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Watching stage play with Milo yesterday was really cool
#lemme ramble in here just don't.#sighhhh#man#it was mostly Aseop focused and I really wasn't expecting it to be like that#BUT THAT'S REALLY SOMETHING INLOVED TBH#it was really funny as well and THE PRODUCTOON AOUGJ#SO GOOD#uhm#but#yeah the characters huh#I think Aesop was really cute and it was really cool to see him grow(? idk how to express it but#character development#uhum#and uhm#uhhhhh#Eli yes. Eli#man. he was so sweet and caring all the time around Aesop#he would even put himself at risk only to help him man that rrally got me#he was there for him from the start and that just aougj#I don't know if I was expecting him to act like that#I mean. A little since he really looks like a good leader but#idk#I think that was so sweet and pure WIWIWIWI#it was wholesome wiwiwiw#ALSO LUCKY GUY HE WAS THERE ALL THE TIME HE IS SO COOOOL#WIWIWI#now time to sleep tomorrow I gotta finish commissions and start others uhum#🕳️ // blah blah
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Of Lions and Mice
Leona Kingscholar x Reader
Reader is intended to be female
Masterlist
Leona was annoyed.
Once again, his golden goody-two-shoes older brother decided to shirk his responsibility of being a father and dump the overexcited, disgustingly bright-eyed crown prince on him for the day. And not only that, it had to be today of all days - a rare day where you were free from picking up Crowleys’ slack, where the loudmouthed, nattering extras that always followed you were otherwise preoccupied (and bribed to bugger off with a bag full of tuna), where he was certain he’ll spend the day in bed with you right next to him.
But no. Just like with everything else in his miserable existence, his dreams were crushed and he had to spend the day playing caretaker to his nephew instead of wrapped up with you. What’s worse was that, you’d decided to carry the pint-sized load off of his back and gave your undivided attention to the cub when it should have been rightfully his. How he hated that selfless nature of yours, that sweet, caring, gentle nature that would make you look at anyone that wasn’t him with that loving gaze, that would make you brush your fingers through Cheka’s golden orange curls the same way you would Grim’s fur or the stray cats you’d find around campus or any other being instead of his mane.
He hated just how loving you were, how your eyes could see the beauty in everything.
How, now that it’s late at night, and he’s closed his eyes and pretended to sleep in his attempt to actually get some shut eye and so that the little hairball would quit bothering him but Cheka just continues yapping.
Even in the darkness under his eyelids, he could feel you cast a worried look his way from the spot where his bed sags a little.
“Hey Cheka,” your sweet, dulcet voice (which is currently being used to please his nephew and not sooth him to sleep with the sweet nothings it usually does) pipes up, “how about I tell you a bedtime story from my world?”
“A bedtime story?!” Wow, even with his eyes closed he could see the stars coming out of his nephew's eyes, “yes please!”
Once the little cub has settled into bed, he asks you, “do you know any stories from your world with lions in them?
“Any ones with lions? Hmm, well, I suppose I could tell you about Narnia but I think you might be a bit too young for that and - wait,” you punctuated your words with a snap of your fingers, “I know a short one. There was this man called Aesop who wrote these short stories called fables.”
“What’s a fable?” Cheka asked, his words covered in that innocently curious lilt that all six year olds seemed to have during every occasion Leona wished they wouldn’t - and that was all of them.
You, however, seemed to have much more patience than him, “A story with a moral in them. Like, always be honest, or share, or work together, that sort of thing. I had a book of them when I was younger and I really enjoyed reading them.”
Figures. Of course, the shining beacon of sickeningly polite goodness grew up with such stories. He would’ve teased you for that but he had a child who he’s still trying to convince he was asleep.
“That sounds so cool, Aunty Y/N! Will you tell me more?”
“Of course, I will,” he can hear your smile, “but I’ll tell you them later, okay. Now, it’s time for you to rest.”
“Okay, Aunty Y/N.”
“Alright so,” you clear your throat, “there was once a lion that lay asleep in his den. A shy little mouse came upon him and in her fright she ran away, only whilst doing so she accidentally ran over his head, waking him up.”
“Oh no,” Cheka gasped, “that lion is going to be so angry if he wakes up.”
Oh, so the little hairball does have a brain after all.
“You’re right. Furious that he had been woken up, the big lion slammed a paw down on the tiny mouse and grabbed her by the tail. Holding her up, he growled at her,” here you made your voice noticeably deeper, trying to imitate a gruff growl, ““How dare you wake me up! I am the king of beasts and anyone who interrupts my slumber deserves to die! I shall kill you and eat you!””
It took everything within Leona to not burst into laughter at your adorable imitation of a ‘big scary lion’. It’s a voice you’ve used before whenever you tease him, playfully repeating the words his old self would have said to you, and it’s one that he’s rather fond of.
He loves and respects you, Herbivore, and he’s the first to attest to your formidability and capability - even though you have the annoying tendency to not only blur the line between bravery and reckless stupidity but also play skipping rope with it - but intimidating you are not.
“This scared the terrified mouse even more. Shaking with fear, she begged for him to let her go,” you make your voice higher at this part, squeaking in a way that oddly suited you, in Leona’s not so humble opinion, ““please, your majesty, I beg of you, please don’t eat me. It was only a mistake and if you let me go I’ll be sure to repay you. If you spare my life one day, I might even save yours.””
“The lion looked at the tiny creature and laughed, amused at how such a small mouse could ever be of use to an animal as powerful as him, “You? Save me? How absurd. You’ve made me laugh and put me in a good mood so I shall be generous and let you go.”
“Thank you, your majesty, thank you,” the mouse squeaked as she was put back on the ground, before scurrying away as fast as fast as her little legs could carry her.”
“Yay, so the mouse is free.” Cheka giggled.
“He is,” you said, “but there’s still more left. A few days later, the lion was prowling around when out of nowhere he was caught in a hunter’s net. Try as he might, he couldn’t get out of it. He tossed and turned, roaring angrily as he struggled to escape.”
“Wait, so now the lion’s in trouble. How’s he going to get out?” Cheka asked in worry.
“You’ll see. Hearing his cries, the mouse followed the sound, recognising it from the lion he met earlier.
“I have to help him,” she squeaked as she scampered towards him.”
Upon seeing the lion in the net, she said, “hold still your majesty, I’ll get you out!”
And she quickly started to nibble on the ropes with her sharp little teeth, biting until all they broke apart. It wasn’t long until the lion was free.”
“So the mouse saved him. Was it because the lion helped him earlier?”
“It certainly was Cheka. “Thank you, little mouse,” the lion said, “I laughed at you and didn’t think you could ever help me but you saved my life.”
“It was my turn to help you.” The mouse replied, ”never forget that even a creature as small as a mouse can help a lion.”
And that’s the end,” you say.
“Thank you, Auntie Y/N, I really enjoyed that. Do you think the lion and mouse became friends after that?”
“You are very welcome, Cheka. I think they did. They did help each other, after all. Now I think it’s time to go to sleep.”
And once you were sure that the crown prince was asleep, you made your way next to your boyfriend, running your fingers through chestnut locks, “did you enjoy that little story, Leona.”
He opens his eyes to see your endeared smile. Rolling over so that he could wrap his arms around your waist he muses, “it seems awfully familiar don’t you think? A scared little herbivore wakes up a sleeping lion and ends up saving him later.”
“I’ll have you know, Your Highness, that I was never scared of you. Even when you were a rude old brute who threatened to knock out one of my teeth. And I’m certainly not little.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”
He pulls, letting you flop down on his bed beside him so that he can spoon you.
“Sweet dreams, little mouse,” he kissed your forehead, “I hope you know that I don’t ever intend on letting you go. Not after you helped in ways you could never even imagine.”
And so the lion fell asleep, holding the prey who rescued him from the confinement of his past safely in his arms.
#leona kingscholar x reader#twst#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#fem reader
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Nothing's Gonna Change My World
Ch. 8 - i sat on a rug (biding my time, drinking her wine)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7
Word Count: ~7500 Pairing: Pavitr x F!Reader
Warnings:
THIS IS SMUT. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE SMUT, OR NOT BETWEEN THESE CHARACTERS, DO NOT TOUCH THAT KEEP READING LINK. Under 18? Please click out of this post! All characters here are in their early-mid 20s. things that happen: reader receives oral and it's cash money. Pav aesops a lot about healthy experiences. Gwen gets a little (or a lot OOC). also found on AO3 and Wattpad.
"I swear, I could have put the damn ring on Miles's finger myself after that!" gushes Gwen from her spot on your couch. She's tipsy, you're each on either your second or third hard seltzer, and your living room is starting to wobble and melt before your very eyes. "I would wholly support that," you agree. Gwen giggles in that overly familiar way, the one that tells you she's cooking up something wicked in that brain of hers. She leans in closer, slings an arm around your shoulder and peers at you through conspiratorially-squinted eyes. "So, (You), how's Pav?" she asks, a lilt in her voice that tells you there's definitely an ulterior motive to this seemingly innocent question. "Oh, he's great!" you reply, ducking out of wherever this is going. "He just raised another round of funding, so he's going to be able to expand his company more!" "That's great, but that doesn't answer my question," she says. "How. Is. Pav?" she enunciates. Her top two teeth peek out, pressing into her lower lip. You start to sweat, remembering the topic of conversation you'd been on. Gwen had given you the New York Times review of all the wild shit her and Miles had gotten up to since you last talked to her. You'd immediately learned that drunk Gwen has zero concept of propriety. "He is...the best, honestly," you deflect, but voice still deeply earnest. "I mean, can I ask for more than a handsome man with great hair who takes care of me when I'm sick, he even cleaned me up and—" "zzzzz, BORING!" Gwen shouts. She gives you a good-natured but maybe a tad too aggressive shove on the shoulder. "Skip to the good part, I want details!" "Gwen, I don't know if I should be—" you try to dissuade her. "Back when he was with Gayatri, we got trashed and she told me he was eating good, is that still true?" she whisper-growls with a saucy wink, in no way trying to lower the volume of her voice.
"Gwen!" you chide. Blood rushes piping hot to your face, heart absolutely banging off the walls of your chest. Gwen cackles maniacally and nearly spills her drink on your nice sofa. "Christ on a crutch, (You), your fucking face right now is precious! It's just a lil' girl talk, nothing here leaves this room, you get me?" she rambles. "Well, I mean, I wouldn't even know what to say about...about—" you stammer. "Oh come on! It's not like you're some kind of virgin or somethi—wait, holy shit, are you a virgin?" Gwen's eyes widen. You think she looks like a fish staring like that. "Oh my god, you're a virgin! That's so sweet!" she cooes at you. She reaches to pinch one of your cheeks. "No! No no no no, it's not like that! I'm not a virgin, definitely not, we just haven't—" you race to clarify, hands waving in front of your face. "Well what's the holdup, then? Are you guys trying to up the sexual tension? Are you saving yourselves for some special occasion or..." Gwen wonders aloud, before tapping her fingers together while her face morphs into a faux-dismayed expression. "You're not scared to be with him, are you?" "No way!" your rejection of the idea is immediate, emphatic. Gwen doesn't seem to have heard that, however, with the way she keeps on prattling.
"Like, I totally get it, he's Spider-Man, he's loaded, he's got some experience, he's really fucking attractive, that's intimidating and all for, like ninety-nine percent of everybody, but I promise he really wants to be with you too, you don't have to just fantasize when you—" "Gwennnnn, for Christ's sake, I do not fantasize about my boyfriend and—" you interrupt that very, very salacious thought. "What?! Why on Earth would you not? Who are you fantasizing to?? Is it Tom Holland??" Gwen questions in rapid-fire, face clearly scandalized. "What the fuck, Gwen. No," you deny. "I'm not fantasizing about any of these people, I'm not fantasizing, period." Gwen seems awfully confused by that statement. "But, how else is a girl supposed to get off by herself? I don't get it." You shrug your shoulders. "I don't know, I must be broken or something. I've never had an orgasm," you deadpan. "You what??" Gwen sits up ramrod straight, flabbergasted. "What?" a shocked third voice sounds outside the apartment. Followed immediately by a blur of red and blue at the window near your fire escape, and then a heavy crash. You and Gwen share an alarmed look for a moment. You can almost see the steam coming out of Gwen's ears, she marches over to the window, pulls it open, and with a terrifying force, yanks the eavesdropper into the apartment by the hair. "Ow, ow, shit!" the voice yelps. It's very familiar, you realize. Because it's your boyfriend. "Pavitr Prabhakar, you have five seconds to explain to me why in the fuck you were spying on our private conversation—" Gwen starts reading him the riot act. "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to..." Pavitr's groveling, apologies awkwardly spilling from his lips like a leaky P-trap. You don't stick around to hear them. You about-face and beeline to your room to curl up and die of mortification, only briefly stopping to consider that you just watched your seemingly-normal human friend drag a superhero into the apartment by the hair, like she might bring in a small bag of groceries. How much did he hear? Would he think worse of you? Did he hear Gwen talking about his— Nope, we're not doing this today.
You belly-flop onto the bed. Your pillow makes a great set of earmuffs, and doubles nicely as a dark cave to stick your head into while you hear Gwen and Pavitr arguing (more accurately, Gwen winning the argument in a one-sided fashion while your boyfriend tries and fails to form a coherent sentence) in the kitchen. Your head is spinning, dust kicking up from discussions put to the side for far too long that is now filling your lungs. You're not sure why you and him haven't talked about this, whether it was fear, nerves—
Was he scared of you?
You're not sure how long you're hiding there for, but there's one, two, three soft knocks, the squeal of your door-hinge, then, a dip in your mattress. You know it's Pavitr right away when you feel the soothing stroke of a hand on your upper arm.
"Can I hide under there too?" he softly asks.
The idea of your big, strong, superhero boyfriend being scared of Gwen Stacy makes you giggle (although it's not hard to be scare of Gwen Stacy, if you're honest with yourself). You lift the pillow up and make some room on the bed, he lays down on his side to face you, suit and all, save for his mask.
"I'm sorry if I said anything that was—" you begin.
"I'm sorry I was listening to your—" he talks across you.
You both pause. Pavitr sighs heavily and rubs his sore scalp.
"I deserved that," he admits.
"I'm not so sure you did. The direction that conversation was going was..." you trail off, you gesture vaguely in front of you, trying to communicate something to the effect of "cringe".
"You aren't broken," he says suddenly, determined.
You snap your head up to meet his eyes. They're serious and shine with resolve.
"I'm...I don't get it," you say.
"You're not broken for never having an orgasm. And I'm not convinced you can't," he explains.
You chew on the thought for a bit.
"I mean...I've tried on my own, until I just gave up. That sounds like a 'me' problem," you mumble.
"Look, I know you might not believe me, and I know you might not even be interested but..." Pavitr hesitates, runs his hand through his thick, black hair. "I'll give you one. Or as many as you want, I don't know. And I don't want you to worry about doing anything for me, or for anything to hurt, I just want...fuck, (You), my heart broke when I heard that," he admits. His mouth is wilted into a pained frown.
Your face droops, you hate the idea of sweet, sensitive Pavitr being sad on your account.
"Pav, I don't want to get your hopes up though, I feel bad already that with all of the—the bullshit in our lives I haven't taken the time to think about your own needs and—"
"No. You're the one who had three boyfriends that couldn't be assed with your needs, and were put in a situation where your choice was taken away from you, even though it didn't get anywhere," he cuts you off immediately with an open hand below your collarbone. "The only 'need' I have is the need to show you it can be so, so good when you're with someone who loves you. But only on your terms, only ever when you feel the time is right."
You feel the urge to turn away, but you can't resist Pavitr's puppy-dog eyes, the kind he gets when he sees a stray animal that he wants to adopt on the spot.
"You seem very invested in this," you tell him, like it's a strange idea. Should it be?
"I just wanna make my girl feel good" he cooes. He pulls your face against the hollow of his throat. "Hobie told you once that you could ask for whatever you damn-well wanted, and I wouldn't say no. He's not wrong, you know."
"So you are an eavesdropper!" you accuse him.
"Okay, the Amazing Spider-Man has a minor personality flaw, sue me," he snarks, but is sure to drop a kiss in your hair after the words leave his lips. "My point stands, though. If there's anything you ever wanted to try, I'd love to do it for you. That includes giving you your first orgasm. And your second, your third, your forty-eighth—"
"Forty-eight?" you gasp.
"That's really not that many!" he protests, which earns him a well-deserved flick to the forehead from you. "But, in any case, it's up to you. Like I told you when we first got together, all at your pace, sweet girl. If the thought strikes your fancy, just say the word."
"I'll think about it," you agree.
"That's all I can ask of you," he says, and brings your hand to his lips to kiss your palm.
---- The heat in Pavitr's room is stifling. The air conditioner isn't cutting it, you're in a tee and sleep shorts while he's shirtless in jeans, you only have the energy to watch an old sitcom on the bedroom TV while Pavitr works out the fatigue from your sore feet. You lay with your legs across his lap, hissing when the pad of his thumb digs in to your arch. "Darling, you have to start wearing actual shoes when doing big chores," he gently chastises you. "A slipper is a shoe," you argue back. Pavitr's thumb arcs up towards of the ball of your foot and you wince when he lands on a tender spot. "Your poor, abused feet don't seem to think so," he retorts. "Well, then you can make it better later with those magic hands of yours, mister 'I'm so good at everything'", you declare. Pavitr snickers, his thumbs find their way to the lower end of your calf, just above your ankle. "I'm good at a lot of things, dove, but not everything," he says in dulcet tones, one corner of his mouth quirked up just so. Maybe it's the heat. Maybe it's the perfect amount of pressure his hands are putting on your leg. Maybe it's the silky feel of his voice when it resonates in your ears. But today, you start to notice a difference. You feel...aware, like a deep itch, well below the layers of skin, muscle, fat. A thirst, yet, your mouth feels full and cottony from the humid air of the room. "You're very good with your hands," you praise. The knot in your leg dissipates, and he moves on, this time pressing at the outer side, halfway up near the heart of the muscle. You exhale as he draws slow, deep circles into the tension there, it's achy, but it's pleasant, too. Pleasant in a way that makes your legs twitch, something that Pavitr doesn't miss under his thumb. "So I've been told. Among some other things," he purrs. This tone has always brought you to your knees when he used it, and he knows it. Today, however, the shiver you feel isn't the same as the others, instead of a nervous, delighted tickle, it curves lower, warmer, lingers a bit beneath your ribcage in a thick haze.
Pavitr lifts your leg by the calf, places an open-mouthed kiss over the imprint his thumb left there. Then, a second one next to it, intentional, calculated. The stuffiness of the room is so much you think you could scoop it into a glass and drink. "Pav..." you murmur. It's a little bit questioning, a little bit commanding, a little bit hesitant. The show's laugh track rings obnoxious in the background. "Sonu...you should take me up on that offer," he suggests. Or is it pleading? "...Right now?" you gulp. You can feel your pulse in your voicebox. "If you wanna," he affirms. "You don't need to do anything, just relax and...enjoy." The juncture of your thighs starts to feel uncomfortably sticky against the fabric of your shorts, you fight the urge to press them together. "What did you have in mind?" you inquire. Pavitr rolls over to kiss at your shin, then the inside of your knee before crawling up your body to level with your ear, you can feel his breath tickling the shell. "I think Gwen mentioned to you that I'm happiest when I'm eating well," he husks directly into it, and then traces the inner rim of it with the very point of his tongue. You shiver from the contact, from his words, the way they felt so close to your skin, or the teasing of his tongue, you're not sure which. You're definitely pressing your thighs together now. "Good luck with that. It's been tried, and hasn't worked," you warn him. You hate the idea of him doing all that hard work for no reward. Pavitr is nonplussed, he takes your face in hand to kiss you slow, beginning the dance you know well by now. "Did whoever was trying give you head for its own sake? Or were they trying to butter you up with oral so they could say they did before doing what they wanted?" he asks pointedly, one eyebrow quirked. You don't have to think about it for very long, you've never been given this on its own. Only before sex, and it'd be difficult to argue they were into it, or trying particularly hard to please you. "You're probably right. I don't think they were trying too hard at all. But I should have felt...something, right?" you wonder. Pavitr sighs and sadly shakes his head. "There's a world of difference if someone really wants take their time and make you feel good, instead of just half-assing it so you'll give in. It also helps to have...skill, which I can promise you, I have plenty of," he slips you a wink and licks his lips, and the subsequent jolt of thrill makes your core twitch. "All you need to know is that this is for you. I wanna give you oral because I love you, dammit. No strings, no bullshit, just very, very good head. I'll give you the best orgasm of your life, and it's going to be amazing. Sound good?" You worry your lip with your canine, thighs squeezing together at the image he's planted in your head. Pavitr waits for your reply patiently, he's not leering, his expression is fond, gentle. He's never led you astray before, so he wouldn't now, right? Right? "But...if I can't?" you trail off, leaving Pavitr to fill in the blank. He does, with ease, one hand takes yours and gives it a soft squeeze. "If something's not working for you, we can change it. If it doesn't happen today, then no hard feelings, we'll go back to what we were doing. Even if you don't orgasm, sex can still feel really good in and of itself," two of his long, elegant fingers walk along your arm while he talks, voice even and mellow. "And when you feel done, we'll be done. It's like a conversation, we go down a line, and change the topic when it feels right to," he explains, kisses your knuckles on the back of your hand. "I think I can get you there, I think you just weren't given a fair shake and need someone to actually try. But if it doesn't happen, we can try again another time. Or never, you're wonderful all the same." You exhale through pursed lips. "Okay, I'd like to try at least," you acquiesce. Pavitr nudges your chin with his hand. "Do you want to try? Or do you just feel like you should because I asked?"
You understand immediately what he's asking. His eyes are soft, but stern, he scans your face for any sign you are simply appeasing him, rather than agreeing of your own enthusiasm. He's searching for fear and apprehension where there should be desire, curiosity. You don't think you've ever been asked this, and while you can't say your past experiences were ever coerced, save for the circumstances under which you and Pavitr met, you're grateful that he's thinking of this.
"I do want to," you confirm. "I'm...nervous that I'll be disappointed again, but what you're offering feels different from what it's been like...before. You've never given me any reason not to trust you, and I'm ready to try if it's with you."
You smile up at your boyfriend, and Pavitr seems satisfied with this answer. His eyes darken further than the rich cocoa they already are, and he leans in to kiss your mouth deeply, explores every ridge, every surface of it with his tongue, a little preview of his repertoire.
"I am going to eat you up so well, for hours," he rasps directly into your ear, leaving you shuddering, getting even wetter at the seam of your shorts. "On my bed, on the kitchen counter, in my car, on my desk at work after everyone's gone home, every damn day if I have to until you come on my tongue. You deserve that much, dove." His lips ghost on the shell, then along the hollow of your throat, where he leaves gentle, slow little nips and sucks while he crawls back down your body.
You have enough sense to turn off the television before he's back over your legs, kisses and suckles getting closer and closer to the hem of your sleep shorts. Your breaths catch and stutter, each little contact a sweet torture that leaves you jumping under his mouth, your center grows slicker and you'd think he could smell you from here.
And then, to your surprise, he stops. He reaches behind you for one of the pillows.
"Lift your hips a bit for me, darling," he instructs, the tone of his voice honey-sweet.
You comply, confused, and he slides the pillow beneath them.
"What's this for?" you ask.
Pavitr grins brightly and plops a smooch on one kneecap.
"So my girlfriend is comfy, of course!" he says in a voice almost inappropriately upbeat for the situation.
Your heart melts at this thoughtfulness, never has anyone you know associated the word "comfy" with sex, but with someone as attentive as Pavitr, you're learning things can be different. Maybe those words should go together, you think.
Pavitr's nails catch on the waistband of your sleep shorts, they pause there.
"Yes?" he asks, looks to you for your assent through the dark curtain of his fringe.
You're frozen in time when you meet his eyes. It's not a particularly hard choice. It's easy enough to say no, sorry you're not ready for that. Or even ask if you can reschedule to next Wednesday, maybe work it in between the gym and your dentist appointment. He'd be happy to drop it and continue doing what you were doing, wait a hundred years if he had to. What sways you is when you meet his rich, coffee-colored eyes and there's no
want I want gimme give it lemme grab tug squeeze grab take have
You're so used to that by now. No, these eyes are soft, round, curious, even. Curious to know this part of you, to share this with you, a whispered secret on the breath of butterfly wings. To give you something that was always denied, see the way your face would light up when you got there. By the look on his face, you knew Pavitr wasn't lusting after you and what was under the shorts, no, he wanted to try, and you knew that he'd only ever try if it was for you.
"Yes," you affirm. There's no warble in the note of your voice.
Pavitr grins, lazily and closed-mouthed, hooks his fingers around the elastic and starts working the whole thing down in one shot, shorts and underwear all. Warm lips press to the bony cradle just above your mound, your hips twitch under their smack.
"Thank you for trusting me with your body, sweet girl," he says. "I promise you, you will not regret this."
The shorts are worked over your knees, your ankles, and then they're off. Your knees drop off to the sides, you ponder closing them for a moment, covering yourself up like the shy virgin you once were all that time ago. That thought doesn't get a chance to linger, as sloppy, sucking kisses are quickly alternating up your inner thighs, firm enough not to tickle, but enough for the muscle to tense beneath Pavitr's mouth with a yelp, the sensitive spot a direct line to your exposed core.
"Aanhh—" you whine as Pavitr gets closer and closer to where you'd really like him to be. He does get awfully close, the rounded point of his nose bumping against the juncture of your hip and thigh, the corner of his mouth brushing the curve of your vulva as he inhales, smiles. Suddenly, the really nice pressure is sadly gone, Pavitr's propped up on his elbows and gazing down between your legs, while you're slack-jawed huffing and puffing from arousal.
"You're really pretty here," he husks. He mouths at the soft swell just below your navel with deep mauve-colored lips, lets warmth curl up there.
"Why are you staring?" you whinge, averting your eyes.
"Why not? This part of you is divine," Pavitr waxes poetic. "And you deserve to be told as much, because it doesn't sound like you've been hearing it."
"Umm...thanks? I guess?" you sputter, incredulously. You want to shrink away from the compliment, but your boyfriend (your insufferable sap of a boyfriend) isn't having it.
"Shush, you," he jokingly chides, his breath hot against your delicate flesh. "Go away. Let me explain to my girlfriend that her pussy is perfect in peace."
"Pavitr, you're obnoxio—oh FUCK!" your words are cut off with a cry as your entire cunt is swallowed up in a sucking kiss, like the ones Pavitr had dotted along your thighs. There's nothing lazy or perfunctory about this, the suction is just right and there's nothing like the way his soft lips feel sliding against your intimate skin. He pops off with a wet, lewd smack that rebounds around the bedroom.
Pavitr snickers lowly at your reaction, and turns his head to take each of your lower lips between his, run his tongue along and beside the soft, fatty parts before delicately suckling the inner lips betwixt them. His next kiss finishes with a deep lick, one that parts your lower lips at the seam and makes you jump when a wet tongue brushes past your clit.
"Good?" he asks, an inquisitive arch on his brow as he attempts to get a glimpse of your face. His mouth doesn't leave your pussy, simply ghosts against it when he speaks. It's a hint of a touch that makes you prickle, teeny frissons along your spine from your core that sprout behind your ears.
"Very," you tell him, nodding furiously, hoping that will spur him to get on with it.
Pavitr smears a messy, affectionate kiss to the inside of your left thigh before securing his hands on the crests of your hips.
"Love you," he purrs. He nuzzles against the inner thigh with his cheek before returning to his work.
Pavitr treats you to a make-out session with your lower lips, his tongue and lips exploring every dip and curve he can find. Every flick, kiss, suck, even gentle tugs between his teeth carries intention, you can feel the weight of it in each stroke. This is not the same halfhearted attempts at the pretense of 'doing his part' you're used to, he's losing himself to the task, eyes fluttered shut behind the ebony drape of his hair as he drinks you down. It's the same way he moves his mouth when he takes a bite out of a ripe mango, your wetness dripping down his chin when he slurps on your sex. "Pavi....Pav...hah..." you wheeze. Your chest heaves in harsh breaths as a delicious, gentle heat stretches out low in your belly and finds a home there. Your boyfriend steadily continues to make love to you with his mouth, you can't resist locking your ankles together atop his upper back, he responds in turn by scooching your hips just that little bit closer, wanting as close to zero space between his tongue and your intimate flesh as possible. "Your taste, it's sofuckengood, fuck," Pavitr slurs into your cunt. You notice him shifting around just out of your field of vision. Is he...rutting his hips into the bed? Pavitr licks straight up your seam on the flat of his tongue, ends with a suck on your clit that's enough to pull it out of its hood. A sharp bolt of pleasure triggers your cunt to clench around nothing. "Holyshitholyshitdontstop" you babble to the room. Your feet kick out behind him, your hand that was bunching up the flat sheet flies to his shade-colored waves, tangles in the dense mop of hair to hold his face against your pussy. "That's the plan, dove," Pavitr rasps. He gets right back to it, delivering the same treatment to every part of your pussy. The two-o'-clock sunlight streams in rich sheafs through the window, it leaves amber dapples on his back that bend and stretch with every flex of his well-developed back muscles, they collect in the valley of his spine, the two little dimples that sit above his waistband.
