster, a very good man.  Unlike many of my heroes he did not have a terrible childhood, but as an adult had this devastation. It stole all the hope from him.  He can be intense, a hermit, and a loner.

EC:  What about the relationship?

MY:  Iris was the one who always took care of everybody, and now is looking for an adventure, not a boring man. They were right for each other.  Both have grief and need to realize they must move on.  They would never go back to who they were before. She is the complement to who Griffin has become.  They understand each other and Iris is a good listener.

EC:  There is a very powerful quote in the book, “The hardest part is when everybody else forgot.  But we hadn’t.”

MY:  Although other people’s lives change for a while, those that experience loss have their lives change forever.  They must take the pieces of what is left and move forward. In the end, people go on with their lives. Many times, people do not know how to handle sadness.  Right now, because my mom is in hospice, I am experiencing that rush of support.  But eventually, everything will turn quiet, and that person is left with the sadness along with the reality of permanence that the person is never coming back.  

EC:  You wrote a novella Solid Gold Cowboy?  

MY: I had Jordan Whitfield as the heroine.  She was the background character in many of these books.  I made up her fiancé Dylan.  I wanted to give the bartender, Jax, his happily ever after. He knows everyone’s secrets and had to hear/see their drama.  It is about time he had some happiness.

EC:  The women’s fiction book, Confessions from the Quilting Circle, also deals with sadness?

MY:  I based it on my mother’s mom.  Her half-brother, George lost his father in Normandy during WWII.  His mother, my grandmother, never got over her first love. Although she remarried, she told my mom she was never in love with her husband, my mom’s dad.  As with the grandmother in the story, both were broken by the past.

EC:  This is a good book for Mother’s Day?

MY:  Yes, because of the relationship between mothers and daughters.  

EC:  Can you describe each sister?

MY:  On the surface they are different, yet all the sisters are running away from their life.  They were not able to share until now. The oldest, Avery, is organized, efficient, a homemaker, and a fixer.  Hannah is a concert violinist, independent, and angry at times.  Lark, the youngest, is an artist, a businesswoman, an optimist, and has a façade that issues can just roll over her.

EC:  What about their mother, Mary?

MY:  She is the most like one of my cowboy heroines.  She was raised without a mother and found a man to accept who she is.  She must face issues incrementally, handling mother abandonment while raising her own children. One of her daughter’s commented, “The same woman who was a wonderful grandmother for me…was the same woman who hurt my mother deeply and desperately.”

EC:  A powerful quote is about victimhood?

MY:  You are referring to this one, “I’m not a victim because I’m weak.  I’m a victim because a person that I trusted very much took advantage of that trust.”  Avery’s husband crosses the line.  She thinks of him as two different people. She was vulnerable because she hung on to the idea of who she thought he was.  He took advantage of her trust by selling her a bill of goods.

EC:  What role does the quilt play?

MY:  I love crafting although I knit, and do not quilt. The scope of their history is in the fabrics that they decided to make into a memory quilt.  The women’s circle allowed them to speak freely and expose their secrets.  The inspiration is how their history was women into the fabric of the book.

EC:  Can you tell us about your next books?

MY: There is going to be a third book with authors Nicole Helm, Megan Crane, and Jackie Ashenden. It is about half-sisters who start a farm store on their grandfather’s ranch.  It will be out in April 2022.

The last two books of the Daniels family are out later this year.  The first one out in October is Cousin Jake’s story and is title Rodeo Christmas At Evergreen Ranch.  Out in December will be cousin Colt and Mallory’s story.  She is the sister of Griffin. It is titled True Cowboy of Sunset Ridge.

The women’s fiction titled The Miraculous Ruby McKee will be out about this time next year.  It is about an abandoned girl who looks for answers to her past.

I am also starting a new series out in 2022 titled “The Four Corners” that is a cross over with the “Copper Ridge” series.

THANK YOU!!