This? This is nice. It's nice like this, the both of you laying here, embraced by the mid-day sun. Pleasure laps at you like waves at low tide, it's warm, warm like the sand between your toes. Your boyfriend is taking your pussy apart with his mouth, the touch of his tongue isn't teasing, neither harsh, nor lazy. It's earnest, steady, and oh is it affectionate, too. He's not here to pay some sort of toll or fee to access your body, he's basking in how wet you're getting for him, the plush of your skin against his lips, your heady scent, the sharpness of your flavor on his tongue. Pavitr's mouth cherishes this entire part of you the same way he does to the rest of you with his words. He's in no hurry, but he has no intention of making you beg or plead for your first release, he simply wishes to take you by the hand and lead you there, walk you to the door and kiss you goodnight at the threshold of a place you didn't believe existed. He knows the way, has learned the road well, and guides you there with no fuss. Yes, you think, this is nice. It starts out as a fullness, a pressure on the inside that makes you want to tighten up, squeeze around it and keep it from getting out. The pleasure sitting heavy in your belly becomes urgent, it sinks low, low, lower. The sensation is strangely familiar to you, but it's off. You feel like you're about to burst, about to— "Pavitr, stop, I'm gonna—I have to—" you reach with your free hand to stop him. Pavitr finds your hand with one of his, takes it and laces your fingers together.
"Hey. No, sweet girl, this is good. You're supposed to feel that. It means you're here," he explains, gives his head a shake so you can meet his eyes without his hair in the way. A thumb strums back and forth along the dorsum of your hand. "All you have to do is let it ride. I'll catch you, I always have," he reassures. Your head feels like it's full of bees, it feels like there's a water balloon sitting low in the cradle of your pelvis, it's scary, it's intimate, but you want more. "You promise?" you ask timidly. It seems silly to ask this of him, but you do anyway. Pavitr responds with a kiss, the softest one yet, to your lower lips. "Baby girl, I'd promise you everything," he almost growls into your pussy.
Pavitr renews his focus onto your clit, taking it between his lips and tracing upon it the outlines of flower petals with his tongue. He sups on you, over and over again, batters your pearl about with the point of his tongue, coaxing it out from its protective cloak with a please please oh please pretty please. He does not demand, he waits, arms outstretched. The fullness and urgency quickly returns, you clench down, breath held instinctively. You can't hold it anymore, you yank on his hair, and he moans into your vulva when he feels the sharp twinge on his scalp. You feel like you're going to pop and his face is right there eating you and he said he'd catch you and he's holding your hand when you pav pav pav please oh please pav i have to It's warm here The molten heat nested below your navel loses its shape, pours like molasses down your legs, between your ribs, to the points of your fingers and burbles at your throat. Warm, sticky, wet, spilling out of your core in a steady trickle. Your voice catches in a sigh, the floor of your ribcage drops as the tension eases away in a steady throb, you feel it in your cunt as Pavitr keeps on drawing mindless doodles over your clit with his mouth. It's not fireworks, it's not an explosion, it's sunrise on the roof, three o' clock on the beach in July, it's hot chocolate in December, sticky sweet affection poured into you through your sex and spilling out over the edges. It's a safe place, a joyful place, bubbly, bright, and warm. A place, a home he built for you beneath your skin, in a grove you've been too wary, too exhausted to claim as your own. He presses the key into your palm, at long last, and you are all too happy to invite him inside, in that space between your ribs. Your eyes flutter shut as a gentle tongue laps slowly, soothingly at your swollen flesh, cleans up your release as you give yourself over to the ebb of the tide. Lips tenderly trail up your mound, your navel, your sternum, your nose. Hands cup your face as the lips find purchase on your forehead, your unfocused eyes open to fuzzy strokes of bronze, charcoal, ivory. "Yes, Ahava, hello. Hi," Pavitr purrs. Your eyes adjust, the blotches of color wend into a familiar form, and there he is. He's positively glowing, both with a fondness and pride, not of himself, but for you, like he's swallowed down the sun itself. His chin and mouth bear a fine gloss from your wetness. "Whazzat? Pav?" you burble, your tongue fumbling with the words. You find that you've been curiously transformed into a pile of mush, your corporeal form broken free of its solid container.
Your boyfriend chuckles above you, and brushes a few downy hairs off your forehead where sweat holds them down.
"How's that orgasm treating you?" he smugly inquires. "...S'nice," you slur, not quite realizing how dopey your face must look. "Kinda feels like I have to pee." Pavitr covers his mouth with his hands to hide his laughter. "Alright, well, you hang tight and enjoy the afterglow, beautiful. I just need two seconds to take care of something real quick," he says. You watch as he reaches over the side of the bed and fishes around for something. "Where are you going?" you ask, a wave of sadness and worry coming over you, remembering past partners who would never stay when the act was said and done, leaving you to your feelings. "Nowhere, silly," he teases, tongue stuck out. "Just gotta make a wardrobe adjustment, then all the snuggles you can handle, I promise." You find yourself unable to reply when he works his jeans off of his hips, and the boxer-briefs with them. The tips of your ears heat up like a gas grill when you're given a generous glimpse of prominent hip bones, lithe, defined quads, and an absolutely sumptuous ass that makes your mouth water, you resist the urge to sink your teeth into it. "Hey, Pavitr, I can, 'yanno, return the favor," you offer. "Oh, that won't be necessary," he quickly replies as he skips the boxer briefs and pulls on a pair of sweats he'd left on the floor. A hint of something you can't put your finger on tinges the timbre of his voice, and that's when you notice the flush in his cheeks. Oh.
"Pav...did you...?" you hesitate to say it out loud, your brain refusing to form the words. Pavitr crawls up the bed next to you, immediately rewarding you with the tightest, most perfect snuggle he's ever given you. You're face to face, noses but a hair's breadth apart. "As a matter of fact, I did," he admits, turning his cheek into the pillow. "Knowing I was giving you this experience and seeing how much you were enjoying it, it was so damn erotic and I couldn't help but go off the edge with you. Imagine that, being the woman that made Spider-Man come in his pants by just being." "Well, I'm glad I could do that for you," you jape. Your head feels less foggy, the afterglow abating to something cozy and secure, nicely contained in Pavitr's hold. "I'm glad I could do this for you," he counters with a tap of a finger to your nose. "This was all for you, anyway, you owe me nothing. I knew you could do it, and I'm so proud of you. You just needed a patient hand. Or tongue," he winks. "You're insufferable," you groan, burying your head against his bare chest. Pavitr chortles and kisses the top of your head. "I'm talented. And I have many, many orgasms to make up for," he rebukes. His voice feels like silk, it's dripping with ego and it makes your mouth go dry. "Hopefully they're all like this one was. I keep hearing that it's supposed to be...erm...explosive, but this one was just...nice," you comment. Pavitr considers this a moment, and then you know you fucked up when you see his lips quirk into a wicked grin, a devilish gleam in his eye as one hand tightens its grip around your bare hip. "I see...say, I don't think I ever returned the favor for that upside down kiss you gave me when we met," he muses aloud. "No, I don't believe you did," you confirm, wondering where he's going with this. "Oh..." he rises to a kneel on the bed, the covers falling away to expose your calves. "Then I guess now might be a good time to do just that," he proposes.
"What do you mean by tha—ohgod!" you yip, as Pavitr uses his enhanced strength to pull you down the bed by your ankles, and then hoist your thighs all the way up to his ears, his hands settling on your hips. You're nearly suspended entirely upside-down and he's immediately ravaging your sensitive cunt with this mouth, lewd smacks rebound around the room as the blade of his tongue digs deep between your lower lips. "Jesus fuck, Pav, why are you so good at everything?" you whine, your heels thumping against his back, an expression of the pleasure rapidly coursing through your body. Pavitr doesn't reply to this, only hums an acknowledgement into your pussy. At this angle, the extra pressure from his face on your clit does a lot of work, and being manhandled by your superhero boyfriend like a ragdoll...yes please. His fingers curl into the flesh of your thighs, his lips lathe aggressively at your inner lips and clit, you can only watch as he pulls his head up just enough to tug at them with a firm suck that makes something deep in your core light up like Christmas, and then releases them with a salacious pop before going right back in to swallow, to consume, to lap you up until there's nothing left to. Pavitr's playing for keeps this time, he's not looking for a gentle release, he wants to give you the orgasm you've only heard about in stories, one that knocks you on your ass that you'll still feel the next morning. He's nothing if not a show-off, and that trait of his is on full display.
"Pavitr Prabhak—ah!" you moan, your legs flailing behind him. "You smug jackass! It's not faaaaaaair!"
Your kicking and screaming (literally) does nothing. Pavitr doesn't let up, his lips and tongue devour and his face smashes into your pussy in relentless pursuit of your climax. You squirm, but his mouth chases, and with you upside down in what you would have never expected the Spider-Man kiss to entail, you're helpless to stop it, vulnerable and ripe for the taking. But you're safe. Cared for. Loved. You can feel it in how his grip on you is gentle enough to leave no marks, the way his thumbs stroke over the skin there. The way he bends forward just enough to keep your head and shoulders on the pillow so you won't hit them on anything, or get dizzy. This scene is filthy, pornographic even with his athleticism, but as your second peak of the night comes hurtling at you, neither of you have ever felt more in love than you do right now. You have trusted him with your body in all ways like you rarely have before, and he's more than shown you he's worthy.
You come with a shout, you clench hard on empty space until you can't, it feels like a sneeze, an insane blossom of pure ecstasy from your center that blooms in a riot of red, pink, yellow, orange behind your eyelids. You feel your cunt gushing, squirting even, followed by an immense relief. Your heart pounds in your ears, your ribcage struggles to expand and contract with your breathing, it feels like you're flying, soaring in the wind. There's a fizzling, tickling feeling creeping along your arms and legs and worming its way into your brain, your pussy feels aflame, overtaxed despite the calming strokes Pavitr is now using to soak up your juices. Your abs feel sore, and you feel physically and emotionally drained, the overstimulation hits all at once, and—are you crying?
"Awww little love, it's okay. Come here, darling, I've gotcha, shhhh," Pavitr's voice breaks through the swell of emotions frothing in your chest, he sets your legs down and bundles you close beneath the blankets. "You've been through a lot of new things today, sonu. You're overwhelmed, it's completely normal and your mind just needs a minute to sort itself out," he explains, you turn your head to see all traces of mischief gone from it, only soft features remain. The flat of a hand drags up and down your spine, warm lips dot squishy kisses along your cheek and temple. "I—I thought I was broken," you blubber. "I've been trying for years." "Not broken at all, no ma'am, I even double checked," he quips with a wink. It makes you snort and you can't stop yourself from swatting his chest. "You simply hadn't been shown how sex is supposed to be: none of it works if you're not feeling safe or secure first," he says more seriously. The blunt edges of his nails slowly drag along your back, scratching carefully, it's deeply satisfying and it makes you feel calm.
"So you're saying I couldn't for so long because...I wasn't feeling safe?" you ask, past memories starting to click into place.
"Mmm, precisely so," Pavitr hums. An unhurried kiss is fluttered against your lips, the flavor a bit different than the ones before, you wonder if it's you that you're tasting. "Sex is art, dove. It doesn't just come down to technique, if your mind is worried or not feeling cared for, you're not going to be able to be vulnerable with yourself enough to feel good, or your partner, for that matter. Your partner needs to be invested in your experience, and not as a means to an end for them," he explains, his nose nuzzling yours now. "That means taking the time to make you comfortable, listening to you and instead of rushing you through, and for fuck's sake, they need to give proper aftercare, Jesus," he finishes his rant with a grumble. The protective hold around you tightens, cuing you to snuggle closer into your boyfriend.
"Aftercare...is that why I got upset when an ex went to play video games when we were done?" you ask, everything suddenly making so much more sense.
Pavitr shudders and pulls you even closer, if that were possible, you burrow into his chest. Your legs tangle together under the blanket as he kisses the space between your eyebrows.
"Oh my God, why are men like this," he mumbles under his breath. "Yes, aftercare is making sure your partner is feeling okay and safe after you're done. Sex is intense, physically and emotionally, and if they weren't making the effort to take care of you like this after, it's no wonder you didn't have any fond memories of it. I hate that those were your first experiences, but that will never happen again, I can promise you that."
"Oh...so right now, this...this is aftercare?" you ask shyly. You think it sounds silly at your big age to be asking this, but since you're both putting everything on the table, you might as well learn for the future.
Pavitr senses the discomfort and tips your chin up to meet his eyes. They're still sparkling, but carry a stern edge to them.
"Hey, there are no dumb questions with me," he firmly reassures, his eyes softening further. "Yes, this is one way aftercare can look. It can also mean things like...like rubbing their back, or watching a movie they like together. Maybe even taking a bath with them or giving them a massage, just little things to reassure them and help them come down gently from an intense moment. It's the best part, in my book," he purrs.
You're inclined to agree. You're all tuckered out, your limbs have definitely turned to jelly with no chance of reconstitution, you feel buzzy on the inside in the best way, and it's warm and toasty here under the blankets, tangled up together, his bare skin on your cheek. You're basking in each other's afterglow and he's lavishing as much affection on you as he's got to offer, there's nothing closer, nothing better than this. Well, except maybe one thing...
"Can we...can we take a bath too?" you suggest, uncertainly.
Pavitr scrunches up his round nose as his eyes wrinkle at the corners.
"You act like I'd say no to that. Of course we can, dove!" he exclaims. "You're the one who had her first two orgasms in a row, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't let you pick?" he's already hefting himself off the bed to carry you there himself.
"Together with me?" you kiss at the juncture of his shoulder and neck, all you can reach from his hold, your feet dangle limply in the bridal carry. Pavitr looks down on you with a besotted expression.
"I like the sound of that," he cooes in your ear as you cross the room. "And I wanna wash your hair with my shampoo again, I loved smelling it on you the next morning."
"But Pav, your shampoo is expensive!" you protest.
"You just had a screaming orgasm, like, ten minutes ago, let me spoil you at least a little," he counters. He nudges the door open where it's ajar with a hip check, being sure not to jostle you.
"That's already spoiling me!" you argue.
Pavitr laughs, deeply kisses your mouth like he did your center, and closes the bathroom door behind him with his heel.
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The door slides open more smoothly than Aesop expected, handle turning with an ease he could not have right now. His footing was unstable already, but the additional aid in opening the door only caused him to fall faster. A rush of apologies for landing on Victor instead of the floor, relief at hearing the sounds of the meeting being kept between them. Aesop should not be rapidly breaking apart. He should be able to keep his own thoughts and feelings out of interactions.
Victor's hand would string him forward, as he struggled to even look up, as his balance continued to betray him. Even just that small feeling, a hand around his own, was so... warm. So delicate. It rendered his mind nearly blank, just wanting to have that for a few seconds longer, before he lands unceremoniously on the bed, momentum carrying him forward before he could adjust to fall even a little bit more gracefully.
Aesop didn't know how to handle Victor being so close, barely able to let his bleary eyes slowly crawl upwards to take in whatever he could, until he'd gone too far, seen the postman's eyes perceiving him. He couldn't force Victor to see his eyes, to see what became of them and to have to be held within them. Furthermore, Victor would be able to see just how far gone he was.
And then, he can feel hands cradling his face, wiping away his tears. He almost wants to cry more, from just how much care is put into that motion. so confused as to why Victor would do all this for him. Aesop's gloved hand moves in fits and starts, eventually placing itself on top of Victor's hand, warm, scarred, gentle. The hand of a man who's lived through so much.
So many thoughts echoed within Aesop, and yet he could say none of them. He hoped Victor wouldn't mind such a thing. Wouldn't mind the wreckage of what should have been a man. Wouldn't mind that his angel was so, so far from that constructed image.
Admittedly, Victor is slightly awestruck by Aesop's reciprocation of the touch. It's strangely nice, feeling his hand caged by skin and glove, seeping heat into the mask from his palm and drying tears with his fingertips. Victor moves his free hand to nest underneath Aesop's hair, drawing circles at the sweet spot where the skull meets the spine.
He barely realises how close he's gotten until he's pulled even further so, smaller frame slotting nearly into the one-armed embrace as he slumps forward with the littlest of prompting. Victor only removes his hand to take off the cap from his head before resting against Aesop's neck, and melting back into position.
He can feel the melody of the embalmer's heart drumming into his ear with a faint rhythm, like it was afraid of disturbing him too much. It was doing his job well, then, because it was only sending him into a lull, letting him close his eyes and feel the world start to melt away into nothing but warmth.
Here, he is held up by Aesop's hands, allowed to let himself slip into the sensation of warmth he'd always missed ever since he'd come here for the first time, letting out a soft noise of contentment as he continues burying himself into it, his need for touch being sated as it drips into his veins and then some.
Absently, he thinks he wouldn't mind if Aesop killed him now, if this was just a distraction to let him die here, because despite it all he doesn't think he's ever felt so safe and loved. Although, he's sure he thinks that every time. After all, he's easy to satisfy. Maybe he's dying already, and is too drunk to notice. Maybe that explains why he feels himself floating and melting and sinking into Aesop like lead all at once.
Maybe he thinks that every time. Maybe he doesn't mind it.
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Hi! I would love myself a matchup if it's ok 👉👈
I'm female and pan, I'd prefer one of the males tho, Survivors please!
So uhhhh I differ in my personality a lot depending on the situation! I'm more of a loner around strangers IRL— shy, quiet, I don't like interacting and prefer to stay by the sidelines since being in the middle makes me uncomfy.
I try to be as polite as I can, even keeping in my opinions and pain a lot as to not Hurt anyone. I also tend to blame myself a lot for bad situations I'm a part in unless I know I absolutely didn't do anything!
Also I'm quite hot headed and have a bad temper, though I'm working on it! I have quite the problem with guilt and it comes to me fairly quickly when I do something bad.
Ah yeah I'm really forgetful and also really impatient KNRKS
Now- online!!
I'm a lot more open and chaotic. I like to tease my friends and jokingly make fun of them, etc. I try and stop when they tell me to, but I might understand it as them just joking too if they write it that way in my eyes-
I try to look on the positive side for them and their situations and am always willing to make someone happy even without words since it makes me happy too. I'd say I'm caring to a fault- I don't let loose until they finally do something healthy that they've been avoiding and I do get rather angry if I'm not taken seriously with that, causing me to maybe lash out at someone unwillingly,,- and then guilt pops in like "hi there 😍" KDHDJDJ
Anyway,
I encourage anyone to vent, though I'm not the best at giving advice. I'm more of a person who likes to listen and give support if they need it. Oh yeah- my attention span is REALLY short (as short as me good ol' 5'1 me aNENSJJSJD) so I get distracted pretty easily and procrastinate then.
As for hobbies: I love to draw! (As you might know-)Music is my life (especially Jazz) and video games are, too. Though mostly singleplayer Games since I only really like multiplayer with friends-
What else can I write..
Maybe like- I'm an ISFP-T And I think it was 5w6 that I was given by another test
I also got Philophobia, the fear of falling in love because of bad experiences but I'm tryna work on it!!
I guess I can also write about my appearance? I've got short, curly but chaotic black hair that's p much swept to the side- I'm definitely not that skinny lmao- and as I've said before, I'm 5'1! I usually wear casual clothes (hoodies, e.g!! They're so comfy...) I also got brown eyes and glasses!
I think that should be it.. ah yeah! In your introduction, you should prolly add your ID for others to add you because name search doesn't work! :0
Ok that's really it now- take your time, don't rush yourself and stay safe and hydrated!! 💕💕 Hope your blog takes off!
Sorry for my English by the way- I'm German so I might've messed up on a few things!
OH MY LORD I DID NOT KNOW THAT I HAD TO PUT IN MY ID... oml... thank u for telling me that. and don't worry about it, i can see how it'd be difficult (i actually studied german for my gcses :], it was very fun) but anyways! tysm for sending in btw!! i loved writing this, i hope u enjoy - mod vera ♡
i match you with ... naib subedar!
he kinda takes on to your quiet personality, unlike some of the other people around the manor. it's relaxing to be around somebody who doesn't talk much.
you two most likely met when robbie came over to the survivors' side of the mansion, jokingly demanding sweets... but it most likely sounded authentic. and oh god, is that an axe-
you two accidentally locked eyes but you both had a " ah shit, here we go again " face. it just kinda went from there.
at first, he's a tough nut to crack, but if you try hard enough, within a month or so you gain his trust and he .. deems you a friend?
you both kinda start falling for eachother after a period of time, but naib is great at hiding it BUT SIKE, so are you! it's like a game of who can pine for the other in the most subtle way possible.
however, if you tell him about your own troubles with falling in love, he may just open up a little too about his own troubles.
it's takes a while for you two to build a relationship, but eventually (after a lot of rescues, late night hangouts and just being near eachother) you make it!
when he learns about your more chaotic side, naib tries to keep up with you as best he can, he may just need a little tug to do so.
he loves your smile, especially the one you have when you're talking about your passions.
he also tries to help with your temper, but he's just as bad as you are.
however, he's there whenever you have a bad day - he can almost instantly tell, even if you try keep it to yourself. it could be the way you look at him, try to smile or talk, he does notice the change in your aura.
since your shorter than him, he likes holding you. it makes him feel like he's just protecting you from anything and anything, especially on one of your bad days.
he likes your optimism, looking on the good side of every situation. he once saw you trying to comfort robbie when he started crying about not finding any sweets around and you told him "look on a brightside robbie! now we know for next time to stash some away for you before we eat it all!" AND OH GOD, IS THAT AN AXE?
naib gets frequent nightmares about his time being a hired merc, so sometimes you may get woken up at 3 am because he's a bit distressed and needs a bit of comfort.
other times, he just finds holding you while you're fast asleep enough to put him back in a coma for the next 2 hours.
naib also encourages you to talk to him about stuff. whether it be what made you mad, how much of a bitch vera can be, ect. he's there for you and that man is never gonna let you carry your burdens alone.
saying that, you also have to remind him that he can't carry his own burdens sometimes and when you encourage him to talk to you about what's upsetting him, he'll most likely tell, depending on how bad it is.
he also grounds you a lot!! if you tell him about your forgetfulness, he's most likely going to try and remind you.
" hey, [ name ], you did bring [ item ] into the match, right? "
" um... "
" goddamnit [ name ], i thought i reminded you "
naib takes it upon himself to rescue you, or keep you within his general vicinity if you're in a match with him. he does know you can kite very well though! he just wants you near him for a bit of reassurance.
he can be mean sometimes, but he means it in the most endearing way possible since most of it is sarcasm.
you two kinda have " stab as a warning " vibes so nobody really opposes the two of you. even norton. not even freddy dares to oppose you because the last time he did, aesop almost had to prepare his equipment to embalm the poor fella.
when you lash out at someone, naib is there almost immediately to take you away to calm down and comfort you when your guilt kicks the door down and goes " Hey girlie! Hold still 😎 "
sometimes you have to do the same for him because you both have a tendency to lash out.. but.. never at eachother? you two kinda agree on the same things, there isn't much to exactly disagree on.
please draw him!! watch him while he's training in the garden and draw him, or just a few silly doodles of him.
he likes looking at your drawings, it kinds boosts his ego knowing that he's worthy enough to be drawn.
if he finds out that you like music, he'll tell you about nepalese music, or at least what he knew of it - if you both get engrossed in it, he may try and get you some records to play.
teach him how to dance, if you can. it'd make listening to music together way more fun.
he's very content with you!! he likes kissing you out of nowhere, too. you could just be chilling and naib would come up to you, turn you around and give you a smooch outta nowhere. but only in private.
i feel like neither of you would be big on pda, you just stick to holding hands around the manor.
if this were in a modern setting, you two could probably play a game like phasmaphobia together just for funsies.
all in all, your relationship with naib is mutually beneficial and robbie has learned to never ask for sweets again.
i hope you enjoy this <3 it's my first time writing naib too so i apologise if it's not very good </3
#idv x reader#idv#identity v#idv imagines#idv writing#naib subedar#idv mercenary#identity v mercenary#idv naib#matchup
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congrats on 200!! can i pls get a cursed pic & some groovy headcanons for me and the bane of my existence, suna?
my fav colour is a muted blue-green (?? if that ?? makes sense ?? if it doesnt lmao its blue)
i am a struggling sci student w a passion for social justice and social issues. i got a quiz result that said i was “piratecore” and thats the most accurate thing ive ever received in my life. i do a classic biweekly spiel to my friends about destroying the patriarchy, eating the rich, abolishing the police, rejecting the binary, etc.
i’m bisexual, shorter than you think (think of the shortest adult you’ve met, i’m shorter), gym rat pre-covid days. my goal was to become absolutely stacked. just huge. i thirst over bokuto’s thighs but on god do i want thighs like that. i have a complex in the gym where i am Gym Bros with everyone but ive also been told i walk around like i’m about to punch someone lmao
i listen to lots of kpop and religiously drink coffee from my nespresso bc it brings me too much joy. i think suna irl would like, step on me and not in a fun way lmao i’m like pretty introverted but i can potentially Turn On The Charisma. once u get to know me a lil i like to think i’m chill. like, i’m a nerd. but chill idk
my vibe is like. soft safe autumn comfort? lots of oversized sweaters and warm tones and hugs? i’ve been told i have a calming presence? i am Very Caring, ride or die, express affection easily. i like giving my friends little things and making sure they feel validated and loved. my love languages are physical affection and quality time. facetime me for 12 hours in silence type beat. i physically cannot perceive myself anymore so uhh hope this is good!
take ur time with this, get to it whenever, take care of urself first <3 thanks for doing this event i think its real rad and i’m so sorry i just physically typed “real rad”
— artemis (@/ushiwakajimas)
@ushiwakajimas to make sure you see it
How you met: simple, point blank, he meant to throw something at Osamu to say it was Atsumu to egg them on. He hit you instead.
Song: Dorks - Aesop Rock
Sfw:
- will feast on the rich with you, says he’ll get Osamu to cook ‘em
- you both comment on hot folx you see out n about like
- “2 o’clock orange dress she’s stunning” but he’s always point out how no one is as pretty as you but damn that chick has a fine ass
- you both share quality time as a love language
- loves picking you up from the gym and sometimes even working out with you
- but lets face it you may be small but you could destroy Suna fit ICON
- is drawn to the fact you aren’t overly out gowing
- highschool was filled with enough over the top people
- he enjoys the simplicity with you
- pda isnt like overly in peoples face
- but loves giving you forehead kisses
- however at parties he is ALL OVER YOU
- holding you, kissing you, sucking on your neck as you try to talk to someone
- he may not understand everything you study
- but he will pull all nighters with you to study
- going over flash cards and pop quizes together
- he’s always there for you
- whenever you send him a selfie or facetime him he’s gassing you up
- “hot damn you look fucking good”
- for you he just goes mushy and only you
- he loves taking naps with you
- anywhere anytime
- movie date? He’s asleep head against your shoulder
- so vulnerable and cute
Nsfw:
- i headcanon suna to be a kinky fucking bastard
- loves fucking you whenever there is a chance you mught get caught
- a bit jealous so leaves you covered in marks
- will GUARANTEE you will not be able to walk on your own for awhile
- oral fixation
- ball gags, chocking, fingers in your mouth, oral recieving and giving, spitting into your mouth and making you swallow
- degredation but praise mixed together
- it’s a vibe
- lives being ridden and just watching you and your body glisten with sweat
- and the sweet moans that escape your lips
- every now and then he bottoms
- it is a blessing you get to ruin him like he does to you all the time
- he has a box of fun things he keeps by the bed so sex is always exciting and fun
- study breaks? Study break quickies
- will eat you out as you try to fucking do your homework
- not one part of his home is sacred you’ve smashed on every surface
- squeezes your thighs until his hand marks are fucking imprinted forever
- you’ll have to buy a lotta turtle necks with this mans
- after care is cozy
- puts your favorite sweater in the dryer for a few minutes so its soft and warm
- makes you tea or coffee depending on the time of day
- snuggles
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The Remnant Branches
CH. 6 - The Woe of the Wretched
Part 3: A Sibling's Love
Having completed his mission for Oz already, James returns to Jakob to deliver some unfortunate news. After, he begins his peaceful quest to search for any astronomical information this world may hold. This first takes him to the library in the nearby village.
AO3 Link
The elevator reached the surface with the sound of its old doors creaking open. Ironwood was feeling ambivalent, however. On one hand, his mission was complete, and he had five days left to do as he pleased. On the other hand, reviewing the video tapes revealed that the mother had perished in the factory while running away from her children with a man. It is only human to want to be free from burden too. Ironwood knew he had to at least tell Jakob that harsh truth.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re okay. You were in there for a while.” said Jakob as James entered the door.
“Yes, I’m fine, but, there’s no easy way to say this.” From the look on Jakob’s face, Ironwood could tell he already knew what was coming.
“It’s my mom, huh? It’s alright. Nier already told me. He said he found her on his way back, and brought me back some of her perfume.” he said sadly.
“How are you holding up?”
“I’ll be alright. And Gideon will come around eventually. … I just-” he let out a sigh. “I just don’t know what to feel now. It hurts that she left us, but I know this was all too much for her. She just wanted to be happy, and her happiness didn’t involve us, but I still love her. We had some good times, and she did try for a time, and she is my mom. I just can’t bring myself to hate her. I feel like I should be stronger, and not even cry for her. Is that bad?” he asked, eyes watery and voice on the verge of cracking. Ironwood thought for a moment.
“I will be honest, I can’t understand how you feel, so take this as a grain of salt: I don't think you’re wrong for wanting that. Ultimately, she hurt you, her child. But understand this,” James got down on a knee to be eye level with him, “you are strong. From all my years, I’ve learned that it's easier for people to hate than it is to love. It takes a lot of strength to love, especially after what she did. And look around you!” James got up and motioned him to look at the shop around him. “Despite everything, you’ve managed to run this shop and become an excellent blacksmith, all while taking care of your brother all on your own. That is no small feat, especially for someone your age. This is a tough time for you, but you will get through it. You are strong.”
“Thanks mister Ironwood.” Jakob sniffed. “I needed that. It's gonna be hard, but things will be alright. I think she would want us to be alright too. And besides, I still have Gideon.”
“I’m glad. Oh, and here’s some junk I collected on the way. I figured you could use it.” Ironwood tossed a bag full of scrap onto the counter.
“Sweet! Thanks!” he exclaimed happily.
“No problem Jakob. … It looks like I’ll be on my way now.”
“Alright, stay safe now. There are a lot more shades out there than here in the Junk Heap.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve faced all sorts of monsters before.” With a final wave goodbye, James closed the door behind him and made his way to the exit. He was never the best at goodbyes or any sort of closing remarks.
As he walked, he thought about how Jakob could still love his mother after what she did. However, he knew he would have to be content in knowing that he would never understand it. A child’s love for their parent was a powerful thing.
He rememberd that Nier told him that there was a library in his village just across the plains. He hoped he could get lucky and find some old star charts or any sort of astronomical information. While Remnant was overall more technologically advanced, this world had traveled into space, well beyond their atmosphere.
From the information stored at the factory, he learned that this world had sent people to their unbroken moon, set artificial satellites in orbit around their planet, and sent machines to study planets billions of miles away. It amazed Ironwood so, and he intended to learn as whatever he could from this world’s knowledge on outer space. It was about time he treated himself to enjoying his little hobby.
Astronomy was something that always interested him. So much of it was unknown. There was a sense of serenity in that. It was a place free of the chaos of a cruel world. He considered that space could be chaotic too, but in its own ways, ways much less cruel. Space is an exotic, previously unknown beauty to him. He dreams that it is a place free of duty and worry, where people are safe, and will never have to worry about the cruelest cruelties of life. Salem, Grimm, murder, and needless suffering are absent there in his dream.
However, more than that, much more than that, a part of him believes something. It is the part of him where his last shred of innocence exists, the part where he holds onto hope for a merciless and unforgiving world. It believes that there, he can finally love.
-
After about half an hour fighting aggressive shades across the plain, James finally arrived at the gates of the village. He knocked on the large door, and waited. Looking up, he saw a man looking down on him over the side of the top of the gate, and disappeared from view, shouting an ‘okay’ that led to the gate opening. A guard gave a grunt of acknowledgement as he passed. It was a quiet place, and nothing like Atlas. By the fountain, he noticed a woman at a fountain singing a song. It helped calm him after the heavy, heart racing, fighting.
Ku ata
Tsu no-o va-lai
Tzud-e jei
Fo-aul ae kai
She seemed like she could help him.
“Excuse me, miss, would you happen to know where the library is?” he asked her.
“Do I look like a tourist guide to you?” she said curtly. Ironwood didn’t know what to say. “I’m just joking with ya.” she laughed. “It’s that building at the top of the hill.” she pointed out. “I’m Devola, and if you need any help finding something, ask my sister Popola. She’ll be in the room on the second floor to the right.”
“Alright, thank you.” he waved as she resumed her song. He just hoped his encounter with the other sister wouldn’t be like that.
The library had all its books stacked up its walls, leaving it a rather open space. At first, he aimlessly wandered around, scanning the spines of the books he passed. So far, he hadn’t found what he was looking for, and decided to give Popola a visit. At a shelf next to the base of the stairs was a little girl struggling to reach a book. Her hair was a silvery white, akin to Nier’s. He noted that similarity. He reached for the book and handed it to her.
“Here you are.”
“Thank you mister!” she said with a bright smile. She took a seat at the stair’s first step and began to read the simple book. Aside from her pale skin, which could be attributed to a lack of sunlight, odd considering the eternal sun, she did not look sick to him. Once at the top of the stairs, he turned right and knocked on the door.
“Come in!” she shouted, and Ironwood entered. “Oh, a new face. Not often you see one of those. How can I help you?” she said, looking up from the paperwork on her desk.
“I’m looking for books on astronomy, or any information you have on it really.” he said.
“Hmm… Astronomy… I don’t recall there being any books on that here, but-”
“DEVOLA, HURRY, QUICK!” screamed a voice downstairs.
“Crap, crap, crap!” she fearfully repeated as she leaped over her desk and bounded downstairs. James made sure to get out of her way, and looked downstairs once she had past him.
At the bottom of the stairs was the girl from earlier. She was curled up, wincing in pain as a darkness enveloped her arms and legs. There seemed to be some lettering in it. It had almost seemed familiar to James, but it faded before he could more clearly see it.
However, he knew for sure that this was Nier’s daughter, Yonah, with her silver-white hair and some sickness that could only be the Black Scrawl. It was unlike any kind of sickness he had seen before. He saw Devola scoop her up in her arms and leave the library.
He made his way down the stairs and picked up the book she dropped, A picture book titled The Wizard of Oz. Amused at the title, but otherwise uninterested in it, he placed it back on the shelf. Aesop’s Fables, Red Riding Hood, Snow White, Beauty and the Beast, and Goldilocks and the Three Bears were among the selection of books with colored pictures and big fonts.
Realizing he was the children’s section, he went back upstairs to browse another random section. He managed to find what he assumed was the philosophy section, based on the titles. It was filled with names unknown to him, Friedrich Engels, Karl Marx, Karl Grün, Simone de Beauvoir, Georg Hegel, Zhuangzi, Mozi, and many more.
He picked up a book by Karl Marx and flipped through it. Interestingly, none of its words were capitalized. He assumed it was a printing error. Once he saw that it concerned economics as well, and he quickly put it back. He dealt with enough economics back home, and had no desire to read about it on his little vacation. He owed himself that much, even if he was starting to feel guilty for taking such a long break from his work. He managed to find the romance section, but quickly found that none of it was to his taste. Romance as a genre was he never really understood the appeal of anyways.
Eventually, he settled on a titleless book that was at the top of a first floor shelf. It seemed mysterious, and therefore interesting.
There was an android who was set to oversee a small village. Her name was Skald, and embedded in her was the incredible power of an ancient song from another world. The song allowed her to help and manage her village in incredible ways, but, it soon corrupted her and the villagers. As a result, her creators had her and the village destroyed.
Learning from their failure, the scientist removed the magical power of the song. Despite having less power than before, she still ran and oversaw the village well enough. Her creators were pleased and began to make plans for mass production. While her creators did that, she had grown close to another woman in her village. They did lots together, so much so that many began to believe they were sisters. And soon, they began to refer to themselves as sisters. The scientist saw that there was an increase in her performance during this time.
However, the woman died in an unfortunate and sudden accident, leaving Skald all alone. Her performance decreased greatly as a result, and she was eventually decommissioned. She was not saddened at the revelation of her fate. In fact, she seemed grateful. However, the scientists were saddened by their creation. They created something near immortal that could love, and would more often than not have that love ripped away from them eventually.
In honor of their creation, they learned from their cruel mistake. Skald was renamed Popola, the nickname given to her by the woman and villagers, and she would have a twin to be by her side. Her name would be Devola, after the woman who loved Skald as a sister. “Together, they could sing a song that would calm and heal the heart. Together, they would face an otherwise lonely existence. Together, love would allow them to survive a cruel world.” was the ending of the short story.
Ironwood wasn’t sure what to exactly think of the story. He wondered why someone would write such a preposterous backstory about their village leaders. But then his thoughts were interrupted by the door opening. In came the younger sister, Devola, who went to meet him.
“Good, you’re still here. Sorry about earlier.”
“It’s alright, things happen. Will she be alright?”
“Yeah, she’ll be fine, she just needs some rest and medicine. She’ll be back here tomorrow I’m sure, unless Nier gets back soon. But Popola wanted me to pass a message. She said that you should try the Lighthouse at the Seafront south of here, or the desert civilization east of here. There's a store there where you might find what you’re looking for.” She pointed in the directions he should go.
“Alright, thank you.” James said happily. “Oh, and before I forget and you might want to check out this book.” he said, handing her the book he read earlier. ‘“I can’t imagine why anyone would write something like this, and I think you wouldn’t want it in here.” Curiously, she took the book and glanced at the cover and its back, and quickly flipped through its pages.
“Ha! This is a strange little book. Thanks for catching it. Here, take this to keep it between us.” she tossed him a small sack that rattled. James opened it to find coins in it.
“Are you sure? I don’t think you need to give me this. It-”
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” she calmly interrupted. “You just go and have your fun.”
“Well, alright. Thank you then.”
As he walked to the eastern gate, he wondered what it would be like to have a sibling. However, he simply just could not imagine it. A sibling’s love was something he never felt, and would never feel. He wondered if he should feel sad about that or not.
-
We give the finality of death. Iron skin draws out fear and terror, and is bathed in flesh. We are satisfied by the snatching of life. We realize our purpose through the crushing of the bodies. In our delight, we spread death far and wide. We are the iron will. We kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.
This interloper knows what he does as he slashes the blade on the way to his destination.
He knows there is blood on his hands, and accepts it readily, for he knows he must.
What he does is as just as it is unjust.
He knows this, and slashes again.
It must be done, so he believes.
Anyone can do this, so long as they think they are right.
#James Ironwood#rwby#nier#the woe of the wretched#the remnant branches#2.5k words#if only james had taken the time to read marx\#lol#or any of the children's stories#sure he might realize things later on and have an existential crisis but it's better than what he's going through rn#then again remnant is probs going through an existential crisis having found out about salem
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Aesop 29 or the Helmsman
(I’ve drawn his floating head a lot, so here’s him with his hood up, which I draw less) Also formal apology because I think like maybe no more than four people who follow me play Destiny, so a couple things may sound a little esoteric. I’d suggest checking out the Ishtar Collective (links to offsite) if I refer to something unfamiliar.
Full Name: Aesop-29
Gender and Sexuality: Male and Homosexual.
Pronouns: He/Him.
Ethnicity/Species: Exo, from the little crop of Destiny fancharacters that I have.
Birthplace and Birthdate: Unknown factor. But Aesop was found by his Ghost in the middle of nowhere, in a southwestern state that I have not chosen yet. Arizona, Texas, Colorado and Southern California are all candidates. Aesop has just a little bit of a Texan accent.
Guilty Pleasures: Aesop is trying to learn how to play guitar and is really bad at it, making him very shy and nervous about his attempts. Similarly, Aesop enjoys singing, but usually does it when no one else is around - because no one else has really heard him sing before, it is a well kept secret between him and his Ghost that he’s actually pretty good. I personally like to keep the list of music that he likes to the 50’s-60’s bracket to match the kind of retrofuturistic style that the Golden Age tech in Destiny has. We the viewer read it as being ‘old’, even if it’s much, MUCH older than we realize because the setting is far future. That’s really all that matters, that we recognize it as being antiquated. His favorite of the very small pool of albums he has access to are Marty Robbins’ “Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs” and Nancy Sinatra’s “Boots” and “Sugar”. Sojourn teases him about it and has thusly introduced him to the feeling of shame. He also likes drinking alcohol even if it doesn’t actually make him drunk. Sometimes he does it out of spite. Someone you don’t like? Pound his drink right in front of him and walk away.
Phobias: Aesop’s kinda agoraphobic - he feels trapped and panicked in enclosed areas with lots of people, can be overstimulated by large groups of people talking/making a lot of noise. This makes him mostly useless in large-scale conflicts. He has managed to curb some of this by being accompanied by Sojourn or Calico to areas or situations that are high risk (whether that means a combat scenario or just going to The City), but this can get squirrely because Calico doesn’t have a ghost anymore and if killed would die permanently, and Sojourn has a tendency to get worked up in a fight and leave him behind on accident. If everything goes well though, Aesop is perfectly functional fighting in the small group that is his fireteam - himself, Sojourn (exo warlock) and King (human titan). His ghost, Chanticleer, can also sometimes talk him down if he’s starting to spin up into a panic attack. It’s something that he wants to fix, but, existing within the confines of your anxiety is a cold comfort that he indulges in. In general, he’s a very anxious person with a lot of existential dread, but he puts on a clownish, brazen act and hopes people don’t notice.
What They Would Be Famous For: Honestly, probably something very mundane, like breaking a dopey Guinness-style record or something like that. The entire point of Aesop is that he is very average in his skills in a world of blisteringly powerful space wizards and the like. I find his challenges are more about what goals he sets for himself and if those goals conflict with the status quo. Does his worth need be defined by how good he is at killing things vs. is the pursuit of personal wellness and happiness selfish in the context of a world fighting for its survival. Can these things coexist. etc.
What They Would Get Arrested For: Probably something relatively benign done for the sake of pulling a dangerous stunt in the name of fun or looking cool. If he was a regular ass human in a normal modern setting, probably taking a nice vintage car for a joyride.
OC You Ship Them With: Aesop will have a love interest in the comic canon, but I’m gonna keep that under my hat for awhile yet. It’s not Cayde though, Cayde is dad. If Amanda Holliday was a man, he’d be utterly and entirely in love, but, alas. He’s still infatuated with her platonically though, and thinks she has pretty much the coolest job in the world. A promise of visiting her is a good way to entice him into going to The City.
OC Most Likely To Murder Them: When death is not a factor, this becomes less of an issue, hah. Aesop and his bff Sojourn have killed each other a number of times in training, to an almost nonchalant degree. Aesop has also been killed much more in training, by his fireteam’s resident titan, King. Aesop will also find a rival in a local Fallen pike gang, the leader of which has the placeholder name of Easy Rider. I also have a Cabal villain I am throwing around and trying to decide if they’ll stick, but I need to do a lot more work and research on that. They’re my least favorite enemy type mechanically, but I think they could make perfectly acceptable antagonists in a narrative.
Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Aesop does not read. He can, he just doesn’t. I think maybe, MAYBE, someone could get him to read comic books, but those aren’t very sturdy and I feel like the amount of intact physical copies at this point would be almost nothing. The pool of movies and media that he has available to him are very sparse, but he absolutely drowns himself in spaghetti westerns, and would probably also like trashy action movies if they were available to him. I also think he would like Grease, HAHA. It has cars and guys in leather jackets singing in it. He’d also probably like any kind of rustic, western themed musical. And anything with cars in it would have his immediate interest no matter how bad it is, but he’d zone out in any parts he doesn’t like.
Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: To be honest I think most of the time, movies are a little too long for him and lose his interest partway through. He has a really short attention span and anything too long, complicated or artsy will lose him and he’ll start being fidgety and chatty and start making his boredom everyone else’s problem. Even if there’s a movie he likes, if there’s a part that’s boring to him, he zones out. He probably watches the same 2-3 movies over and over again, which is fine because his available library of media is probably really small. I like to think that they probably have movies in some kind of archive that they put up publicly in The City every once in awhile, like they have a projector that puts it on the side of a building and people just bring chairs and shit. Aesop has an aforementioned fear of crowds but he probably does some hunter parkour bullshit and perches somewhere at a healthy distance to watch from afar, as long as it’s something he thinks he would like. If he doesn’t he gets up and leaves.
Talents and/or Powers: Aesop seems to have an interest in vehicles, but due to a bet with his mentor, Calico, he has not actually been taught how to drive a Sparrow and so pines for them from afar. As said, he’s learning how to play an instrument, and if we want to be technical, is a Gunslinger speced Hunter with the Golden Gun super. He is very bad at being stealthy, as he is very impatient and is also a little bigger than the average exo. He’s just kinda tall and wide and tends to clunk around. If his Ghost Chanticleer wasn’t as clever as she was, Aesop would probably be perma-dead by now.
Why Someone Might Love Them: He’s kind of a dumbass and a space cadet but has the potential to be very sweet, and the people he cares about, he latches on to really hard. Similarly, when set to a task he cares about, he does not quit. Unfortunately, many of his goals are unresolved, but it does not mean that he will stop trying. If he were to, say, become romantically interested in someone, he would go to great lengths to connect with him, even if it meant doing things Aesop himself may not like. In specific circumstances, Aesop may find that he has a great capacity for nurturing and bringing out the best in other people, a talent Aesop himself undervalues. Though he’s not all that intelligent, Aesop is very reflective and existentially inquisitive, and thinks about a lot of big picture stuff that other people might push aside in an era of crisis. Though he may not understand science or the way the world works in a mechanical sense, he is awed by it, and is a great appreciator of natural beauty. He’d cry at a particularly beautiful sunrise, if he could cry. I’d say he could be described as having a romantic soul.
Why Someone Might Hate Them: To be honest, Aesop has trouble establishing empathy with people he doesn’t know very well, and so is less invested in Earth’s plight than he probably should be (it would not be hard for Dead Orbit to sway him to their views). This makes some people think that he doesn’t take his charge seriously, and they also usually assume that he’s a slacker because he’s plateaued in his abilities so early. Really, Aesop is acutely socially anxious, can have panic attacks in large crowds, and generally prefers to stay away from The City unless he needs to go there, and so has a big emotional disconnect from it. Calico and Chanticleer have tried to get him more accustomed to groups, but has been thusfar mostly unsuccessful. His insecurity and anxiety also cause him to pull odd, dangerous stunts to prove his worth, making him unreliable and impulsive. He can bungle social interactions rather spectacularly, and is easily goaded into doing really stupid shit. Really, he is a person who may just be “too much” for some.
How They Change: Oooooghhh….I can’t talk about this. I forgot how frustrating it is to not be able to talk about things because you’re going to make a comic out of it. Suffice it to say he’s gonna change a lot.
Why You Love Them: I think Aesop encapsulates a lot of anxieties I have post-college. Aesop is a person in transition who is unsure of his future, knowing only that he can’t quit now, because quitting means failure and failure means death. Because he is in transition, he is anxious about forming relationships with people, worried that either he will be left behind by them, or that they won’t like him when he’s “finished” becoming a person. I think he has a complex relationship with his personhood and sense of self. I dunno, I think that’s an interesting anxiety for a protagonist to have. I am also interested to see what Aesop will end up contributing to his society/organization and his interpersonal relationships, and if he’ll be happy with it. I’ve put a lot of work into him, the ‘original Aesop’ I had in mind might as well be a completely different character now. Aesop was originally a little cameo that I did in our TTRPG game, Godslaughter, because my boyfriend had put a dunmer cameo character into our game and I wanted to return the favor. Then he made a sheet for him. Then I decided to keep him around, then I decided to play Destiny 2, then I decided I loved it, lol. There is still a version of Aesop in the TTRPG but he is so incredibly different, they may as well be different characters. We refer to him as “Bad Aesop” but should probably call him something more dignified (we won’t).
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Body and Soul (Ch. 9)
AO3
Opening Theme
*
“The individual inwardly cultivated feelings of helplessness and loneliness, for he lost touch with his more human dimension, failed to broaden his virtues, and thus became unable to interact with the same essential aspects of other people. It is this process that he calls social alienation, hidden behind one's personas, yet capable of exerting a sinister impact on Humanity. At the same time that man advances materially, he moves further and further from other beings. Thus, the longed-for freedom becomes a frightening trap from which he tries to escape through the conquest of financial resources and the war for power, through absolute passivity towards authoritarianism, or through the path of social conformism. Thus, man can pretend to own something, or to own someone, for in this way he feels that he is not alone. The psychoanalyst believes that acceptance of the other and his inner treasure, the practice of solidarity and working together, the exercise of brotherhood and the institution of social comfort can offer humanity a viable way out of this tragic situation created by man himself.”
(based on Erich Fromm’s Fear of Freedom)
*
Enchanted Mountains, Arendelle
The saying ‘You are not alone’ has never been so well applied to what Killian, Emma, Key, Emm, Liam and Milah are experiencing. Nested in a warm and friendly environment, to where they headed after the early morning meeting, they prepare to cross the underground rivers in an atmosphere filled with Love.
In fact, a large group is gathered in the still private hall of Arendelle's Shelter, at Elsa's palace, sharing knowledge and bringing emotional comfort to the six bearers of Light, Peace and Love in the upcoming fight: one grandmother - Ruth; six parents - Wish Snow, Wish David, Snow, David, Alice and Wish Brennan; three brothers - Senior, Junior and Neal; two sisters-in-law - Wish Regina and Wish Ariel; two sons - Henry and Wish Henry; three daughters-in-law - Cindy, Violet and Robyn, two daughters - Alice and Hope; one granddaughter - Lucy; and lots of friends with their closed ones - Elsa, Gideon, Anna, Kristoff, Ingrid, Merlin, Belle, Rumple, Nemo, Ursula, Archie, Lily, Aunt Em, Dorothy, Gepetto, Granny, Red, Wish Granny, Wish Red, Wish Mulan, Blue, Wish Blue and… Luna and Missy.
...
"This - the company of people pulsating and radiating the purest love energy - is the most powerful preparation and support you could receive, my dear," Wish Snow explains, combing her daughter's golden hair.
Wish David, watching them from a sofa, smiles, impacted by the scene. "We've been watching you Emma, we've been loving you from afar, but being here, so close to you, being able to touch you again… it's such a privilege and honor, my little love... and knowing that you are pregnant with twins that just reminds me of my brother and I and… I-, oh Sweet Honey Pie, my dear Emma, this is so wonderful… I-..." He barely holds a sob before Emm reaches out to hug him, also crying. Circling them with her arms, Wish Snow struggles hard to speak, "its alright to cry, Charming and Emma, especially you, Emma, because of the hormones! Look, here is the plan: we do this now, we cry, while they haven't been born yet and we have time to cry because soon you and Killian, on Earth, and your father and I, in Heaven, will only have time to look after the two precious treasures. Never forget, dear daughter, that we will always find a way to send our spiritual protection to all of you."
"Right, right, your Majesty, great plan - you are the Boss, my love," W. David composes himself before standing up to walk away, leaving them back to their mother-and-daughter moment.
...
As the hours advances, the rapport between everyone also progresses and so do the preparations for an event that nobody knows yet when will happen. "We will sense it," Aunt Em/Athena and W.Snow/Zeus keep repeating like a mantra, despite the anxiety felt by some. "Patience is a Virtue," explains Rumple, in vain, to Anna...
Mama Alice has taken both Emmas to a corner of the huge hall where they lie on large pillows on the floor to receive magnetic passes applied by the healing and regenerating magic of Apollo channeled by her. Snow and Wish Snow, encouraged by Alice, have joined her and are, under the Emissary's guidance, applying Reiki-like passes to their daughters. "The more the merrier," Alice explains to the two zealous mothers.
Relatively close to them, in another side room of the grand hall, Nemo, Merlin, Gideon and Liam work on both Killians' prosthesis so that their batteries will be able to recharge magically.
"After the battle, Little Brothers," Liam insists on teasing them but they decided to pretend they don't care - and deep down they don't, "I still want to work a little harder on these prosthesis - to make them even closer to the originals, you will feel, practically, as if your hands were back to where they should never have left..."
"The original hands have been preserved by magic, did you know that?" Gideon tells Liam. “One of them I already have in my lab, the other one I suppose is tucked away in Wish Rumple’s Castle, if you have time, take a look. "
"I will, I will... you know, having the original hands is much easier," Liam replies, excited about the possibility.
"You know Liam," Killian speaks thoughtfully, "as painful and hard as it has been, in perspective it may not be correct to say that our hands should not have been cut off. That's because losing them was instrumental in the narrative that brought us all here..."
"Aye," Key agrees. "And after so many centuries, so many Destiny crossroads, so much suffering, so many vows of vengeance and piracy precisely because of you and, later, because of our left hands and, most importantly, because of Milah, who would say, Older Brother, but here we are, witnessing the birth of love between you and Milah..." he winks at Killian and they both smile at how Liam blushes.
“We are truly happy for you both, Liam,” Killian then assures him patting his back.
“You have no idea how much,” Key confirms thoughtful. “After all, now we see, it was indeed Milah's fate to find true love with a Jones, it's sort of a poetical irony, a plot twist written by the Fates…”
“I hope you are right Killian, and… Key,” Liam blushes even more, struggling a bit to admit his feelings, “she is really special - you knew that already, and beautiful, and passionate and... I hope especially for her you are right, she deserves eternal happiness and that came to her after finding Peace with her two Baelfires. But let me tell you, the rest in peace concept does not imply that we won't evolve or that changes won't happen. Proving that, now there is this new development..." he sighs shyly, "she got close to a true love, that first time with you, but we all know how much it wasn't meant to be in the big picture. Now this time… though I must let you know that it's different, somehow, in comparison to when we fall in love on Earth... That is, despite our temporary physical bodies we are just souls, spirits, Milah and I. Of course, the essence of Love, in other words, True Love, would happen for us, something meant to be, whenever or wherever dimensional plan we might be, therefore what is happening between us is really true in a deep sense. But as souls, for us, falling in love now is more… subtle, serene, it's a deep calmness though quite intense and elevated on its own.” He finally opens up and ends up laughing with his brothers in a more relaxed way.
Approaching them, Brennan, and the other Liams - Junior and Senior, complete the family team, as they continue with Gideon, Merlin and Nemo, to improve the prosthesis mechanisms, now impregnated with magic.
"Hey Guys! I want to register this moment," Wish Ariel, self declared the photographer of the family, gets close to the group, taking pictures of the Joneses Men.
"Love is in the air…" turning his head slightly to whisper, Brennan confides to Nemo who smiles back and nods.
…
As Aunt Em and Belle intended, right after lunch, with the empathy brought by the loving environment, everyone is already openly discussing the strategies for Day 6 - without even realizing it, a silent, tacit understanding has established that the fight between couples will take place within around 48 hours.
Hope circles from group to group, excitedly running with Missy in the huge hall where everyone is seated. Luna preferred to stay on Lucy's lap while she talks intently with her parents and Neal.
"We should ask for permission for Roland and Coralline to come here," Lucy argues, "because we were outlining an activity suggested by Aesop that could be attached to Em's orchestra alignment performance. We knew from the call for musicians in all realms that she planned to work on arranging a song and would do some online rehearsals, at first, with the selected musicians - mostly young adults. Then we thought and talked about that and… we believe that preteens and teens could contribute with an act created and performed by us. We have had a lot of ideas and inspirations... "
"Yes," Neal confirms, "and I'm feeling a lot of inspiration here in the Enchanted Mountains, as if my magic is being bred by an ancestral energy related to this place - I mean, something coming from the land that has been here for ages. That is, before Arendelle moved here bringing its own ancestral energy to add to the one that already existed, something impregnated in deeper roots... I really need to talk to Blue and Gideon about this feeling of mine."
"So let's talk to Em about the preteens and teens’ activities and to David about the permits," Cindy suggests.
"And Daddy," Lucy turns to Henry. "I think we need your help with the texts we were researching on our Shelter. During a quick visit that King Fergus gave us, he suggested that we rehearse a sort of jester on top of a text. And Aesop suggested we look for a text like a metaphor for what we're living in. But what we have done so far is getting too long, we need to define the narrative and summarize the story better..."
"I'm available to help you," Henry strokes his daughter's hair. "Perhaps the magic pen can help, it is inspiring for writing summaries of complex narratives."
…
At the end of Day 4, more Emissaries and friends have joined the party : summoned by Emm after having agreed to expand the Alignment Performance Program, Fergus, Aesop, Marian and Roland responded promptly, as well as Split Regina, Wish Robin and Coralline. In addition, at the requests of Gepetto and Roland - which resulted in an excellent contribution to the youth group - two members of the Arendelle Teens Shelter, August Pinocchio and Anastasia, also joined the creative group.
…
Having had dinner in the Shelter refectory, they are all back to their Hall, organized in eight working teams: The Savior; The Aligner; The Survivors; The Canals’ Crossing; The First Battle; The Castle Unlocking; The Army Arrival; The Final Battle.
Indifferent, in a direct sense, to all activities, throughout the day Hope, Luna, and Missy have taken several naps on the cushions, placed especially for them in a quieter corner of the Grand Hall, alternating their naps with being extremely alert and awake. Mainly from their dreams they witnessed the unfolding of a memorable day in diverse conversations...
...