[366daysandnights]

thresholds

perched on columba’s bay/the bay at the back of ireland. photo by claire tomkinson.

in 2011 i had the honor of being invited by my dear friend to pilgrimage to Iona Abbey on the Isle of Iona in Scotland. i had never really had any desire or inclination to go to Scotland, and i had never heard of Iona, but this experience was important to claire as she journeyed through grief and crossed a threshold as a new wife. although i didn’t realize it at the time, i was also at a threshold. my first marriage was coming to an end and changes in my job were imminent. i felt liberated by the doors that were closing in my life and the space they created to open up something in their place. 

iona is described as “a thin place” - a place where the material and spiritual come close to one another. it would be impossible for me to photograph or describe how keenly you can feel this on the island. it is a place where every act - a quiet moment of reflection, a conversation with a friend, a meal shared in community (and, oh the food) - feels holy. 

the abbey.

claire and i spent a lot of time together on this trip. we both unintentionally fell asleep on our luggage in a park in downtown London, exhausted and obviously not super concerned about our belongings (because, jetlag). we journeyed up to king arthur’s seat at 11pm because the sun doesn’t set in the summer in Scotland, like ever. on our single night in Edinburgh we somehow got seated right next to the window in the cutest, most touristy restaurant of my Scottish dreams. after a day of train, bus and ferry we decided to go on a walk around iona isle and inexplicably got lost in a bog on a tiny land mass. this made our teenage roommates worry about US, which was kind of a funny indication of what was yet to come. that week was such a gift with my friend, with time spent talking, laughing, singing, crying, praying, and getting sunburned.

despite all these cherished experiences together, iona also permitted lots of time to spend on our own. claire is a gifted artist by trade, and i work in outdoor retail, so we both observed with some irony that most of her solitary time was spend roaming the island, and most of mine was spent in the art studio (and occasionally lured into the clear, frigid water by claire’s gusto). 

lo, one of maybe three times in adulthood that i voluntarily wore shorts. on the isle of staffa. i bought two books during our time on the island, because duh - the obvious souvenir for international travel with tiny luggage are BOOKS. the first is a book of blessings for life’s thresholds called to bless the space between us by john o’donohue. it offers sweetness and comfort for making the transition from a known, familiar world into new, unmapped territory. i keep this book on my nightstand and have revisited it countless times in the years since our trip. the second book is called praying with our hands by jon sweeney, and is a beautiful pictorial from the world’s spiritual traditions of ways that our bodies are places where prayer is actively happening - breaking bread, laying on of hands, the cosmic mudra, praying with icons, etc. this really spoke to me during a time that i struggled to find a church community and welcomed a reminder that with a simple shift in perspective in work, in charity, in breath, in acts of lovingkindness both my body and the occasion become sacred. 

it was with that on my heart that i found my way to the art studio on iona. i spent most of my free time there that week in part because i enjoyed the company of the adorable too-young-for-me-even-then man that ran the art studio, and mostly because i felt called to use this new sense of embodied prayer...to sew. i have no idea why. i had never done it before.  

i felt drawn back to this space on the brink of new motherhood. i wanted to create something for my children that i readily acknowledge has no artistic value and will probably sit in a closet somewhere, but maybe someday when i am a dusty old bitch my children will look at this and remember that once i sat and prayed for them with my hands and millions (and millions) of tiny stitches. this is what i was doing when i went into labor with my son.

i could write at length about my last month of pregnancy with isaiah - the heaviness i felt in my body. i have never been too concerned about my weight but have always been attached to feeling sturdy and strong, and in those final weeks even walking was a burden. i couldn’t understand how my stomach could get so big, and jesus - my feet looked like something out of a coney island freak show. from august onward i was convinced that i could go into labor, or explode, any second but it turns out my children both have an annoying punctuality that they definitely didn’t inherit from me. isaiah arrived right on his due date. 

the picture where my brother was convinced that someone just photoshopped a large circle over my abdomen in the same color as my tank top. placement of iced tea is unexplained phenomena

i was not aware that rose had down syndrome during my pregnancy. my midwife detected a fetal arrhythmia around 32 weeks but otherwise my pregnancy was blissfully uneventful. i planned a stereotypical crunchy unmedicated vaginal delivery. after i was induced and my labor plan fell apart before my eyes, i really struggled with feelings that my body had completely failed me and my child. in the months that followed in the hospital, i apologized to my husband and my daughter for my inability to grow a healthy child. i still do. 