"Emma," Marian got close to the trio formed by David, Snow and their daughter, "before Wish Snow comes to apply Zeus's passes on you - they will be important to enhance your lightning magic power - I want to offer you a piece of advice. Make maximum use of this friendly atmosphere surrounding you. As a Savior, you must work to internalize the feeling and energy of Family in a broad, all-encompassing sense: the Human Family where everyone is joined by the feeling of equality - equal rights and access to happiness, which explains your deep sense of Justice. Human Fraternity is the basis of your power as a Savior, my dear…"
...
"Henry," Hope called her brother. "Yeah, my little sister?" Henry bent to become at eye level with her.
"Watch your Pen!!" She smiled, enigmatic, already running away.
"What the hell?!" Henry asked, but soon got his answer, in the form of a fresh new riddle:
"Through the Elders' drums, Freedom. Through the Youngers' dreams, Legend. Through the Moon, Wolf. Through the Eyes, Soul."
Smiling, Henry closed the book, searching for his daughter and her friends . Wish Red and Red, wearing their magic hoods but sensing the energies under their skins, also joined them.
…
"Father, Mother," Gideon and Elsa approached Rumple and Belle already blushing before starting to speak. "You know that what Elsa and I are living is new but we feel it is true as in… a true love. So it is forever and, then… we wanted your formal blessing for our union before you go back to the Elysium Fields and…"
"We have just talked to my aunt, Ingrid, and she loved the idea," Elsa explained, also blushing. "We still need to figure out our living arrangements, even so our castles are relatively close but we have our duties and, you know how these things are, don't you?"
Smiling at their display of shyness, Belle smiled warmly with affection. "You two are so cute!! Of course we will bless you. Hopefully everything will happen as we believe they will but we have a war to win first. Let's focus on that!"
"Gideon, you mother is representing the god of War!! Would you be able to imagine greater irony than that?" And with Rumple's joke they all relaxed and ended up in a family hug .
…
"Killians," Emma called her pirate and his twin.
"Aye, Swan."
"Archie has just made contact- he and Zorro are temporarily in charge of the Teleport Center, by the way, because Chynna and the Dragons are in a field trial experiment for capturing invasive souls. So, he wanted to notify that five elders, Shamans according to them, from the Land without Magic, have just arrived at the Dragons' Castle declaring they came to the United Realms after receiving a call for help from Mother Earth. Ah! They teleported themselves using their own magic and seem to be speaking the truth. Archie explained that he doesn't have any technical means for detecting a glamour spell or any other kind of magic trick, but he is good on human psyche and for him the five men are being honest. They know about the Aligner existence, apparently, because they asked about her whereabouts. Then, Archie has asked permission for giving them Arendelle's coordinates - they don't need assistance with the teleport."
"That's intriguing… Have you talked to your father, love?"
"Not yet, he is busy in a call to Agrabah but we have autonomy to decide..."
"I think we should grant them the free pass because here we have plenty of people able to detect any magic trick... you said they call themselves Shamans, don't you? I suspect they are coming for the Alignment Ceremony," Key proposed, already looking for his wife."
...
"I'm not an expert, this is more an Alice's - perhaps also Ruth's - thing," Ingrid explained to Anna and Kristoff as she touched Anna's belly, "but I'm sensing a little boy on the way…" she smiled at the joy in the new parents to be faces.
"A boy!!" Kristoff exclaimed in awe.
And the strong blond man lifted Anna's apparently fragile body and spun her around at the sound of her giggles. Suddenly realizing she was pregnant, he stopped her in the air and immediately set her back down with the care of the one who carries the most fragile Chinese porcelain.
'I'm still myself, Kris," she composed herself, smiling, "I won't break..."
Merlin neared Anna and Kristoff's celebration exchanging glances with Ingrid, as if talking telepathically with her. "Love will always be victorious, my friend," Ingrid comforted him and, excusing themselves with Anna and Kristoff, the two walked away, continuing their silent conversation, arm in arm, leaving the young couple dreaming, enraptured by the prospect of parenting .
In the middle of their conversation, David and Milah approached Ingrid and Merlin with a message to Merlin sent by Lancelot, who was in charge of the Security in the prison where the revived clones were being kept. It all happened discreetly and quickly. Without alarming, with acknowledgment of just a few people and Emissaries, Merlin and Milah went away in two secret missions, promising to be back as soon as possible.
...
"She is very excited about the theoretical advances that Gideon has made after Rumple and Belle showed him where they kept his notes and her books with studies on the separation body-soul." Split Regina and Wish Robin shared the news about Regina with Henry, Cindy and Wish Regina.
"When did you visit her?" Cindy asked.
"Today, right after lunch," W. Robin replied. "The doctor, Whale, has promised to discharge her tomorrow morning, "just one more night at the hospital," he said, "because I value my sanity and this woman will still drive me insane from insisting about going back to work!""
"Typical of my mom and you..." Henry whispered, smiling tenderly at Split Regina. "Cindy, she should stay with us, we'll find a way to host her. In both houses - ours and hers - there's a working shelter, but she needs us..."
"Sure, the rooms in the house are being used but our closet is so large that it can very well accommodate a single bed, a bedside table and a small desk without taking away our privacy, and our clothes can be stored in suitcases," Cindy agreed already thinking on practicalities, "it's better she stays with us even by the proximity to the hospital. I imagine Whale will want her heart to be returned to her chest there... not to mention that I have a feeling Operation B&S is about to be completed soon."
"With total success, I hope, Split Regina wished, looking at her daughter laughing with her friends.. .
…
"And what are the two Captains Charming laughing about?" Liam and Milah, she already back from her mission, asked, approaching Killian, David, Key, and W. David.
"Nothing in particular," David replied, "just remembering some of the adventures Killian and I have lived together, such as the time we followed a spell recipe!"
"Join us," Key invited them showing the rum flask."We have rum and room for two more!"
…
"After W. Blue presented Fa with a magic wand whose sole power is to transform Jiminy back into human form and then back into cricket, the two became impossible!" W. Red revealed.
"Damn you, they didn't tell us anything..." Granny commented to W. Granny and Gepetto.
"Ah…" W. Mulan smiled, "deep down they are shy. But watching them sunbathing on the porch with their eyes closed and holding hands as they sway on the porch swing is like looking at a beautiful painting…"
...
From the center of the circle, Emm, Fergus and Aesop instructed the attentive audience comprising Lucy, Neal, young Alice, Robyn, August, Anastasia, Wish Henry, Violet, Red and Wish Red about the rehearsals of which they will take part in the next day.
…
"Killian, Key," W. Snow approached them, seizing their chance to be alone. "This is me, speaking as a mother, but also in the name of Zeus. It will be your nature, as Survivors... Poseidon, through Rumple, can explain to you in more detail how that works - talk to him about it later, if you feel the need of a better understanding of technatilities - but as I was saying, it will be up to you to survive and protect your wives. Yours is the defensive magic. Your wives have the more offensive magic, especially the Savior. The Aligner will stay behind because that's the natural order of their powers: one ensures Happy Endings/Beginnings and the other ensures Happy Livings. I have applied special magnetic passes to both which enhanced their lightning strikes - combined, acting together, they may be able to disintegrate souls just like Zeus' Crystal used to do. And Key, don't worry, the babies are totally safe and protected, surrounded by special spells. Your mother, and Apollo, have already made sure of that. So... you both will ensure that your Emmas survive the attacks that they will suffer."
"I see, but… Now, you try to see from our angle. We are practical beings, you know," Key argued and turned to Killian, "and as our mother uses to say, ours is a Mathematician's mind. But we are also experienced captains. That means that despite being able to dig into conceptual abstractions, we need to know how the concrete applications they are meant for will be implemented…"
"Exactly, precisely. In other precise and exact words, what do we have to do, more specifically? Please?" Killian then asked exasperated.
"Always stay close to them. Your power lies in your intuition and it only manifests with full intensity in the Present. Therefore, neither Zeus nor any oracle is so powerful to anticipate your action. But know that you will know what to do, acting in perfect timing - this our Oracles have foreseen."
Both Killians nodded, circumspect.
...
At the end of the long day Elsa offered the palace for all to spend the night and they thought it would be good to accept the offer, remaining united for more hours in that same place - "it will resemble a large camping area" , someone remembered. They were deciding where to spread more pillows and blankets across the floor when Midas/Morpheus and Farah/Demeter arrived sharing the news: they had sensed, in the Dream Realm and in the Vegetable Realm, the vibrations of strongly dark activities coming from not too far from where they are. Probably from Wish Rumple’s castle.
“We suspect that the four villains have already managed to break the connection between Wish Pan and Wish Cruella and their clones, which allowed the souls of Pan and Cruella to incarnate in the clones,” Midas tells them, “which would be the only reasonable way to explain the extremely intense and unusual vibrations of highly distorted and perverted activities identified by Morpheus and his two brothers affecting and interfering in the Dreams Realm - with potential for disturbing everybody's sleep tonight, besides creating a negative vibration for the Animals, Vegetables and Mineral Kingdoms.”
"That makes sense, for them managing to break the connection" Rumple mumbles, "all they had to do was to find in Wish Rumple's castle the notes and books similar to mine and Belle's and develop their technique based on them."
“Well then, our response to that must be with stronger and more intense activities of Light, Peace and Love,” Ingrid says, discreetly winking at Ruth but her gesture did not escape the attentive gossip supporters (as Henry had labeled them) Killian, Key, David and Cindy. Immediately after, Ingrid asks Elsa to call the string quartet musicians that, as Elsa and Emm had told her earlier that day, were housed in the palace’s shelter.
…
Short after Ingrid's suggestion…
“Mommy, Daddy,” Hope, waking up from another nap, calls her parents, “I was with Luna and Missy flying over there, in the sky, and they asked to tell you that when the North Wind blows wide… no, that was not what they said, please, help me Daddy, It was not 'wide', so then what…?”
“Hmm... Would be wildly, my little pirate?” Killian tries to guess.
“Aye! that, Papa! when the North Wind blows wildly and the snow falls, then you, Mama, Uncle Key, Aunt Emm, Uncle Liam and Aunt Milah must go.”
“Very well", Rumple, approaches Hope turning to everyone watching the little girl while winking at her - she giggles.
“We have our clue, Dearies.” Many of those present stop what they were doing and look surprised after hearing the peculiar pronoun, once favored by the former Dark One. Rumple smiles sideways, pleased by the intended effect, that is, to draw everyone's attention. “Listen carefully, everyone, we know what we have to do, and right now, what we have to do is relax and… dance!” He then signalizes a command for the string quartet, already positioned high in the balcony, to play...
As the music sounds in the grand hall, everybody - old couples, new couples, old dancers, young dancers, in pairs, in a solo - start to waltz, lulled by the harmonic and smooth vibrations. Blue and Wish Blue, morphing into little fairies, flutter around spreading pixie dust, and even Hope, Missy and Luna flutter giggling, barking and meowing through the air, spreading their happiness - it's not known if Luna and Missy are flying by their own magic or by Hope's magic, but the fact is that the Light, Love and Peace emanating from the hall with all dancers and couples who, as the song advances, play of switching pairs in a choreography marked by grace and lightness, neutralize and overcome the negative effects generated by the two diabolic couples mating wildly nearby, at Wish Rumple’s Castle.
Enchanted Forest, Wish Evil Queen's Castle
While the main leaders were gathered in Arendelle, in one of the many fortresses isolated for hosting hibernating clones - 50 thousands in this case - the Shelter Guardians, Will Scarlet and his wife, Norah, spent the morning hearing weird noises and feeling goosebumps - despite the heating from all fireplaces and their bodies' isolation provided by the rubber clothes.
"Might be those Souls that crossed the path to Earth. I bet that, somehow, the shelter isolation had holes and they got in through them. Time to ask for help, Will, try to contact the Dragon…"
"Why him in particular, Norah?"
"Oir bha e gu math coibhneil nuair a bha e an seo agus a ’tabhann cuideachadh nam biodh feum againn air rud sam bith…"
(*Because he was very kind when he came here and offered help if we needed something…)
"Norah, chan eil e gu feum a bhith a ’bruidhinn mu dheidhinn Albannaich Gàidhlig - ma tha na fuaimean sin air an adhbhrachadh le taibhsean chan e an iomlaid cànain a chuireas an t-eagal orra."
(*Norah, it's no use talking in Gaelic scots - if these noises are really caused by ghosts it won't be the language change that will scare them off.)
"Alright, alright, but call him, please, Will."
"That I'll do, then, luv…"
"I love you, Husband!" Norah sends him a kiss through her veil.
…
"What is that?" Asks Will to Maleficent, who flew there with Jiao-long, Chynna and Lily (leaving Zorro and Archie in charge of the Teleport Center) upon receiving Norah and Will's call for help .
"A device, kind of a magic trap developed by Chynna under her father's supervision as soon as the news regarding the souls invasions were confirmed. It hasn't been tested yet - so we are not sure about its efficacy. I'll skip the more technical details but It requires three dragons - flying counter clockwise in a circle holding these sonars emitting a frequency out of your spectral hearing range, and three people on the ground, holding the magic traps."
"So you need our help at ground level," Will realizes.
"Exactly, and that's why Chynna came with us, to complete the triangle. If these devices work as expected, every time we need to use them we will have to make sure that there are at least three people available to operate the traps. And I guess we will need to use them a lot, given the number… they said that thousands of souls had escaped, remember?"
…
"Hold on tight! Whatever happens, don't undo the triangulation down there, open the lid of the box when we get to the top and only close it when we land back!!" Jiao-long shouts at Will, Chynna and Norah, positioned outside the castle in a triangle-shaped formation, as he Mal and Lily, already morphed into dragons, begin a low-flying spiraling upward to the tips of the castle spears, with the sonars slung around their necks.
...
"What is going on here?" Milah asks Norah, getting out of a ray of light and intending to enter the castle.
"We're trying to trap the rebel souls that managed to enter the castle!" Chynna shouted, from one of the other three vertices, high enough to be heard by Milah.
"Oh, I see…" Milah/Persephone answers, looking at the three dragons in flight and figuring out their experiment.
Shouting back she lets them know that she will enter with two people, about to arrive from Agrabah - "don't worry, we will be properly protected to avoid skin contact with the clones."
She then explained that they would use a locating spell to find a specific clone but promised to work without disturbing their soul-trapping experiment. Next, she contacted Charom telepathically, asking him to hold on at the banks of the Styx and wait, with the soul he was about to bring to Earth, until receiving her green signal to continue.
…
Running in parallel and without any major unforeseen events, both operations ended successfully. Taking advantage of Charom's arrival, Milah managed to coordinate with him and the Dragons a third operation: the return of all souls (captured by the new devices just tested and approved for use wherever necessary) to the Underworld, where Persephone and Arthur would make sure to keep them locked as prisoners.
Finally, with Jiao-long's help, the localized clone was carefully transported to Gideon's lab, along with the two travelers that came from Agrabah. The two urns, brought by Charom, were taken there by Milah, Merlin and his companions: gradually, everyone and everything getting ready for next day's "experiments"...
Storybrooke, Tremaine-Mills home
Dawn brought with it the need for changes, including the move of those who were gathered in Arendelle to their next destinations: united by the common goal but aware of the diversity of positioning and strategic actions. So after saying goodbye to Lucy and her friends, who followed Emm, Fergus, Aesop, Wish Red, Red, the five shamans and several musicians of all realms to Westside Storybrooke, Henry Mills and Cinderella Tremaine returned home from where they would await Regina's arrival.
Sitting in front of his laptop, Henry updates his diary, registering random thoughts he might use later in his new book, while Cindy, by his side, coordinates permits to transport a lot of people to Westside Storybrooke.
Henry Mills' Personal Log
"Day 5 of the Emissaries on Earth
We are waiting for her return from the hospital, my mother… the one who raised me in this same house where I live with my wife and daughter, this same house created by her, then, dark magic, fruit of her own particular mess. And despite her messy mind, then, she managed to love me and raise me well perhaps because of what happened out of the bubble, where she tried so hard to keep me in, got out of her tight control and triggered what has always been meant to be...
From the perspective of Time, today I can understand how my True Believer nature played a leading role in my peculiar childhood - it saved me, ensured my sanity. When everything seemed confusing because the references around me were subjected to a Frozen Time and did not provide the support expected from a 'reference' supposed to guide the physical, psychological and emotional growth I was experiencing, my True Believer's nature came in my help and rescued me. Somehow I believed, somehow I knew that sooner or later it would all make sense, that I would have to wait and, when necessary, act. I was not able to rationalize this way, but I sensed deep down that there was a higher mechanism in motion, that the gears of Time were moving even when apparently broken (to everyone in Storybrooke except me), stopped by a dark curse that I wasn't, then, aware of.
Emotional references were the most confusing, on second thought, because despite living fake biographies and characters, the cursed people surrounding me, involuntary actors in a forced role-play where their true identity was subtracted - except for my mother, of course - preserved in some sleeping corner of their mind and heart the essence of what they never ceased to be. The most ironic thing was that I relived the story with shifted roles where my Lucy, another True Believer, was the one aware of a parallel reality subtracting our true lives - except for the two Belfrays and Goethel, initially. My grandpa Rumple was always quick to 'awake' from the curses, though...
But back to my childhood, my step mother, Regina, did love me in the best way she could, I knew she cared about me and, sometimes, with display of tenderness, but she was not an adept of affectionate words - I came to know them when I got old enough to go to School and attended Mary Margareth's classes: that was when the gears really started to incipiently be prepared to move. With her I learned to use the emotional language as a way of expressing feelings and emotions, as well as being a channel of connection with other people. I learned that, on many occasions, to understand each other in interpersonal relationships is sufficient an expression of affection, emotional, feeling or, in other words, showing what we have inside. My grandmother introduced me to the world of affections and to The Book… "
"Have you listened to any word of my question?" Cindy smiles at him.
"Ah!? Oh, no… Sorry… I was too concentrated. Could you repeat it, please?"
"I asked at what time the Ceremony will start. People are asking..."
"Ah… I'm not sure and I guess nobody is, yet. I know I will join the rehearsals, taking the two Grannys with me, after lunch. I guess it will be around 9:00 pm. From a technical point of view, Nemo and the Dragon need the whole day to instal special repeaters in the telecom towers, replacing the ones in operation throughout the entire United Realms and also distribute new big screens in all shelters. For this task, helping Lily and Mal, Phileas Fogg and Passepartout will provide aerial support piloting their two airships, while Killian and Key will provide maritime and river support piloting their two Jolly Rogers. Not to mention that Red and W. Red will need the whole day to gather their pack and only then they will define their best timing - they need a specific Full Moon timing. And, of course, the artists and production staff will need hours of rehearsal…"
"Oh, I see, I will answer with a generic around 9:00pm then. Thanks, my love, go back to your log..."
"You're always welcome, Honey."
…
Sighing slowly, Henry reads the last paragraphs before continuing...
"Deep down, when she was alone with me at home, my mother expressed her affection behind her façade, her persona, her Storybrooke Mayor profile, hiding her other persona, her Evil Queen mask. That is, if we define affection as all expressions that show the other how we feel when we are together, but also far away, or the desires we have for that other - she showed that to me.
However, no doubt that as a kid I have not been taught by her to communicate this way, because often she did not use this affective communication - as if she did not consider it important, even though it is actually fundamental to human relationships.
After the curse was broken, along the years that followed it, my mother and I perfected the use of affectionate words in our relationships that are full of feeling, soul, desire, content and meaning. Robin Hood represents in my mom's life the moment she really started to overcome her difficulty of expressing affection. He was her professor of showing also with words, putting out what she felt, making their relationship different and special. Her change after him was remarkable, I know she found it difficult, weird, ridiculous and even unusual to do so, because she often learned with her mother not to show what she had inside and to hide her feelings because she thought this would be a sign of weakness…
My Mom, Regina, is still healing from her traumas and difficulties based on a misconception of emotional hardness and a lack of emotional upbringing through which she should have taken the basis for teaching me to express my affections and to manage my emotions. I was lucky in finding my other Mom, Emma. I was lucky in rescuing my true origin - that prevented me from knowing the pain for not expressing myself.
By one side, my upbringing based on wrong beliefs kept screaming in my mind that by being insensitive and ignoring my feelings I would be less exposed to the pain and suffering that they can cause us. But on the other side, Emma Swan taught me the contrary (not always voluntarily), especially when she blocked her emotions and raised her defensensive mechanisms and walls. With her I learned that human reality is quite different, for pain is precisely what we feel when we do not express what we feel or when it is not communicated to us. With her I learned the power of affectionate words and we broke the first dark curse because of that. If I were taught to use affectionate words from early childhood, I would have known earlier how powerful they are, both by hearing and uttering them. They have the power to show our inner self and to bond with the inner self of the other."
Closing and opening his eyes, Henry turns to his wife, his Cinderella, with an urge to express the wave of love he felt for her, all of a sudden.
“I want you well, my wife, mother of my daughter... In fact, I love you dearly, Ella. Have I told you, today, that I feel special when I'm with you? Then, know that I'm happy by your side and that… you are the most special person I know!!"
Smiling her brightest smile, Cindy responds with a curious "what is going on, Henry Daniel Mills?" while reaching out to kiss him passionately.
"Hmm…" he answers savoring their hot kisses, "I felt an urge to express my feelings for you with words. Want to try this same exercise? Tell back what you are feeling…"
After thinking, foreheads touching, she replies with a smile, "okay… I feel good when you hear me."
"Well, I feel important when I hear you," he gives her back.
“Henry, I am at peace when I am near you...”
“I want to continue with you...”
“I always want to be able to count on you...”
“I want the best for you...”
"I want to hug you..."
"I feel loved by you...”
“I feel spoiled and… I think I've heard your phone, Henry, must be Whale.”
...
Regina is already settled in her improvised room, watching from her bed Henry and Cindy sharing a desk, both working on their laptops. "Updating your log, Henry?" She asks him with interest.
"Yeah… more a bit of musing rather than entering new data." He answers. "I was wondering about the power of healing coming from the power of affectionate words…"
"Ah, that, I like the sound of that: affection. I have thought a lot about this theme, lately… When we express our affection, we release emotions that sometimes overwhelm or block those who do not express them. If I only have known that earlier…" she sighs thoughtfully.
"Mom, loving words heal and unite those who use them, releasing the painful emotions and feelings that were at the root of silent suffering. Therefore, I want, I need you to know that I love you."
"We all love you, Regina." Cindy reinforces Henry's declaration, as they stand up, heading to Regina's corner for hugging her affectionately.
Enchanted Mountains, Gideon's Castle
Fortunately, the night passed in relative quiet, especially after Farah and Jasmine arrived in the private wing of Gideon's Castle. Only with their arrival did Aladdin finally breathe a sigh of relief since he could see with his own eyes that his beloved was indeed more flushed and restored from the sickness due to her pregnancy. His mother-in-law indeed took on the responsibility of treating her daughter with mysterious teas made from the herb mix that only she knew. "Trust me," Farah had told him, but even then his worry was inevitable.
Despite the relief, the major concern shared with Lancelot, which kept him company at night watch, remained. Few things scare Aladdin - a fearless man with self-esteem regained after healing from his guilt for cutting his fate as a Savior. But spending the night making sure that the two urns, brought by Milah, containing two newcomer souls from the Underworld remained closed and untouched was too much. "Worse than being careful not to let a genius escape his lamp," he spent the night thinking.
To further increase insomnia, the presence of two prisoners, Wish Felix, whom he brought, and a cloned Sherazade, brought by David, Lancelot and Merlin, was more than too much. Particularly, the fake Sherazade, sedated under the effect of a soothing pass applied by Merlin, was the last straw to spill over the glass of courage. The knowledge of Nimue's presence, though anesthetized, was too disturbing for the alert minds of Lancelot, Guinevere (who arrived later to sympathize with her husband), Aladdin and Jasmine.
"The real Sherazade would entertain us by telling stories…" Jasmine whined, missing her cousin and best friend.
Despite the worry, Guinevere and Jasmine managed to relax and sleep because, fortunately, Farah stayed with them after going briefly to Arendelle to bring Midas with her for the nocturne vigil. Alternating their night watch with little naps, the others remained alert ("they have magic power, that counts...", Aladdin assured himself thinking about the two Emissaries).
…
Gideon and Belle arrive first - it is still dark in the late October morning, and are immediately greeted by all night watchers, already having breakfast.
"Where are the others?" An anxious Aladdin asks.
“They are coming soon,” Belle answers.
"I told him there was no need to worry so much, I asked him to relax ," Farah explains to Belle telepathically, "but he didn’t listen. I'm learning to never ask to relax, straight away, someone that is in such a state of nerves…" she chuckles.
"I see you…" Aladdin quickly reacts with a smart remark to Belle and Farah. "You are talking about me, aren't you? I know you are…"
"He's smart." Belle notices.
"Very much, a good observer." Farah agrees. "No wonder my daughter fell in love with him: good heart, great mind…"
"Still gossiping about me, I see." Aladdin complains with a pout and Jasmine laughs.
Turning to Lancelot and the others, Belle finally explains, "Rumple is coming soon, he made a detour in Storybrooke, a quick visit to old friends of us… And I think that Merlin, Milah, Ruth, Alice and W. Snow will follow him with negligible delay."
"Where are you keeping the clones?" Belle asks Gideon, looking around in her son's Lab.
"Over there," he points to two narrow beds in the right corner near which another ray of light shines, bringing Ruth and Merlin.
"Good morning, everyone," she says with a calm smile, already sensing the atmosphere and sending soothing waves towards Aladdin's direction.
…
Rumple arrived soon after and they have already started to assemble the setup for running the first series of trials: the one for simultaneously breaking the connection between Wish Felix and his clone, thus allowing Felix's soul to incarnate in the liberated clone.
"The procedure to be followed is completely described in my old notebook, probably the same used by Wish Pan and Wish Cruella with their own clones," Rumple explains. "We must follow it carefully or the original, Wish Felix, will die. We just need to wait for Milah, we need her help in dealing with Felix's soul..."
"Wait no more," says Milah coming with Wish Snow out of another ray. "Let's do it! Where is the urn containing the first soul?”
"Here," Belle passes the urn to her.
…
Wish Felix and Felix are both awake, but still groggy. The experiment was successful and they are under Alice's, who arrived later, and Ruth's care.
"Are you done with us? No more exams? Now what?" Felix questions them with a mix of perplexity and insecurity.
"You are both in healthy - both physical and psychological - conditions. We are done with the exams," Alice tells them. "Now you wait, as everyone else, to meet those two old friends of yours. That will happen tomorrow."
"As soon as my son, Liam, with the help of his wife, Milah, manages to break the protection spell that is keeping those Pans, friends of these Felixes, from being reachable," Alice completes in thought.
"Wife, hein?" Ruth giggles, telepathically.
"Let's be practical and name correctly what they are to each other, my dear… You see, they were meant to be anyway but, between you and me, you and Ingrid gave them a little help, didn't you? Or better rephrasing, your divine patrons gave them a little push, haven't they?"
"I won't say no to that…" Ruth smiles.
"Now I'll call my granddaughter. Her wife, Robyn, and her brother-in-law, Roland, are with her in Storybrooke, rehearsing for tonight's ceremony, but they were eager to know the result of this operation - Robin Hood's resurrection depends on it."
"It still depends on breaking the connection with Regina's heart, don't raise their expectations too much ," Ruth advises.
"I won't, they are aware of the other risks but deserve to hear these good news… They know that walking requires one step after the other."
…
The preparations for the second and most challenging trial, since they developed the procedure based only on old books of Belle’s collection, are in progress. Meanwhile, in a small room adjacent to the lab, Merlin and Sherazade, aka Nimue, talk in private.
"Want to know what really moved me and made me give up until screaming and begging to Lancelot for allowing me to talk to you again, Merlin? I'll tell you if you explain to me what you have done to regain your physical body. No trick, just curious."
"It’s simple. Actually, my physical body is temporary, soon I'll be less dense again and will be back to my ethereal - and eternal - subtle body; a soul is what I am, Nimue."
"I see… I will tell you, then, as promised, the truth. When I called you, in prison, you submitted me to a lie detection test and you came to the conclusion that I was really giving up, I really wanted to get out of this body. This body is my real prison, not the cell you locked me in. Sherazade's body is a healthy body - she was a pretty woman, still is, I guess. But I don't fit in it, I don't feel it as I expected. Hell, I can even touch it, trying to pleasure myself but… I feel nothing. I’m not a block of ice, though, something inside me, a residual memory that never left me, still feels and misses what I've been longing for ages. Perhaps, the coldness is blocked by something that belonged to her, I’m not sure, I’ve been dead for so long… But I never forgot the feeling... Ever.
For centuries, as a Dark One, the first in a long lineage of Dark Ones, I've been trying to feel again what I miss so much, what I’ve been longing for, but it never happened. All the power that my dark magic gave me has never been able to make me feel it again. I remember the feeling, though, the memory remains. In my secular life I had so many lovers, I took part of so many orgies and, of course, I did feel a temporary pleasure, a physical orgasm, but something was always lacking… after each orgasm what came was always an emptiness, a void and like in addition, I wanted more, I always searched for another dose of the drug…
I thought that coming back to the physical world would change things. I’ve tried before, coming back, I mean. You know, when I used Dark Hook to kill you - you Merlin, the only man I truly loved. And still do. There... there I said it. I love you. And I have, for millenniums, tried to feel again: to love and to be loved in the way we used to love each other... You have always been my true love and I hated you so much because of that. I hated you because you knew I would kill you, through Hook, and made it easier for me by starting to prepare the Dark course knowing that the final ingredient would be your own heart..."
"It was our Destiny, Nimue, I've never challenged the Fates."
'I know. I paid the price for learning the unfolding of your 'bits and pieces' of forsightings. But that happened so long ago, there is no way back for me now.
The fact is that I would do anything to get back to a living body again. I wanted to be able to get back to what I had with you. Perhaps things could be different if I inhabited a kind of Wish Nimue's clone, a kind of my own clone twice. I guess that would be better, maybe that would work. But in Sherazade’s body it is not working, not at all. Especially after you visited me in prison…
I know I’ll be sent back to Hell, to Tartarus, I’m aware of the consequences of what I’ve done. I’ve been too much in the dark side to nourish any kind of hope. I don’t hope. At all, but as I told you, I don’t care to be treated as a traitor by the other rebels, I don’t mind their judgment. Everything will be better than to live in this body.”
Someone knocks at the door but Merlin already knows who is there: Wish Snow, channeling Zeus.
Asking telepathically for one minute more, Merlin looks into Nimue’s eyes. "It's time to go, Nimue. You have been for so long in the Dark side that for your soul there wouldn't be salvation anymore. But as they say, the most powerful magic that exists is Love. So, I ask you to never lose Hope. I know you need punishment, but you must know that there is no meaning for a punishment if it is not used as an instrument for redemption. Once upon a time you were not corrupted, once upon a time, your soul was not dark. Don’t lose hope, my love. You will rest for a while, maybe centuries, in the same urn that brought today another soul from the Underworld. You will be put under a kind of sleeping therapy and won’t suffer. You will undergo a long, very long therapy, but you will heal. The Nimue I knew and came to love still exists underneath the darkness that corrupted her soul, you have just proved that she is still there. Now, come with me.”
Standing up, Nimue takes his hand once more, and walks with him to the lab. “And to think that it all started because of a water goblet. It all started because I wanted to be immortal, just like you were, I wanted to drink a sacred water…” she smiles sadly.
Storybrooke, Brothers' Village
Leroy, as he prefers to be called, and W. Grumpy (“or simply Grumpy since my twin denied the name that registered our fight for love, humpf") got permission to marry Nova and Wish Nova shortly after the creation of the United Realms. Blue and Wish Blue finally agreed to allow the fairies, if they so desire, to date and relate sexually to whom and as they please without losing their magical powers - and their wings. With the weddings, and the move of the Wish dwarfs to Storybrooke, the 14 brothers built a village near the docks with 18 terrace houses. Three of the four extra houses were occupied by the sailors Smee, Wish Smee, and Kevin Smith and his wife, Laura, leaving only one empty house - “for our collective meals and meetings or eventual guests…”
…
"Could you please repeat - again - the riddle…?" Doc asks his twin, W. Doc, at the large breakfast table in the guest house.
"Okay, here I go again! Life is a grain of wheat who dies to be born as bread - from pixie dust we come, to pixie dust we will return ," W. Doc says what Henry's pen has written, the best and only clue they have, so far, that confirmed that their Pixie Dust mines are indeed the place for them to search for the Earth end in the Magic Fountain connection.
"The riddle reminds me," Smee speaks, "that I was going to have another slice of cheese and that, of course, requires more bread. So," and then he turns to Sleepy with a grin to ask mischievously, "could you be kind enough to pass the bread, please?"
"Once a mouse…" Leroy mumbles to be heard only by Nova, who discreetly kicks his legs from below the table.
"Everybody fixated on the Pixie Dust part..." Kevin wanders, "but have you ever thought that maybe the missing secret information concerns wheat and bread?"
"Yes ..." W. Nova agrees, "this part is still mysterious to me..."
“I think….” W. Happy smiles, “that I get it: Life is a grain of wheat means the seed of Life…”
“Yeah…” W. Sleepy agrees, dreamily, “and then, when the grain is born it becomes wheat!”
Dopey, then, stands up and throws himself on the ground, mimicking someone dying.
“I get it,” W. Bashful explains, “to become bread… the wheat has to dye, then it will live again as a bread.”
“A delicious one, by the way,” W. Smee speaks with a full mouth, winking at them, and making all laugh.
“The circles of Life are eternal - that is the meaning of the riddle,” Kevin concludes.
“Nova,” Sneezy turns to his sister-in-law to ask, “what exactly makes - or used to make, the gods immortal?”
“You see,” she answers, “according to one of the most ancient perceptions, immortality was granted by eating a specific nutriment. The food of immortality is related to beautiful gardens and trees of the Olympus that produce sublime fruits - ambrosia - or some special nutriment inaccessible to humans. What we know for sure is that the gods ate ambrosia drinking nectar, both prepared with a sacred water provided by the Youth Fountain. Both words, ambrosia and nectar, mean one thing: immortality.”
"You are partially right, Deary,” Rumple’s voice come from a ray of light from which he materializes in the room.
Standing up, Leroy and Grumpy start to panic, preparing to scream and run because of the ex-Dark One unannounced visit, but the kind smile of the Emissary, radiating a warm energy of peace and love calms them immediately and they sit down again.
“Who are you?” Laura Smith asks. “If you came in peace, have a seat with us,” she invites him, already making room for him in their bench.
“Thank you, but I’ll be brief, I'll be working soon at my son’s castle, the one that used to be my castle when I was alive. I really need to be there very soon, we will carry out important experiments regarding breaking the connection between the hibernating clones and their original bodies. You see, I’m Rumpelstiltskin, ex-Dark One,” and he smiles at Leroy and Grumpy. “I’m actually dead but, as you already must have heard, I’m temporarily on Earth as an Emissary of Poseidon, the god of the Seas, Rivers, Horses and Earthquakes.”
‘Wow,” that is a lot of attributes, you - that is, your Patron, must be quite busy,” Doc remarks.
“He is, and he asked me to visit you, that’s why I’m here. You were wondering about ambrosia and nectar… the gods have both and a combination of them. The ingredients for preparing them, including a special honey produced in Persephone’s garden at Olympus, require - all of them, Water. Not any kind of water, but - as you know - the one coming from the Youth Fountain.”
“You said you are the God of the Rivers, don’t you?” W. Doc asks.
“Exactly. Listen, let’s go straight to the point as we are running against time. What Wish Pan and Wish Cruella did, instructed by Cruella who, in the Underworld, stole an ancient scroll and a book, was to cut the sacred spiritual connection between Earth and the Olympus. She instructed them to perform a ritual at the banks of an underground river, in the Enchanted Mountains, that broke the chain. To restore the connection a similar ritual must be performed by the same persons - or entities. In other words, only those who unplugged it are able to plug it again.”
"But that means all our effort, one whole day searching in vain for a Fountain was meant to be useless, so much noise for nothing ..." Leroy grumbles.
"On the contrary, Leroy," Rumple intervenes. "Your effort will be rewarded if you do what I am going to say - and in this part the contribution is much more mine than Poseidon's who, like you, had concluded that the problem was insoluble. My ability to find loopholes was extremely fortuitous and made us find the way out of this maze. Well, here's the map of Maine's water resources." And with a gesture of Rumple a map of Maine appears on the table.
"Your Pixie Dust Mines have showed you new trails of water that you have been tracking - and all of them have ended up in dry fountains. That’s because you were not the ones that performed the unplugging ritual. The Mineral World is trying to help us by creating these trails but they don’t last for too much and dry soon. However, as water always finds its way out, new streams will keep appearing in your mines. Next time you go there, that is, today, after breakfast, you will be prepared. For the connection to be restored you will have to track the streams of water with a new approach.” And at that, he magically brings a small trident and gives it to Kevin. “Here, take this with you, as sailors, you four must go with the dwarfs and the fairies - you too, Laura. Why you, sailors? Because your connection with this mini-trident will be stronger.”
“As soon as you get to the stream end, you use the Trident to touch the water: a new Fountain will spring its magic waters then. Here is the loophole: what has been unplugged can only be plugged by whom performed the first ritual. But that doesn’t prevent anyone - us, or better saying, you, to create a new connection, one that hasn’t been unplugged because it didn’t exist before. This trident is a miniature of Poseidon’s trident and is impregnated with enough power to energize the water, to create a new Fountain on Earth. Immediately after touching the water, the Fairies, here on Earth, together with the Lilac Fairies, at Olympus, will fly over the waters to spread their Pixie Dust over them. The Mineral Elemental will help, they are on the alert, waiting for you. Good luck, Dearies!” Rumple smiles mischievously, content with the effect his dearies still have on people and disappears, heading to Gideon’s castle.
“What are we waiting for?” Happy stands up, already picking up his coat and enchanted ax.
“We are going, we are going,” Grumpy mumbles also preparing to go to their mines. “I only hope it works, this time…”
...
This time it works.
East-side Storybrooke, Multi-use Orchestra and Stage Room
Time is indeed Elastic, otherwise one single day wouldn't be enough for all the work that had to be done. And worked hard, all day towards the Ceremony at night, they have. The meticulous planning defined the day before was a key enabler for allowing them to achieve their goal. Seen from afar, the frantic pace of people resembled a swarm of bees in random agitation. However, as bees in their over-organized colonies, seen 'closely', there was a coordinated ordering where their individual activity complemented each other.
...
Although not quite ready for the purpose it has been intended, the Multiuse Orchestra and Stage Room was quickly adapted to accommodate all Alignment Ceremony preparation activities - in addition to the ceremony itself. To this end, there were taken to the new building, located on the outskirts of Eastside Storybrooke (aka Chinese Village), a great number of furniture, musical instruments, fabrics and materials for making native costumes and headdresses, real-time recording and broadcasting equipment, sound and lighting equipment, and whatever it took to accomplish in less than 10 hours of hard, coordinated work, the most important ceremony before the battle against the two Pans and the two Cruellas. (News from Nature elementals came that the two couples, also in ritualistic preparation, had spent the night before and apparently continued in the morning in a wild mating that involved sacrificing animals and plants).
Originally, the Rehearsal and Stage rooms had been designed by Emm to be part of the Music College complex, a project she had been developing. Initially, she had considered using some of her parents' castle halls, adapted as Chamber Music, Choral and Orchestra rooms, but was eventually convinced by the arguments of Storybrooke architects, most closely connected to the Land without Magic's architectural advances. “Believe us, the acoustic and sound effects we can achieve by building new facilities using state-of-the-art technological resources are vastly superior to those obtained in the palace halls adapted for this same purpose," they explained to her.
...
Throughout the day the running was intense. Backstage with proof of clothing, makeup tests, diverse rehearsals, editing of texts, adjustments and tuning of instruments and voices... Amid all this, Hope, always accompanied by Luna and Missy, and under her godmother's care, mingled with the frenzy, spreading (with small gestures of magic) twinkles and golden stars in the air - "they are for joy," she explained every time someone asked what she was doing.
Some people kept coming and going, coordinating the preparations for the Ceremony with other equally important activities taking place in parallel throughout the day. Killian and Key took turns with W. Brennan, Liam and Milah captaining the two Jolly Rogers to transport the 3-D screens to more remote locations, while the two airships and the three dragons flew back and forth, setting up the television signal retransmitters and antennas network.
"Will the signal be received at the Land without Magic?" Chad asked Nemo, "From here we get the signal that is transmitted from there..."
"Not because the carrier frequency we're using is outside the operating range of the equipment they use, and besides, I'm using quantum encryption so that even if someone picks up the signal they can't decode it," Nemo explained.
Emma, enamored with the number prepared by the Youngers with Henry's help, took over their stage direction and choreography, while Emm spent most of the time rehearsing with the orchestra and Ursula the performance of the chosen song.
Wish Ariel, Senior, Junior and Liam took over the direction of photography, sound and lighting. Liam and his Olympian Patron were extremely helpful with all equipment while Ursula took over the conduct of the orchestra, as Emm had to sing the song.
Split Regina, Wish Regina, Zelena and Wish Apprentice took on tasks that involved more sophisticated magic, and so, little by little, the Ceremony started to take shape.
In the middle of the afternoon, those who had been working on other missions joined the teams, so that by the end of the afternoon the finishing touches began to be given.
Red and Wish Red were in charge of the makeup, Snow of the locker room, and Johanna and both Grannys took over the food and drink.
To calm their fast-moving hearts as the time of the Ceremony approached, Alice, Ingrid and Ruth began to apply reassuring passes and massages and later, with the arrival of Marian, Tiana, Jasmine, Anna and Merida, they formed a team to apply collective sessions of Reiki, energizing everyone with pacifying waves.
Gepetto worked during the afternoon on carving special chairs for the musicians, using enchanted wood, and Moe adorned the hall (audience and stage) with flowerpots.
Gradually the special guests: kings, queens, Emissaries and Magicians began to arrive and settle into the small auditorium. The cameras, sound and lighting tested, all set.
...
Henry, the first to present, takes a deep breath and walks to the backstage, where all presenters and artists are already concentrated. Cindy, from an armchair in the audience, sends him a kiss wishing him luck.
*
Enter Henry Mills, the Author.
"I greet all Living Beings in all dimensions and realms interconnected by the Power of Light, Peace and Love.
Two days ago, the Magic Pen of which I am the temporary guardian, which makes me the current Author, prophesied the script of the Alignment Ceremony - a Sacred Art shared tonight with everyone in the United Realms, Olympus and Elysium Fields through this real-time transmission thanks to the Power of Magic, Science and Technology. Its Sacred Mystery will resonate and awaken within us the Warriors of the Earth, Moon and Sun.
The poetic riddle, base of the Ceremony defined by the magic pen, was:
"Through the Elders' drums, Freedom. Through the Youngers' dreams, Legend. Through the Moon, Wolf. Through the Eyes, Soul."
To the inner call for planning, organizing, producing, directing, performing and playing the Alignment, many responded. The Spirit of Light, Peace and Love drove, in record time, the hard work of this great number of people behind the scenes, in a collective effort, for producing tonight's ceremony.
From telecom infrastructure to big screens' distribution logistics, from magic teleport to magic protection spell, from stage teleprompter to magic assistance, from costumes to makeup, from photography direction to 3-D devices development, from enchanted wood provision to set design, from cameras' operation to stage direction, from dressing room assistance to backstage snacks, from production assistance to stage lighting, from sound engineering to live audience assistance, from magic healing to Reiki therapy, from art direction to teleplay & script, from scene choreography to screenplay, from executive production to general direction, from enchanted furniture and flowers to the delicious meals we were fed with during rehearsals and meetings: to all, Gratitude is in Order - we are making History.
In fact, the amplitude and impact of what we are living only from the perspective of History we will be able to understand. But one thing we can already be certain of: the new age of prosperity and peace to all Enchanted Lands has only become possible thanks to the luminous magic that created the United Realms. In this sense, tonight is doubly memorable because it marks the return to our conviviality of the United Realms creator - she is back, walking in her Healing path. Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome our Good Queen."
Enter Regina Mills, walking slowly, with elegance.
"I thank you all for your kindness and goodness. We will need all this kindness and all this goodness now, more than ever. To face our enemies, we must remain united in one heart, one mind. Together, unified, we are stronger than isolated and alone. Together, vibrating in resonance with the frequencies of Light, Peace and Love, we will become invincible. This is what the Sacred Alignment is meant to perform. It is meant to take us to the Here and Now. In the Here and Now we will Shine, Together.
Ladies and Gentlemen, it is a great honor for me to be here and now to declare the Alignment Ceremony open."
Enter Fergus.
"The Wabanaki Confederacy (translated to People of the Dawn or Easterner) are a First Nations and Native American confederation of five principal nations: the Mi'kmaq, Maliseet, Passamaquoddy, Abenaki, and Penobscot.
The Wabanaki are in and named for the area which they call Wabanahkik ("Dawnland"), roughly the area made up of most of present-day Maine in the Land almost without Magic known as the United States, and New Brunswick, mainland Nova Scotia, Cape Breton Island, Prince Edward Island and some of Quebec south of the St. Lawrence River in Canada.
Two days ago, five Wabanaki shamans, Elders of their five nations, demonstrated why we must rename their land to Land almost without Magic . They went to Arendelle's Royal Palace, teleported by their own Magic, in response to a Mother Earth's call, for taking part in the Alignment, bringing with their drums, flute and chants the rhythm and pulse of our Mother Earth. They will open the Ceremony with the song Freedom.
Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome the Elders' group Spirit of the Dawn."
Enter Aesop.
"Youth is the window through which the future enters the world. In making this statement I placed in the hands of the young the noble task of transforming the so-called “liquid society” into a fertile field of solid, deep and true relationships, where love can supersede hatred and indifference. After all, youth, endowed with aptitudes and peculiar creativity, cannot be molded by the exploits of the world without questioning itself as a thinking, virtuous and transforming subject of history.
Youth is the tomorrow of life, not a separate chapter from the rest of existence, nor is it the preface to a book. It is the premise of everything. It is the seed from which all springs forth. It is the foundation on which to lay the great building of life. What a majestic and beautiful mission!
The windows of life open at dawn so that big and small human dreams come true. However, the battle to reach great achievement, personal or collective change is procedural and often arduous and severe. Therefore, cultivating faith and self-confidence is a must in every dreamer's life.
The dream is the indispensable fuel for the struggles and achievements, this indomitable force that nourishes hopes and points new horizons and possibilities. The idealist is not someone who pretends happiness, but a life enthusiast who has learned the value of a treasure before he/she ever finds it. Therein lies the secret of believing for yourself! In the art of dreaming, one finds the reasons for believing in the values of one's existence. The young being who does not dream and who, in this vast world of possibilities, does not know where to go, will easily be lost in paths indicated by others, which will not always lead him to self-realization.
The youngsters who will perform on this stage have dreamed of the cultural manifestation of natives from this North American continent, which has welcomed the United Realms in one of its dimensional planes. These young people have cultivated this dream in their hearts - an ideal that they worked hard to become real.
To live is to be open to the new, to believe in love and purity of mind. It is urgent not to lose the charm of life nor the enthusiasm for the dreams that are believed - and the most beautiful thing is that these young men and young women researched and found this enchantment for the new looking into the past, into the ancestry of indigenous legends.
By the time the Magic Pen wrote the Alignment script, the Legend you are about to know had already been chosen, and the 10 representatives of Youth symbolically unfolded themselves in 10 times 10 thousand young people to translate the magic of the chosen native fable into a language resonant with the moment we are all living and pulsing.
Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome the Youngers' group Spirit of the Day."
Altogether:
Enter the 5 Elders and, from behind the 10 Youngers, they play and chant the 'Wolf Song':
Enter Granny and W. Granny.
Granny: “Regardless of our gender, and despite all our apparent sophistication, we are nature, we remain wild creatures who somehow long to regain our ancient freedom to feel alive, to find our position in the world. Our challenge is to find the path for the wild without losing our vocational instinct for goodness. For that, women and she-wolves have a lot to teach everyone.”
W. Granny: "Within each woman lives a powerful force, a whirlwind of good instincts, creativity, passion and timeless knowledge that sometimes society itself makes us forget in an attempt to "tame" us. For us, women, being ourselves is, undoubtedly and profoundly, revolutionary.”
Granny: “The courage to be ourselves in any setting, in any context and regardless of who we are will allow us to preserve our identity. We are being ourselves when we are being strong.”
W. Granny: "But being strong doesn't mean exercising the muscles. It means finding our own brightness without running away, actively living with the wild nature in our own way. It means being able to learn, being able to defend what we know. It means staying and living. Strong is who stares, who does not run away, who shows without fear his/her identity, who does not surrender, who lives with joy and courage.”
Granny: "Most of today's women have been separated from their savage version, that instinctive essence with which the she-wolf knows who she is, recognizes herself, and feels strong, free, and important. We must therefore observe what our predecessors did to rediscover our value, our importance, and the energy that feeds us and makes us strong.”
W. Granny: "If we live as we breathe, holding and releasing, we cannot go wrong. This principle symbolizes nothing more than the life cycle: take, hold, let go, accept, move on…”
Granny: "The wolf, the old one, the one who knows is inside us. It blooms in the deepest psyche of women's souls, the ancient and vital Wild Woman. She describes her home as a place at a time when the spirit of women and the spirit of wolves come into contact.”
W. Granny: "Healthy wolves and healthy women have certain psychic characteristics in common: keen perception, playfulness, and a high capacity for devotion."
Granny: "Wolves and women are gregarious by nature, curious, endowed with great endurance and strength. They are deeply intuitive and have great concern for their puppies, their partner and their pack. Has experience in adapting to changing circumstances. They have a fierce determination and extreme courage."
W. Granny: "When women reaffirm their relationship with the wild, they are gifted with a permanent inner observer, a wise, a visionary, an oracle, an inspirer, an intuitive, a creator, an inventor, and a listener who guides. She suggests and stimulates a vibrant life in the inner and outer worlds."
Granny: "When women are with the Wild Woman, the reality of this relationship is reflected in them. No matter what happens, this savage instructor, mother, and mentor supports her inner and outer lives."
W. Granny: "Wolves and Women are lunar beings and Tonight, a specially magic Full Moon night, She-Wolves and Women will share a special connection symbolized by the silent, profoundly spiritual presence of five She-Wolves-Women from a special pack blessed by the gods."
Granny and W. Granny: "Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome the She-Wolves' group Spirit of the Night."
Five Women walk in with their red hooded capes back to the cameras. Then they turn around taking off their magic cloaks to transform into She-wolves.
While four Wolves walk, with balance and beauty, to position themselves as guardians of the four corners of the Room, Killian Jones, Emma Swan-Jones, (Wish) Killian Jones and (Wish) Emma Sweet Nolan-Jones enter the stage, being received by the fifth Wolf, who conducts them to the center of the room where they all sit on four cushions placed on the floor.
After a pause for everybody to settle down, the 5 Elders enter the stage again playing and chanting another song, followed by the 10 Youngers performing a round choreography while also chanting a mantra:
Round Dance
Enter W. Snow and W. David.
In silence, Henry Mills, Regina Mills, Fergus, Aesop, Janet and W. Janet Lucas (Grannys) follow them and position themselves in the grand circle formed by the 5 Elders, 10 Youngers and 4 Wolves - 1 Wolf remains at the center of the circle with the two Killians and Emma Swan, all on their marks.
W. Snow: "Life is the most perfect translation of the most perfect Mystery."
W. David: "Love is the most perfect translation of the most perfect Magic."
W. Snow: "Life is eternal, and when translated into the circle of Time, it pulsates in cyclic contrasts: chiaroscuro, day-night, male-female, life-death."
W. David: "There is no Darkness that resists Light. Darkness exists because of the absence of Light."
W. Snow: "There is no Dark Magic that resists the Magic of Love, the most powerful and luminous of all Magic."
W. David: "The Light of Love encompasses all frequencies and aligns them synchronously by enveloping them in the pulse of Peace, Harmony, Fraternity, Health, and Happiness."
W. Snow and W. David: "Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome the Orchestra Spirit of the Light, conducted by Ursula, and the Aligner, Emma Sweet Nolan-Jones."
Soul Eyes
1,2,3
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SwanQueen Week 9 Day 3
Grandmothers
A03
Day 3
This is set in an alternative idea that Storybrooke is still there and they aren’t cursed with another amnesia curse which is what appears is going to be the drive of the upcoming season…
The car’s wheels screeched against the black road as bushes and trees were left behind. The dwindling pools of light coming from the car’s headlights danced on the town’s sign and Emma let out a sigh as she passed it; the smell of muddy leaves and just the barest one of salty water reaching her nostrils thanks to the half-opened windows. It was a familiar scent even if it had been years since she last smelt it and for a second everything seemed to move in slow motion as the first row of houses appeared in front of her.
“You need to meet Lucy.” Regina had said over the phone, her voice low and deep in the same way Emma’s memory had been so good on memorize. Emma hadn’t really bothered on asking the other woman how she knew what was her new phone number. When she had left they both had known that Regina would contact her if that was necessary.
“Who?”
She could hear Regina’s half-sigh, one that was probably being followed by a hand running over dark tresses, red lips pursing before parting again. Emma had closed her eyes at the image, trying her best to force herself on focusing on the smell of coffee that filled the small bar in where she was. It hadn’t worked, the rest of the words had deprived her of that.
“Your granddaughter.”
She would lie if she said that she hadn’t been surprised. When the stupor passed, however, it was replaced by confusion, anger even as she asked for the check with a move of her hand.
“My… what?”
“Who would have thought, right Miss Swan?”
The words held an old bite, one Emma flinched for but that lacked the general heat that once upon a time they had have. Pinching the bridge of her nose the blonde woman eyed her reflection on her cooling mug; older, she realized. She suddenly felt older.
“Don’t call me…”
“Emma” Regina’s voice had transformed again, warmer now, sweet, syrupy almost. “Please, come back.”
“I…”
“Please.”
Emma blinked as the car stopped in front of a mansion she still could remember its layout perfectly, the rest of the memory fading in black at the back of her mind. She, obviously, had picked up her new bug -the old one had bitten the dust some seven years ago- and with no little fear she had started the long way back to Maine. It hadn’t been easy, to go back to a place in where she at the end had felt as trapped as a bird without wings.
Biting her lower lip, the blonde let her hand hover the door’s handle. The mansion was lighted from inside and warm golden light bathed the front door of it in a similar fashion it had one did the very first time Emma had stopped in front of it. Now, however, everything was different, even if the same nerves ate her insides as she looked at the nearest window in where the shadow of a figure could be seen, looking straightly at Emma as if she had sensed she was doubting herself.
The blonde smiled despite her nerves; Regina had always known her far too well and even if she couldn’t see who was the silhouette from where she was the posture was unmistakable.
She wondered, as she finally circled the handle with her fingers, how would be to see the brunette again. How would be… everything.
She hadn’t forgotten the conversation the two of them had had the night after her decision of finally leaving behind Storybrooke, the savior’s title far too tight around her neck, around everything she had thought she would be able to feign she was but, ultimately, wasn’t.
Regina had looked beautiful that night, dressed in red and with too deep, understanding eyes that had listened to every slurred word Emma had said, drink after drink while toying with a ring that hadn’t hold its meaning for too long.
“If I wanted to be selfish.” The former queen had whispered after Emma had finished, her voice hoarse as she drank from her own drink, one she had barely touched during the whole night, “I would ask you to stay.”
Emma had licked a droplet from her lips, her numb fingers gipping the empty shot glass. The heat of Aesop’s pub pooled on the back of her neck and around the hollow of her throat; she could feel on the way her hair seemed to stick around her neck, the uncomfortable tickling getting on her nerves. She had felt brave enough to ask something that, otherwise, wouldn’t have and as she had rose her gaze to look at Regina’s she had felt another droplet of sweat curling around her earlobe.
“Because of Henry?”
Regina had smiled sadly at the question, drinking again before playing with the stem of the glass, her fingers drawing lines of light on the refraction that could be seen on the pub’s counter. It was a tricky question, Emma knew that, knew how much she was going to hurt Henry, how loud Regina would probably scream at her once they were outside Aesop but, in that moment, nothing of that really mattered. Just the question and its answer, one that arrived with enough force to make her tremble, suddenly not as steady as before.
“No.”
The door of the mansion opened, waking Emma up from her memories. Blinking dazedly, she moved in autopilot as she, herself, exited the car as a young man, one that looked almost like Neal could have looked, stared at her, silent, far too silent as she approached him.
He was just as handsome as the several pictures she had been able to look at after she had disappeared had told her he would and for a moment she stood there, only seeing the man and hating herself for losing the prior years. Ultimately, however, Henry seemed to swallow the same lump Emma now felt on her throat and hugged her, tightly. Gone were the years in where he was a kiddo, Emma briefly thought and she let a few tears run freely before she hugged him back.
“Hello, mom.” She heard being whispered just before Henry took a step backwards.
“Hello.” She replied, smiling sadly at him. “I’m…”
“We will have time for that conversation.” He interrupted her and she, dumbfounded, could only nod. “Want to enter?”
Emma glanced at the window where the silhouette had been minutes before. No one was there.
“She wants to see you as well.”
The whispered words elicited a small sigh from Emma, one she didn’t know she had holding but she forced herself to smile as she looked at Henry almost daringly.
“I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t want to enter, right? Let’s go.”
Henry turned without words towards the main door, the warmth of the light inside quickly covering Emma as she trespassed the threshold. The place, she denoted, was almost the same as it had once was; more pictures were framed on the main hall and the wooden door felt not as new as it had been but everything was still were it had been. With the difference of a young girl, not older than ten, that was looking at her through long eyelashes as she stood next to a suddenly much more nervous Henry.