in contrast, i planned nothing for my son and imagined that everything that could possibly go wrong would. nothing did. i was a good candidate for a VBAC but my midwives were cautious about setting any expectations. at risk of disappointment, i literally did nothing but pack my bag. despite the fact that i was convinced that my baby would fall out at any second, when i started having painful contractions on a monday night we were unprepared. it occurred to me that i may not make it until thursday when my mom was planning to arrive. chase urged me to contact my parents, and i reluctantly sent them a text, apologizing for the last minute request and asking if one of them would be able to come earlier. my dad responded, “it’s not last minute, we’ve been waiting for 9 months.” (touche, dad) and he arrived that night. 

this experience made me wonder if this is what women are talking about when they complain about being in labor for 24 hours, 36 hours, 48 hours, their entire third trimester, etc. maybe this is our version of a war story - mostly true, but embellished to really draw out our suffering and sacrifice to bring life into this world. 

i spent the days before isaiah’s arrival trying to cherish these moments with my girl

anyway, i wasn’t in labor for 48 hours. the contractions subsided with the sunrise, and i went back to my cross stitch sampler. my midwife gave me a single piece of advice that informed my labor plan - 

don’t count minutes between contractions. forget the 5 minute rule. ask yourself if you can get through five more contractions on your hands and knees. ten more contractions in the shower. and at the moment the answer to that question becomes “no, i can’t,” that’s when you come to the hospital.

we arrived at the hospital at 5:30pm and headed to OB Triage. i spent two hours feeling like my body was being ripped in half, drenched in sweat and unable to utter a single coherent word. the papers and consent forms the nurses kept bringing me went basically ignored (like, is this really the time to be filling out paperwork?! WTF?!). there was a woman next to me that came in with false labor and the nurses were going over guidelines on how to tell between false and active labor with her before sending her home. i was terrified that i would be next and that i would have to a) walk back across OB Triage in that hospital gown that definitely does not fully close over a pregnant belly and it seems like someone could probably do something about that, b) come to terms with the fact that my body couldn’t handle this. 

except i was already fully dilated. by the time the anesthesiologist arrived i truly could have kissed him if i hadn’t been sobbing into the shoulders of my labor and delivery nurse. she held me around the waist and offered some comforting, indecipherable sentiments to keep me from moving around and being paralyzed while the anesthesiologist put a huge needle into my spinal cord (thanks jessica!). she is a goddess. 

my midwife gave me about half an hour to “rest,” wherein i begged for some water and was awarded with a cup of ice chips (seriously, so many things need to be revised about L&D), then she coached me through about 45 minutes of very thirsty pushing. my son corkscrewed into the world at 9:17pm, and was immediately welcomed by chase’s musical selections of new edition and michael jackson while i continued to beg for water and everyone else stitched me up and cleared the murder scene. when people ask me how my delivery went i am actually at a loss to describe how ordinary it all was. 

except, this little life. 

isaiah winters peregoy arrives, at last and right on time. my little wild virgo.

i am not a romantic person by nature. i’ve been fortunate that in most relationships people mistake my quiet for thoughtfulness or mystery and are entrenched enough in their fondness for me by the time they realize that i am just pragmatic, and a bungling mess like everyone else. however, i am deeply romantic when it comes to my children. 

watching my daughter’s golden curls fly through the air makes me breathless. looking into my sons eyes, a mysterious grey-green for now, and knowing that i will be the first person to truly see him fills me with gratitude. these exhausted mornings with both of my children in my bed, their heads on my chest, give me pause as i remember holding them both beneath my heart and that no deed or person can ever erase that. they are perfect. 

i am completely relearning what it is to mother my son. for good or for ill, none of the lessons that we learned with rose apply this time around. she was two months old when she arrived in our home, blissfully sleep trained by our amazing NICU nurses and fed by g-tube for almost her first full year of life. isaiah sleeps in 10 minute increments and has an insatiable appetite that i am trying to keep up with. but they are both perfect, rose with all her gross, sticky, rambunctious toddler qualities and this new little creature with his constant need for motion and touch. this also feels like a thin place.