“Mo… Emma, this is Lucy.”
She, Emma thought while taking a small step towards the girl, not really sure what to do with her hands, was gorgeous and as she told her so she felt a different gaze on her, one she would recognize anywhere.
Regina was just like she remembered her; perhaps with a few more wrinkles around her eyes, perhaps with shorter hair, but she still looked at her with deep, dark eyes that made Emma’s mouth turn into a desert as she looked at her, freezed.
“Hi.” She whispered as Regina approached the three of them, her black dress catching the light as she did so.
“Lucy.” The brunette spoke in soft tones, turning to look at Lucy. “Are you hungry? Dinner is already done. Henry, can you accompany her?”
Henry opened his mouth to protest but Lucy nodded gingerly and left the hall, casting one last glance to Emma who stood motionless as she stared at the former queen, unable to do or say anything as Henry sighed and shot a quick look at the two of them before following the steps of his daughter.
Daughter… the word felt hot on Emma’s mind, almost like an open wound. The pain, however, left her mind the moment she realized she was alone with the brunette. Brunette who despite everything was eyeing her with the same mixture of hurt and worry Henry had had on his eyes minutes before.
And Emma knew that nothing was as easy as it was being now, that she still would need to have a talk, the one she hadn’t been able to had all those years ago. That, however, didn’t stop her when she took a gulp of breath and closed the distance between her and Regina, her arms encircling the brunette’s, pulling her close in a hug that left the vague imprint of the other woman’s lips on her right cheek.
Nothing was like it had been, she realized as she noticed the shuddering breath of the brunette against her skin, on the lack of a ring on her own hand, on the spark -dulled due to time but still strong- of magic she felt. But it still felt familiar enough.
“I…”
She didn’t finish the sentence, not that she even knew what she was going to say; Regina’s lips silenced her as quickly as she had tried to speak. Warm, soft, they made the spark of magic grow as it navigated from her mouth to the tips of her fingers, from her eyes to her heart, warming and making the electricity crackle as she got lost on the kiss, on Regina’s hands running through her hair. On the way the brunette’s body molded against her after so many years of wishing, dreaming, of something like this between unspoken words and unbottled secrets.
“I’m furious with you.” Regina whispered just as they separated.
“I know.”
“Henry too.”
“I know.”
“I missed you.”
“I… I did too.”
“And you’re an idiot.”
Emma laughed wetly at that as she finally looked at Regina, on the way the red lipstick was now slightly smudged. She was gorgeous, just like her memories and for a second she kicked herself and her lack of strength, the one that driven her away.
“I am.”
They separated, they had something else to take care after all.
Their granddaughter.
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The Rules of Ever After
By Killian B. Brewer, 2015. Fiction/comedy book.
This will be a bit of an odd entry, but what is this blog if not a union of the common and the odd? This book was lent to me by one of my friends, who guaranteed the story was right up my alley. And I have to admit, I do have a weakness for stories that break the rules right from the start. You know what I’m referring to, right? Those stories that made Peter Pan grow up, those TV shows that decided to follow the villain instead of the hero, or even those movies that decided that your “true love” might be someone who raised you, instead of the one you want to marry. In short, I like stories that, right from the getgo, throw a bit of chaos into my otherwise predictable world. That is why The Rules of Ever After (2015) had me intrigued from its very premise.
Now, it’s pretty hard not mentioning any spoilers while reviewing this book. However, I will try my best to keep the description pretty superficial and the plot points as vague as possible.
Personally, I find that the best part of this book by far is its willingness to embrace the different and the absurd. Why are there Rules that one must follow in order to live happily ever after? the book seems to ask us. Why can’t everyone and anyone be happy as long as they are not hurting someone else? I find that those are very fair questions, and although Brewer hammers them a bit too forcefully at times, I found it almost added to the book’s comedy. Look at these rules! Look at how ridiculous they are! it screamed. And with such ridiculous rules, ridiculous actions (and just as ridiculous counter-actions) ensue. As much as this is not the type of story for everyone, I found its quirky humour to fit very well within my broad taste of humour. And it helps that it seemed like the author was having great fun considering all the ways in which he could manipulate and distort the old fairy tales.
Now, I have heard a lot of people complaining about studios like Disney who make very simplistic stories, with caricatural characters and blunt messages, but here’s my take on it: These stories (this book included) belong to a new generation of fairy tales, one that has evolved with our ever shifting values and moral compasses. When Aesop and LaFontaine were first making their stories (which are now famous classics of literature), they weren’t striving for “realistic” stories, I don’t think. There aren’t that many hares that go around racing turtles, or mice that set lions free, or scorpions that travel on turtles’ backs… Not as far as I know, at least. The point of these tales was often to pass very simple messages to their readers, who were often younger and had to have big notions boiled down to their simplest possible form. When I read “The Fox and the Crow” (Aesop) for the first time, I didn’t particularly care about the Crow’s backstory, neither did I ask myself if the Fox had a family or if its siblings were currently fighting for the family’s heirloom. The fact that contemporary fairy tales have become considerably more detailed than Aesop and LaFontaine’s, should be celebrated in my opinion, not admonished for their simplicity. Not all stories have the same objective, and we as readers, should respect that. As such, I feel that Brewer’s point wasn’t to make a master piece of literature per se, but rather introduce a few messages of acceptance through his book. And that is always a noble aim in my opinion.
Now, when it comes to the actual “literature” of the book, Brewer does an acceptable job. Most of the main characters are very clearly the “good characters” and have plenty of redeemable qualities that forgive any of their flaws. I would go as far as saying that the author almost helps these characters to be all-too likeable. Sometimes, he would make one of his characters do something terrible, and then conveniently decrease the consequences of the character’s actions to zero. Now, wouldn’t it be wonderful if all the good people in the world had their flaws and mistakes erased by some benevolent author? Well, Brewer definitely seemed to think so, and he didn’t seem to shy away from some plot manipulation to get the ending that he wanted for each of his characters. Personally, I do tend to find these “cheats” a bit tiresome if overused, particularly because, if there is a happy ending, I want to feel that the characters have earned it. So when an author seems too present, i.e. he’s making things too easy for the protagonists, the reader might start feeling bad for the poor antagonist who is basically fighting against the All-Mighty Author who wants him or her to fail. I do concede that I don’t mind reading stories where good things happen to good people, but I feel that The Rules of Ever After walks a very thin line between respecting karma and imposing it. I almost wish the characters had struggled a bit more throughout the story, but I suppose that, since the book never seems to take itself too seriously, it doesn’t call for an all too serious ending.
The dialog is a good part of what makes this book enjoyable. As I mentioned above, the characters are quite likeable, which ends up making their conversations likeable and entertaining, too. There are simple bits like:
“Actually, Phillip, we don’t spend a lot of time hanging out in gambling halls and taverns.” “Even if some of us have asked nicely,” James mumbled.
The idea is simple; while one character is proudly stating that they aren’t hooligans, the other admits that it’s not for a lack of trying. Contrasts often make for the strongest humour in my opinion, and this book is full of contrasts! It’s not necessarily the most well-versed dialog but it definitely gets the story going and it brought quite a few grins to my face.
Finally, I should mention the writing, because it is an important aspect of this book. Now, we all know that there are some authors that get stuck describing things a bit more than necessary. The rule of thumb from creative writing teachers seems to be that, if you’re not making the reader think, laugh, or learn something new about the characters, you probably shouldn’t be dwelling on it for too long. (Dickens is probably laughing at that as I write it.) This is, however, a “rule” that Brewer breaks, a bit to his loss. It was difficult to get through his prose because of how clunky it could get, particularly during action scenes. Often, I felt that if I read only the dialog of a chapter, I had more than enough information to understand the story. Not only that, but when I did skip the description, the pacing of the story was actually quite good. Add the description though and any momentum he had built in the story was instantly gone. Take this section for instance: (**warning, spoiler for the following three paragraphs**)
“‘You want to change all the rules when you are king? Well, you cannot be king until this one is dead!’ Cauchemar screamed as she pointed to King Henry. ‘We shall see about that!’ Flinging her arm toward the king, Cauchemar shot a wave of brilliant blue light across the room at the old man. King Henry lifted his arm in fright; his jaw dropped open. As the light hit him, he toppled to the floor, his arm frozen in front of him and his face seized in fear. Phillip’s breath caught in his throat as he looked down at where his father had fallen at his feet. The king did not move; his eyes stared blankly. ‘You killed my father!’ Phillip screamed. He dropped to the ground and grabbed his father’s frozen body.”
It’s a very clear description of the action… But perhaps too clear? Now, had this sequence taken place in fewer sentences, I feel it could have been much more striking and even shocking! Something like:
“‘You want to change the rules little prince? Well, you cannot be king until this one is dead!’ Cauchemar shrieked as a blast of brilliant blue light crossed the room and hit King Henry in the chest. His body toppled to the floor — his arm lifted in fright, his jaw frozen in an eternal scream. Phillip dropped to his father’s side. ‘You killed him!’ he screamed.”
(***end of spoiler***)
Now, writing is incredibly hard, and it’s sometimes frustrating to describe an image that is just so clear in our minds. I am not saying that the writing on the second version is better, but I wanted to illustrate how much room there was for some editing. Brewer could have trusted his own words a bit more, and given the readers a bit more room to interpret his descriptions. That could have really lightened the prose and made for a much better (and shorter!) read, I think.
In conclusion, this book was a “sweet” find — you know, one of those stories you read when you have a few minutes to spare, and when you leave, 5 minutes later, you have a tiny grin on your face? — The dialog made me laugh, the characters were quirky and the themes gave me food for thought. In other words, it was an endearing and pleasant surprise — though maybe not one for everyone.
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Nokia Jade Crooks.
01 / BASICS
Full Name: Nokia Jade Crooks
Nickname(s): Nok, Kia, Kiki
Sex/Gender: Female
Birthday: September 27, 1998
Age: 18
Astrological sign: Aquarius
Occupation: Tattoo Artist
Spoken Languages: English
Sexual orientation: Bisexual
Birthplace: Tampa, Florida
Relationship status: In A Relationship
02/ PHYSICAL TRAITS
Race: White American, Black American
Ethnicity: Greek, Irish, African-American
Hair color/style: Black, curly naturally. Straightens it or wears it in curls or weaves.
Eye color: Dark Brown
Accent (if any): Southern Miami Accent, barely there
Height: 5″10
Weight: 150
Tattoos: Sleeve (flowers), wrist and hand (female)
Piercings: Ears, belly button
Unique attributes: High cheekbones, compared to Lauren London a lot
Defining gestures/movements: Pouts a lot
Posture: Regular
03 / PERSONALITY TRAITS
Pet peeves: Fake people, being lied to, being used, people who don’t cover their coughs or sneezes, people who don’t respect others opinions, weak ass niggas, copycats, passive aggressive people, people who can’t own up to anything, scaredy cats, when people tell you to do something as you're doing it, being betrayed
Hobbies/interests: Art, painting, drawing, walking around the mall, exploring places and things, hanging out, eating, watching youtube and going to the movies
Special skills/abilities: Very artistic but doesn’t really show it off, can do a split and back flip
Likes: Making friends, going out, laughing and being silly, cuddling, pumpkin spice lattes, baking desserts or pinning new ones from Pinterest, looking at herself in the mirror, looking at pretty women with nice bodies, going to sex store and buying sex toys to be goofy with and use, pranking, surprising people, reading conspiracy theories online, wikipedia is life, helping poor people
Dislikes: Being told what to do, being judged without being given a chance, sensing someone’s dislike for her or talking about her, people who talk about those less fortunate, being let down, fighting, arguing, not being given a chance, the dark, scary things like ghosts and monsters, scary movies,
Insecurities: Her weight, her shape, her hair, her past drug use and addictions, being easily controlled and persuaded to make others happy
Quirks/eccentricities: Dots her i’s with a heart, draws random doodles on any piece of paper in front of her, strongly dislikes the sound of chewing and hums a quiet song while eating, writes with left hand, but does everything else right-handed, loves to hug or touch on people
Strengths: Creative, love of learning, very wise and loving, really kind and sweet, cares about others, makes a great friend very loyal, forgives easily
Weaknesses: Gets in her feelings easily, very sensitive, gets her feelings hurt easily, easily irritated
Speaking style: Has kind of southern drawl, curses and says nasty things to be silly or funny, can be sometime ghetto in speech
Temperament: Bad temper, irritable, sensitive, emotional
04 / FAMILY & HOME
Family: Her father Gael and her mother Tammy do not get along. They hooked up the summer after senior year of high school when he broke up with his girlfriend and Tammy got pregnant. He went away for college with his girlfriend and eventually married her. He was barely in Nokia’s life and his wife now ex wife, forced him to stay out of Nokia’s life. She grew up with her white side of the family. Being the only dark one, she was picked on and set apart a lot. Her and her mother were kicked out her grandmother’s house and were homeless, lived in a woman’s shelter, then lived in a trailer with her mother’s boyfriend at 12, then they finally got their own 1 bedroom apartment. When she was 15/16 he took her mother to custody after his divorce and won custody over her because he had the money; being a surgeon. She moved to Miami to live with him and to live a better life, taking fun trips and having her own room.
How does (s)he feel about his/her family? She doesn’t like her maternal grandmother. She’s racist against blacks and thinks they’re dirty and did not forget to remind Nokia about herself and her father. She used to tell Tammy she was a slut for sleeping with a black man and having his baby. She called Nokia a porch monkey and little monkey. Called her a nigger whenever she was angry and drunk. Tammy and Nokia are close but they have their drifting moments. Nokia got her drug and alcohol habits from her mother. She used to buy her mother cigarettes and started stealing them to smoke with her friends. She started drinking alcohol because sometimes that was all there was in the house. They got high together a few times but Nokia got clean and her mother still struggles with her own addictions which she tries to hide but Nokia knows the truth. Nokia and Gael are now cooler than when she was younger and first moved in with him. She hated him because her grandmother filled her head with negative thoughts. She used to love when he came to see her or called her as a kid. She got older and realized he put his wife before her and hated him for it and the fact that she had to struggle growing up. They’re now in a better place because Nokia is learning how to forgive people and let things go.
How does his/her family feel about him/her? Her mother depends a lot on her. Since they kind of grew up together, being that she was young herself when she had her; they’re like sisters. Nokia’s father tries to do everything to keep her happy but shows his disappointment when she’s not happy with her. They both love her and she’s the only reason they’d ever come together but she never has asked them to, so they don’t see each other. They haven’t been in the same room in years.
Pets: None.
Where does (s)he live? Her father helped her get a small place but she’s breaking her lease because her boyfriend wants her to move in, so she’s living with him now in a really nice townhouse.
What is it like there? Enough rooms, beautiful from the outside, not much going on. Very calm atmosphere, quiet neighborhood.
Description of his/her home: Modern Townhouse.
Description of his/her bedroom: She sleeps in her boyfriend’s bedroom. Is moving in new furniture and they’re changing the decoration to be more neutral and sexy for the both of them.
05/ THIS OR THAT
Introvert or extrovert? Ambivert
Optimist or pessimist? Realist
Leader or follower? Depends on the situation
Confident or self-conscious? Self-Conscious
Cautious or careless? Careless
Religious or secular? Secular for the most part
Passionate or apathetic? Passionate
Book smarts or street smarts? Street Smarts
Compliments or insults? Compliments
Pajamas or lingerie? Pajamas
06 / FAVORITES
Favorite color: Black, Lavender, Lilac
Favorite clothing style/outfit: Tshirts, shorts, pants, sweatpants, dresses, heels, sneakers, flats. Has a girly but boyish style.
Favorite bands/songs/type of music: Yellowcard, Linkin Park, Paramore, Green Day, No Doubt, Gwen Stefani, Bob Marley, The Wailers, Peter Tosh, Shaggy, Destiny’s Child, Jodeci, TLC, Dru Hill, Xscape, B2K ,The Supremes, The Temptations, The Isley Brothers, Rihanna, Frank Ocean, Michael Jackson, Prince, Erykah Badu, Janelle Monae, Lauryn Hill, Chaka Khan, Ciara, Whitney Houston, Jazmin Sullivan
Favorite movies: Coming to America, Love Jones, Woo, Eve’s Bayou, Set it Off, The Grinch, Home Alone, This Christmas, The Preacher’s Wife, City of God, Cooley High, Juice, Losing Isaiah, Poetic Justice, The Wiz, Love & Basketball, The Last King of Scotland, The Princess and the Frog, Dreamgirls, Coming of age movies, cartoon movies, biopics etc.
Favorite TV shows: Atlanta, Insecure, Chappelle’s show, OITNB, Blackish, Power, The Proud Family, A Different World, The Boondocks, Girlfriends, One on One, In Living Color, Family Matters, Moesha, The Steve Harvey Show, Parkers, Talk shows, Court TV/Judge shows, crime shows, Half & Half, Survivor’s Remorse, Hey Arnold, Criminal Minds, RHOATL, Black Ink Crew, LHH, Fresh Prince
Favorite books: Monster, The Coldest Winter Ever, Kite Runner, Aesop Fables, The Wave, Desert Flower, Of Mice and Men, Number the Stars, Hunger Games, Life of Pi, The Giver, My Sister’s Keeper, The DUFF, The Lightning Thief, The Maze Runner, The Outsiders, Speak, Stargirl, The First Part Last, Tyrell, Good Girlz series, Kimani Tru books, Drama High series, Bluford High series
Favorite foods/drinks: Pasta, pizza with a lot of sauce, anything cheesy, fried chicken, buffalo wings with blue cheese, McDonald’s fries, slushies, homemade lemonade, gummy bears, skittles, zebra cakes, saltine crackers, apple juice, grape juice
Favorite sports/sports teams: None
Favorite actors/actresses: None
Favorite time of day: Night Time
Favorite weather/season: When it’s chilly outside or it rains and thunderstorms, warm breezy days
Favorite animal: None
07 / MISCELLANEOUS
Fears/Superstitions: Other people dogs scare her, scared of the dark, scary movies, ghosts, monsters, scary stories
Political views: None
Religion/philosophy of life: Believes in God but doesn’t go to church, wasn’t brought up in church, only knows basic biblical stories everyone else knows
Allergies: Spiders
Addictions: Used to have a drug and alcohol problem. Heavy drugs like cocaine, LSD, shrooms and weed
Best school subject: She was always good in math, gym class and art
Worst school subject: Hated science
School clubs/sports: None
How does (s)he get money? Tattoo Artist and her father gives her something like an allowance
How is (s)he with technology? Very good with technology and social media
08 / PAST & FUTURE
Fondest memory: Going to the kids choice awards with her dad when she was 12.
Dream vacation: Anywhere with water, beach, sand and beautiful tourists spots
Best thing that has ever happened to this character: Rose Kairi Knight
Worst thing that has ever happened to this character: Being addicted, trying to fit in, her upbringing, doing things for attention, being jumped and bullied, being physically abused, getting hit by a car
What does (s)he want to be when (s)he grows up? She never really had dreams or thought about that
Perfect date: Anywhere as long as the conversation is good and they can both laugh and make memories
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Our Pet Monster
TW: Mentions of Pedophilia
When we moved to Pine Drive, I never expected to find a conspiracy among the kids there.
I was an only child and a loner, thanks to my parents always moving. My dad’s job had him hopping from state to state. It was a pretty tough going if you wanted to make friends. But he promised that we’d stay at least six months here, so I had a chance to make at least one friend.
And whadya know, on my block, there were a ton of kids to make friends with.
I didn’t even really have to try. Two days after moving in, the Langley twins Diana and David were pounding on my door, asking who owned that bike parked in the front yard and if they wanted to play. I was shy but the twins were ecstatic to meet me.
Apparently their group had an odd number before I moved in and they needed equal teams to play their games with.
There was Alicia, who was six, she was the baby but she was very sweet. The oldest was Fletcher who was thirteen but his social skills were a bit behind so he didn’t mind hanging out with a bunch of nine and ten year olds. I think there was about ten of us all in all.
But I learned soon enough that there was a secret each of them shared.
It started when Diana asked for some of the leftovers from dinner, we’d had a roast chicken and the twins were over. My mom happily complied but asked why.
Diana just giggled and didn’t answer.
Pretty soon I noticed that a lot of the kids had this habit of taking leftovers. Even tiny Alicia would scrape carrots, her favorite veggie, into a plastic baggie and hide it in her pockets. I became very curious, very quickly.
I managed to get Diana alone so I could ask her, she was the first real friend I had who was another girl. So she was the easiest to get along with.
“Diana? What’s with all the leftovers?”
Diana zipped up her backpack and grinned.
“We’re just about to show you, actually. Promise you won’t tell your mom?”
I nodded. Of course I wouldn’t tell! I might’ve not had many friends in the past, but I knew how to keep a secret!
Diana let me carry a clear plastic container full of beef stew, it was cold and I think it was starting to go off, but we marched down the street to collect the others. Fletcher had brought an overcooked steak, all burnt and charcoaled. Alicia had her baggie of carrots and green beans, she hated green beans but I caught her snitching one or two of the baby carrots to munch on. David had leftover hotdogs. Ellis had half of a chicken sandwich. The list went on.
Soon it was a tiny parade, walking down the street. I kept looking around as if I expected a car to pull up to take us to our destination. Was this some sort of food drive?
“Oh, check it out! He’ll love it!”
David ran ahead and knelt by a dead squirrel. It’d been hit by a car and was covered in flies, but David’s eyes were alight. He picked up a stick and started to peel it off the ground.
I gagged when I heard the sickly rip of the crushed body lift off the pavement, but the kids all seemed overjoyed at this prospect. David pulled a shopping bag from his backpack and nudged it in before taking the bag and holding it out to me.
“You’re new here! You can give it to him!”
My eyes burned as the stench of rot filled my nostrils, but I nodded. I hadn’t had friends before, I didn’t even contemplate that they might be tricking me.
We marched on until we reached the house on the corner.
When we first pulled onto this street, I was afraid that was the house we’d move into, but we drove on past before I couldn’t make out much more than peeled white paint on the shutters and knee tall grass in the front yard. Now that we were closer, I could see that this house was in complete shambles. The windows were all smashed, the glass remaining in the pane looking like monstrous teeth. The front path was entirely overgrown, the few stones left of what was once a lovely footpath crooked and teetering.
David didn’t hesitate though, he marched through the grass and knocked on the front door. “Bogeyman, Bogeyman, we’ve come with presents!” He chanted before looking back at the others.
Everyone took a deep breath and shouted, “Bogeyman, Bogeyman, save room for dessert!”
No response. But David seemed satisfied and he turned around. “To the cellar!” He proclaimed before hopping into the grass and hurrying to the backyard. I followed, confused but entirely enchanted with this game we were playing.
The cellar door was open and David walked inside with no fear at all. I followed and as soon as we were all inside, Diana shut the door behind us.
It was pitch black in here. It smelled like mildew and I could hear drips of water pattering on the cement floor.
Then I heard something else.
Footsteps.
Someone’s bare feet were making light smacks, and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could make out a hunched figure. It favored its left leg, hardly placing weight on it. I could hardly breathe.
“… Who’s new here?”
It could speak. It sounded like a man who’d spent most of his life smoking, his voice raspy and dry. David sounded proud as he spoke up.
“Her name’s Adaline. She has a present for you!”
The man’s silhouette moved, as his head cocked to the side. “She does?”
Despite there being no visual way to tell which child was which, the man limped through the crowd of children, his hands reaching about until they rested on my face.
I nearly screamed. His fingernails were ragged and sharp, and his breath stank.
But I could almost make out his smile.
“What do you have for me, child?”
Trembling, I held out the bag holding the dead squirrel. Why on earth would he like that?
His hands released my face and grasped onto the bag. I heard him gasp.
“Oh! How thoughtful. Thank you, Adaline.”
He stepped back and I heard a crunch as he lifted the squirrel up to his mouth. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was eating the squirrel. I heard him swallow and he wiped free his mouth.
“Is there anything else?”
Immediately the other kids laid their offerings at the Bogeyman’s feet. I placed the stew there as well. We all backed away as the creature examined each and every one. He sounded near tears when he spoke up again.
“Thank you, my children… now, who wants a story?”
Everyone gasped. “Me! Me! Me!” They chanted.
The Bogeyman laughed.
“Very well. I’ll tell you the stories of Aesop and Grimm, the proper way.”
He didn’t get any book, he just sat on the moist ground. Everyone else sat as well as he began to tell stories.
His voice, despite sounding pained, was deep and soothing. He told the story of the Tortoise and the Hare, where they raced to the finish line but the Tortoise waited to make sure that the Hare made it at all. He told the story of Cinderella, where instead of a glass slipper she received a glass sword in which she conquered the whole world. He even talked about Sleeping Beauty, where she woke up to find she’d given birth to twins and that she’d been married. How on earth that happened, well, it flew over my head at the time. But I fell in love with the new versions of fairytales.
Finally, the Bogeyman coughed harshly.
“I think that’s all I can manage for today. Run along home now, I’ll see you again, I hope?” He asked.
Everyone immediately chanted yes, even a few kids ran forward to give the stranger a hug. I stayed back though. I felt nervous, even if he did tell such wonderful stories.
We all escaped through the cellar and walked out. The sun was already low, we’d spent a whole afternoon down there.
We walked back in silence… for the most part.
I had questions.
“Who is that, in the basement?” I asked.
David shrugged. “I dunno, really.”
“We found him after he was hit by a car and at the side of the road,” Diana kicked a stone so hard it flew far down the side of the road, “What jerks! He’s so kind! We’re helping take care of him, just for now, and he promised he’ll return the favor to us someday.”
That wasn’t arguable I supposed. If he was injured that explained why he limped, and he hadn’t seemed threatening. I still couldn’t get over the chill I felt when I heard him eat the squirrel.
The next few weeks I managed to get into the whole thing, the ceremony of announcing our presence going through the back, feeding the Bogeyman and being told fun stories. I’d made a habit of going through the fridge after my parents went to bed, to search for any leftovers that they wouldn’t miss. I made note that the Bogeyman seemed to prefer meat and hated overly processed sugary things, like twinkies. I’d given him one and the next week I spotted it in the corner, still wrapped in its plastic.
The Bogeyman was at least polite enough not to turn it down, I considered.
Then my Uncle Gary moved in with us.
I wasn’t really close with my mother’s brother, but he’d been going through a divorce and had no place to stay so my mom let him sleep in the guest room.
Right away I didn’t like him. He smelled like cigarettes all the time and kept beer in the fridge. When I came next to the Bogeyman’s house, I could hear his distaste for the smell that had started to sink into my clothes. But he was too polite to mention it, and I just made sure to take a shower before I came to visit.
But then I caught Uncle Gary peeping on me.
I’d just hopped out of the shower and grabbed my towel when I turned just enough to realize the door was cracked. Immediately it shut. I quickly dressed and headed out to see who it was.
Uncle Gary was sitting in the living room, chatting with my parents. He looked up to me and looked flustered. “Oh, sorry Adaline. I though the bathroom was unoccupied.”
I knew he was lying. My parents brushed it off and seemed unconcerned, but I felt sick. I went to the Bogeyman’s house that day extra quiet.
On the way out, I felt that familiar hand grasp my arm.
“Are you okay, Adaline?” The Bogeyman rasped.
I jerked away and put on a smile. “I’m fine, Mr. Bogeyman. I promise,” I lied.
The Bogeyman didn’t push it farther, just went back to his corner to sort out the food he got for the week.
But it wasn’t fine. I wasn’t fine.
Uncle Gary started to purposely sneak around to places where I was alone. He’d ask about my day, touch my shoulder and back a little too friendly. I’d move away as fast as possible and make an excuse. He still tried to peek on me in the bathroom too, I’d not get out of the shower until I was fully dressed, keeping my clothes on the floor next to me. They’d usually end up getting wet but it was all I could do.
I wanted so badly to tell my mom. But whenever I worked up the courage, Uncle Gary would show up and start chattering away. I couldn’t get any alone time with her. I started losing sleep. I practically lived at Diana and David’s house, claiming that I didn’t like smelling like cigarette smoke all the time but I think they knew there was something bigger that was the problem. They never asked. I never told.
One night came and my parents went out on a date. I was left home alone, and thought Uncle Gary was headed out too.
Turns out he just went to the corner store to pick up more beer, and he invited me to hang out on the couch with him.
Despite me practically sitting on the couch’s arm, Uncle Gary sat as he could to me, turning on some R rated movie with a lot of violence. I didn’t want to be there. Not at all.
“So Adaline, you’re about ten now, right?” Uncle Gary asked.
I gulped. “Y… yeah. I’m actually about to turn eleven,” I said, trying to think of an excuse to get out of there.
Uncle Gary mock gasped. “Eleven! And I’ve been unable to give you birthday spanks all these years!” He laughed as if he said something funny. I just felt nauseous. Uncle Gary moved closer and brushed the hair from my face. I flinched. “You know, Adaline, back a few hundred years ago, you’d already be married?”
My stomach lurched. “W…. well, glad I wasn’t born back then,” I laughed, starting to stand. “I uh, just remembered, I was supposed to sleep over at Diana’s tonight-“
Uncle Gary grabbed my wrist forcefully. I turned and saw his smile turn dark.
“How about you sleep over with me instead? In the guest room? We’ll have some fun, I promise.”
I froze. I wanted to cry. Curl up into a little ball. Yell for my mom.
Instead the story of Snow White flashed through my head, what Snow White did when she was being kissed by a boy she didn’t like.
I fell forward and punched my uncle right in the groin.
Uncle Gary yelled and I yanked free, bolting out the front door.
I knew my Uncle would look where Diana and David lived first. I didn’t want them getting hurt. So I just took off running down the block where I knew he wouldn’t check.
The Bogeyman House.
I didn’t bother heading back through the cellar, I burst through the front door and slammed it behind me, gasping for breath. Thank god it was unlocked.
I’d never actually been in this part of the house before. There was a few pieces of furniture, covered in sheets and dust. I walked up to the couch and wiped my finger on it. I came up with enough dust to make a whole new sheet.
I wrinkled my nose and turned around, deciding to hide someplace deeper in the house, just in case my Uncle came around and peered in the front window.
I came face to face with the Bogeyman.
I’d only ever seen him in the dark before. And now I could understand why he’d made sure that was the case.
His face was gaunt and pale, the skin covered in pockmarks and old scars. His eyes were glazed over a milky white. But it was his mouth that filled me with horror.
His thin lips were pulled back into an animalistic snarl, a thin yellow film covering his gums and tongue. His teeth were rows and rows of jagged points, all filled with rot and decay. And they’d have no problem chewing up a squirrel… or a child.
I almost screamed when I was tackled to the floor, his spidery cold fingers wrapped around my throat as he leaned in to snap at my face-
He froze.
And inhaled.
“… A… Adaline?”
I started to bawl. I was scared, and tired, and thought the Bogeyman was going to eat my face for breaking into his house.
Instead the Bogeyman slowly released me, moving back. He blinked a few times as if that would help clear his vision. “You smell like that mint shampoo. It’s Adaline,” He said, mostly talking to himself. He got up and winced as he put any weight on his left leg. “It’s why I tell you to announce yourself. I can’t bloody see. Come on now, let’s go into the kitchen.”
We sat on the floor together, the kitchen littered with gnawed on plastic containers and water bottles. The Bogeyman went into the fridge and managed to pull out a water bottle after blindly groping for a bit. It was lukewarm, but I gladly drank it. He squatted beside me and sighed. “Now, tell me what happened.”
It all came pouring out. The peeping, the uncomfortable touching, what was implied on the couch. I admitted it all to him and even started crying a few more times. The Bogeyman shushed me and rubbed my back, telling me to take another sip of water before I kept going.
The water bottle was empty and I was cried out. I leaned against the Bogeyman, not caring if his ragged clothes were covered in filth and smelled like mold. “I’m so scared. I know your stories tell me that I shouldn’t be, but… but I am.”
The Bogeyman softly caressed my hair. “Oh, no dear, no,” He said, shaking his head and then tilting my chin to look at his gruesome face. “My stories are not to tell you don’t be afraid. They tell you to have courage, but you can have courage and be afraid. And I say you’re a very courageous little girl.”
Relief poured through me and I gave the Bogeyman a hug. He went stiff before he slowly hugged me back, resting his head next to my neck. I don’t know how long I hugged him, but when I finally let go the Bogeyman seemed at ease.
“You’re tired. You can sleep in the room upstairs, all right? In the morning, please, do not tell your parents you were ever here. Promise?”
I nodded.
“Promise.”
The bed was hard and the blankets smelled damp, but I was so tired I immediately fell asleep.
When I woke up, I was in my own bed. I would’ve thought it was all a dream had it not been for the dirt on my clothes. I changed and went into the living room to see if my parents were home.
They were home all right.
So were several cops.
My mom saw me and gasped. “Adaline! Oh dear god, Adaline!” She ran up to me and gave me a hug so tight my ribs nearly cracked as she began to cry.
Last night my parents had come home to a horror movie. The living room was trashed and there had been signs of a struggle, and no one to be found. Early this morning a jogger had found, well, what was left of my Uncle Gary.
Someone, or something, had eaten him.
The police came to the house to find that Uncle Gary’s room had been set up in a way to display all of his sins. Pictures of several little girls, including two or three of me, were taped to the walls. Over the bed were scattered hair ties, barrettes, and beaded bracelets… trophies of his previous victims. Even his personal computer was on and certain movies were moved to the desktop showing what had happened when Uncle Gary got these little girls by themselves.
My mother thought that I was dead too. I wasn’t in my bed a few hours ago, even the cops could confirm that.
I told them what happened, mostly. Uncle Gary made me scared, I ran away and kept running into the nearby forest and hid out there until early morning, when I came back. They believed me, especially when they found the dirt on my clothes.
The next day I went to the Bogeyman House with a bag of jerky, announced myself, and went in.
The Bogeyman was gone. The house was empty.
I went to the Twins’ house wondering if they knew what happened, but he and Diana were in their room, inconsolable.
Apparently the Bogeyman had told them he was going away, for now. He thanked them for their kindness and went on his way. I joined them in weeping. I didn’t tell them what had happened, for fear they’d blame me for him going away, but the guilt hung so heavy on my chest I was glad when we finally moved away from Pine Drive.
I grew up. I started holding clubs at whatever schools I was placed at for abuse and molestation victims. At the age of twelve I was at the head of a school rally, telling hundreds of other students what had almost happened between me and my Uncle. That my story was an exception, that many others didn’t have the luck to get away. That they had nothing to be ashamed of. They had more courage than anyone else in the room.
Several kids came forward admitting they’d been touched or raped by their relatives. Whether or not they pressed charges, I stood with them. They needed their own Bogeyman.
When I graduated I married my highschool sweetheart, a boy named Jonas that helped support my meetings and support groups. We had a pair of twins that I named Eli and Elana.
Then we moved back to Pine Drive.
I had gotten a job there as a counselor. I didn’t move back into my old house, rather the new one that was built over the Bogeyman House. Apparently there had been a fire a few years after I moved away and the whole place went down. A new house was built above it, almost a clone to the one previous.
The only original part of the house left was the basement, and I laughed so hard I nearly cried when I found that damn Twinkie there, still in its wrapper. I left it there and told Jonas that it was our new pet. He thought that was a hoot.
About two months after we’d settled in, there was a knock on the door. I got up to head to it when I heard the chant.
“Bogeyman, Bogeyman, we’ve come with presents! Bogeyman, Bogeyman, save room for dessert!”
There were only two or three kids this time, but they turned and marched to the back. Silently, I made my way to the door leading to the basement, before turning back around and going to the fridge. I grabbed the meatloaf I’d made yesterday and headed down.
The kids walked in, each carrying a Ziploc container of some odd food. The lights were off and I kept them off. For seconds, everything was silent.
Then I heard the closet door open and a familiar set of footsteps behind me, a set that favored the left leg.
“… Are you back for another story, Adaline?”
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Live review: San Fermin aren’t here to sell laundry detergent
I think I’ve come quite a long way in terms of my musical open-mindedness. I’ve certainly learned to keep my mouth shut until I’ve had an adequate amount of time to think through the music I’m listening to. My going to see The 1975 live with my fiancé is a testament to my progress. I walked out of the show with their newest LP in tow. You really can’t understand a band until you’ve seen them live. Even if you don’t like them, you can’t “get it” until you’ve seen how they interact with their audience and deliver their lyrics. I didn’t appreciate the boy-band bullshit of The 1975 until I saw the lithe, curly-headed Matt Healy stagger around an incredibly lit stage, touting his message of equality (Loving Someone) and questioning his spiritual identity (If I Believe You). I felt that he believed what he was singing, a quality that a band as well-travelled as them often loses. Anyway, my point is whether I spin their record at the house all the time or not, I left the show appreciating what they were capable of doing.
This sort of thing happened to me again a few days ago. Since we’ve been dating, my fiancé has raved about a band she saw called San Fermin. I think I listened to them once after she mentioned them and wrote them off as another baroque pop ensemble in the same vein as Of Monsters And Men *shudders.* I didn’t think ill of them per say, I just read the book by its cover and didn’t revisit it. In my defense, the music industry has been saturated by these phony baroque pop bands since, and some might argue earlier, around 2010. Baroque pop has been around much longer, but the phony ones I’m referring to are the ones with those silly and blatant love metaphors, the breathy female vocals with the tender I-Wear-Suspenders male lead backing them, and the “we don’t wear shoes on stage, but we wear rather large hats and jump a lot” fuckery that brainwashed Coachella-going basic bitches for years. Put plainly, the shit they play in laundry detergent commercials. I could not care less about some shitty little grasshopper who fell in love with a lion or whatever-the-hell, so enough with the lousy metaphors, Aesop.
Of course the successful acts in the baroque pop sub-genre were successful because they didn’t feel like a gimmick. Their music is like a picture: they don’t need an Instagram filter, they actually took a great photo. I’m thinking of bands like Vampire Weekend, or even early Arcade Fire. There weren’t pandering, they were just making honest music. I didn’t think this type of honesty was still around in this sub-genre until recently.
I got the chance to take my fiancé to see San Fermin in Austin. From what I had heard and researched in the days leading up to the show, I surmised that the music would be better live and hoped the show would have the same effect The 1975 show had. To add some context, the man behind the lyrics and sweeping arrangements San Fermin is known for is Ellis Ludwig-Leone, a classically-trained Yale graduate who has worked with orchestras, ballets and lastly indie rock bands. You can do your own research on the band’s full history, but after learning of Leone’s educational upbringing, I was excited to see how he maintained the band. I was very pleasantly surprised.
We got to the show one or two songs into San Fermin’s set, and by then they already had the diverse audience bopping. We were welcomed by the sound of a trumpet and a saxophone, playing harmoniously over a pulsing beat. Onstage, I saw the mini brass section finish their part, dip their instruments down and fade into the background, letting the lead singers, the talented Charlene Kaye and Alan Tate, continue the song. This seamless exchange of power continued all night. Leone was on keyboard on the far left of the stage and introduced a song here and there, but otherwise the band was airtight. Despite having a very small stage for seven people (almost all with instruments) to share, the give-and-take between the members was remarkable. There was no ego onstage whatsoever. When the bridge of a song began, the two lead singers would kindly step back, allowing the trumpeter/saxophonist/violinist to take center stage. This improved the sound as well since the venue was so small. Because the arrangements were so tight and every member of the band was on point, I kept watching Leone to see if he was giving any physical cues to the rest of the band, like Jack to Meg. I saw none. This was not their first rodeo. Leone expected and was confident that every member would be on their game.
The music itself sounded incredible. The venue was perfect for San Fermin’s brand of music. The lyrics aren’t particularly complicated or worth writing home about, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t sound pretty. Tate’s baritone rumble and Kaye’s operatic flourishes are like a more classical XX. Between songs the band had total control of the audience. Every break was followed by applause, then silent anticipation for the next piece. Kaye’s charm and Tate’s broodiness played well off each other. Every member of the band was having the time of their lives without looking like that’s what they wanted you to think. The emotion I picked up on were genuine, not manufactured like a mega-church worship ceremony. This fact was confirmed after the show. The band hung around the venue and allowed fans to talk to them. I awkwardly bopped around, trying to talk to everyone. I met the trumpeter first, telling him it was the first time I had seen them and that I enjoyed it very much. I met Kaye next, who gave me a hug immediately and introduced herself. She told me that three of her band-members were playing in a punk band later that night and I should check them out. Between that fact and seeing Kaye go from singing to playing guitar to playing drums, I knew this band had many talents beyond their chosen genre. She was perfectly kind and very real. Nothing changed between her controlling the audience and her being among the audience. She was sweet to the doe-eyed little girls (I say little, I mean high-schoolers) who came to admire her, hugging each one and thanking them.
I finally made it to Leone, who was overrun with girls in cutoff t-shirts and underwhelming personalities. Once I ran them off, I got to tell him how much I enjoyed the show. I told him, trying my best to not seem like a creep, that I had researched his background and had been excited to see his arrangements live. He humbly replied, “Yeah I write it, but I kind of just let them,” he gestured to Kaye and Tate, “do their thing.” I was dumbfounded by how grounded he was. He seemed to understand the dynamic a band like San Fermin needs to be successful. Like a Gordon Ramsay kitchen, ego cannot stand in the way of success. I fully expected Leone to be a pretentious little dude from New York, but like the rest of his outfit, he was very kind and thankful that I had been “converted.”
At the end of the night, I had their new record in my hands and an autographed poster if, for nothing else, a reminder that kindness and selflessness exist in the music industry. While their music may not be 100% up my alley, I can support any band that makes music that doesn’t try to be something it isn’t. I can support any band whose members are just happy to play music and genuinely enjoy hanging out with their fans. I’m sure a lot of bands are like this, but going to see a band with no expectations added to my feeling of happy surprise.
I could rant and bitch about flowery, gimmicky bands that crank out fake emotions and manipulate their fans for hours, but this post is about the opposite. Even if you hear San Fermin and don’t really feel the music, they’re still very good at what they do. And above all, they haven’t let it get to their heads.
#san fermin#belong#review#live review#charlie#hates#your#music#austin#antones#baroque pop#baroque#of monsters and men suck ass
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From Upon the Golden Thrones
Episode 9: In Loving Memory
Susan tightened her grip on the balcony's rail as she watched the ship dock below. Weeks had passed and the gentle was beginning to grow antsy as to when the centaurs would arrive. They were so desperately needed. Aesop stepped down from the gangplank, face characteristically stony, followed by his bright-eyed daughter with a cart of potions and herbs and pills. Nefyn gazed up to the queen and her siblings, grinning and waving especially to her dear friend Edmund, who rushed down to the dock the moment he saw her. Susan and Lucy soon followed.
"Aesop, thank you again for coming all this way. I know how busy you often are" Susan greeted, taking the centaur's hands in hers. "You're really our last hope." The old man eyed her knowingly, tilting his chin ever so slightly upward, then bowed his head in understanding. "Where is the girl?" he asked, voice deep and monotonous. Susan motioned for him to follow her as she burst back into the castle. She led Aesop and his daughter up flights of stairs and down the hall to Eilonwy's chambers. She couldn't help but cringe as she creaked the door open. The huntress was curled up in her blankets, pale and drenched in a cold sweat, eyes dark and bloodshot. A plate of half-eaten toast and a rejected orange sat on her bedside table, crumbs spotting the floor. Peter sat hunched over in a chair beside her, refusing to leave her alone for one second. Legal documents were piled high upon his desk, untouched. His siblings had divided all of his responsibilities among themselves. Narnia could wait. Eilonwy was far more important. "Come on, Ellie, please. Eat something" he murmured, brushing the hair from her face. She simply chewed on her lip and tightened her grip on his hand in response, staring ahead blankly as if she was hypnotized. "She's been like this ever since she stepped foot in the parlor a few weeks back. We have no idea what's wrong. It's like she just...shut off" Edmund explained. Lucy nodded solemnly. "She had been acting strange for a while but it was never anything this bad" the valiant added. "I sure hope she'll be alright." Aesop took their words into consideration before trotting forward to assess the girl personally. When Peter noticed he was there, he shot the centaur a defensive look as if he refused to make way. He didn't want to budge an inch from Eilonwy's side. Aesop, however, was a very convincing and, daresay, intimidating creature and so planting one hand on the king's shoulder made him rethink his stubbornness. Given no other choice, he walked back to his siblings but not without great hesitation, peering back over his shoulder every few steps. Nefyn placed a comforting hand on his forearm, gently guiding him out the door along with the others as she apologetically explained that her father worked best in isolation. "Peter, you look like a ghost. You need sleep" Susan demanded, fixing his tangled hair. Peter swatted her hand away and began to pace the hallway. "I'm fine, Su. Don't worry about me. It's Eilonwy you need to be praying for" he muttered. He hated the thought of being away from her like this. He could just picture her writhing and complaining as Aesop tried to take care of her. No one knew how to look after her like he did, and he didn't want anyone else assuming such a position even if they were more learned than he was. The following hours passed slowly, each chime of the clock increasing Peter's impatience. Just as the sun began to set, the doors finally creaked open and Aesop slowly emerged. Peter rushed forward. "How is she? What's wrong with her? What did you do to her?" he begged. The centaur simply raised a hand to silence him before speaking himself. "It seems as though your friend is suffering from a very severe case of hysteria. Trauma-based, I'm certain. This is perhaps the worst case of such an ailment I have yet seen, which is truly a statement. It will take a great amount of work to heal her but I assure you, it can be done. It will just be a very long and arduous process and in such a short span of time, a full recovery is nearly impossible" the centaur explained. Peter's heart fell, the word impossible ringing in his ears. He glanced to Eilonwy lying in bed, staring ahead curled up in almost the same position as before. If he didn't know any better, he would've mistaken her for a corpse. Staring back at her, something slowly began to unravel. "Aesop, please, I beg of you. Please do anything you can to help her, to make her well again. I can't stand to see her like this" he pleaded, gripping the centaur's arm. Aesop looked down at the young king's hand in displeasure before peeling back Peter's fingers and tucking his arm in so that he could not grab hold of him again. "I will do my best, your highness, but patience is key. It seems to be a virtue in rather short supply around here" Aesop remarked. Susan pursed her lips, mind flickering back to all the desperate messages she had sent Aesop every week begging for his help. She tried not to feel too offended, however. She had every right to feel impatient. Eilonwy's dilemma had grown rather difficult on everyone, between Peter's neglect of his duties and his high demands for Eilonwy's treatment. His siblings' patience was wearing thin whether they showed it or not. As expected, the minute Aesop was finished speaking, Peter darted right back to Eilonwy's side again, rubbing her back and dabbing her forehead with a cold washcloth. Despite all the stress he had put them through, as the royals watched their brother tend to his girl, they really began to understand the extent of his affection for her. He wasn't just infatuated with her, he was committed to her. In sickness and in health he was hers and hers alone. He wanted none other than Eilonwy and was willing to do whatever it took to care for her, even if that meant neglecting the duties bestowed upon him by the great Aslan himself. As night swept across Narnia, the bad dreams took hold once again. Eilonwy's breath hitched, tossing and turning as fearful visions paraded through her head. Peter snapped awake the moment he heard so much as a whimper, climbing onto the edge of her bed to try and soothe her awake. Her eyes fluttered open, brimming with tears, hands trembling wildly. "It's okay, Ellie, everything's alright. It was just a bad dream" he whispered, petting her hair. She shook her head and burst into tears. "It never ends..." she whined, burying her face beneath a mountain of pillows. "I want to go home!" "Ellie, shh, you are home" Peter replied but the huntress shook her head in great protest. "This isn't home, this is hell!" she screamed. With a sudden jolt, she sat upright and began throwing pillows left and right. "Eilonwy, stop! Please!" Peter begged but she refused. She launched pillow after pillow into the wall, toward the window, knocking things off her vanity and even cracking it's glass. She kept going until the entire room was drenched in a blizzard of feathers. It wasn't until the window creaked open and a soft breeze blew through that Eilonwy finally began to calm down. Exhausted, she collapsed onto the mattress and wept softly, tears staining her cheeks. Peter swatted at the downy rain, climbing into her bed and wrapping his arms around her tightly. She sighed and fell into him, far too tired to fight him off, and deeply inhaled the sweet smell of his skin. "It's alright now...everything's alright" he whispered, gently rocking her back and forth like an infant. "It never ends..." she repeated softly, her hot breath grazing Peter's collarbone. Not knowing what else to say, he sat there in silence continuing to rock her and hug her tight in hopes that perhaps he could glue all of her broken pieces back together. As she slowly drifted back to sleep, however, a quiet murmur caught his attention and sent his heart soaring. In the softest tone imaginable, she breathed a quiet "I love you..." And finally, Peter received the confirmation he had been searching for. She officially loved him back just like he knew she did. In the following days, Aesop and Nefyn worked tirelessly to create an all-powerful medicine for Eilonwy, which proved to be a rather difficult challenge. Herbs that combated insomnia and restlessness countered those that fought anorexia and bad dreams. Nothing seemed to be strong enough to fix her tremors. "I feel like a science experiment" Eilonwy croaked one day, staring at the brightly colored bottles on her nightstand. Her hands trembled in her lap, a bucket for vomit seated at her bedside. Whatever was in the last potion they gave her was making it difficult to keep anything down. "I know, Ellie, but Aesop and Nefyn are only trying to help" Peter cooed, ringing out excess water into a wash basin and dabbing the damp cloth to her face. "I wish everyone would stop trying to make me better" she mumbled. "I don't need to be saved." "Eilonwy, you've been lying in bed refusing to eat or sleep for a month. You need saving" Peter replied definitively. Eilonwy glared up at him a moment before slowly dragging her arm out from beneath her pillow and bluntly knocking one of the bottles over the edge of the nightstand. The glass shattered to the floor, spilling a sharp smelling medicine everywhere. The High King pursed his lips as he rose from his chair and silently walked to the door. "Leaving so soon?" Eilonwy called after him, rolling onto her back and propping her thin arms up behind her head. Her stomach caved in beneath her rib cage, a sharp dip sliding all the way down to protruding hip bones and stick-thin legs. "Someone has to clean that up" Peter replied. He slowly creaked the door open and disappeared down the hall. Eilonwy rolled her eyes as she watched him depart, then turned her gaze back to the rest of the bottles. "Well, as long as there's already a mess..." she muttered to herself before knocking the rest of the medicine to the floor. A symphony of shatters echoed down the hall as the liquid pooled across the cool marble. For a moment, it flashed deep red in her mind and her stomach flipped. Pooling like blood. Her family. She buried her face in her hands and violently kicked her blankets to the floor with a wail. As Peter made his way back to the room, maid in tow, Aesop approached with stern purpose. "Your highness, I insist on an audience with you immediately" he said, motioning for the High King to follow him. "Is everything alright? Have you found a cure for Eilonwy?" he asked. "Not exactly, your highness" the centaur replied. "However, in order to further her recovery, I believe it is in our best interest to quarantine her, effective immediately." "Wait, what? No! You can't...you can't do that!" Peter argued. "You can't leave her alone! Aslan only knows what kinds of things she'd do unsupervised. She'd probably make a noose out of her blankets and hang herself for all we know! I need to be at her side constantly. It's bad enough I'm not there now! Aesop, please, you can't do this!" The centaur shook his head solemnly. "There is nothing more I can say. I fear the only way she will ever progress is if she is deprived of all contact with the outside world. She has far too much going on internally to deal with any external stresses. We must combat what's troubling her in here"-- here, he pointed to his chest-- "before she can ever dream of going back out there" he finished, swinging his arm out toward the window. "It is for the best." Peter didn't want to believe Aesop was right, but he had asked the centaur to do everything in his power to heal his love. Just because it wasn't an ideal method of treatment didn't mean it wouldn't work. It just wouldn't involve him. "Okay. Alright, that's fine" Peter replied quietly, nodding. "Whatever will make her better." He glanced back to Eilonwy's door, a tinge of pain striking him in the chest before walking away. Stripped of his care-taking responsibilities, Peter quickly became aimless. He'd pace the hallway, zone out often, and poke at his food in disinterest. Even his kingly duties failed to occupy him: he'd read through his paperwork over and over but his brain refused to absorb anything on the page. Sometimes late at night when he couldn't sleep, he'd sneak down to the library and scour the tall shelves for anything that might help him better understand Eilonwy's illness and how to fix it, much to Aesop and Nefyn's chagrin. The wise old centaur could barely hold his temper every time he caught the High King in the act. Not that Peter considered him incapable-- quite the opposite, actually. It was just all Peter could do to not feel so helpless. He had no idea how he was supposed to cope. Susan bit her lip as she watched her brother struggle to focus on his work. "I thought getting back to his duties would keep him occupied while he waits but I swear, it seems like he's only getting worse" she remarked to her brother and sister. Lucy nodded solemnly. "There has to be a way we can help him" she replied. "How? We've done everything we can and nothing has seemed to help" Edmund said. "I just wish I knew what on earth was even going on" Susan commented, tone weary. "I feel like we barely know Eilonwy. How on earth can we expect to understand what she's going through if we have no idea what the problem is?" The just and valiant nodded in agreement. "She's not exactly the most open book in the library" Edmund remarked. "But if we don't know, then how does Peter?" Lucy inquired. "He certainly must not know any more than we do." "I wouldn't count on that, Lu" Edmund said. "You've seen the way Peter looks at her, and all the time they spend together. I'd say they're pretty close. He cares about her a lot. I can only assume she cares about him, too, even if she's not all that affectionate. I bet he knows things we don't. I bet she tells him things she doesn't say to anyone else." "You know, Ed, I think you might be onto something" Susan replied. "The only issue is that if Peter does know, then why hasn't he told us anything? Surely he must know we're as concerned about Eilonwy as he is." "Maybe it's private information. Maybe she made him swear not to tell anyone anything. She probably had him do a blood pact. She seems like the kind of person who would use blood pacts" Edmund speculated. "Regardless, I want to get to the bottom of this whether Eilonwy wants us to or not" Susan stated. Lucy nodded definitively. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea" Edmund remarked. While he would've loved to have joined in on his sisters' enthusiasm, he remembered the huntress's reaction the last time he pried. He was certain she would do far worse things to those who invaded her privacy while in her current state, and he would've much preferred to stay on her good side. However, that didn't mean he still wasn't concerned. "Peter? Can we talk with you for a moment, please?" Lucy called into the High King's office. Edmund shifted uneasily behind her. Peering up from his papers, the eldest sighed and nodded, motioning for them to enter. "You might as well. It's not like I'm really getting anything done right now" he said, exasperated. "What seems to be the trouble?" he asked, inviting them to sit. Edmund and Lucy glanced to one another briefly before preparing themselves for their well-rehearsed explanation. "Well, Pete, we can't help but notice that you've been rather troubled lately" Edmund began. "We know you're worried about Eilonwy-- and we are, too!-- but we're beginning to worry about you, as well." Peter opened his mouth to speak but before he could make a sound, Lucy stepped forward and interrupted. "Peter, we just want to make sure you're alright. You seem to take a lot of responsibility for Eilonwy and we can tell it's beginning to load quite a bit of stress onto you." The magnificent cocked a brow and chuckled softly. "You two worry far too much. I'm perfectly fine. I just want Eilonwy to be alright and...I guess I can't stop thinking about her. It's hard to do my work when I'm constantly wondering how she's doing." "Understandable" Edmund replied with a nod. "We want her to be alright, too. We wish there was more we could do to help but..." "But that's just the thing!" Lucy interrupted. "We want to help but we don't know how. Especially when we have no idea what's even really going on in the first place." Here, Peter leaned back in his chair, tilting his head in interest. "What do you mean?" "Well, we don't exactly know Eilonwy very well" Edmund said. "I mean, we know her but we don't... know her. Not like you do, at least." "She's not very open" Lucy added. "We barely know anything about who she is or what could be bothering her so much. We would like to know, but...but we don't want to pry!" "Especially if this is about some sort of private information she doesn't want anyone else to know. She didn't rope you into any blood pacts or anything, did she?" Edmund added. Lucy swatted his arm at the insinuation, flashing an innocent grin back to the eldest. "We just want some answers...if you're willing to give them to us" the valiant replied. All at once, Peter realized the dilemma. It made sense that his siblings wouldn't be as empathetic as himself, for they had no idea of Eilonwy's treacherous past and horrible memories. Nodding slowly, Peter rose from his chair and approached the door. "Where are you going?" Lucy called after him, suddenly terrified that they had offended him. Peter glanced back at his siblings with a saddened expression, as if he had been sorely defeated in a dangerous battle. "I think it's time you all got your well-deserved answer" he replied quietly before disappearing from the room. Edmund and Lucy glanced to each other quizzically, unsure of whether their brother intended for them to follow. Eventually, they decided it was worth the risk and chased after him. Without a word, Peter traversed the hallway with slow, purposeful steps, acting in a way that communicated he was about to tell them something very serious and very important. With that notion in mind, Edmund silently raised his index finger to his sister and barrelled back down the hallway to the gentle's chambers. "Edmund, what on earth--!" Susan exclaimed as Edmund tugged her out the door. "No time to explain. You're just going to have to trust me on this" he replied frantically. He dragged her down the hall, nearly breaking into a full sprint, until he caught up with Peter and Lucy. It was in that moment that Susan realized the significance of the situation. An overwhelming sense of fear mixed with intrigue and anxiety overcame the trio at their brother's strange behavior, watching as he guided them to the end of the hall. He paused before the double doors of the parlor, sucking in a deep breath before bursting inside. "Peter, w-what is this all about?" Susan asked, voice quiet. She had been in the parlor countless times in the past few months but this time, things were different. Perhaps it was just Peter's quiet solemnity or the way the sunlight was shining through the windows, casting long, black shadows upon the marble floors. Whatever the case, the room felt very different, almost unfamiliar and, dare she say, haunted. As if she was entering a very presitigious museum filled with waxworks and grotesque artifacts after closing time. Peter shot her a tense glare over his shoulder, demanding she be quiet, before pausing in the center of the room and clenching his fists at his side. "Right now, we are standing in the scene of an ancient murder" he stated blankly. A sudden terror seized his siblings, but that was only the beginning. The tale he told in the following hour completely perplexed and horrified them. Peter stood there, still as the aftermath of a bombing, and relayed the tale of Eilonwy's past in great detail, or at least to the best of his memory. He told them of her birth, her upbringing, of how her father desperately wanted a son. Of her extensive combat training that had for so long gone to waste due to her gender. News of her father's murder at the hands of the White Witch, and the vision of her mother and sisters slumped onto that very floor leaking every ounce of blood in their bodies. He pointed out the stains they had yet to notice. He pulled back the tarps covering the yellowed portraits on the walls, revealing the strong King Lorr in his formal robes and the poised Queen Primrose with glassy eyes and flawless features. To the heir, Helene, the devoted Amalthea, the sensual Elara and the romantic Andrastea. To Eilonwy, coarse and crude compared to her mother and sisters. As they stared upon her painting, they all recognized that there was something very different about her, but they couldn't quite discern what. It wasn't that she appeared happier for it was gravely evident she was not. She didn't seem cleaner as even in portrait, her hems were still tattered and dirty. Perhaps it was almost a youthful quality, as if she was livelier back then. They quickly discovered how true their suspicions were as Peter then spoke of her curse, of Jadis's temptation and the silver apples that granted immortal life. Lucy's eyes welled with tears and she swore she could literally feel her heart break slowly inside of her chest. To think that their dear friend was hiding so much pain all this time. The little queen wanted nothing more than to just burst into Eilonwy's room and give her a massive, much-deserved hug. As Susan absorbed Peter's intense tale, a sickening remorse quickly enveloped her entire body. It was no secret that Eilonwy was never really her favorite person in the world: she was everything Susan was not save for outspoken. Knowing what she knew now, however, her mind flashed back to their argument aboard the Splendor Hyaline, to Eilonwy's cruel words and harsh criticism. Her past didn't excuse the actions of her present, not in the slightest, but it did lead Susan to greatly regret how cruelly she had fired back at her. Not that you would understand, considering all you think about is yourself. The words echoed in her ears, taunting and dizzying and cruel. Maybe Eilonwy did think about herself too much, but Susan understood now that perhaps it wasn't that she was selfish so much as depressed. She had no room inside of her to worry about anyone but herself. Edmund's mind, on the other hand, was spinning. All the loose puzzle pieces began to connect, finding explanations to things he had been questioning for months. Now that the picture was complete, his thoughts had transitioned to accommodation. A storm of ideas flurried through his head, trying to deduce a proper way to make her feel more welcome here. Suddenly, it came to him. "Peter! I know how we can help." Dawn flooded Eilonwy's chambers as she awoke to strange sounds echoing from outside her window. As if the sunlight wasn't migraine-inducing itself, the odd clinking and clanging only seemed to further her bad mood. With a groan, she rolled out of bed, bundled up in blankets, and shuffled toward the window prepared to scream at whoever was causing such a disturbance. Before she could peek at the cause, however, Nefyn galloped past and quickly shut the curtains, grinning at her suspiciously. "Nefyn, what the hell do you think you're doing?" the huntress asked, unamused. "Just accommodating you!" she replied. "You shouldn't have to get out of bed this early in the morning just to close the curtains. That's what we're here for! Now you just march right back into bed and get some more rest!" Before she could protest, Nefyn spun Eilonwy around and guided her across the room, tucking her in so tightly that she could barely move. "Nefyn, this is hardly necessary" Eilonwy complained through clenched teeth, struggling to loosen herself from her duvet cocoon. "Oh, nonsense!" the centaurette replied, waving her hand dismissively. "We're here to take care of you-- that's our job!" "Yeah, seems to be a lot of people's jobs these days" Eilonwy muttered under her breath. Nefyn cocked her head to the side, missing the huntress's statement, but before she could ask for clarification, Aesop burst through the doors with his cart of potions and herbs. "Come to load me up with more drugs, have you?" Aesop stared at her, unamused. "These are not drugs. They are medicines." "Po-tay-to, po-tah-to" "I'd say she's feeling better, father" Nefyn commented, leaning up to kiss her dad on the cheek. "She's been yelling at us all morning." Aesop raised his brows, looking to Hattie in the corner of the room for confirmation. The little faun maid had become rather good friends with Nefyn in the previous days, spending much of their time together as they chaperoned their patient. "Oy, medicine man!" Eilonwy called. "You wouldn't happen to have something to combat migraines, would you? Because all that racket outside is giving me a mighty strong one." Aesop's eyes remained on his work, refusing to answer. "If only there was a way to hook up all those meds so that you could just constantly siphon them into my bloodstream. Just non-stop medication. Damn, I bet that'd feel grand!" The huntress continued spewing sarcastic comments left and right until Aesop couldn't take it anymore. With a huff of frustration, he uncorked a glass bottle, smoke billowing from it's opening, and poured the sapphire liquid into a small chalice before presenting it to her. Eilonwy spun the drink around in her hand, watching the medicine glimmer in the sunlight, and sniffed at it's tangy aroma before announcing "Bottoms up!" and chugging the entire thing. She instantly began to grow woozy, the room spinning and the sunlight growing brighter. Her stomach flipped and she was almost positive she was going to be sick. "What kind of fucked up joyride is this?" she complained, leaning over the edge of her bed. "Silence is golden but muzzles are silver" the centaur simply said, reorganizing his ingredients. "Your responses to previous medicines were less than spectacular, so today we tried a more potent measure: Wilhelmina Blue and port's tongue." He then motioned to a pile of chopped plants upon his cart: the delicate stems and toxic petals of the Wilhelmina Blue plant, native to Telmar, and the hearty stalks of the port's tongue, similar to the cattails found on riverbanks. "The toxicity of the Wilhelmina Blue is said to help purge patients of the negative energy feeding their hysteria" Nefyn explained, distantly admiring the remnants of the plant. "Well, it's definitely doing a good job purging if that was your goal!" Eilonwy exclaimed, heaving at her bedside. "The nausea should wear off soon" Aesop replied as he departed. "Until then, Nefyn has some peppermint tablets in her saddle bags you are certainly welcome to use." At their mention, Nefyn dug into her bag and pulled out a handle of chalky little candies that reeked like Christmas. Without a second thought, Eilonwy snatched the whole pile and swallowed them down. In the following days, Peter did his best to return to work. He made sure to pay special attention to his paperwork, he tried his best to remained focused, and when he couldn't handle it any longer, he'd turn his attention to him and his sibling's secret project. Things were moving along swimmingly so long as Eilonwy had no idea. He'd check in with Nefyn daily to ensure his dear friend had no clue of what they were planning, which was difficult but Nefyn and Hattie had made a promise they fully intended to keep. Eilonwy was disagreeable and rude but they cared for her deeply and prayed every night for a speedy recovery. And their prayers must have worked for, just as the Pevensie's project was nearing completion, Aesop lifted the huntress's quarantine. "You may visit her whenever you like now" the centaur announced at breakfast one morning. Peter's heart leapt into his throat, nearly jumping from his seat to visit her for the first time in weeks. "I can take you to her if you'd like" Nefyn replied, a smile spreading across her lips, but Peter shook his head. "No. No, I'd love to, but not yet. I need to do this right" he replied. The centaurette cocked her head to the side but before she could ask for an elaboration, Peter called for a family meeting and disappeared from the dining hall. Cair Paravel was bustling with staff rushing to and fro, the High King demanding perfection. He was so enthralled in his business that even the simple chime of the clock startled him greatly. He whipped around to check the time. Noon. This was it. He glanced at his reflection for a moment, fixing his hair and straightening his tunic, before approaching Eilonwy's chambers. Nefyn stood beside him, giving him a reassuring grin and thumbs-up as she swung the doors open and ushered him inside. "What the hell took you so long? I almost thought you forgot about me" Eilonwy jested, sitting up in bed. She certainly looked better with fuller cheeks and the hint of a healthy glow. She drew her knees to her chest and smiled. "Sorry, but I've been a little busy" he replied, hesitantly nearing. He couldn't believe he was finally before her once again; he had missed her so much. And now she was looking better than ever. His heart exploded with joy. He carefully seated himself at the edge of her bed, his hand tucked suspiciously behind his back. Eilonwy furrowed her brows, trying to peer around him to figure out what he was hiding. When she did so, the High King revealed a small bouquet of flowers, stating softly "These are for you." "Oh, dammit, Peter. You didn't have to do this" she replied, face blushing in embarrassment. She brought them up to her nose and sniffed lightly, delighted. They were the most pleasant thing she had smelled in weeks. "I know, but I wanted to" Peter said. "There's something else in there, as well." Eilonwy's heart leapt into her throat, terrified of what she might find. "Peter, really, please..." she begged but he shook his head and reached into the bouquet himself. Relief swept over her when all he retrieved was a simple piece of folded parchment. He took the flowers from her as she opened the message.
"Peter, what...what the fuck is this?" she asked in great confusion. By now, the most obnoxious grin had spread across Peter's lips. Setting the flowers on her nightstand, he took her hands in his and urged her to follow him. "Fine, I'll go with you but I won't be happy about it" she remarked, gathering her blankets and shuffling out of the room. A tinge of anxiety struck her upon leaving her chambers, and with the fear of something so unknown. Peter guided her downstairs and to the grand entrance to the gardens. Before stepping outside, however, he placed his hands on her shoulders to halt her. "If we're going to do this, we need to do this right" he said cheerfully. "Whoa, wait, what? Do what?" Eilonwy asked frantically. In a matter of seconds, Peter had blindfolded her and she was thus entrenched in darkness. "Pete, I don't like this. Tell me what's going on this instant!" she demanded but all Peter could do was chuckle. "Follow me" he whispered, taking her hands in his. "Don't worry, I've got you. You're not going to fall." Eilonwy shuffled cautiously out of the room and felt herself winding down pathways in the glittering sunlight. Scattered voices echoed through the air, the pattering of frantic footsteps and giggling of excited young girls. Finally, Peter halted her. "Are you ready?" "Peter, I really wish you'd just tell me what on earth--" she began but as Peter removed her blindfold, the rest of her sentence escaped her. Standing before her was a massive congregation of people clapping and cheering around the most curious fixture she had ever laid eyes on. In the center of Cair Paravel's gardens was a large stone fountain bubbling softly among a set of very familiar looking statues. In the center stood a couple with hands intertwined, the man gruff and proud alongside his poised and precious wife. A curtain of water cascaded from beneath their perch into an urn basin. On each point of the quatrefoil surround stood a characterized statue of a young woman: proud and refined in the north, soft and devoted in the south, dreamy in the east, and confident in the west. Eilonwy recognized them all immediately: her family, immortalized in stone. Eilonwy sucked in a shaky breath, eyes brimming with tears, as she stared upon the fountain. Peter watched her with great anticipation, praying that she liked it. Truthfully, she loved it. A whimper caught in her throat as she dropped her blankets into the grass and slowly skated towards the fountain. Everyone was miraculously true to their likeness and personalities. She grazed the granite skirts of her sisters with trembling hands, admiring their frozen beauty. A pair of little arms then suddenly wrapped around her waist, interrupting her inspection. "Well? Do you love it? What do you think?" Lucy gushed, grinning up at her. Susan and Edmund trailed close behind. Eilonwy gazed at the four of them incredulously, croaking a hoarse "I love..." through impending tears. Peter broke through the remaining crowd, approaching with all the love and kindness in his eyes. "I'm glad. We worked so hard on it for you" he replied. "But...but why?" she asked. "Peter told us everything, and we really wanted to find some way to help so I proposed an idea for some sort of memorial" Edmund explained. "Nobody should have to mourn in silence." "We want you to know that no matter what is troubling you, Eilonwy, you can always come to us for help!" Lucy exclaimed. "We want to be there for you, but it's hard when we don't know what's the matter" Susan replied softly. "And now that we do, we-- well, I-- wanted to apologize. For everything. I know I haven't exactly been the greatest friend to you, Eilonwy, but...but you deserve better. I regret how cruel I have been in the past and hope we can start over fresh?" "I...I would like that, Susan" Eilonwy murmured. She nearly pinched herself in hopes of proving that none of this was a dream. Nothing felt real anymore. She scanned the crowd of friendly faces all chatting and laughing, snacking on fresh fruits and nuts and cheeses and sipping sweet-smelling wine. The uproarious music of faun culture wafted through the air. "I can't believe you all did this" Eilonwy expressed later that afternoon, sitting beside Peter watching everyone laugh and dance. He smiled and shook his head, taking her hand in his. "Well, we wanted to do something special to show you how much we care about you" he replied. "You really have Edmund to thank. Without him, that fountain never would've been a thought in our minds." The pair turned their attention to the beautiful fixture, candles floating in the water as the sun began to set. "It really is beautiful" Eilonwy stated dreamily. Peter studied every little nuance of her face, every twitch of her eye and flinch of her mouth. A sad smile touched her lips as she averted her eyes and thought of her family, what they would think if they had been there. "I'm sure my father would snort and say it was obnoxious. My mother would protest and thank you all for the kind gesture, genuinely touched. She always knew exactly what to say. Helene would be far too proud. Amalthea wouldn't say much but you could tell she'd be grateful all the same. Andrastea would love it. Elara would complain about her proportions being off. Petty things like her breasts are too small or her waist isn't nearly thin enough. 'This is an inaccurate representation of my body and I demand a resculpt!'" Eilonwy spoke. She chuckled solemnly, playing with the fringe on her nightgown. I really should've thought to get dressed before all of this, she thought to herself half-jokingly. Her mother would be so furious, attending a social function looking so indecent. "I wish I could've met them" Peter replied, squeezing her hand in his. "No, you know, it's probably for the best that you didn't" Eilonwy said. "We were...problematic, at best. Besides, no matter how hard we may wish, they're never coming back." There was a certain melancholy in her voice, the sense of giving up, that shattered Peter's heart when he noticed it. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly as a sign of comfort. She gazed back at him with remorseful affection, a tenderness he had yet to see her truly display. "You're far too good to me, Peter." "You deserve good" he replied. They sat in silence for a moment, staring into each other's eyes with very different expressions, before Peter rose from his seat and urged her onto the dance floor with him. Despite her protest, he dragged her with him, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her close as they swung and spun to the earthy melody of a faun band. For the first time in weeks, Eilonwy laughed uncontrollably but there were hints of sadness hiding under the surface. Ghostly figments surrounded her, whispering echoed phrases in her ear. Good job, my wee lass. We miss you so much. Come home to us, dear. We love you. The stars shimmered high overhead, legendary constellations watching from miles away. As noon fell across the country the following day, Peter rushed to the docks in hopes that he had not missed Aesop and Nefyn's departure. Breathless, he skidded to a halt beside their ship, catching them just as they were boarding. "I just wanted to say thank you, again, for all you've done" he gasped. "I hope one day I can repay you." Aesop shook his head, raising a hand before the High King. "It is no trouble. Charity is priceless and we do not expect large sums for our bidding. Nor do we ask for such." Peter nodded in understanding, appreciating the centaur's selflessness, but still felt as if they were deserving of a reward. After all, he and his siblings had grown to be rather good friends with the pair and Peter had garnered a certain appreciation for their line of work. If only they had someplace to station themselves on the rare occasion that they weren't on mission trips. As they bid him goodbye, suddenly an idea sprouted in the High King's head. It was wild and completely unorthodox but he had to offer it regardless. "Wait! Stay!" he called after them. The father and daughter paused in their tracks, eyeing him in confusion. "Please...please stay. Live with us here, in Cair Paravel. Consider it a job offering of sorts. An opportunity to join Narnia's council, castle accommodations included. We could really use your help and insight, sir. Honestly." Aesop paused to consider such an offer, as surprised as the stony-faced centaur can be. Nefyn, however, was overjoyed by the idea. "Oh, father, please say you'll accept! Pretty please? Can you imagine the possibilities of this? The benefits? We'd be living like royalty!" "Nefyn, dear, luxury is not synonymous with success. I appreciate your very generous offer, your majesty, but I am afraid we will have to decline" Aesop replied. "Our work is far too demanding to settle someplace such as this. Constant travel is part of our livelihood, following the trail of disease and destruction. It is not a life fit for pairing with the likes of yours." "Sir, if you please, I-I beg to differ" Peter stammered. He hadn't quite expected to be so desperate yet here he was. "Cair Paravel is a seaside residence, meaning you'd have constant access to our prestige ports to go wherever you please. We can provide security. We can provide staff so that you will no longer have to work just the two of you. Luxury accommodations and access to everything you'd ever need. We can even designate your very own pharmacy. We can offer everything you'll ever need, if you'd be so kind as to accept." Aesop furrowed his brows in deep thought, weighing the pros and cons of such an agreement. Nefyn clung to his forearm desperately, anticipating his answer and praying that he'd accept. To her, the idea was perfect. She hoped that her simple-minded father would appreciate the generosity of their request, the convenience such an accommodation would bring. They would never have to scrounge for ingredients or hop from home to home for sleep ever again. After a few moments of silence, Aesop bowed his head and stepped back onto the dock. "It seems as though you have made a very gracious offer that I have found rather difficult to refuse. You have a deal, your highness. Thank you for your charity." The moment the words fell from Aesop's lips, Nefyn cheered in ecstasy, galloping about the dock and swinging Peter around happily. Peter reached out and shook the centaur's hand vigorously, thanking him and assuring him he would not be sorry. Though the idea came to him on quite a whim, the magnificent knew now that this was the best possible agreement he could've ever made. Aesop was very wise and experienced, a grand ally in many ways, and Nefyn was a wonderful prodigy who Peter knew Edmund cared for very deeply. As Aesop commanded his men to unload the ship, Nefyn gushed of how she ought to go find Edmund and tell him the good news straight away. Peter watched her rush off with a smile then turned his face to the sky. Everything seemed to be progressing perfectly. As he helped Aesop and his men unload their belongings, he knew immediately that this was exactly the way things were supposed to be. Aesop and Nefyn belonged here, and so did Eilonwy. Her laugh echoed in his ears, daydreaming of the night prior on the dance floor. She had told him she loved him, she had confirmed her affections. There was nothing more he needed to hide. He turned to catch sight of her standing upon the balcony, witnessing Nefyn reveal her good news to the others, and understood in that moment what he needed to do. Everything was as it should be.
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rough af seeder family details
(so i don’t forget this shit/edits on going lmao) florence seeder: the mother of our seeds. blessed with a tilted, wild beauty-- all big shoulders and wide swinging hips and her hippy hair that always stretched down to her ass. her father used to strike her with the back of his hand and threaten to cut it all off while her mother watched from her perch in the kitchen. a family with roots in the california fields and hands that were endlessly caked in dirt, florence used to stretch out in the socal sun with her stoner friends and say, “i’m the fucking grapes of wrath incarnate” topher, the first guy she’d ever kiss tenderly and who died while wandering drunk on a train trestle, laughed and blew smoke into her golden hair, “flo, none of us are shit-- none of us are ever gonna be shit, either.” florence had laughed like a maniac at that but the knowledge was already seeded inside her: topher was wrong-- she was going to be something, she was going to be something great. last name “cedar”, like the wood chips, but as a drunken twenty-something it didn’t sit well behind her first name and she scraped her tips until she could change it. ”i’m gonna plant something in this world”, she told the receptionist at the courthouse who rolled his eyes because when he was growing up, everyone was saying stupid shit like that and writing away the god fearing parts of themselves to be named after flowers and rivers. but florence knew better-- that was her one and only flaw: despite the drugs and impulsive, breathless way she ran her fingers through the swarms of male acquaintances, our girl always knew best. she knew when she said she loved someone-- her men, her kids-- she knew it was true. fillip seeder: first born, the only one whose birth certificate read “cedar” (if only for a few years of his life), and some would say a bad seed, though not bad enough that he didn’t manage to dig his roots deep in the other seeder kids’ hearts. he wasn’t taken from birth by devilishness or cruelty-- the kid just wanted to be liked and respected more than he’d ever figured out how to articulate. son of jimmy mccullen, sunless looking priest who was twice florence’s age when he called her over to his sedan and said “i’m so cold, girlie”. fillip was born out of that dark place and always seemed to shy away from the lights of greatness, no matter how often he talked about “being someone”. was he smart-- yes. talented-- kid could draw with charcoal like a university student the day he turned ten. hard-working-- only when he felt like he’d get noticed, which was never when ferris was alive. used to hunker down in his room to “study” but just ended up sketching out everything he was feeling instead. Told Florence, Ferris’s father, and his many foster parents-- “art doesn’t mean shit”, like if he said it enough he could trade in his clever hands for an ability he had deemed more useful. so determined was he to avoid being quiet and sensitive and mild: all the things florence had cooed to ferris, spinning prophecies about where such qualities would take her blond favorite. fillip refused to be the replacement, as far as he was concerned, his mom had already made her decision: laid the best of her love into the earth next to the son she adored most of all. he found a compromise in middle school: used his quick learning fingers and stunted size for fighting. he was fast and cruel-- an endless pale blur of energy and intuitive blows. his friends were budding dropouts, but they loved him-- and he loved the way they looked at him when he was speckled with bruises and blood. loved his mom like a son should but he never quite forgave her for ferris or what came after all that. when florence was laid in the ground though, the man knew he had to make it up for her-- despite his darkness, he didn’t want his sisters to be split down the middle like he and ferris had been. took them on at twenty three-- a benefactor with pale, greasy hair and arms that were always full of books. “read these,” he said, “we seeder’s gotta make something of ourselves before we die ” but that was our boy’s destiny after all-- a dark burnout who went in a silent flare of darker fire. ferris seeder: the second born, willowy little seeder. they say you have to pull up weeds by the root and life was intent on snatching up little ferris the second he pulled in his first shaky gulp of air. sickly, paler than fillip (which shouldn’t have been possible), and the only seeder child whose dad was in the room. chance graceson. sandy haired motherfucker who was like florence: really thought he loved people until he hung around them too long. split in the night three months after ferris came to be. florence didn’t mind-- the guy drank all her seltzer water and missed the toilet when he pissed. ferris, though, she adored. they say mothers don’t have favorites but everyone who wasn’t an orphan or an only child knows that’s bullshit. mothers love one kid with tens times the intensity they love all the others-- and god, florence though she’d been baptised in fire the moment she saw ferris. frail little boy. he needed her in a way fillip never would, and she bet everything on his tiny life-- lost her house to medical bills and went on the run with ferris, leaving fillip in foster care for two years. ferris was timid and sweet only for florence and he only lasted those three, dreamy years before his lungs and heart finally decided they’d had enough of fighting to function the same way all the other body parts did with effortlessness. no funeral. florence was broke and broken-- she buried him on the california coast, up by big sur, under a cypress tree she mistook for a cedar. then she stole back her firstborn who didn’t even ask where his brother was. fable seeder: our heroine, the tree whose roots folded up out of the ground like Tolkien’s ents-- a walking tree from a forest closing in on the scottish moor. fable’s father was the best of the bunch and our lucky girl became a container for the love both he and florence left with her. malcolm johnson-- with skin like rich, late-night laughter and eyes so brown they were almost black. he pulled florence up out of her misery and debt. man wasn’t successful at anything people admired, but what he lacked in traditional actualization, he made up for in raw, impossible luck. guy was banned from las vegas, though none of the casinos could ever file a suit against him for anything they could prove. in fact, the only time the world demanded even a hint of misfortune from him was when fable was born-- in a hurricane that kept the public transport stagnant and cut the power in the hospital where florence was. nurses elsewhere, fable was born by candle-light, the midwife an old woman in a wheelchair who’d answered to florence’s moans of pain. such humble means to florence were fantastical-- so “fable” it was. malcolm used to sit our girl on his knee and tell her, “you got something to give to the world, fable.” and then bounce her high and catch her in his large hands while she shrieked with laughter. she was freckled like with such nebulous impressiveness, fillip used to say she was her own tiny universe. florence always called her aesop, though. between starry skies and talking animals, little fable was showered from all sides with luck and laughter and love. perhaps she remembers it better than it was-- the way the cops were always on florence’s ass about fillip and the way malcolm would come home with wounds he never intended to see a doctor for-- maybe our girl blocked all that out. she remembers the polaroid, though, malcolm’s gift to her at age four. he told her, “show me how you see things” and so she spent the day taking pictures of the edges of tables and underside of the mastiff florence had found in a box on the side of the road. all these neat, developing squares fable took and arranged out on the kitchen floor. then she called malcolm and florence in. florence smiled and hugged her daughter, her swell of pride still hazy from grief that never seemed to sleep, but malcolm swept up fable and exclaimed, “so talented, so talented! you’re gonna be ansel adams two, baby fable!” fillip lingered in the doorway, old enough to understand he was passed the age where he could be jealous of his siblings. he said, “nice, star-girl” but did not mention anything about art being shit, and tried to keep his smile as steady as his mom’s. when elis was born, even fable knew she wasn’t malcolm’s, but the man never once mentioned it. held elis just as tightly as fable and cheered her on with the same dedication. fable was damn near obsessed with her little sister-- always showing her how to do things, giving her a million silly nicknames, and always taking polaroids of the little blonde’s furious screaming or delighted cries. but then came malcolm’s second brush with unluckiness-- there was the war overseas and malcolm’s own fervent patriotism (”florence, this country is the best one in the world-- even with it’s bad spots!”). foot got injured, then infected, and then fable lost her father like the two seeder’s before her. florence went wild. stared dressing in her high school clothes and drinking every waking moment. anything to keep the threat of reality at bay. if her love had died with ferris, her spirit was forever wrapped in an american flag-- side by side with the man she could have seen her future in. fable was scared. fable was sad. fable had to keep reminding herself of how a camera flash lit up the room, how it could preserve smiling faces forever. florence and malcolm’s and fillip’s and elis’ beaming faces, immortalized in the invincibility of black and white. it would take her years to look beyond these childhood memories-- years to crave the questions the photographs dangled in front of her. who were these smiling faces? where had they come from? and where had they gone-- really, truly: where were they now? her mother got her curious, her brother plunged her into the tepid waters of conspiracy, but when elis vanished into the great american wilds-- then and only then did she pack a bag and set out. felicity “elis” seeder: you wanna talk supposed “bad seeds” in the seeder family history and you can’t dodge elis. if the family bore the kind of curse some would become convinced it did, most of it had been heaped onto elis’ pale shoulders. exhibit a: she was the spitting image of her mother-- eyes, hair, the sturdy jaw and the wide hips. it was a resemblance she resented the hell out of-- strangers in public letting her know she looked just like her wasted, wailing mother. whoop-tee-fucking-doo. if florence loved ferris best and fable loved elis best, then elis adored fillip most of all. her dad was a mystery, even to florence, and though fable would turn up theories of ms. charlotte chen or mr. skip, elis decided pretty quickly that she didn’t need one. fillip would take care of her. and fable would pick up the slack when he was at work. after all, fillip was the one who had showed up first-- before the police or the prodding neighbors-- when florence died. oh poor elis, cursed ghost girl in a family of wandering ghosts-- she’d been the one who’d seen it happen. a dark figure in the hallway-- she called him “the person with ears”. the therapists thought she was psychotic and fillip and fable had been patient with elis’ “a monster killed mom” story, but then fillip found a job that could support the three of them. And then he stopped telling elis that “monsters don’t exist”. “i love her too, fillip, but do you actually beli--?” he’d hold up a hand and shake his head, “do your homework, star-girl. you have a lot of work to do probably.” elis was always eavesdropping through the thin walls of the apartment. fillip believed her, she could feel it in the core of herself-- and she loved him best of all for it. but seeing your mom die doesn’t make you a bad seed, after all-- elis’ restlessness, her wildness, her desire to find out how things broke and struggled and burned. that was the badness. the way she’d tell fable “to go fuck herself as soon as she could speak”, the way she’d smash her presents just see the look on florence’s face. “i’m cursed,” she used to cry into fable’s shoulder, “i just want to hurt people. i just want everything to die.” it was a mantra that, after fillip died, just became “we’re cursed. we’re cain, fable, we’re the fucking children of cain. i don’t know how mom fucked up or her dad or whatever but we’re all--” fable just let her cry. held her close and whispered “shh shh” until elis had screamed and rambled herself to sleep. she still wanted everything to burn, but held in her a new fear: that he appetite for destruction was predestined into some cruel deity’s master plan and not a wild extension of her own, home-grown depravity. after fillip was reported dead, the girls only got a few more months together-- foster care just couldn’t keep them in the same homes-- but fable could already feel elis slipping through her fingers. and at 17, the girl disappeared from the world altogether. of course, elis was fable’s wake up call-- the charge to take up her camera and whatever else she could carry from her past (malcolm’s polaroid camera, florence’s favorite flannel shirt, fillip’s copy of the plato’s republic, and elis’ shaky handed journal) and find her sister. and the rest of her family.
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